Girl on a Diamond Pedestal

“I would say that this is business,” he said. “That it’s not personal. But that would be a lie.”

She swallowed hard. “Would it?”

“Yes. I don’t need the money your home would bring in as a boutique hotel. I don’t need the money that would come in from buying Grey’s. But I don’t want my father to have it. And that’s where you come in.”

“Me?”

“It was a nice accident, seeing that your home was about to be foreclosed on. I thought I might be able to help you out. For a fee.”

“A fee?”

“There is no such thing as a free lunch. Or, in your case, a free manor home a reasonable commuter distance from the city.”

“You must realize that I don’t have anything to give you,” she said, her heart sinking into her stomach at about the same moment the back of her neck started to prickle. He must know she didn’t have money. Which meant he must want something else. And that couldn’t be anything good.

“I have a proposition for you.”

She gave him a pointed glare and drew on every shred of strength she’d been building in herself for the past year. “If this has anything to do with filling the position in your life that my mother filled in your father’s you can take your proposition and shove it up your—”

“I’d like you to be my wife.”

MAISEY YATES
was an avid Mills & Boon
^®
Modern
^™
Romance reader before she began to write them. She still can’t quite believe she’s lucky enough to get to create her very own sexy alpha heroes and feisty heroines. Seeing her name on one of those lovely covers is a dream come true.

Maisey lives with her handsome, wonderful, diaper-changing husband and three small children across the street from her extremely supportive parents and the home she grew up in, in the wilds of Southern Oregon, USA. She enjoys the contrast of living in a place where you might wake up to find a bear on your back porch and then heading into the home office to write stories that take place in exotic urban locales.

Recent titles by the same author:

HAJAR’S HIDDEN LEGACY
THE ARGENTINE’S PRICE
THE HIGHEST PRICE TO PAY
MARRIAGE MADE ON PAPER

Did you know these are also available as eBooks?
Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Girl on a
Diamond Pedestal

Maisey Yates

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my mom, Peggy,
for always encouraging me to simply be me.

And many thanks to Robyn, Gabby, Nicola,
for giving me coaching on my Australian phrases.

B
IRCH
Manor was the last constant left. The only thing remaining in her life that had always been there. Everyone else, her mother, her piano teacher, her fans … they were gone. The house was all she had.

Until the bank took it, at least.

Noelle sighed and looked out the window, her stomach tightening as the glossy black Town Car drove through the open wrought-iron gates and around the circular drive, stopping in front of the door to the manor.

She moved away from the window and hoped her guest didn’t notice the twitching curtains. It was too sad really, that she’d been reduced to this. Waiting for her home to be taken, watching for the financier coming to appraise the property. Waiting to be evicted. She had no idea where she would go.

The check she’d gotten last week had come with a handwritten note informing her that this would likely be the last royalty check for the foreseeable future. The company wasn’t selling her old albums anymore, and several of her digital albums had been taken down from the big websites. No one wanted her music.

Not that the royalties had been amazing over the past year. Hardly anything really, enough to buy a latté on the odd occasion. Now she wouldn’t even have that any more.

Suddenly she wanted the hot, frothy drink so badly she thought she might cry.

She was a sad case. Poor Noelle. She’d throw a pity party if she thought anyone would come. Well, the bank might if there was something to repossess. She laughed into the vast, empty entryway, then straightened her skirt and took her place in front of the door, not really sure why she was bothering to play hostess, only that it was reflexive. Her mother would have expected it of her. Demanded it.

Of course, her mother wasn’t here.

Noelle sucked in a sharp breath and reached for the doorknob. Her fingers tightened around it, waiting for the knock, and as soon as it pierced the silence, she tugged the door open. Her heart skipped, spinning a downward spiral into her stomach as she took in the man standing before her.

Tall and broad, in a suit that was definitely not of the standard-issue, bank-employee variety, but quality, custom made and tailored to flatter his amazing, masculine physique.

His lips curved into a smile, not a warm one, but one that she felt down to her toes. His eyes were dark, deep like chocolate, but without any of the sweetness. Her stomach tightened, a strong, sharp craving overwhelming her.

For coffee. Still coffee.

“Ms. Birch?” He had a nice voice too, rich and luxuriant, just like the suit. Why couldn’t it have been obnoxious? Nasal or high or something. But no, it was low and husky, smooth with a drop-dead-sexy Australian accent adding flavor to his words.

“Yes. Are you …” She changed tactics mid sentence, decided to go for something more forceful. “You’re from the bank.”

He stepped past her and into the house, his eyes sweeping the room, and her, in a dismissive manner. “Not exactly.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I came in lieu of the assessor. I’m interesting in making an offer on the property.”

