“That was an anticlimax.” She heaved a sigh of relief, then wondered why. Was she worried they’d find this dumb cup base too soon and she’d have no excuse to stay here?
He pulled out the next drawer. Also empty, and very stained with something that looked like black ink. “Is that the blood of your ancestors’ enemies, perhaps?”
“Nope. Too dark. There’s a bloodstained floorboard in one of the upstairs bedrooms that resists all attempts to clean it. It’s where one of my forebears was murdered by his manservant.”
“Yikes. I guess that’s the family curse in action.”
“No doubt. It’s quite a different color than this, though. Much richer. Almost like a wood stain.”
“I’ll have to remember that if I need to refinish something cheaply.” She blew out another breath as he closed the drawer. She turned and lifted the lid on a nearby piece built like an old steamer trunk, but made of blackened oak carved with oak leaves. The lid opened easily, and the contents made her gasp. “This entire chest is filled with cup bases!”
James moved over to where she stood blinking at all the wide bases with their narrow stems. He let out a loud laugh. “Those are candlesticks.”
“Oh. Of course they are.” She cursed her stupidity. “I suppose that’s a perfect example of seeing things the way you want them to be.”
He picked one up and twisted it in the light. Like the others, it was a dark metal, tarnished to a dull, sheenless finish. “I guess these all went out of style overnight when they wired the place for electricity. Not that this wing ever got wired. I suppose they just shoved them all here out of the way.”
“Funny to think how important these once were.”
“They still are. We lose power quite often here.” He smiled at her, which made her stomach do an alarming shimmy. “Wait until we get a storm, you’ll see.”
She fought the urge to shiver. “I’d worry about all the ghosts coming out to party.”
“I don’t worry about them.” He shoved his hand into the tangle of candlesticks.
“So there are ghosts?”
“I’d imagine so.” He plucked one out and turned it in the light. “But as long as they leave me alone I won’t bother them, either.”
She stared. James Drummond was turning out to be quite different than she’d imagined. “I guess we should go through these and see if any of them could be a cup base. They are more or less the same shape. How big is the cup?”
He frowned. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen pictures of it. I suppose I should call Cousin Katherine and get all the details now that we’re officially on the prowl for it.”
“I bet she’ll be thrilled.”
“She will. Let’s ask her to send some photos of the other pieces.”
* * *
Katherine was out. James left a message explaining their situation and asking her to call.
Exhausted from their long trip, they ate an early dinner of beautifully prepared mini hens with some sort of fruity sauce and went to their separate rooms. She locked the door from the inside with the great iron key in the lock.
Not that James was likely to come looking for her after midnight, of course, but after what happened that afternoon…
She woke up in the dead of night with no idea what time it was. She’d fallen asleep like someone plunging into a coma and hadn’t taken the time to keep her phone handy. The sky must have been overcast, as there was no hint of a moon. The room was a black hole.
With ghosts probably hanging around in the corners, watching her.
She pulled the covers up over her shoulders. That kiss had been crazy. It came out of nowhere and blew her off her feet like a Santa Ana wind. She had no idea he was that attracted to her. She’d been ogling him, sure, but she was pretty confident she had her lust under control. She wasn’t usually given to bouts of groping and fondling strange men she’d just met.
He must have been feeling the same way. She shifted into the mattress with a swell of satisfaction. So, James Drummond thought she was hot.
Then she bit her lip. She was here to help her father. James Drummond’s baser instincts were interesting to her only in so far as they’d help her get that factory back.
She sat up. There had been times when she’d almost forgotten about her father and that accursed factory, but now that she was away from Drummond’s seductive gaze she should focus on what was really important.
Determined to find her phone, she slid her feet gingerly over the edge of the bed, hoping no spectral hands would grab at her ankles.
Stop being a wuss. The Persian rug felt threadbare under her toes, and a floorboard creaked alarmingly when she leaned her weight on one foot. Heart pounding, she crept across the room to the chair where she’d left her purse. Groping in the dark, she found her phone and let out a sigh of relief. She scurried back to the bed and climbed under the covers, then pulled up her father’s number.
It rang the inevitable four times before he answered with a gruff, “Hello.”
“Hi, Dad.” She smiled at the sound of the words. She’d longed all her life to have a relationship with her father. She’d gone almost twelve years without even seeing him, and she was still angry with her mother for insisting that it was best to leave him alone.
“Who is it?” He did have an abrasive tone. She could see he wasn’t a good match for her bubbly, artistic mother.
“It’s Fiona.” Who else could he think it was? He didn’t have any other children. He was funny. “You won’t believe where I’m calling from.”
Suddenly she wondered if she should tell him. Would he believe she’d come all the way to Scotland just to help him out, or would he suspect she had entirely different motives in climbing into James Drummond’s bed? Or one of them, at least.
“Where are you, Fifi?”
The term of endearment made her smile. If anyone else called her that she’d knock the person flat, but every conversation with her dad was a dream come true. “I’m in Scotland. At James Drummond’s estate.” She held her breath, waiting to see if he’d explode in a volley of abuse at the man he hated so much.
