A Trap So Tender (13 page)

And her words crept through him with a cold finality. Until now
he realized he’d held out a pathetic hope that there was another side to the
story. That Fiona didn’t really just set out to trick him into parting with the
property, that she had feelings for him, that the situation turned out
differently than she expected. But her words made it clear that the scoffing
journalists were entirely right. The whole scheme was planned and executed with
the deft certainty of a mafia hit.

How had he been so blind? He shoved a hand through his hair.
He’d truly thought Fiona cared about him. Cold and calculating as he usually
was, he’d transformed in her company and found himself craving affection and
intimacy that he’d never imagined before. He’d finally grown brave enough to
open his heart to a woman for the first time since that long-ago tragedy, and
he’d given it to someone who was simply playing a role.

She was a very good actor.

Even now that he’d seen the evidence of her deceit written in
her own hand, he had a hard time turning off the pathetic well of hope that
still bubbled deep inside him. There was that one line he kept coming back
to.

I was hoping my father could wait quietly
for a while until we were married and happy together…

Until they were married and happy together? That sounded as if
she’d actually wanted to marry him, at least by the time they rode the race. He
was relieved that she hadn’t been behind the media feeding frenzy and had asked
her father to keep it a secret. In that one line it sounded as if she had
intended to marry him, and was hoping they’d be tied together by tradition by
the time he found out that he was part of a larger plan.

Would he have been as angry if in fact they did marry and he
found out she’d tricked him?

He threw down the letter and paced across the great hall. The
whole castle felt freezing cold and lifeless without Fiona. During her visits,
she hadn’t just lit a fire in the big grate, but in the entire vast building and
its ponderous landscape. For the first time in as long as James could remember,
the place had felt alive and fresh and full of possibilities.

If he was married to Fiona and found out that she’d come into
his life only because her father had wanted that factory back…

He wouldn’t have cared at all.

The realization shot through him in a jolt of electricity. All
he really wanted was Fiona. With her in his life all his grand plans for
acquiring and developing real estate had seemed ephemeral—entertaining but not
truly important. Even his long-cultivated alliance with Beng had begun to seem
like a happy side effect of the romance that swept through his life and
transformed it. Once he’d decided to marry Fiona, he’d wanted to make her his
wife and start their life together as soon as possible, because he was impatient
and liked to get straight to the good part.

And dammit, he still wanted her.

He let out a curse, which echoed off the walls. Good thing the
staff had gone to their distant quarters for the night. And another good thing
that he didn’t intend to drown his sorrows in whiskey like his ancestors—and
then go fly a helicopter or ride out into the night.

No. He had no such reckless outlets for his pain and
frustration.

He picked up a heavy glass paperweight from a table. It was
probably brought back from Murano, Italy, by one of his ancestors and worth a
fortune, but he didn’t care. Right now he just wanted to hear something make a
noise as it smashed into a million pieces.

He looked up at the carved stone crest above the fireplace,
where the family’s surly motto advised its members to Keep Thy Blade Sharp. He’d
kept his blade honed to a vicious edge for years, and look at how much good that
had done him when he was foolish enough to give his heart to a woman.

Maybe the curse was real. Maybe he was doomed to die alone and
bitter, never to know the comfort of an enduring relationship or the solace of
loving someone who loved him back.

Idiot! He should never have let himself get in so deep. He
hurled the paperweight right at the stone carving, where the metal blade shone
dully amid the carved stone. The solid glass hit with a thud, breaking loose
some stone dust, and crashed back to the floor, where it rolled away, still in
one piece. James was getting ready to let loose another string of curses when
something else fell to the floor, too.

He glanced up. The knife blade had fallen from the shield. No
doubt that signified some kind of intensifying of the curse and soon doom would
rain down from all directions. As if it wasn’t already.

He glanced around the floor, but it was dark and he couldn’t
see what he was looking for right away.
Who cares?
Angus would find the blade and superglue it back on in the morning. Since he
didn’t plan to climb into a whiskey jar, maybe he could go drown himself in
stock prices on the Singapore exchange that was trading right now.

He turned to leave the room, and his foot brushed something on
the floor. He frowned and bent down to pick it up.

