Heiress on the Run (Harlequin Romance) (12 page)

‘Why?’

It was easier, admitting things in the dark. ‘I can’t be who I need to be, here.’

‘With me?’

‘In London,’ she corrected him.

He sighed. ‘And I can’t leave. Not for ever, anyway.’

If he were anyone else, he could, Faith knew. Anyone but Lord Dominic Beresford, defender of reputation and honour across the British Isles.

‘The estate.’

‘My family.’

‘Your name.’ She hadn’t meant it to sound bitter, but it did.

Dominic shifted, turning onto his side and pulling her closer against him. She could only just see his eyes in the darkness, but she could feel his heartbeat against hers. ‘It’s not just the name. It’s who I am. Who I was born to be.’

‘You were someone else tonight,’ she reminded him.

‘Just for tonight. I wish...’ He shook his head. ‘I know you don’t get it, Faith. And maybe it is just the way I was brought up, or my heritage. But...these things matter to me. Responsibility. Trust. Duty. Reputation. They do, and I can’t change that. My mother...she didn’t take those things seriously. She put her own desires ahead of her responsibilities and it almost destroyed us. She betrayed all of us when she ran away, but the family name most of all. I couldn’t do that. And then Kat...’

Faith’s heart grew heavy at the other woman’s name. ‘She betrayed your trust.’

‘She did. But more than that... It wasn’t just that she cheated on me. It was that she did it in a way calculated to cause the most damage to everything I hold dear. My family, my reputation. She hurt them. And she hurt me.’

He spoke simply, stating the facts, but the iron weight that had settled in Faith’s chest in place of her heart pulled her down further at his words. Wasn’t she doing the same? Whichever way things went. She was a runaway, a betrayer just like his mother. And she was making him take a risk of scandal and embarrassment, without even letting him know the danger was there, just like Kat. She should have told him, and now it was too late.

But if she’d told him...they’d never have had this night. And Faith couldn’t give that up, even for honour’s sake. Maybe that was the true difference between them.

A sharp ringing noise jerked her out of her thoughts, and Dominic reached across her body to grab the hotel room phone.

‘Yes?’ he said, then as he listened to the voice on the line his body stilled. ‘We’ll be right down.’

Hanging up, he pulled away from Faith, sitting with his back to her on the edge of the bed.

‘What’s happened?’ she asked, her heavy heart beating too hard now.

Dominic’s voice was calm and steady as he replied. Unfeeling. ‘They need us in the lobby. There’s someone down there asking for you. Apparently he’s causing quite a scene.’

Oh no. Faith swallowed, reaching for her dress. ‘Right, of course. I don’t...I can’t...’ How could she explain that she didn’t know who it was, because there were too many options to choose from? Her father. Antonio. Great-Uncle Nigel. Who’d found her? And who had such awfully bad timing as to ruin this night?

‘I suppose we’ll find out what this is about when we get downstairs,’ Dominic said, and Faith nodded, a sick feeling rising up in her throat.

She didn’t bother with her bra or tights, just pulled the dress over her head and shoved her feet into her shoes. She probably looked a state but, well, wasn’t that just what people would expect anyway? Even Dominic, in trousers and an untucked shirt, looked less respectable than normal. Not as free and abandoned as he’d been half an hour before, but Faith knew, in her heart, that she’d never get to see that side of Dominic again. Whoever was waiting for her in the lobby had ruined that for her.

The lift ride down was silent again, but this time the tension between them was filled with questions rather than anticipation. Faith kept her eyes on the toes of her shoes and prayed that she’d be able to talk her way out of whatever this was.

But then the lift door opened and before they could even step out she heard her name being yelled across the lobby.

‘Faith!’

She froze. The accent was wrong for Antonio, or her father, and Great-Uncle Nigel sounded like the fifty-a-day smoker he was, so...

‘Lady Faith Fowlmere.’

Dominic froze beside her, and Faith made herself look across the lobby to see who it was that had unmasked her. Who had ruined her one night.

She closed her eyes against the horror as she recognised the photographer from the theatre striding across the lobby towards her. Then her brain processed what she was seeing and her eyelids flew open again. He had his camera. He had his camera out and pointed at them.

‘We need to go,’ Dominic said, grabbing her hand, but Faith knew it was already too late. The flash of the camera lit up the subdued lobby, light reflecting off the marble tiles and the mirrors on the stairs. There was no hiding this now.

‘You need to come with me. Now!’ Dominic’s words fought their way out from between clenched teeth and Faith ducked her head, turning and following him towards the lift.

