Destiny Unleashed (11 page)

That said, she ran from the room. A moment later, William heard her bedroom door slam shut. He sighed. Oddly enough, he had forgotten about the blasted travel agency. If David Fortnum hadn’t been so intent on a merger with Harcourt & Sons, rather than a takeover by Carlton Industries, he would let it go. Fortnum was a friend, and William had little choice but to honor his promise to the man. He might have explained all that to Destiny if she hadn’t run off, but he doubted she’d believe him, and he honestly couldn’t say he blamed her.

The last notes of a flute sonata faded away and the musicians looked to him for some direction. “Go,” he said wearily. “Thank you, but I think the evening is over.”

They nodded.

“Happy New Year, sir,” they murmured as they left, but they obviously knew, as he did, that there was nothing happy about it.

Destiny knew she’d behaved appallingly by running out on William, but it had suddenly been too much for her. The admission that he’d lured her to London deliberately, the announcement that he still loved her, the suggestion that they merely pick up things where they’d left off years ago, the convenient lapse of mem
ory about his ongoing attempts to interfere in Carlton business—it was all too much.

There had been a time when him wanting her back would have meant everything to her. Now it was merely a taunting distraction. Perhaps that was what he was after, a way to get her thoughts so scrambled that she couldn’t effectively counteract whatever sneaky plot he had planned to ruin Carlton Industries.

If only he hadn’t sounded so sincere, if only her heart hadn’t taken in every word, every declaration, and slowly but surely softened toward him. Which was, no doubt, exactly what he’d been counting on, the dirty scoundrel. If Richard had been a fly on the wall during this scene, he’d have been laughing his head off at her gullibility.

It had been some time now since she’d heard the music end and the front door close. She was alone again and her eyes were dry. She felt a little foolish for having run away, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d taken the coward’s way out of a sticky situation. If she’d stayed in that room with him another second, there was no telling what she might have done. She might have launched herself straight into William’s arms, Fortnum Travel and Carlton Industries be damned. It was exactly the kind of impetuous thing she would have done years ago. William had probably been counting on that.

Her stomach growled insistently, reminding her that they’d never gotten around to eating so much as a bite of that delicious dinner he’d sent over. She wondered if he’d left it. Without bothering to wash her face or put some drops in her red and stinging eyes, she walked into the living room and stopped dead.

William sat where she’d left him, leafing through a magazine, looking as at ease as if he were in his own home. He’d taken off his jacket and loosened the tie of his tux, which gave him a rakish, far too approachable look. How could a man his age look as attractive and as exciting as he had at thirty? It didn’t seem fair. Even if she’d scrubbed her face, spent hours on her makeup and clothes, she never looked anything other than what she was—a fifty-three-year-old woman who worked to stay presentable. Oddly enough, she felt better than that when William’s appreciative gaze was on her.

“Ah,” he said when he saw her, immediate warmth lighting his eyes. “Just in time.”

She scowled at him. “Why are you still here?”

“I came to celebrate New Year’s with you. I waited to do just that.”

“What if I’d stayed in my room?”

He grinned at that, mischief written all over his face. “Then I would have joined you.”

She could see he meant it. She hugged her robe a little tighter and tried not to think of what a sight her tear-streaked and swollen face must be. “I thought I’d made it clear that I wanted you to go.”

His gaze never faltered. “And I thought I’d made it clear that I don’t intend to be put off this time. I’m not giving up, Destiny. Not again. No matter what it takes, I will win your trust back.”

“Just give up for tonight,” she pleaded, desperately needing time to regain her equilibrium, time to sort through the priorities she’d set for herself when she’d come to England. Allowing herself to succumb to William had not been on the agenda.

He shook his head. “Not even for tonight.”

She regarded him with irritation. “You always did insist on having your own way.”

“As did you,” he said mildly. “Perhaps it’s time we both learned to compromise. Share a glass of champagne with me. Greet the New Year. And then I’ll go. There’s nothing too scary about that, is there?”

“I’m not scared of you,” she said sharply.

He laughed. “Sorry. My mistake. It must be your feelings for me that scare you, then.”

She felt her lips twitch, despite her annoyance. “You never did lack for ego, did you?”

He winked at her. “Never saw any need to.” He stood up. “Champagne, Destiny?”

If it would get him out of here sooner, then she would drink the entire bottle. “Yes.”

He handed her a glass, then glanced toward the clock. “Eleven-thirty. We’ve just enough time to eat before the clock strikes twelve.”

“Isn’t it all ruined?”

“I moved most of it into the kitchen. The salads are chilled and still crisp, I imagine. And the prime rib is warming in the oven. Shall I bring it in here?”