“You’re kidding me.” His words echoed off the stone floor as
his fingers closed around the curved edge of a tarnished metal disc. Was this
it? The cup base? He glanced up at the carved shield on the wall. A chunk of
stone was now missing beneath the inscription, and he could make out where the
disc had been wedged into the stone carving—which in fact might well be
concrete, now that he looked closely—at just the right angle so that only a
sliver of it had been visible, as the blade in the family crest.

The metal felt hot in his hand. At the center of the disk was a
raised point, which must fit somehow into the stem of the cup. “I don’t believe
it.”

And now he was talking to himself. The metal was incised with
carvings. Rather crude workmanship, and obviously very, very old. Early
medieval, possibly, or older. He remembered Katherine Drummond and her tiresome
urgent messages on his phone. His life might be a shambles but at least this
accursed cup could make someone happy.

He charged into the library, where her number was stored in the
book, and called her. It was still a respectable hour on the East Coast of the
United States.

She picked up immediately. “James, darling, how lovely to hear
from you!”

“Hello, Katherine, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back
to you. I—”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me. Your mother shared all the
exciting details about your engagement to that clever girl with the decal
business. I’m so happy for you.”

James’s heart sank. Obviously his mother hadn’t been so quick
to share the exciting details of his public humiliation and the revelation that
his engagement was a joke on him. “Actually, it’s a bit complicated, but
listen…” He lifted the cup base higher, and the metal gleamed dully in the light
of a nearby wall sconce. “I found the third cup piece. It was buried in the
stone crest above the fireplace in the hall. It must have been there the whole
time.”

Katherine shrieked. “I knew it! I knew you would find it.
Finally, the Drummond men will get to experience some happiness.”

His chest tightened. If only this old cup had the power to turn
back the clock. But how far back would he go—to before he ever met Fiona, so
he’d never know the pleasure of her company or the torture of her absence? Or
just to before he left her alone at his Scottish estate—so he could see the
light of curiosity flash in her eyes again or taste her lips and never know the
cruel sting of betrayal. “Actually, Fiona and I aren’t getting married.” His
voice came out flat and gruff.

“What? Your mother told me you’d be wed within the month. I’ve
been in agonies wondering if you’d invite us or not. It’s been years since I
came to Scotland, and I’ve never seen the great Drummond estate. Did you break
it off?”

“Not exactly. It’s a long story.”

“Oh, James. You do sound sad. Still, now that you’ve found the
cup you can get her back and live happily ever after. It’s as good as a
guarantee.”

“If only life really was that easy.” The tarnished metal had a
few dents, and it didn’t look like a guarantee of anything. “Still, it does make
sense to reunite the pieces of the cup and fulfill the brothers’ promise to each
other.”

A family reunion was probably the last thing he was in the mood
for right now—well, except another gossip piece in the
Straits Times—
but it had to happen so he might as well get it over
with. “Why don’t you talk to Jack and Sinclair and see when you can all come to
Scotland. We’ll have a grand ceremony here in the hall and see what kind of
magic happens.”

He was joking about the magic, of course.

Katherine laughed. “I’m sure lightning bolts will shoot across
the skies. I can’t wait! I’ll see if they’re free next week. Would that work for
you?”

“Sure.” Any week would work for him. He didn’t want to show his
face in Singapore anytime soon, for obvious reasons, so he was planning to lie
low here in Scotland until the fuss died down. Luckily, most people had very
short memories, even for scurrilous gossip. “The hospitality of Castle Drummond
awaits you at your earliest convenience.” He knew she loved that kind of
flourish.

He’d met Katherine several times over the years, usually on one
of his mother’s extravagant shopping trips to New York. He and her son,
Sinclair, had both been interested in the stock market from an early age, and
one time when they all stayed at a hotel down in Palm Beach. They’d spent each
morning poring over stock quotes on the Telex machine in the hotel lobby, as if
they were the key to all knowledge. On that same trip, or another one just like
it, he’d met Jack Drummond when the latter was a rather surly teen, dragged
along by his glamorous South American mother, whose command of English was
surprisingly bad for someone who’d lived in the United States for more than
twenty years. The reunion promised to be a diversion, at least.

“How charming! I can’t wait. Well, you get on the phone with
that lovely girl I heard about and patch things up so I can meet her at the
reunion.”