‘Lady Faith! Would you like to make a comment on your whereabouts for the last couple of years?’ the photographer called after them, still snapping away.

‘Do not say a single word.’ He sounded furious. She’d known he would be. She’d just hoped he’d never have to find out. Or at least that she’d be many, many miles away when he did.

‘Or perhaps what made you want to come back?’

Faith couldn’t resist a glance over her shoulder at that, even as Dominic stabbed the call lift button repeatedly. The reporter was smirking, obviously assuming he knew exactly why she was there: Dominic. Just as they’d been so, so sure they knew what she was doing in that hotel room with Jared three years ago.

They were wrong again.

She hadn’t come back to London for Dominic, and there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d let her stay now he knew the truth.

The lift pinged and the doors opened at last. Dominic hauled her inside, holding down the close doors button before she was even through. All Faith could see was the reporter’s smile, even after the lift started to move.

And then she realised she was alone with Dominic. Again.

‘My room,’ he said, the words clipped. ‘We don’t talk about this until we are safely behind a locked door.’

CHAPTER TWELVE

T
HIS
WASN
’
T
QUITE
how he’d imagined having her in his room tonight.

Faith stood against the wall by the bathroom, arms folded over her chest, looking like a schoolgirl caught smoking. Like she was just anyone. Like she was still his Faith, only guiltier.

Lady Faith Fowlmere. How had he not known? Okay, so he didn’t exactly study the social pages, but even he’d heard the story of the missing heiress, and the scandals she left behind. There must have been a clue, something that he’d missed. Probably because he was too busy being swayed by her curves and her enthusiasm for life.

A life away from the one he lived.

‘Were you planning on telling me?’ he asked, his eyes landing on her bra, still tossed across the arm of the chair. Just how had this gone so wrong so quickly?

Faith’s head jerked up and she met his gaze head-on, her eyes wide but steady. ‘No.’

Hope drained out of him. If she’d said anything else—that she was scared, that she hadn’t known how, that she wanted to know how he felt first...anything else at all—maybe they could have worked it out. He could have understood, perhaps.

But she’d never wanted him to know who she was. Ever.

‘Why?’

A half-shrug, one hunched shoulder raised. ‘We agreed one night. Come on. You knew I wasn’t going to stay, and you knew there was a reason. Look me up on the Internet and you’ll see why. I’m a scandal; everyone knows it. And I know you. You’d have fired me if you found out. Too much of a risk. And, more than that, you’d have wanted me to talk to my parents, to reconcile, for the good of the family name. You know you would.’

She was right. She did know him. Better than he’d ever been allowed to know her. ‘And you won’t.’ Not a question. He knew her that well, at least.

‘I don’t ever want to go back there.’ The vehemence in her voice surprised him. He didn’t know the Fowlmeres personally, but they were her family.

‘You might have to. We need to put a respectable face on this, and “runaway heiress returns home” sounds a hell of a lot better than “runaway heiress found in high-priced love nest”.’ He reached for his phone, trying to keep his temper under control. He needed to think, not react. And he needed to ignore the part of his brain that was telling him that the secrets were out now. He knew the worst of it. Maybe he could salvage something from this.

But first he had to fix it.

‘Here’s what’s going to happen now,’ he said, scrolling through his contacts. ‘I’m going to call my PR people, get them down here. I’ll sit down with them, come up with a plan. Maybe we can talk to the reporter, or more likely the newspaper owner. Maybe we can get an injunction. I don’t know. But I am
not
going to let your past ruin my future.’

Faith hadn’t even moved from her position by the door. ‘And what am I going to be doing, while you set about fixing my mistakes?’ Her voice was cool, calm—everything he didn’t feel right then.

‘You are going to be sitting in your hotel room, not talking to anyone, not seeing anyone, not even
thinking
about anyone. Do you understand me?’

Her eyes were sad as she spoke. ‘Oh, I understand. You’re going to rewrite not just my history, but our entire past.’

‘I’ve known you a week, Faith. I don’t think what we had qualifies as a past.’

‘We had tonight.’

‘And now we don’t.’

* * *

Faith felt very cold, as if someone had left a window open in winter and the icy wind was chilling her through, layer by layer. Was this how it felt to freeze to death? And, in the absence of both winter and wind, was Dominic’s coldness enough to finish the job?

‘You’re treating me like a child,’ she said, the words hard lumps in her throat.

