A Trap So Tender (2 page)

A crazy idea flashed into his brain. “Come look for it.”

“What?” Her eyes widened.

“Come to Scotland. I have to take a trip back myself right now
to deal with some estate matters. You said you’d like to visit. Take a break
from the rat race and breathe some highland air.”

She was silent, and he could almost hear the cogs turning in
her brain. Her eyes sparkled and he could see the idea intrigued her. “But I
don’t even know you.”

“I’m pretty well-known around town. Ask people about me.”

“What will they tell me?” She looked deadly serious.

“That I play by my own rules, but always stand by my word.” He
hesitated, knowing what else she would hear. “That I’m happiest when sinking my
teeth into a new business.” He deliberately avoided the part about his alleged
Casanova ways.

Her eyes had narrowed slightly, and she appeared to be
considering his proposal. His pulse ratcheted and he realized how much he wanted
her to accept. Even the usually unwelcome prospect of returning to the grim and
vast baronial castle and the manager’s endless to-do list seemed less daunting
with the prospect of the lovely Fiona in residence.

“Okay.” She spoke quietly, but without hesitation.

“You’ll come?” He couldn’t believe it.

“I will.” She sat back in her chair, expression still serious.
“I’ve always wanted to go to Scotland, I love the idea of looking for an ancient
relic, and I have nothing better to do right now. Why not?”

“Why not, indeed?” They discussed dates for a minute or two and
he sent a text to his pilot while the waiter served their food. For the first
time in as long as he could remember, his nerves crackled with excitement over
something other than an intriguing business deal. “Done. We leave tomorrow.”

* * *

“Great.” Fiona’s voice faltered slightly. This was moving so
much faster than she expected. “Who knew I’d be eating sea urchin and going to
Scotland all in the space of one week?”

What would her dad think about her leaving so soon after she’d
arrived? The main purpose of her stay here was to build their relationship.
After ten days they’d barely managed to relax enough to hold a conversation, and
now she was taking off around the world with his sworn enemy?

She’d have to explain her plan. He’d understand and know she
was only doing it for him. He’d be so happy when she figured out how to wrest
his factory back from James Drummond’s octopuslike embrace. This man needed to
be stopped, and she wasn’t afraid to do it.

“Will you stay there with me?” This thought occurred to her for
the first time almost as she said it. He’d asked her to come to his house and
look for the cup. While snooping around his ancestral home might be fun, she
couldn’t achieve her main goal unless he was there.

“Of course. I wouldn’t invite a guest and then take off.” He
frowned. “Then again, I probably have done that, but I promise I won’t this
time. I need to put in some face time there. The natives get restless if the
lord of the manor goes AWOL for too long.”

“Is it really like that?”

He nodded. “I don’t understand why they care what I do, but
they seem to feel I should be there judging flower displays at the village fete
and hosting banquets on obscure saints’ days.”

“Very medieval.” There was something sexy about that. Which
just proved how loopy she could be. He obviously hated it and ran off to
Singapore all the time to avoid his feudal responsibilities. “Do you get to have
people executed if they cross you?”

“I’ve never tried.” A tiny smile tugged at his broad, seductive
mouth. “I don’t think anyone’s ever ticked me off that badly.”

I might.
She let her own secret
smile slip across her lips. “Are they putting pressure on you to find a lady of
the manor?”

He laughed. “They wouldn’t dare.” Then his eyes darkened.
“Though I’m sure they would if they didn’t think it would make me run for the
hills.”

They certainly wouldn’t be too enthused about her, a snarky
American with her roots in Singapore. No doubt they’d prefer a delicate Scottish
rose with red-gold hair and pink cheeks, who thought arranging flowers on the
church altar was the ideal way to spend a weekend.

Not that James was bringing her there to romance her. In fact,
she had no idea why he did want her to come. She frowned and looked at him. His
eyes smiled slightly when she met them, sending a frisson of…what? Excitement,
terror and hot lust coursing right through her.

Did he really want her to find the cup? Surely someone closer
to home would be a better choice. Did he want to bed her?

Yes. The subtle gleam in his eye made no secret of that. Maybe
he was a lothario. And maybe he’d be disappointed in his efforts to add her to
his list of conquests.

She took a bite of her sea urchin, sitting almost forgotten on
her plate, and was surprised to find it tender and delicious. James was very
distracting. She’d better make sure she kept her mind on her task—getting her
father’s factory back. “This is good.”

“I told you it would be. Now you know you can trust me.”

She laughed, partly because he said it so innocently, as if he
really believed it. If she didn’t know of his reputation as a heartless
corporate shark, she’d have taken him for a genuinely nice guy. He certainly
seemed generous and enthusiastic. Luckily for her, his reputation preceded him.
“I don’t trust that easily. I do apparently have a taste for adventure, though.
I’m excited about coming to Scotland.”