The pain of loss, edged with the cruelty of humiliation, clawed
at his gut. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is, but do it anyway. Now that we’ve found the cup
you won’t believe the good things that can happen.”

* * *

Alone again, in the chill darkness of the empty castle that
night, James found himself wishing he could call Fiona. He’d tried for three
solid weeks. And the last time he tried, someone called Julio had answered and
said he had the wrong number, so she’d apparently changed her phone number to
avoid him. His emails bounced back unread, each feeling like a hard slap to his
face. He should hate her, but he didn’t even have that satisfaction.

Because he missed her too much.

He went to bed feeling as cold and grim as the old stone walls.
Even the prospect of all the beautiful women whom he’d never met held no appeal.
The idea of jumping back on the dating merry-go-round and making small talk to
girls he had nothing in common with only made him long for Fiona’s sharp insight
and unexpected affections.

He couldn’t phone her. He couldn’t email her. So the one option
left was to track her down in person.

Eleven

F
iona’s address was written on the back of
her envelope. 1732 Whitefern Road, San Diego, California. He didn’t know if it
was her house, or her parents’, or if she was staying with a friend. It didn’t
really matter.

His pilot flew him into San Diego International Airport. He’d
arranged a rented car but had to wait a frustrating twenty minutes while they
prepared it. He entered Fiona’s address into his GPS and set out into the
darkening streets of the unfamiliar city, adrenaline pounding in his blood.

It was nearly 9:00 p.m. by the time he pulled onto leafy
Whitefern Road and found himself peering through the darkness for house
numbers.

His pulse thudded dully, but his brain was on high alert. He
didn’t know what he intended to say to Fiona, but he did know he couldn’t just
let her walk away after everything that had happened between them.

The number
1732
flashed at him from
a mailbox, so he pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. A light
flickered in the window, suggesting a television on somewhere. He climbed out
and shut the car door quietly, wanting to keep surprise on his side in case she
decided to hide from him once again.

He held his breath as the doorbell chimed.
Who could that be?
A distant voice. Not Fiona’s.
I’ll get it.

He heard footsteps moving closer and he braced himself as the
door handle turned. A tall, striking woman with long braided hair answered. She
stood expectantly in the doorway, as if waiting for him to announce his
purpose.

“I’m looking for Fiona Lam.”

“Really.” She arched a brow. “And you are?”

“James Drummond.”

“I knew it.” She pulled the door open and gestured for him to
enter.

For some reason, that wasn’t the response he expected, so he
stood for a moment before entering. “Fiona, darling, it’s for you,” she
called.

“I didn’t order anything. I thought we were going out.”

Her voice, from a distant room, made his pulse pound in his
temples. An urge to rush forward seized him, and it took every ounce of strength
to keep his cool.

“It’s a
visitor
for you.” Her tall
friend eyed him from head to toe with obvious amusement. “I understand things a
lot better now that I’ve seen you in the flesh,” she whispered. She extended her
hand and he shook it. “I’m Crystal.”

A hush descended as Fiona rounded a corner and stopped dead.
Even the distant TV sizzled into white noise as adrenaline surged through him.
“Hello, Fiona.”

* * *

Fiona realized she’d finally gone mad and started seeing
visions. Not Banquo’s ghost, but James Drummond, larger than life and standing
in Crystal’s living room.

“Aren’t you even going to say hello?” Crystal’s voice jolted
her from a fog of confusion.

“James?” She didn’t trust her eyes. Or any other part of her.
Her heart raced and she fought a violent urge to run into his arms, which were
not exactly stretched out to welcome her.

“Can we talk alone?” His tone was serious.

“And have me miss all the fun?” Crystal teased. “All right.
I’ll go hide in the bedroom in my own house so you two can straighten out the
mess you made.” She turned and headed up the stairs. Fiona wanted to beg her to
stay.
Don’t leave me alone with him.
But wasn’t this
what she’d secretly hoped for when she printed her address so carefully on the
back of the envelope?

“I’m so sorry.” The words rushed out of her on a wave of relief
that she could finally say them to his face. “I know I should never have done
it. I didn’t think it through and things got out of control, and I…”

He stepped forward and silenced her with his mouth. His kiss
was fierce, almost cruel, and she yielded to it instantly, clutching him close
and kissing him back with every ounce of strength she had left.