“It’s in foreclosure.”

“I know. And I’m considering purchasing it before it goes to auction. I need to take a look and let the bank know what I intend to pay for it.”

“Really? Why didn’t I think of that? I would have given them … well, I think I might have five dollars in my bag over there.” She gestured to the red purse hanging on its hook by the door. “Think they’d go for it?”

“Not likely.” His answer was clipped, annoyed. Why was he annoyed? She hadn’t barged into
his
home early on a Saturday morning. She was the one who got to be annoyed. It was her right.

“Too bad,” she said, fighting to keep her tone light, flippant. Unaffected.

“From what I’ve seen of your loan information, you’ve been delinquent for months.”

Delinquent.
She hated that term. Like she was a criminal or something because she didn’t have any money. Like she wouldn’t have paid the mortgage if her bank balance ever managed to exceed double digits.

“I’m aware of why you’re here—or, at least, I’m aware of what I did to make the bank take my house back.” The words stuck in her throat. “I don’t need a rundown from you.”

“Good. Because I’m not here to give it.”

“No. You’re here to find out if you want to move into my home before the bank has even thrown me out onto the streets,” she bit out. She never would have spoken to anyone
that way a year ago. She would have been gracious, smiled, been faultless in every way. But that veneer had started eroding over the past year. She just felt angry now. Battered. Like she was dying slowly inside as life chipped away at her very last foothold.

She’d been trained never to show strain or fatigue, never, ever to give the tabloid media a reason to gossip about her. But the past year had been like hell on earth. A constant barrage of blows that never seemed to end. Every time she tried to stand up and dust herself off, something else would hit. And this seemed like the knock-out punch. Because what would she do without this last piece of security? Without this last link to everything she used to be?

Everything she would never be again.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Noelle,” he said, his dark eyes locked with hers. She felt like he could see her—not just that he was looking at her, but that he truly saw
into
her, beneath her polished veneer to the cluttered mess beyond.

She wanted to hide. Not just from him, but from everything.

Isn’t that what you’ve been doing for more than a year now?

Yes. Head down, trying to survive. Trying not to draw media attention. Too defeated to try and track her mother down. Because, as the lawyer she hadn’t been able to afford had pointed out, the money had all been in her mother’s name, so the battle would be long and expensive. It would devour the fortune that she was trying to win back. And if she didn’t win … it would mean the kind of debt she could never crawl out of. It all seemed impossibly hopeless.

“Then do enlighten me, Mr …?”

“Grey.” He extended his hand and she accepted the offer, his strong, masculine fingers curling around her
slender, pale hand, engulfing it. Making her feel warm, too warm. “Ethan Grey.”

Ethan felt a flash of attraction, of pure, raw need, race through him when his hand touched Noelle’s soft skin. He ran through a litany of his very favorite swear words in his head. It had been too long since he’d gotten laid if a handshake had the power to get him hot.

Especially a handshake from this particular woman.

Maybe it’s genetic?

He bit back a sound of disgust at that thought. He would never use that as an excuse. He was in control of his own actions. If he sinned, it was because he’d chosen it. And at least he was man enough to admit it. Unlike his father. Damien Grey hadn’t been much of a role model in that respect.

Yes, she was beautiful, but mostly just fragile-looking with her delicate frame and pale skin. As if she didn’t get outside enough. Everything about her was pale. White-blond hair, large, robin’s-egg-blue eyes with long, thick lashes, darkened with the aid of makeup. She was like a porcelain doll, one that might break if handled too roughly.

The deep-red lipstick she was wearing was likely intended to give her more color, but all it did was show just how washed out the rest of her was. Pale and drawn, shadows beneath luminous blue eyes.

Even so, she was arresting. Her beauty was almost other-worldly.

She reminded him so much of her mother. That cold, self-possessed allure that made a man ache to see what was beneath all that control. The kind of woman who led men around on leashes, had them begging simply to be in her presence.

She had all of that, plus an air of vulnerability her mother hadn’t had. It only added to her appeal. It made a
man want to do more than simply possess. It made him want to protect.

“Nice to meet you,” she mumbled, pulling her hand away.

He was relieved by the break in contact. “I don’t think you really mean that.”

She smiled, an expression that didn’t reflect in her eyes. “No. You’re right, but I’m too polite to say otherwise.”

“I’m glad for your manners then,” he said dryly.

“How is it I’ve misunderstood your motives, Mr. Grey?”

“I’m not planning on moving into your house.”

She arched an eyebrow. “No?”

“No. I plan on expanding the house and making it a hotel property.”

“What?”