“You’ll win the reward if you find the cup.”

“If I do, I’ll donate it to charity. I’m not exactly hurting
for money after the sale of Smileworks.”

“What are you going to do next?”

That’s for me to know and you to find out
after I’ve done it.
She shrugged. “Whatever takes my fancy. I’m in no
rush.” Maybe she could convince him to sell her the factory for a pittance. She
wasn’t sure why he’d bought it in the first place. “What’s your latest
project?”

“I’m becoming interested in real estate. Sooner or later this
recession will end and people will want everything bigger and better and newer
than ever.”

“And you plan to be poised to take advantage of that.”

He sipped his wine. That mouth was wasted on a businessman. He
should have been a pouting rock star. “I try to be ready for anything.”

Her father’s factory was centrally located in an old business
district that was ripe for redevelopment into a yuppie paradise. The building
was from the 1950s and looked like a giant shoebox. Until six weeks ago it had
employed eighteen people and provided her father with his only source of income.
But James had engaged in some skullduggery with the local government and managed
to buy it out from under her dad for a pittance in unpaid taxes. At least that
was how she understood it. All the workers had been laid off, and her dad was
now facing bankruptcy, so the clock was ticking.

When she was younger, her dad had owned a chain of restaurants,
but that had apparently disappeared. They’d had so little contact with him after
she moved to the States with her mom that she was surprised to find him so close
to the edge, when family legend had pegged him as a high-rolling, self-made
tycoon.

She’d always planned to show him just how like him she was when
she made her first million. Her anticipated triumph had been utterly destroyed
by his sudden ruin. Now it looked as if she’d come to Singapore to crow over the
father who abandoned her, when that was the very opposite of her intention.

Her heart squeezed. She’d grown up without her dad and she
wasn’t going to lose him now. “I try to be ready for anything, too. And I had no
idea I was so ready to go to Scotland with a complete stranger.”

He lifted his glass. “Here’s to the unexpected.”

She smiled and clinked hers against it.
If
you only knew.

Two

“T
hese berms mark the edge of the estate.”
James nodded to the window of the fast-moving Land Rover that had picked them up
at Aberdeen airport.

Fiona peered out. Anticipation coursed through her body. Which
was ridiculous. She was here on the most underhanded mission, yet she felt
excited as if she genuinely hoped to find that damn cup and maybe even have a
torrid affair with James while she did it. Deep ditches on the side of the road
swooped up into high walls of grass and trees. They drove straight along this
avenue for almost twenty minutes. “How big is the estate?”

“Big. But don’t worry. We’ll reach the business end soon.”
Eventually, the road swung around and took them through a tall stone gateway.
Hills soared around them, making her feel tiny in the dramatic landscape. “My
ancestors liked privacy.”

“And you don’t?”

“Not that much.” He smiled. “A wall between me and my neighbors
is quite enough. I don’t need a few miles.”

“Then it’s lucky you’ll have me here to bother you.”

“It is.”

Her skin tingled at the affirmation that he was glad of her
company. She should feel guilty that she was here only to get her father’s
factory back. She didn’t, though. The reports she’d read of James’s business
practices had made her toes curl. He was all about the bottom line and clearly
didn’t care whom he steamrolled over on the road to more greenbacks. And he
hadn’t brought her here just to find some old cup. She wasn’t the worldliest
person, but she’d been around the block to know he had some ulterior motive
himself, even if it was just a highland fling.

The road was dead straight, carved right through the undulating
landscape in what must have been an engineering feat to rival building the
pyramids. High hedges loomed ahead, and once they passed those her jaw dropped
as a menacing storybook castle rose in front of them.

A complex of buildings, mossy-gray stone in styles that looked
medieval, Tudor, Victorian, even Roman, spread in all directions. “It’s
huge.”

“It was more or less a town in its heyday. Everyone lived
inside the defended area. Some still do—the estate manager and his staff.”

“I can see how a person could get lonely here.”

“You don’t know the half of it. Makes Singapore seem very
welcoming by comparison.”

Fiona stared at him for a moment, feeling sudden affection for
this man who felt more at home in a bustling, noisy Asian city than in the
baronial halls of his ancestors. He seemed more human all the time.

Again, not a good thing.

“You must need a large staff to keep this place alive.”

“Not really. I know the villagers think I should do more with
it, but as long as someone keeps the roof solid and the windows sealed, it takes
care of itself. Sheep keep the grass down. A stone fortress is very low
maintenance compared to a modern house.”