His lips pulled away, leaving her shaking. “Don’t think I’ve
forgiven you.” His eyes were narrowed, dark slate-gray and unreadable. “I
haven’t.”

She swallowed. Now desire pulsed through her like a stray cat
loose in the house. Her thoughts tangled and tumbled over each other. “I haven’t
forgiven myself, either. I should have told you the truth—about my father and
the factory—but it all moved so fast and there was never a right time, and then
it was too late.”

“You made a fool of me. Not just in the press, but in the
privacy of my own home.”

She shivered. “Everything that happened between us… None of
that was pretend. I really meant it.”

“How could you say that when all along you were playing me over
a piece of property?”

“I started out wanting the property, to make my father happy,
but as I got to know you, I…I…”
Why not?
“I fell in
love with you.” The words tripped over each other and came out jumbled.

“You have a strange way of showing it.” Humor glittered darkly
in his eyes, along with something more intense.

“It wasn’t fair of you to ask me to marry you when I barely
knew you.”

“You could have said no.” He cocked his head.

“Did you think I would?”

“No.” His egotism was infuriating.

“See? Maybe the whole thing was a self-fulfilling prophecy. You
thought I’d marry you just because you were handsome and rich and had a castle.
Is that a good way to entice your life partner? You should get to know someone
and find out what makes them tick before you try to take them down the
aisle.”

That glint of humor in his eyes had a hard edge. “I admit my
own aims were somewhat mercenary. I needed a wife so I could look respectable to
my Singapore business contacts. That rather backfired.”

“I heard.” She spoke softly. “Though maybe you had it coming.
You shouldn’t marry for any reason except love.”

“You really are insufferably arrogant.” He stood taller, and
seemed to tower over her.

“Look who’s talking! You’re so used to running your own show
you have no idea what to do when someone else has a different agenda.”

“Normally, I find a way to change their mind.”

“Well, you can’t always have your own way.” She pulled herself
up as tall as she could, which wasn’t very tall, especially in flip-flops. And
she became painfully aware that she was wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a
T-shirt with a duck on it.

“Not with you around.” His eyes narrowed. “And dammit, I do
want you around.” He stepped close again but instead of zeroing in for the kill
this time, he let his mouth hover just over hers, as if testing her to see if
she could manage not to kiss him.

She couldn’t. Their lips met, hot and wet, and her fingers
thrust into his hair as she tugged him close. She felt his hands roaming up and
down her back, pressing into her, almost lifting her off the ground with the
force of his embrace.

It was so good to hold him again, to let herself fall into his
arms and lose herself in his heated kisses. “You’re coming with me.” He breathed
the words into her ear.

“Where to?” His hotel?

“Scotland.”

“But I have a meeting tomorrow with—”

“Cancel it.”

“Okay.” Proctor & Gamble could wait. “Am I allowed to
pack?”

“I’ll watch while you pack. I’m not taking my eyes off you for
an instant. I have no idea what you’ll do next.”

His gray eyes bored a hole into her while she shoved some
clothes into a duffel bag and tried to hide her fistfuls of lingerie inside a
plain gray T-shirt.

“I need to change.” Was she supposed to strip down right in
front of him? Even though he’d seen it all before, it felt weird.

“Nonsense. I like ducks. Let’s go.” His face had an intensity
she’d never seen before. This whole thing was weird, like a crazy dream—or
nightmare—and she had no idea what was going to happen next, but she knew she
had to go with him.

* * *

His private jet flew them to somewhere on the east coast of
Canada for refueling, then on to Scotland. She kept expecting to hear some kind
of explanation of what he planned, but none was offered. James was very busy on
his laptop for much of the time, with only a murmured explanation that a big
market move was underway and he had to pay close attention.

She didn’t even want to argue or demand more details. Sitting
here quietly in her pj’s while the plane hummed through the night sky felt like
the beginning of a rigorous and entirely deserved punishment for her sins.

It was daylight by the time they landed in Aberdeen and James’s
driver put their bags in the trunk. “That was a quick trip, sir.”

James murmured a gruff assent. As he climbed into the back next
to her, he whispered in her ear, “I feel like a repo man.”

His breath, hot on her skin, stirred the emotion she’d tried so
hard to keep under control. “Demanding payment of debts?” She couldn’t even
remember what repo men did.