But dead silence hung in the air. She heard noise, like something happening at the other end of the line.
“I’m here to get your factory back, Dad.”
“What? You can’t do that. It’s gone. That bastard stole it.” His words burst into her ear, so loud she almost dropped the phone.
“He owns it, yes, but he hasn’t done anything with it. As long as it’s still standing, I can buy it back.”
“He won’t sell it.”
This was true. She’d had a local real estate agent approach him and met with a firm refusal. But hopefully getting to know him would change things. “Every item has a price at which it becomes disposable.” Even she had her price when they finally offered her so much money for Smileworks that she couldn’t say no. “I’ll convince him.”
“He’s an evil man.”
“Not evil.” She frowned. “Just misguided.” Not unlike her father. Her mom had told her unflattering stories about him when she was growing up. Not all at once, but a little at a time. How he never uttered anything but criticism, worked twenty-three hours of the day and put every penny he earned back into the business so she had to make meals with rice and broth. Not the existence a young bride dreams of. Now that Fiona was an adult, she understood that everything worth achieving required a sacrifice. Her father and mother were just cut from different cloth: her mom’s soft and flowery and her dad’s crisp and tailored. She knew she was more like him. “He’s not so bad, really.”
“Why did he invite you? Is he trying to take advantage of you?”
Yes. At first she wasn’t sure why he had invited her. Now she had a better idea. Strangely, it didn’t scare her as much as it should. “Nothing like that. I’m supposedly here to help him look for a lost family artifact. We’re searching through rooms of old junk.”
“You be careful around that snake.”
> “Don’t worry, I will.” She’d have to put a double lock on her chastity belt. His hard, serious gaze had a disconcerting effect on her libido. “I’m trying to get to know him better so I can come up with a good plan. I’m currently leaning toward telling him I need to buy a building in Singapore as part of my next business. If he’s as ruthless as they say, he won’t mind selling as long as he’s screwing me over.”
“Don’t give your money to that demon. He stole it from me.”
“I know. Did you call the lawyer I told you about?” Surely if it was illegally obtained, her dad could get it back through the courts.
“Pah, lawyers. They’ll just take more of my money and keep it.”
“So he paid your taxes and got to keep the building? I don’t really understand how that can happen.”
“I was a little late with them. Not much, you understand. Just a little late.”
How late? The government office she’d contacted said he’d lost the property through nonpayment but wouldn’t reveal the details. Her dad firmly maintained that James had stolen it. Her relationship with her dad was still in a delicate, early stage and she didn’t want to do anything that might embarrass him and drive him away. “I’ll figure something out. Anyway, I wanted to let you know where I am so you don’t worry.”
“It sounds like I have good reason to worry, Fifi. You watch out for yourself with that ang mo gui.”
“I will.” She wanted to protest that James didn’t have red hair, but of course the term ang mo gui was a generalized slang for Westerners that happened to mean “red-haired devil.” “I can handle myself just fine.” She glanced around the dark bedroom, reluctant to hang up the phone and lose her lifeline back to the real world. It was 3:00 a.m., with hours of darkness between now and morning. And who knew how many auld ghosts hung and hovered in the corners. “When I get back I want to take you to my new favorite restaurant.” Hopefully to give him the good news that she’d regained control of his factory, but no sense getting overconfident.
“I’d love that, Fifi. It’ll be my treat.”
She swallowed. She wasn’t sure he could even buy her dinner at McDonald’s at the moment, but he’d be terribly upset if he knew she knew that. She had to come up with all kinds of creative stratagems to pay for their meals and buy him presents. His pride had no doubt played a part in his fall—a lesson she could learn from. “Great. You’d better not call me here, just in case. I don’t want them to figure out I’m your daughter. I’m keeping everything secret.”
He laughed, obviously delighted by the subterfuge. “My lips are sealed.”
“I’ll call again soon.” She hung up, with a sudden rush of emotion and happiness that she had a second chance to grow close to her father. She wasn’t going to blow it. He’d always wished for a son to carry on his name, but she’d show him that a daughter could be even better.
* * *
Her next encounter with James came at the breakfast table. Bored and restless alone in her room, she grew brave and ventured downstairs by herself. She hadn’t fallen back to sleep after her conversation with her father, and now she was starving. Dishes of bacon, a rack of cold toast with butter and marmalade, a vat of jellified oatmeal. All very austere and aristocratic. She wolfed down some toast and bacon, and three cups of brutally strong tea, and was feeling fairly human by the time he strode in.
“Sorry I wasn’t down first. I was more tired than I thought.”
“No worries. I found my way here. I might get used to having breakfast waiting for me every morning.”
“Would you like coffee? We do have some, way up in a cupboard somewhere.”
“I’ll survive on tea. I like to go native when I’m in a new place.”
“Katherine emailed me pictures of the other two parts of the cup. I’ve just sent them to you.”
She pulled out her phone and looked at hard-to-read images of dark metal against a white background. “She’s very excited that I’m finally looking for it. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I’m using security guards to prevent people from combing the estate for it and claiming her reward.”
Fiona smiled. “We’d better find it quick before she raises the reward to attract more people.”