‘I’m treating you like what you are,’ he replied. ‘A scandal and a flight risk.’

Just like his mother, Faith realised. But knowing why he was mad, expecting it even, didn’t make it any easier.

And it didn’t mean he got to take over her life.

‘I understand,’ she said again, wrapping her arms tighter around her. ‘You’d better make your phone call.’

Dominic gave a sharp nod. ‘Go straight to your room. I wouldn’t put it past that photographer to have snuck back in, assuming security kicked him out by now. He could be anywhere. I’ll call you in the morning,’ he said, and she nodded as she collected her belongings and headed back towards the door, away from him, thinking hard.

He wanted her to stay hidden. Wanted her to let him fix her life for her. Wanted her to be a good, obedient Lady Faith.

It was as if he’d never known her at all.

This would be all over the Internet by the morning, however hot Dominic’s PR team were supposed to be. And if she were going to be a story again, a scandal even, she was doing it on her own terms. She couldn’t stay with someone who was embarrassed by her, ashamed of her.

Not even Dominic.

The story was out now, and that changed everything. What was the point of hiding when everyone knew where she was? This job had been her last chance. Without it—and without her salary for the week—she was out of options. She couldn’t just hop on a flight to another country this time. Chances were, she’d be spotted at the airport, anyway.

No, Faith knew what she needed to do next. Even if it was the last thing she wanted.

Back in her hotel room, Faith packed quickly and economically. Three years as a tour guide had taught her the best way to roll clothes, as well as what was essential, and what wasn’t.

She stripped off the hideous dress she’d bought for the theatre and left it folded on the chair. She wouldn’t need it again. Instead, she pulled on an old pair of jeans, a T-shirt and a cardigan, loading her case with the rest of her clothes. She removed her make-up before packing her cosmetics bag, shoved her feet in her trainers and headed for the door.

As one final thought, she left Dominic’s expenses credit card on top of the dress. He already thought badly enough of her. She didn’t want him thinking she was a thief, too.

She kept the money in her purse though, the last remains of the petty cash he’d given her at the start of the week, to buy a train ticket back to the only place she had left.

Home.

* * *

Dominic was up early the next day, after a night spent liaising with his PR team and barely sleeping. He could still smell Faith on the bed sheets, and knowing she was only a few rooms away, awaiting his decision on her future, didn’t help. He knew he couldn’t really have handled it differently, under the circumstances. But knowing that didn’t make him feel any better about it.

Now he just had to break the plan to Faith.

‘We’ll sell it as a rehabilitation,’ Matthew the PR guy had said once they’d established there was no way to keep the news that the runaway heiress was back in town from breaking. ‘You met in Rome and brought her back to try and reconcile her with her parents. There’ll still be a lot of talk about her past, I’m sure, but as long as we present it right, get in early with the story, you should both come out okay.’

The first step, they’d agreed, was to get Faith to give an interview, with Dominic at her side as a sort of mentor. Then they’d stage the reunion with her parents, build it up carefully. After that, Matthew said, Dominic could wash his hands of her altogether, if he wanted.

It was a plan. It wasn’t perfect, but it should at least minimise the damage. Once he convinced Faith to play along.

Showered and dressed, he headed to her room, annoyed when she didn’t answer his knock. He banged louder, and this time the door opened—only there was nobody on the other side. Anger and frustration started to build. The room was empty, with no sign that anyone had even slept in the bed last night.

Dominic swore. The runaway heiress had run again.

* * *

‘I’m not staying,’ Faith said, the moment her mother opened the door. Time was, there’d have been the butler to do that, but after Jenkins died when Faith was seven, there’d never been the money to hire another one.

Her mother raised her eyebrows at her, gestured inside with her glass and said, ‘Then I assume you want money. There isn’t any, you know.’

‘Trust me,’ Faith said, lugging her suitcase over the threshold, ‘I know.’

Her father, at least, seemed pleased to see her.

‘We missed you around here, you know,’ he said, kissing her cheek and taking her arm as if she’d been away on holiday, not missing for three years. ‘Nobody to laugh at my jokes!’

‘I can’t imagine that’s true.’ There had always been someone to laugh at the right time, to sparkle and smile when he wanted it. Lord Fowlmere had never needed his daughter—or even his wife—for that.

He laughed. ‘Dahlia! Fix this girl a cocktail. She’s probably been travelling for days to return to the bosom of her family.’