She was small, maybe a foot shorter than his own height of six foot three. But there was nothing small about her presence. Even in her pale, diminished state she exuded a kind of force that demanded all eyes rest on her. Another similarity to her mother. At least from what he remembered of the woman. He’d been young the times he’d seen her, lingering near the gates to his childhood home, his father sneaking out to be with her like an adolescent boy. Leaving his wife and son behind so he could indulge in his forbidden passion.

Ethan clenched his hands into fists and forced his mind back to the present. He’d been over the past. Over and over it. Now was the time for action and he couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not when the key to his plan was standing right in front of him.

“How can you do that?” she asked, not waiting for him to answer. “This house is two hundred years old. It’s … it’s a marvel of architecture and … and … it’s my home.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

He knew that this was the only home in her name. He wasn’t sure what had happened to the penthouse in mid-town Manhattan, or the townhouse in Paris. When the sprawling estate had come up as a home in foreclosure he’d acted immediately. It was opportunistic on his part, more than a carefully planned-out maneuver. But from the moment he’d walked in, he knew he’d made the right move.

Strange how largely she and her mother had factored into his life, while she seemed to have no clue who he was. He hadn’t seen even a hint of recognition in her eyes, either on sight or at the sound of his name.

She was probably too dazzled by the brilliance of her own sparkle to look around and see anyone other than herself.

“I’m not planning on demolishing it, Noelle, merely expanding it. Adding a pool, maybe.”

She flinched when he said that. It bothered her, him talking about changing the house. She was attached to it, that much was obvious. And that would prove useful to him.

“Great, well, I don’t really want to be involved in the blueprint for this, so maybe I should leave and let you poke around for a while?”

“I don’t believe I need to spend any time poking around. My mind is made up. It’s a good investment and from where I’m standing it doesn’t appear that I’ll take a loss on it.”

The expression in her eyes changed again. Anger, pure and real, joined the anguish. So much emotion in her. He couldn’t summon up a single feeling in response. Too many years of shoving them aside. Of strangling the life out of his emotions whenever possible so he could move forward.

“So you can just buy it then? Like that? Without even
stopping to consider what it might do to your … to your monthly budget or anything like that?”

He laughed. It was only a sound. It didn’t really express any of the things laughter usually did. “Not my main concern, no.”

He could see the struggle in her, the emotions that made her body tremble even as she kept her face set into a firm, determined expression. She wasn’t exactly what he’d imagined she might be. Pampered, yes. Clear prima donna tendencies, yes. But she was strong too. He was certain that beneath that brittle, fragile exterior was a backbone of steel. That only made her more interesting.

“Why is the house so important?” He was hoping it was important. Everything depended on it.

Because it all depended on her. On getting her to agree to his proposition. Revenge was sweet, but she would give it the bitter edge that he craved. That he needed in order to have satisfaction.

“
Why?
Why do you think?” she asked, her voice breaking again. “It’s the only home I have. When the bank takes it, I won’t get any money from the sale. I’ll have nothing. Less than nothing. I have nowhere to go.”

“Most single women don’t live by themselves in a mansion that could easily house ten other families,” he said.

Noelle fought to keep her cool, to keep from breaking down. From showing any weakness. She had been trained to look calm on the surface no matter what. If her mother tore into her before a show, telling her she wasn’t beautiful anymore, that it was her fault ticket sales were down, she still had to go on stage. And she would keep every emotion locked in her, letting it escape through her fingertips. In the sound of the piano.

Her emotion didn’t seem able to escape that way anymore.
Now when she played it was dry, stilted. There was nothing behind it. Nothing but empty, technical skill.

She took a breath. “It’s not a matter of downsizing, although that would have helped the electric bill.” A bill she had done her very best to scale back. No lights during the day, no heat, the only source of warmth the fireplace in her bedroom so she didn’t freeze at night. “I don’t have anything,” she said, shame creeping over her.

He arched one dark eyebrow, his expression cool, blank of any sort of caring or true interest. “How is that possible?”

The last thing she wanted to do was give him her big bad sob story. She’d found a lot of strength over the past year. Just getting up had been a struggle some days, but she’d done it. And she’d done it with no support. Asking for help now violated that sense of independence and pride. But she was staring homelessness in the face and she wasn’t certain her pride came into it anymore.

“Everything’s gone. Don’t you know what happens to child stars when their parents manage everything? It’s a story that gets repeated on entertainment news channels quite frequently.”

She wasn’t a child now, which was why she’d become so uninteresting to the public. Concert halls were half-empty when before she’d filled them. A nine-year-old girl playing original compositions on a massive grand piano was a spectacle. It was amazing. A woman doing the same thing lacked the wow factor.