“Too true.” James was more annoyingly handsome than ever. He wore loose riding breeches with tall leather boots and a checked shirt, which should have looked silly but made him seem tall and dashing and like the lord and master of all he surveyed. “I’m going riding this morning and I thought you might join me, if you’re interested.” His eyebrow lifted slightly. Was he calling her bluff? Maybe he didn’t believe she could ride.
“I’d love to.” She smiled coolly. “I hope it’s not against the law to ride in jeans and loafers.”
“We have so many old laws here I just assume everything’s forbidden and go ahead with it anyway.” He piled bacon, toast and some bright orange scrambled eggs onto a plate. “Luckily the place is so big and remote there’s no one around to stop me.”
“Good.” Her pulse had quickened. Possibly from the prospect of galloping through the Scottish countryside, but more likely from the early-morning vision of James, with his dark hair wet and slicked back, and droplets of water still clinging to his neck and dampening the collar of his shirt. “Do you miss riding when you’re in Singapore?” She still found it odd that he chose to spend most of his time there when he had his own grand empire here in Scotland.
“Not at all. I play polo at least twice a week.” He drank some tea.
“Oh.” Of course. No wonder he looked so fit and muscular.
“Do you play?”
“No. I’ve never tried it. I’d love to, though.”
He raised a brow. “Really? We’ll have to look into that when we’re back in Singapore.”
Her heart beat faster. Damn, she wished she could take him up on his offer. She’d always wanted to play polo but never had the chance. Going for trail rides and the occasional jumping competition was a pretty exclusive experience back in Cali, and she’d felt privileged to do that. But of course by the time they were back in Singapore, James would likely know who she really was and probably hate her guts, so she wouldn’t be invited to his polo club.
If she was successful, at least. Regret unfurled in her heart. It was almost a shame that James had to be her enemy. She could have had a lot of fun with him.
After breakfast she changed into jeans and James led her to the stables, a long stone building with an elegant slate roof. Tall, magnificent horses peered out over freshly painted stable doors. “You have a lot of horses.”
“Eight.” He strode along the cobbled walk in front of the building. “That’s more than enough work for Mick.”
“Is he the groom?”
“The trainer. He rides them every other day. Toby is the head groom.”
Even the stables were a small industry in this well-run machine of luxury and privilege. And he thought the place desolate and deserted!
“I think you should ride Taffy.” He indicated a large gray horse with a kind eye.
“She looks lovely.” Her halter and lead rope hung next to the door. “Should I bring her out, or is there a large staff for that?”
He laughed. “Bring her out. I always groom and tack up myself. It’s the only way to know what mood they’re in before you go out looking for trouble.”
Taffy put her head right down into the halter and stood like a rock while she buckled it. She led her out and was surprised her hooves didn’t clatter on the cobbles.
“Is she barefoot?” She glanced down and mentally answered her own question before he could answer.
“Yes. I keep all my horses unshod if they can handle it. Their feet adapt to handle their work and it’s healthier for them. People stare and point but I get the last laugh when their horse loses a shoe in the middle of a hunt.”
Fiona blinked. James was full of surprises. She wouldn’t have thought someone like him would put a moment’s thought into the well
-being of his animals.
“You can tie her up here. I’ll bring out the grooming kit.” He pointed to a large iron ring, gleaming black, no doubt from the invisible work of skilled hands. She tied up the very polite Taffy, who outside her stall was absolutely enormous, and let her sniff her hand.
James returned with an elegant wooden grooming kit and a tall bay horse with steam pouring from its nostrils. “Poor Dougal has been cooped up in his stall for a month. He’s a bit fresh.”
Fiona stared. He was going to ride that thing? “He’s very handsome. How do you choose your horses?”
“Gut instinct. I bought most of them as babies. An old school friend of mine is a breeder and he suckers me into visiting his stud at least once a year.”
The horses were so clean someone had probably already groomed them that morning. She dusted Taffy off with a soft brush, and a young man appeared with two saddles and bridles. “Let me put that up there for you, ma’am.” She let him heft the polished saddle onto Taffy. Probably a good thing since the mare’s back was well above the top of Fiona’s head. The mare put her head down so Fiona could slip the bridle on, then the groom brought over a polished wood mounting block the size and shape of a flight of six steps. In a flash of disappointment, she realized she had been hoping James would have to give her a leg up.
What’s wrong with you, Fiona? Keep your mind on the reason you’re here. James may have pretty horses and a fancy castle but he’s a cold, cruel man who makes his millions by exploiting others.
She didn’t entirely convince herself, but she managed to climb into the saddle and get her mind off the way James’s well-cut breeches emphasized his muscled rear end.
Taffy seemed unphased by a new rider, and quietly followed James and his snorting steed out of the cobbled courtyard and down a lane past high stone walls. They passed through a high gateway and down a short hill through some woods. James kept asking if she was okay. He obviously thought that she’d fibbed about being able to ride and expected her to reveal her incompetence at any minute. The weird part was that he cared. If he was the ruthless jerk she’d expected, he would have just galloped off and left her to fend for herself.
A Trap So Tender Page 4