In fact, Faith had caught the first train north from King’s Cross, studiously avoiding all the papers at the station and refusing to log into the train Wi-Fi. Instead, she’d slept all the way, then walked the three miles from the nearest station and arrived at Fowlmere late morning. Also known as cocktail hour to her mother and father.

While her mother fixed her drink, Faith took herself and her suitcase back up to her old room.

Now she was back, it almost felt as if she’d never left, except for the aching loss in her middle where thoughts of Dominic used to reside. If she thought about him, about the disappointment on his face or the feel of his body against hers, she’d cry. And if she started, she might not stop. So, no crying.

But, seriously, why was it she cared so much about his disappointment? She’d let down every single member of her family, scandalised the society in which they lived...why would she care about disappointing one man who she’d known for less than a week? Especially one who’d wanted her to stay put and stay quiet while he managed her life.

The answer whispered around her mind, but Faith refused to acknowledge it. That way lay madness, and probably a lot more cocktails than was advisable.

She managed to avoid most of her parents’ questions by hiding in her room until dinner, ostensibly napping. Her father blamed jet lag and let her be, which was a blessing. But Faith knew she’d never sleep until she faced things head-on. So she pulled out her tablet, took a deep breath and checked out the damage.

The blogs and the websites had the news first, as always. The photo of her and Dominic in the lobby of the Greyfriars, looking as if they’d just rolled out of bed, was plastered everywhere. Faith scrolled past, wishing that every glimpse of the picture didn’t make her remember exactly what they had been doing just before it was taken. How his body had felt pressed against hers. How perfect everything had been, for one fleeting moment.

The text below tended to be scant. Nobody knew anything except that she had been seen in London with Lord Dominic Beresford. Which was, she supposed, all there really was to know—especially if Dominic’s PR team had got to work. There was speculation about where she’d been, and whether she was still holed up at the Greyfriars, but that was it for new news.

So, of course, they rehashed the old news instead. Faith buried the tablet under a pile of blankets on the trunk at the end of the bed when she reached that part.

Dinner with her parents was a stilted affair. Dad would try to make jokes, telling anecdotes that grew more obscure and confused with every glass of wine, but neither her mum nor Faith laughed. When he pulled out the whisky after dinner, Faith thought of Dominic and declined.

‘I need an early night,’ she said.

Her mother frowned. ‘You slept all afternoon.’

‘Jet lag, Dahlia,’ Dad said, and Faith didn’t disagree.

She wandered through the halls of the manor towards the main staircase, her gaze alighting on the holes in the carpet, the empty spaces on the shelves where expensive trinkets once sat. In some ways, it was hard not to compare Fowlmere with Beresford Hall. In others...there just was no comparison.

Fowlmere was decaying, ruined. Over. Just like her relationship with Dominic.

Tucked up in her childhood bed, the old feelings of isolation and hopelessness pressed in on her, but she willed them away. She’d escaped from this place once. She’d do it again. This was merely a temporary stop, until everything blew over and she was employable again. That was all.

She would never have to be that Lady Faith again. The girl with no place in the world, whose very home was falling apart around her, whose parents couldn’t see past their own problems to see her misery. She was an adult now, and she got to choose her own life.

And nobody in their right mind would choose this.

The next morning, Faith pulled her tablet out from its cocoon and braved the news sites again. Nothing much new, except a note that Dominic had checked out of the Greyfriars, but with no sign of her. There was a new photo, showing Dominic stalking out of the hotel, dark eyes hard, ignoring every single reporter and photographer waiting for him. Something pulled at Faith’s insides at the sight of him.

How he must hate her right now.

She shook her head. She had more practical matters to worry about. The news would have made it from the Internet to the papers this morning, which meant that her father would read it. And if the world knew she was no longer at the Greyfriars, the paparazzi would be coming here next. She needed to warn her parents, see if they were willing to stick with a ‘no comment’ rule until the reporters got bored. After all, none of them were very likely to want to sit in a field outside a crumbling mansion for more than a day or two, even if it meant getting a photo of the Runaway Heiress.

But before she got further than pulling on her dressing gown against the pervasive chill of Fowlmere Manor there was a sharp rap on the door and a mug of tea poked into the room, followed by her father.

‘Am I allowed in?’

‘Of course.’ Faith took the drink and sipped. Milk and two sugars. She hadn’t taken sugar for years.

Entering, he moved to the bed and sat, bouncing a little on the mattress. ‘I haven’t been in here for a while,’ he admitted. ‘Your mother, she’d come and sit in here whenever she missed you, but I found it easier just to stay away. Much like yourself.’