“Let’s eat in there,” she suggested. Perhaps the informal setting and the stark, uncomplimentary lighting would take the romance out of things, though if her attire and her blotchy face hadn’t accomplished that for him, nothing would.

“Fine with me,” he said agreeably.

Destiny led the way and saw why he’d been so amenable. He’d already set the table, anticipating her choice. He’d added candles, as well, and he promptly lit them and cut off the glaring overhead lights.

Sighing, Destiny helped him put the food on the table without comment.

When he’d graciously pulled out her chair and seated her, she took the first bite of salad—a mix of field greens, pears, walnuts and blue cheese—and her appetite returned. She ate the rest ravenously, then eyed his untouched plate.

“A good cry always did make you hungry,” William noted as he gave her his salad. “It always shocked me that you could be so emotional one minute and starving the next. Maybe that’s what passion is all about.”

She regarded him curiously. “How so?”

“Everything is approached with total abandon—emotions, work, food.” His gaze caught hers. “Sex.”

“Don’t go there,” she admonished.

He grinned. “If you say so. Are you ready for the prime rib now?”

She nodded. But after he’d placed it in front of her, she couldn’t seem to make herself cut into it. William regarded her with concern.

“Too rare? Too well done?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Do you no longer eat beef? It used to be your favorite.”

Destiny sighed. “That’s it, actually. The fact that you remembered that it’s my favorite. It’s caught me by surprise that you still know me so well.”

“Those were memorable times, Destiny. At least for me.”

The clever words slipped past her defenses and snuck into her heart yet again. She’d never been a silly, sentimental woman, or at least she didn’t think
she had been, but she was succumbing far too easily to every charming word William uttered.

Determined not to let him see her vulnerability for an instant, she picked up her fork and knife and savagely cut into the tender meat.

“Pretending that’s me?” he asked dryly, laughter dancing in his eyes.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” she responded.

“Ah, Destiny, how am I going to win your trust again?”

“I’m not sure you can,” she admitted with an unmistakable hint of sorrow in her voice.

“I will,” he responded, undaunted.

Just then the clock chimed midnight. William stood and rounded the table, even as Destiny’s heart thumped wildly in her chest. When she didn’t look up, he waited and waited some more.

“Destiny,” he said quietly, a chiding note in his voice.

She stood and faced him then, reminding herself that it was only a New Year’s kiss he was after, at least for the moment.

His mouth covered hers and she knew in an instant that she’d been right to hide from the kiss. Because in that sweet moment, with his lips hard and persuasive against hers, with their breath tangling and her pulse racing, she knew with absolute certainty that he was after more. He wanted her heart.

And if she didn’t maintain the most rigid self-control, she would very likely give it to him.

W
illiam returned to work after the holidays feeling more upbeat than he had in years. Everything was going according to plan. Not that Destiny was exactly falling straight back into his arms, but her resolve to fight him was weakening. That much had been evident in the kiss they’d shared on New Year’s Eve.

Well-satisfied with the several successes of his plan over the holidays, he whistled as he poured his first cup of tea of the morning. He was startled when Malcolm knocked and then entered his office without waiting for an invitation. Not that William stood on formality, but it was rare that Malcolm didn’t. He regarded his assistant warily.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“I suppose that depends on your point of view, sir.” Malcolm held out one of the London tabloids. He gripped it by its corner as if he feared contamination, then dropped it gingerly on William’s desk. “If you’ll look at page three, sir, I think you’ll see the problem.”

Page three of this particular paper was filled with the latest gossip making the rounds in London. It relied on rumor and half truths, often skirting libel. Because of its generally lascivious tenor, respectable
members of London society preferred not to be mentioned, even in the most innocent way.

“Just tell me,” William said impatiently.

“I’d rather you see for yourself.”

Scowling in Malcolm’s direction, he picked up the paper and opened it, only to see a shocking photo of himself and Destiny on her living room sofa, her in her robe and those silly slippers, him in his tuxedo, her hands in his. There was no question in his mind that it had been taken New Year’s Eve, sometime at the height of their argument if her distressed expression was any indication of the timing.

“What the devil?” he muttered as his temper kicked in. “Who took this?”

“Anticipating that question, I made several calls in an attempt to discover that myself, but the paper’s executives are falling back on the usual evasion,” Malcolm said with undisguised disgust. “They merely cited the confidentiality of their sources, which they were happy to remind me is one of the first canons of journalistic ethics.” He shook his head. “As if they truly give a damn about that.”

“It is a handy catchphrase, though, isn’t it?” William responded.

