Her Sinful Secret--A scandalous story of passion and romance
Page 17
“You sound better,” Rowan agreed, standing next to Logan. “And I know the police want to ask you more questions, but they’re waiting until you’re stronger. I’ve told them they need to give you time. They have a suspect in custody and he’s confessed to shooting you, even though you were in the process of writing him a check.”
“He really confessed?” Logan asked.
Rowan nodded. “He blames Daniel and Bronson for the collapse of his marriage and other problems.”
“He didn’t understand that Bronson was trying to pay Dad’s clients back?”
Rowan shrugged. “Over 63 percent of your father’s clients have been reimbursed, not from Bronson, but from money the government was able to seize from offshore accounts your father established. Bronson has been working on paying the remaining clients back, but it’s taking him a while and many of those clients need money now, not in the future.”
“It’s true,” Bronson said unsteadily. “I get letters daily from clients who have nothing—they lost everything. They’re hurting. They’ve lost their retirement money, and the seniors have nothing else. They’re old and vulnerable, and because of Father they’re losing their homes.” His voice was rough. “I’ve been getting these letters for years and every time I get one, I wire money and try to cover the bills. But no matter how much I send, there are still hundreds of people who need help.”
“Dad embezzled the money, Bronson, not you.”
“But I’m a Copeland. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to make amends.”
“But you’ve worn yourself out.”
“I’m not a victim. I won’t play the victim.”
She took his hand and held it tightly. “Bronson, you weren’t the one who hurt those people—”
“It doesn’t matter. I accept responsibility—”
“And so do I,” Rowan said, interrupting. “It’s my turn to help. You’ve done enough. I’ve spoken with Drakon and Mikael, too. We are taking over, and we will make sure the rest of your father’s clients receive restitution.”
Logan’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”
Again Bronson struggled to rise. “That’s not necessary—”
“But it is.” Rowan’s deep voice was flat and unemotional. “We have the ability to do this for the family, and we want to.”
Bronson sagged back against the pillows. Logan just stared at Rowan. “Why would you do this?” she whispered.
He shrugged. “Because I can, and I want to.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” She was truly baffled. “You hate my father. You hate him so much—”
“But I love you so much more.”
Logan’s lips parted but no sound came out. She stared up at Rowan, not just bewildered but overwhelmed.
“I grew up without money,” he added, “and I’ve discovered that money can make life easier. It buys things and gives one the ability to do things, but it doesn’t buy happiness, and it doesn’t buy love. I would rather give away what I have, and help the people I love, than sit on a fortune and let you and your family suffer.”
She blinked back tears. “You love us.”
“Yes.”
She rose and moved into his arms. “You really love us?” she repeated, even more urgently than before.
“Yes, mo chroi, I’ve been trying to tell you that for days.”
“But you never used those words!”
“I told you that you were home.”
“But home doesn’t mean love—” She broke off, hearing herself, and made a soft, hoarse sound. “But it should, shouldn’t it?”
“Yes.” And then he was kissing her, and they forgot about Bronson until he made a rough sound and they broke apart, embarrassed but also laughing.
“So, you are friends,” Bronson said with a faint smile.
Rowan looked at Logan, a brow arched.
Blushing, smiling, she nodded. “Yes.” And then she moved back into Rowan’s arms and whispered. “I love you. You know that, don’t you? I’ve loved you from the moment I first laid eyes on you.”
He grinned. “And you thought it was just great sex,” he said huskily, voice pitched so low that only she could hear him.
And then he was pulling her out into the hallway to kiss her again. And again. And again.
“Marry me, mo chroi,” he murmured against her mouth. “Marry me, please. I need you with me. I want you with me. Tell me you’ll come home with me, please.”
“Yes.” She smiled up into his eyes. “Yes, yes, yes!”
EPILOGUE
THEY WAITED THREE MONTHS to marry because Logan insisted that Bronson be the one to walk her down the aisle, and he needed time to recover.
The three months also gave them a chance to plan the wedding so that it wasn’t a rushed affair, but the wedding of a lifetime.
After receiving her invitation, Victoria had at first sent her regrets, citing an unfortunate work commitment, but in the end every Copeland was there, flying to Ireland to attend the intimate ceremony at Castle Ros.
They were married at twilight in the castle’s chapel with dozens of tall, ivory candles glowing at the front of the church, with more candles on each of the stone windowsills. The flickering candlelight illuminated the stained glass and the dramatic Gothic arches that formed the ceiling.
Logan wore an off-white silk gown that Jax picked out because Jax was the expert on princess gowns. The bridal gown’s bodice was fitted through the waist and then turned into a huge bustled skirt.
The gown had needed last-minute alterations because the snug bodice became too snug. Logan was indeed pregnant, with twins.
She and Rowan had elected not to find out the sex, and they were waiting until after the wedding to share the news with the rest of the family.
