Millions To Spare

“Say my name?”

“Harrison Rochester.”

“You know what I mean.”

Julia smiled to herself. “The Right Honorable Lord Harrison William Arthur Beaumont-Rochester.” Then she paused for a beat. “Baron Welsmeire.”

“Damn,” he muttered, obviously surprised.

She pressed her advantage. “Has it occurred to you that I might not be lying?”

“Not even for a second.”

Their gazes caught and smoldered, while some sort of arousal rose unwanted within her.

“Where were you born?” she finally asked him.

“This is going to be a bloody long interview.”

She waited.

“I was born in Welsmeire Castle, south of Windermere-”

“You were born in a castle?”

“Yes.”

“Why not a hospital?”

“Tradition. Bragging rights. I don’t know.”

“So your poor mother had you in a castle so you could brag about it in later life?”

He threw up his hands. “There was a doctor in attendance.”

“Well, wasn’t that good of you.”

“I was a newborn at the time. Wait. No, not quite a newborn at the time.”

“Barbaric,” muttered Julia.

“It was her choice,” said Harrison.

“Well, I’ll be going to a hospital.”

“Good to know.”

Julia took a sip of her juice. “Brothers and sisters?”

“One sister. Elizabeth. Are you always this poorly prepared for an interview?”

Julia ignored his question. “So Elizabeth’s on the British crown list, too?”

“Considerably farther down than me.”

“Do you think that’s fair?”

“Are you here to talk about my horse or revolutionize the British monarchy?”

“We can’t do both?”

He cracked a grin. “Better women than you have tried.”

She moved a little closer. “Are you saying you agree with such a misogynistic approach to succession?”

He leaned in, as well. “I’m saying, at number two hundred and forty-seven, there’s little I can do about it.”

“You could oppose it.”

“In my spare time? I’m a busy man, with a lot of important business dealings and connections, international connections.”

Was he bragging?

He seemed to be watching for her reaction to that statement.

“Okay,” she drawled. “And how long have you lived in Dubai?”

He straightened, peering at her a few seconds longer.

“I’ve owned Cadair for ten years. I spend winters here, summers in England.”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“Engaged?”

He hesitated. “Not yet.”

Julia experienced a jolt of curiosity. What kind of woman would marry a man like Harrison?

Then she quickly realized just about any kind of woman would marry him.

“Sounds like a scoop for me. Who is she?”

“Who says I’ve picked her out?”

Julia cocked her head. “So can I tell my female readers you’re still available?”

“Julia, you have no female readers. You have no readers, period. This is a sham.”

“Then why are you going along with me?”

“I’m trying to figure out what you’re up to.”

“If I leave, I can’t be up to anything, can I?”

“If you leave,” he countered, “you could be up to absolutely anything.”

“I really need to call my friends.”

He shook his head.

“They’re going to think I’m dead.”

He got that intense, probing look on his face again. “Now, why would they think that?”

“Because I disappeared for twenty-four hours in a foreign country. In my world, that’s weird.”

“And what world is that?”

She leaned forward, slowing her speech, enunciating each word. “Horse-race reporting.”

“I almost believe you.”

Chapter Four

It took Julia nearly two hours of feigned interest in libraries, paintings, statues, a wine cellar and Middle Eastern horticulture before Harrison was finally called away on business. He threatened to lock her back in her room, but she all but begged to see the stables. Finally, he relented, and left her in Leila’s care.

It didn’t take her long to figure out why he’d let her loose in the stables with a younger, smaller guard.

There wasn’t a single phone to be found in the cavernous building. Julia had seen a lot of stables in her career, and this one was magnificent. A rubberized floor, cedar plank stalls and dozens of horses were illuminated by fluorescent lights embedded in the high, tin ceilings.

They passed a tack room, and she abruptly halted.

“Can I look in there?” she asked Leila.

“Yes, you can,” said Leila politely, coming to a stop.

“Did you grow up in Dubai?” Julia asked, while she pretended to check out saddles and bridles and halters.

“I went to boarding school in Cambridge,” Leila replied.

“Really?” That explained her perfect English and her rather mixed accent.

“I know you’re looking for a phone,” said Leila, regret in her dark-brown eyes.

“Harrison knows it, too,” said Julia. “I’m guessing I won’t find one here.”

Leila shook her head.

“Yeah,” said Julia with regret. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have let me look around.”

“Not without being here to watch you,” said Leila. “His Lordship is quite intelligent.”

“You actually call him that?”

“His Lordship?”

Julia nodded.

“That’s his title.”

“I’ve been calling him Harrison. Was I incredibly rude?”

Leila fought a smile.

“What?”

“You’re his prisoner. Being rude seems like a small indiscretion.”

Julia couldn’t help but smile in return. “I suppose being rude is the least of my worries.”

“He’s a fair man,” said Leila.