Someone must climb on a scaffold almost weekly to keep those
monster hedges at the entrance manicured to perfection. Maybe he had no idea how
much work it took to keep the place running. He probably didn’t care. It was all
pocket change to him.

The car pulled up in a gravel courtyard the size of a football
field. Not a weed in sight. Two men in dark suits carrying walkie-talkies
appeared from behind more manicured bushes, but stilled at the sight of the
car.

“The hired security. I don’t know what my cousin was thinking
when she announced a reward for finding the cup.”

“She knew it would get people interested. Obviously she was
right.” James climbed out of the car, and the driver opened her door and helped
her out. She was starting to feel like a royal dignitary with all this VIP
treatment. It might be hard to go back to ordinary life after this.

An older man emerged from the house and he and the driver
carried their bags inside after a brief exchange with James. “Is he your
butler?”

James nodded. “We call Angus the household manager. Sounds more
modern, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes.” There was nothing modern about any of this. Which
piqued her curiosity to get more of a glimpse into James Drummond’s rarefied
life. With no bags to carry, she walked across the vast expanse of gravel
feeling rather at a loss. Her cute stiletto heels kept tipping her this way and
that, and James’s bold stride almost left her behind by the time they reached a
veritable cliff of stone steps.

He turned and extended his arm. She had no choice but to take
it. She tried to ignore the trickle of sensation that crept up her arm and
across her body. You’d think a full day of travel in close proximity to the man
might have killed any spark of sexual attraction. Unfortunately, however, it had
stoked it into a steady flame. Good thing she was ruled by her head and not more
unpredictable parts of her anatomy.

The doorway into the house looked more suited to a grand
cathedral. She almost expected the smell of incense and the murmur of monks;
instead, she was greeted by an aroma of bacon and the distant barking of
dogs.

“You have dogs?”

“Not me. I travel too much. The hounds for the local hunt are
kept on the estate. They gather here to hunt and I join them when I’m around. I
won’t do it when you’re here, of course.”

“Why not?”

“It would be rude of me to leave you.”

“Maybe I could come, too?” She lifted a brow.

He frowned. “Hunting is done on horseback.”

She laughed, a loud, ringing sound that bounced off the stone
walls. “I may be American but I’m not an idiot.”

“You ride?”

“Of course.” She decided to stride ahead, as if this news were
nothing special. Inside she was glowing with triumph. James Drummond obviously
had no idea what he had on his hands with her. “Where will I sleep?”

“Upstairs.” He followed her. “I’ll show you myself.”

Her bedroom looked fit for a queen. Perhaps one about to be
executed in the Bloody Tower. A high, four-poster bed stood in the center of the
room, curtains pulled back halfway to reveal rich brocade bedding. Tiny leaded
windows filled the room with a gloomy half light. The large Oriental rug was
worn and faded, possibly by hundreds of years of use. What appeared to be a
priceless Ming vase stood high on the stone mantel. “Your family doesn’t go in
for redecorating, do they?”

He chuckled. “Not since about 1760. You could say we’re a bit
set in our ways.”

“At least you don’t waste money on passing fads.”

“Not often. These newfangled glass windows were controversial
when they first came out, but we like them.”

She smiled. “And you can still open them to pour boiling oil on
marauders.”

“Absolutely. The designers thought of everything.”

“Is there a bathroom, or have those not established themselves
in fashion for long enough?”

He gestured to a low wood door. She pulled the handle with some
trepidation, and was surprised when it opened into a large, heavily marbled room
with an appropriately antique-looking tub and sink and toilet in sparkling
condition. At least she wouldn’t have to wash herself from a jug.

“There’s no shower, I’m afraid. We’re still not convinced those
are here to stay, but water does come out of the taps, so you won’t have to call
for Angus to bring it.”

“That is a relief. I’m not sure I want Angus seeing me in a
towel.” She wanted to laugh, but somehow managed not to. “I am beginning to
worry about finding this cup.”

“Why?” He frowned, which annoyingly made him look even more
handsome.

“The place makes big look small.”

“It’s sprawling, but quite simple to navigate, and there’s
little clutter to deal with. The Drummonds always seem to have gone in for a
sparse, minimalist style.”

“How forward thinking.”

“Are you tired?”

“No. I was thinking about that bacon and what lucky person
might get to eat it.”

He laughed. “Let’s go.”

Breakfast was served in a grand hall. They sat at a long wooden
table, its surface polished to a high sheen. The blue-and-white porcelain plates
had probably been imported from China in the 1700s. After they ate their fill
from a collection of covered dishes, James offered to give her a whirlwind tour
of the castle.

“You might be the first non-Drummond to see inside the east
wing this century,” he murmured, as he pulled open a wood door studded with dark
iron. He ducked through the low entranceway.