Whether the paper acknowledged it or not, the source had to be one of the musicians he’d hired. They were the only ones in the apartment at the right time that evening and they’d definitely been close enough to get this particular shot. It wasn’t grainy enough to have been taken by a telephoto lens from some distant balcony.

“I’ll deal with this, Malcolm,” he said, resolving to call Ian Whitcomb immediately. Ian was as trust
worthy as they came, but William had known only one of the two musicians Ian had brought with him. He’d never considered him to be particularly shady, but the third one was a total wild card.

“I was certain you would want to,” Malcolm said. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“So am I,” William responded grimly.

He was also furious, but he suspected his own high emotions were nothing compared to the outrage Destiny was probably feeling about now. This disaster couldn’t have come at a worse time. Given how suspicious she was of his motives, there was little question that she was going to turn this into a deliberate betrayal, an attempt by him to weaken her position in European business circles, to make her an object of ridicule just when she was trying to establish herself as a credible businesswoman.

Worst of all, he was damned if he could blame her. If the shoe had been on the other foot, if she had appeared unannounced on
his
doorstep and this had been the result, he would have suspected the same thing himself.

“Mr. Harcourt is here,” Miriam announced in a low voice when Destiny responded to her secretary’s buzz. “Shall I send him in?” There was a note of indignation in her voice that suggested she would much rather stick a knife in his heart.

Destiny felt a chill go down her spine. “No, you can tell that low-down, scheming scoundrel to go back to whatever rat hole he climbed out of.”

The words were scarcely out of her mouth when the door to her office burst open and William strolled in.

“Get out!” Destiny said, seething at his audacity. Not that it surprised her. William had always had confidence enough for ten men. New Year’s Eve had been reminder enough of that. “Leave at once or I will call Security and have you tossed from the premises. Perhaps I’ll call the media first, so they can get a good shot of it for tomorrow’s editions. Then they’ll know exactly what I think of you and your low-class activities.”

William had the grace to grimace. “You’ve seen the paper, then. I was hoping you hadn’t.”

“Yes, I imagine you were.”

“I understand why you’re upset,” he began.

“Upset,” she nearly shouted, as furious about his patronizing tone as she was about that ridiculous photograph. “That doesn’t begin to cover it. I could strangle you right now with my bare hands and do it without a twinge of conscience. I’m sure Miriam would be happy to swear that she never saw a thing. In fact, she’d probably happily help me dispose of the body.”

He winced at the certainty in her voice. “Yes, well, I’m not all that happy myself at the moment, but your fury is misdirected. I had nothing to do with that photo in the paper. I’m as much a victim as you are.”

She couldn’t believe he thought her to be so gullible. “Yes, men are always ruined when it appears they’ve made a conquest, aren’t they?” she asked with a real bite of sarcasm.

“The picture is not my doing,” he repeated.

“Do you deny that it was taken inside my apartment?”

“No.”

“And that people you hired must have taken it?”

“There’s no proof of that, but, yes, it certainly looks that way.”

She blinked at his ready agreement. “Then why shouldn’t I blame you? Do you think one of those musicians brought along a little throwaway camera just on the off chance something fascinating might happen? Perhaps it’s a little sideline one of them has developed over the years—scandal and blackmail. How lovely of you to make it so convenient for them.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “More likely, someone else put them up to it. I’d like to find out who, wouldn’t you?”

“I already know who did it, dammit! Now get out.”

“You’re repeating yourself, Destiny. Worse, you’re showing an uncharacteristic lack of open-mindedness.”

“If I’m repeating myself, it’s because you’re obviously not listening. As for open-mindedness, I think there’s little evidence that it’s called for in this case.”

“You’re the one who’s not listening,” he said quietly. “I had nothing to do with that picture. Which means someone is out to catch you or me or maybe both of us in a compromising position.”

“Well, they certainly accomplished that, didn’t they?” She stared at him and waited for her temper to cool. When she could speak calmly, she asked, “Do you honestly expect me to believe it was someone else?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He smiled slightly. “Because I’ve never lied to you.”

“You keep saying that,” she said with exasperation. “Yet the evidence to the contrary keeps piling up.”

“Only if you choose to believe it.”

Destiny sighed. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know who or what to believe anymore.” She picked up the shredded newspaper from the waste basket beside her desk. “Except for this. My God, William, what are people going to think of me now? There I was, sitting in my rumpled bathrobe, looking for all the world as if I just crawled out of bed, with you sitting beside me looking like the cat that swallowed the Carlton Industries canary. It’s humiliating.”

“Or you can view it as a call to arms,” he suggested lightly. “It’s time to take a good look around, Destiny, and see who’d like you to fail here.”