They’d tell Jax first, of course, because this had been her wish after all.
Logan’s wish was that the babies would be healthy.
Rowan said he had no wishes because they’d all come true already. He had his wife—his m’fhiorghra or true love—his babies and his family, and he was referring to the Copelands as his family, too.
And so the beautiful candlelight wedding ceremony marked the end of the scandalous Copelands and the beginning of the happily-ever-after Copelands, as each of them moved forward with hope and love.
* * * * *
If you enjoyed the final part of Jane Porter’s THE DISGRACED COPELANDS, why not explore the first two installments?
THE FALLEN GREEK BRIDE
HIS DEFIANT DESERT QUEEN
Available now!
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE PRINCE’S NINE-MONTH SCANDAL by Caitlin Crews.
Join Harlequin My Rewards today and earn a FREE ebook!
Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards
http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010003
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Presents title.
You want alpha males, decadent glamour and jet-set lifestyles. Step into the sensational, sophisticated world of Harlequin Presents, where sinfully tempting heroes ignite a fierce and wickedly irresistible passion!
Enjoy eight new stories from Harlequin Presents every month!
Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!
Other ways to keep in touch:
Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com
Join Harlequin My Rewards & Instantly earn a FREE ebook of your choice.
Earn points for every Harlequin print and ebook you buy, wherever & whenever you shop.
Turn your points into FREE BOOKS.
Register Today & Earn a FREE BOOK*
*New members who join before December 31st, 2017 will receive 2000 points redeemable for eligible titles.
Click here to register
Or visit us online to register at
http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010001
The Prince’s Nine-Month Scandal
by Caitlin Crews
CHAPTER ONE
NATALIE MONETTE HAD never done a rash thing in her entire twenty-seven years, something she’d always viewed as a great personal strength. After a childhood spent flitting about with her free-spirited, impetuous mother, never belonging anywhere and without a shred of anything resembling permanence including an address, Natalie had made her entire adulthood—especially her career—a monument to all things dependable and predictable.
But she’d finally had enough.
Her employer—never an easy man at the best of times—wasn’t likely to accept her notice after five long years with anything like grace. Natalie shook her head at the very notion of grace and her cranky billionaire boss. He preferred a bull-in-china-shop approach to most things, especially his executive assistant. And this latest time, as he’d dressed her down for an imagined mistake in front of an entire corporate office in London, a little voice inside her had whispered: enough.
Enough already. Or she thought she might die. Internally, anyway.
She had to quit her job. She had to figure out what her life was like when not at the beck and call of a tyrant—because there had to be better things out there. There had to be. She had to do something before she just...disappeared.
And she was thinking that a rash move—like quitting here and now and who cared if her boss threw a tantrum?—might just do the trick.
Natalie was washing her hands in the marbled sink in the fancy women’s bathroom that was a part of the moneyed elegance evident everywhere in the high-class lounge area at her boss’s preferred private airfield outside London. She was trying to slow her panicked breathing and get herself back under control. She prided herself on being unflappable under normal circumstances, but nothing about the messy things swirling around inside of her today felt normal. She hardly paid any attention when one of the heavy stall doors behind her opened and a woman stepped up to the sink beside hers. She had the vague impression of the sort of marked glamour that was usually on display in these places she only visited thanks to her job, but then went back to wondering how on earth she was going to walk out of this bathroom and announce that she was done with her job.
She couldn’t imagine how her boss would react. Or she could, that was the trouble. But Natalie knew she had to do it. She had to do it. Now, while there was still this feverish thing inside her that kept pushing at her. Because if she waited, she knew she wouldn’t. She’d settle back in and it would be another five years in an instant, and then what would she do?
“I beg your pardon, but you seem to look a great deal like someone I know.”
The woman’s voice was cultured. Elegant. And it made Natalie feel...funny. As if she’d heard it before when she knew that was impossible. Of course she hadn’t. She never knew anyone in these ultra high-class places her job took her. Then she looked up and the world seemed to tilt off its axis. She was shocked she didn’t crumple to the ground where she stood.
Because the woman standing beside her, staring back at her through the mirror, had her face. The exact same face. Her coppery hair was styled differently and she wasn’t wearing Natalie’s dark-rimmed glasses over her own green eyes, but there was no denying that every other aspect was exactly the same. The fine nose. The faintly pointed chin. The same raised eyebrows, the same high forehead.
The other woman was taller, Natalie realized in a rush of something more complicated than simple relief. But then she looked down to see that her impossible, improbable twin was wearing the sort of sky-high stilettos only women who didn’t have to walk very often or very far enjoyed, easily making her a few inches taller than Natalie in the far more serviceable wedges she wore that allowed her to keep up with her irascible employer’s long, impatient stride.