“Are you sure you won’t have to kill me because I’ve seen too
much?” Her skin prickled with excitement, partly from gaining entry to the
Drummonds’ inner sanctum, but mostly from continued proximity to James.

“Time will tell.” He shot her a dark gray glance that made her
freeze for a second, until she saw the humor sparkling behind his steely
visage.

She swallowed. Time would tell all, but she’d make sure to put
plenty of distance between them before that happened.

He gestured for her to enter. The hallway was narrow and she
brushed against his arm as she passed. Even through his expensive shirt, his
touch still sent a hot flash of awareness coursing through her. What did his
body look like under his elegant armor? Was he muscled and athletic, or was that
just her fevered imagination at work?

Her heart pumped faster as she entered the low hallway with its
coffered ceiling. Her cute shoes clacked annoyingly on the flagstone floor.
James could probably lock her up in one of these rooms and it would be
months—years—before anyone found her. “Where are you taking me?”

“The oldest part of the house. It’s where Drummonds piled their
junk once they cleared it out of the more inhabited rooms. It’s the first place
I’d suggest looking for the cup piece.”

“What kind of shape is it?” Online research into the story had
told her it was the base of the cup they were looking for, but no need for him
to know she’d done some digging on her own.

“Round, I’d guess. It’s the part that sits on the table, the
base, so it could be a hexagon or similar.”

“I hope it hasn’t been thrown away over the years.”

“Or melted down to make bullets. That’s the kind of thing the
Drummonds might do with miscellaneous metal.”

“They sound a lovely bunch, your ancestors.”

“‘Keep thy blade sharp’ is the family motto. It’s right on the
crest under the raven’s claws.”

That might explain James’s ruthless pursuit of his goals. He
had no idea she even knew of his reputation. She decided to call his bluff. “You
seem so different.”

“Am I?” He didn’t look at her, but out a small leaded window,
at the white sky. “Sometimes I wonder.”

“Why do you think of yourself as ruthless?” Maybe she could
make him peer into his own hard heart and appeal to his sense of right and wrong
to get her father’s factory back. Then he’d be grateful to her for helping him
see the light. They could be friends—or lovers?—and live happily ever after.

Reality smacked her in the face as his laugh bounced off the
thick stone walls. “I think I’m the last person you should ask about that.”

She decided not to push further. Not yet. She was here as his
guest, and she didn’t want him getting suspicious about her motives. The hallway
seemed to go on forever, and all the doors along it were closed. “What’s behind
all these doors?”

“Small bedrooms. Probably once inhabited by vassals.”

“What the heck is a vassal?”

He chuckled. “Hangers-on. People who lived off the good
grace—what little there was of it—of the auld Drummonds.”

Like me.
“Interesting. What would
they get out of keeping such people around?”

“People who are obligated come in useful when you need a favor.
Or some dirty work done.”

She glanced behind her, for no good reason. Had James brought
her here for reasons of his own? She thought she was so cunning to get invited
into the heart of his empire, but maybe he had his own nefarious plans for
her.

The fearsome clack of her own shoe heels was getting on her
rather raw nerves.

Suddenly James took a turn to the left and pulled back an iron
bolt on a tall wood door. “Welcome to the oldest part of the castle.”

The door opened onto a sort of balcony. She stepped through it
and peered over a stone rampart into a square-shaped hall. Antique wood
furniture sprawled uninvitingly on the flagstone floor of the hall about thirty
feet below where they stood. Above them a ceiling of great wood beams had
probably held up the roof for a thousand years.

James marched along a gallery and down a flight of narrow wood
stairs toward the main floor. She followed slowly, staring around the space. She
could almost feel the presence of all the men and women who must have breathed
the air in this space over the years. “This is incredible. How come you don’t
use it?”

“The newer parts of the castle are more comfortable. And they
have heat.”

A grand stone fireplace stood cold and empty. Visions of a
roaring flame, and maybe something roasting on a spit, crowded her mind. “How
strange to think that your ancestors have lived here since the day it was
built.”

“They haven’t.” He stared up at a carved crest above the
fireplace. “Gaylord Drummond lost the whole estate in a game of dice in the
eighteenth century. That’s how some of the Drummonds ended up in America. He
gambled and drank away everything they owned except the one mysterious cup
everyone’s so excited about, so his three sons took off for the untamed shores
of the New World to make their fortunes. There they apparently split up the cup
and each took a piece, vowing to reunite it one day.” His stony gaze still
rested on the chiseled stone.

“And one of them ended up back here.”

“He made a killing in beaver pelts up in Canada.”

“Poor beavers.”

“They used to make hats out of their fur. Very waterproof,
apparently. He made his fortune, then sailed back here and bought the place from
the son of the farmer who had won it from his father.”