“Taking back what was mine all along.” His mouth met hers again
in a hot kiss that made her skin prickle with awareness. As the car pulled away
with them in the backseat, he deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms around her
and holding her tight against his chest.

When he was done he sat very still, staring out the window. She
still had no idea what to say, so she didn’t say anything.

Her heart swelled with a mix of fear and anticipation as they
followed the road along the berm that edged the estate and then turned into the
long drive. She’d been so sure she’d never see this beautiful place again.

Pale morning sun bathed the landscape, heightening the colors
and making it seem even more like a fairy-tale kingdom. When the car pulled up
in front of the castle, the driver opened her door and she set her first
flip-flop onto the gravel, feeling the sudden chill of the air. Smoke from a
fire and the rich smell of damp earth filled her nostrils. It was ridiculous how
much she’d missed this place.

James took her arm, an interesting formal touch, and they
walked up the front steps. “You’re in your usual room,” was all he said before
he disappeared.

Alone in her room, with her bag brought by one of the staff,
she immediately checked the top drawer of the dresser, where she’d left the
ring. Still there, twinkling quietly against the dark wood.

Her stomach tightened. Did he not see the note at the bottom of
her letter? This ring must be worth a fortune. Even a wealthy man like James
couldn’t simply forget about it.

Or did he intend for her to put it back on? Heart pounding, she
pulled it from the drawer and slipped it back onto her finger. It fit snugly and
glittered ostentatiously against her skin.

No. Too presumptuous. She took it back off and placed it
carefully in the drawer. She even found herself glancing over her shoulder as
she slid the drawer closed. She was embarrassed by the idea that someone might
see her revisiting the recent—yet so distant—past when she had been James’s
intended fiancée.

She showered and changed into a simple black dress with a row
of buttons down the front. As she did them up she wondered if James’s fingers
would be next to touch the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons. Her belly shivered at
the idea, but she tried to push it from her mind. No sense jumping to
conclusions.

She knew that dinner was served at eight, so she came down only
one minute early, not wanting to find herself alone in the grand rooms, looking
awkwardly at the paintings and smiling politely at the staff, while James was
nowhere to be seen.

The smell of roast meat filled the dining room already, and she
almost jumped when she saw James, also dressed in black, at the far end of the
room. “I asked the staff to leave dinner for us. We’re on our own.”

She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or scared. What
punishment had James in mind when he bundled her into his private jet and
brought her here? The hard planes of his face offered no clues. “Let’s eat.”

They helped themselves to racks of lamb, roast potatoes and
delicate baby carrots, and sat at the polished wood table—large enough to seat
forty—in a silence that grew more deafening with each passing second.

Three glasses each glittered with a different color of wine,
but she didn’t dare take a sip as she didn’t want her judgment any more clouded
than it already was. She managed a few bites of the delicious food, but finally
she couldn’t stand the oppressive quiet anymore. “Do you intend to run me though
and hang me from the battlements?”

James stared at her for a moment, then threw back his head and
laughed. “Tempting as that might seem, I don’t want to compound my social
disgrace by becoming a murderer.”

“Understandable. Perhaps it would be more convenient if I ran
myself through.”

“No doubt, but please don’t.” A light shimmered in his eyes.
Otherwise, his face was hard as granite. “I have a more fitting punishment in
mind.”

“What’s that?” She never did like suspense.

“I think you should be forced to follow through on the promises
you made.” His gray eyes regarded her steadily. “I held up my end of our
bargains.”

Her heart beat faster and she mustered all her strength to keep
a poker face. “True.” Did he mean that he still wanted to marry her? And if so,
was it only to make the rest of her life a living hell? “What exactly did you
have in mind?”

“Marriage, of course.”

She battled the rush of excitement that threatened to derail
all common sense. “Why would you want to marry someone you can’t trust?”

His eyes narrowed, until they looked almost black. “Keep your
enemies close.”

“Another school of thought holds that it makes more sense to
move to a different continent and forget all about them.”

His eyes glittered with amusement. “I think the Drummonds would
regard that as cowardice.”

“Ouch. You probably shouldn’t marry a coward,
­either.”

“Oh, you’re no coward. Just cautious. You knew it was a good
idea to put distance between us until I cooled off.” He leaned back in his
chair. “Very sensible, under the circumstances.”