Millions To Spare

Chapter Five

Brittany Livingston didn’t like being humored, and she certainly didn’t like being lied to, and Mr. Alex Lindley had been doing both for the past hour. That woman at the pool hadn’t been drowning. Harrison was clearly reaming her out. Which meant she must have done something pretty terrible, because Brittany had known Harrison her entire life, and she’d never seen him anywhere near that angry.

And something was still going on.

Alex Lindley had glanced at his watch at least three times since they’d finished lunch and Lady Hannah had excused herself for a nap.

“If there’s somewhere you have to be,” Brittany offered, her tone a study in civility.

“Nowhere important,” said Alex, though the strain around his mouth told her differently.

It was on the tip of her tongue to probe for answers.

Where was Harrison? Who was the mysterious woman? What kind of party disaster would take him away from his duties as host?

Lady Hannah had been pushing Harrison to propose to Brittany for years. She’d made no secret of the fact she thought they were a good match. And she’d clearly taken this invitation as a signal that he was ready to commit.

Brittany had to admit, she was completely open to a signal from Harrison. He was a fine man. He’d make a good husband and a terrific father.

The list of men acceptable to Brittany’s own father was relatively short. Not that Brittany couldn’t have defied her father and married whomever she wanted. But, honestly, she’d never met a man remotely worth the trouble of being shunned and disinherited.

But if Harrison’s invitation truly was a signal, then his behavior since she’d arrived was bizarre. And Alex’s lame excuses and prattling conversation were more than frustrating.

“Would you care for a stroll in the gardens?” asked Alex in a slightly strained voice.

She gazed at him, biting her tongue against questions about his role at Cadair.

He seemed out of place in the elegant dining alcove, as if the room could barely contain his raw energy. His hands were fisted on his knees. He had a rakish chin with an interesting little scar on the left side. He was tall and muscular with worldly brown eyes and a shock of dark hair that whisked across his forehead.

“Why do I get the feeling that’s not a question you ask a lot of women?” she dared.

His dark eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Are you truly a stroll-in-the-gardens kind of man?”

“I don’t know what you’re-”

“You have somewhere you want to be, true?”

He didn’t answer, but there was something about his smoldering expression that allowed her to drop social convention.

“And it has something to do with the woman by the pool?”

Still nothing. But his eyes darkened further.

Brittany waded determinedly into the silence. “Please don’t let me keep you.” No sense in both of them being frustrated.

“I’m at your service, ma’am.” The polite words were somewhat compromised by his tight jaw.

Brittany decided to throw all caution to the wind. “Who is she?”

“A walk?” he offered again. “The garden?”

But now that she’d started down this road, she didn’t want to back off. “Then, who are you?”

“I’m the senior vice president of Cadair International.”

That surprised her. She didn’t know what she’d expected. A bodyguard, maybe? “Funny we haven’t met before.”

“I don’t attend many social functions.”

“Ah.” She sat forward, liking that his facade had cracked. “Was that a slight?”

“No, ma’am. Of course not.”

“Are you suggesting social functions are the only places you’d find me?” It was probably true. But there were days Brittany wished it weren’t.

He stared at her in silence. There was something dangerous in his eyes, and she found it intrigued her. Men never looked at her that way. Most of them were too afraid of her father.

“Can we please,” he finally said on an exasperated sigh, “for the love of God, go for a walk in the garden?”

“If you tell me who she is.”

“She’s Julia Nash. A reporter for Equine Earth Magazine.”

Brittany rocked back. That wasn’t what she’d expected. Not that she’d expected anything in particular. “She must have written some story.”

Alex rose. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean,” said Brittany, coming to her feet, “the woman wasn’t drowning.”

“You really need to talk to Harrison about this.”

“Why? Don’t you make up all his lies for him?”

Alex’s jaw went tight all over again. “Does Harrison know you’re like this?”

Brittany couldn’t help but grin. She wasn’t normally like this. But there was something about Alex that brought out the devil in her. “You mean nosy?”

“I mean rude and sarcastic.”

She gave him her sweetest, most innocent, wide-eyed, finishing-school smile. “But, Alex. I’m never rude and sarcastic. Ask anyone.” She turned for the door with a flourish.

Julia clutched the door handle of the SUV as Harrison rounded a bend on the dirt road leading to Route Eleven. They were meeting Melanie and Robbie in Dubai this afternoon, an hour’s drive away.

“Melanie said they’d checked the hospitals,” Julia told Harrison, recapping her telephone conversation. “And they called the police. But the police didn’t know anything about me.”

“That’s because my bribe was large enough to erase all records of your arrest.”

Julia’s attention shot from the dusty road to Harrison’s profile. “Your bribe?”

He nodded, wrestling the steering wheel as they rounded another bend.

“You bribed the police to release me?”

He gave her a brief sideways glance. “You’d rather I’d left you there?”

“What kind of man are you?”

“Oh, right. You break into my property. You lie through your little teeth. You try to steal from me. And my ethics are in question?”

“I wouldn’t even know how to bribe a police officer.” She didn’t mean for the assertion to sound superior, but somehow it did.

He hit the brakes as a herd of camels appeared, ambling alongside the road. “I find cash usually works best.”

It was unnerving to discover he did this with some regularity. “So I was never really in your custody?”

“Yes, you were.”

“But not legally.”

“I don’t know if you want to hang your hat on the term legally under these circumstances.”

“Who are you?”

“The Right Honorable Lord Harrison William Arthur Beaumont-Rochester, Baron Welsmeire.”

“Did you bribe somebody to get the title, too?”

“For God’s sake. It was a minor charge. I helped a couple of officers with their pension funds to expedite its dismissal. A thank-you wouldn’t be out of order.”

The road turned from dirt to pavement, and a few adobelike houses and some scattered greenery popped up