“Besides you?”

“I don’t want you to fail,” he said fiercely. “Why the devil would I want to do anything that might drive you away from London? It took me too damn long to get you here.”

He had a point…if, of course, he was being honest. Damned if she could tell anymore. She’d been wavering until she’d seen this morning’s paper.

If there was a chance, though, that it
was
someone else, she needed to look into it and prepare for battle. William wouldn’t be a bad ally, if that turned out to be the case.

“Say I believe that you weren’t involved, where do we start to find out who
was
behind it? The newspaper?” She knew from planting a few clever items in the past herself, though, that no one there would ever admit to a thing.

“No, I’ve already had someone go that route. The editors are tight-lipped. But as you suggested, those musicians are my prime suspects. I’m going to have a chat with the man I hired when I leave here. Would you like to come along?”

She stood at once. “Just try to stop me.”

He laughed as she strode past him and out of the building at a brisk clip. “Out for blood, are you?”

“No more than you must be, if you’re as innocent as you’d have me believe,” she said. On the assumption that William hadn’t hired the musicians to do more than play their flutes, she asked thoughtfully, “Did you know these men before you hired them?”

“Two of the three, yes. I can’t imagine that Ian’s involved in something this underhanded. His friend always seemed a stand-up man, as well, but I know nothing about the third one.”

“Are we starting with him, then?” she asked as she stepped into the car William had waiting at the curb.

“No, we’ll go to the one I know best,” William said decisively, already giving instructions to his driver. “Ian should prove more open. I send a lot of business his way.”

They found Ian Whitcomb half asleep in a two-room flat in a seedy part of London inhabited by struggling musicians, actors and artists. He brightened when he saw the two of them on his doorstep.

“You’ve made up, then,” he said enthusiastically. “Good show!”

“Save your excitement,” William said. “The truce is in danger, thanks to someone who has it in for one of us.”

Ian stared at him blankly. “You’d better come in.
You’re not making sense, bloke.” He gave Destiny a winning smile as he swept a pile of sheet music off of a chair and offered it to her. “So, what’s up?”

William handed him the paper.

“Blimey, who did this?” Ian asked, looking genuinely shocked. “It looks as if the picture was taken on New Year’s Eve.”

“It was,” Destiny confirmed. “And the only people around were you and your friends.”

“You can’t think it was one of us,” he said indignantly. “We wouldn’t get many jobs if it got round that we’d sell gossip or photos to the highest bidder.”

“What other alternative is there?” William asked.

Ian seemed stymied by the question, but then his expression suddenly brightened. “Wait a minute! I remember now. The two of you were having your argument and we were playing right through it, when there was this bright flash of light. About blinded me, it did. I looked at my mates and said something about the fireworks starting early. You can speak to ’em yourself, if you doubt me, but that must have been it. It must have been a flashbulb going off just outside.”

Destiny looked at William. “I remember that flash,” she said slowly. “In fact, I asked you about it, but you hadn’t noticed it at all. Could there have been someone on my balcony? How would they have gotten there?”

William’s expression turned grim. “Let’s go and have a look, shall we?” He glanced at Ian. “I hope you’re telling the truth.”

“I’ve no reason to lie to you,” Ian insisted. “And Ms. Carlton just said she saw the light herself. If you doubt me, then you have to doubt her.”

Back in William’s car, Destiny looked at him. “Do you believe him?”

“Let’s just say I’m reserving judgment until I see what the outside access is like to your balcony.”

“But, William, how would anyone else have known that you and I were together that night? We never made any plans. The only people who knew were those you hired.”

“And the doorman of your building who let me in,” he said slowly.

“But why would he…?” Destiny’s voice trailed off. “Chester.”

William stared at her. “What the devil does Chester Sandhurst have to do with this?”

“He saw to the rental of that flat for me. It would be easy enough for him to bribe the doorman into reporting back to him about your presence. He’s suspicious of my friendship with you, and he’s not especially happy about answering to me.”

William looked skeptical. “But Chester as a spy? Really, Destiny, I don’t think he has the ingenuity, much less the gumption for it.”

She gave him an impatient look. “I doubt he was out there personally leaping from balcony to balcony, but he has the motive and wherewithal to hire somebody more daring to do his dirty work.”

“But all of this had to be accomplished on very short notice,” William reminded her. “The night of your party, I’m almost certain he told me he was going to Devon for the holidays.”

“There are phones in Devon,” Destiny said. “And it’s easy enough to have people on standby even on holidays, if you pay them enough. A call from the
doorman to Chester, another from Chester to his sleazy photographer. How long could that take?”