“Oh.” The other woman breathed the syllable out, like a sigh, though her eyes gleamed. “I thought there was an amusing resemblance that we should discuss, but this...”
Natalie had the bizarre experience of watching her own mouth move on another woman’s face. Then drop open slightly. It was unnerving. It was like the mirror coming alive right in front of her. It was impossible.
It was a great deal more than an “amusing resemblance.”
“What is this?” she asked, her voice as shaky as she felt. “How...?”
“I have no idea,” the other woman said quietly. “But it’s fascinating, isn’t it?” She turned to look at Natalie directly, letting her gaze move up and down her body as if measuring her. Cataloging her. Natalie could hardly blame her. If she wasn’t so frozen, she’d do the same. “I’m Valentina.”
“Natalie.”
Why was her throat so dry? But she knew why. They said everyone on earth had a double, but that was usually a discussion about mannerisms and a vague resemblance. Not this. Because Natalie knew beyond the shadow of any possible doubt that there was no way this person standing in front of her, with the same eyes and the same mouth and even the same freckle centered on her left cheekbone wasn’t related to her. No possible way. And that was a Pandora’s box full of problems, wasn’t it? Starting with her own childhood and the mother who had always rather sternly claimed she didn’t know who Natalie’s father was. She tried to shake all that off—but then Valentina’s name penetrated her brain.
She remembered where she was. And the other party that had been expected at the same airfield today. She’d openly scoffed at the notification, because there wasn’t much on this earth she found more useless than royalty. Her mother had gotten that ball rolling while Natalie was young. While other girls had dressed up like princesses and dreamed about Prince Charming, Natalie had been taught that both were lies.
There’s no such thing as happily-ever-after, her mother had told her. There’s only telling a silly story about painful things to make yourself feel better. No daughter of mine is going to imagine herself anything but a realist, Natalie.
And so Natalie hadn’t. Ever.
Here in this bathroom, face-to-face with an impossibility, Natalie blinked. “Wait. You’re that princess.”
“I am indeed, for my sins.” Valentina’s mouth curved in a serene sort of half smile that Natalie would have said she, personally, could never pull off. Except if someone with an absolutely identical face could do it, that meant she could, too, didn’t it? That realization was...unnerving. “But I suspect you might be, too.”
Natalie couldn’t process that. Her eyes were telling her a truth, but her mind couldn’t accept it. She played devil’s advocate instead. “We can’t possibly be related. I’m a glorified secretary who never really had a home. You’re a royal princess. Presumably your lineage—and the family home, for that matter, which I’m pretty sure is a giant castle because all princesses have a few of those by virtue of the title alone—dates back to the Roman Conquest.”
“Give or take a few centuries.” Valentina inclined her head, another supremely elegant and vaguely noble gesture that Natalie would have said could only look silly on her. Yet it didn’t look anything like silly on Valentina. “Depending which branch of the family you mean, of course.”
“I was under the impression that people with lineages that could lead to thrones and crown jewels tended to keep better track of their members.”
“You’d think, wouldn’t you?” The princess shifted back on her soaring heels and regarded Natalie more closely. “Conspiracy theorists claim my mother was killed and the death hushed u
p. Senior palace officials assured me that no, she merely left to preserve her mental health, and is rumored to be in residence in a hospital devoted to such things somewhere. All I know is that I haven’t seen her since shortly after I was born. According to my father, she preferred anonymity to the joys of motherhood.”
Natalie wanted to run out of this bathroom, lose herself in her work and her boss’s demands the way she usually did, and pretend this mad situation had never happened. This encounter felt rash enough for her as it was. No need to blow her life up on top of it. So she had no idea why instead, she opened up her mouth and shared her deepest, secret shame with this woman.
“I’ve never met my father,” she told this total stranger who looked like an upscale mirror image of herself. There was no reason she should feel as if she could trust a random woman she met in a bathroom, no matter whose face she wore. It was absurd to feel as if she’d known this other person all her life when of course she hadn’t. And yet she kept talking. “My mother’s always told me she has no idea who he was. That Prince Charming was a fantasy sold to impressionable young girls to make them silly, and the reality was that men are simply men and untrustworthy to the core. And she bounces from one affair to the next pretty quickly, so I came to terms with the fact it was possible she really, truly didn’t know.”
Valentina laughed. It was a low, smoky sound, and Natalie recognized it, because it was hers. A shock of recognition went through her. Though she didn’t feel like laughing. At all.
“My father is many things,” the princess said, laughter and something more serious beneath it. “Including His Royal Majesty, King Geoffrey of Murin. What he is not now, nor has ever been, I imagine, is forgettable.”
Natalie shook her head. “You underestimate my mother’s commitment to amnesia. She’s made it a life choice instead of a malady. On some level I admire it.”
Once again, she had no idea why she was telling this stranger things she hardly dared admit to herself.