The Chase: A Novel (16 page)

Claire and Ian stepped out of the Fiat. She looked around with rising excitement. St. Peter’s Church was on her right, surrounded by many old buildings, including a cloister. The town hall, clearly marked, was just across the square. She was standing in front of the big brick Castle Hotel. Another inn was next to it, the Myddleton Arms, where she and Ian were staying. Numerous shops lined the square, and to her far left was a fairly new and sprawling castle—Claire guessed it had been built in the last hundred years—which was also a hotel. The outer walls were obviously older and a part of the original ruins.

Claire smiled at Ian. “What a sweet village.”

“It’s cute.” He didn’t smile, hefting both her carry-on and his.

“I can carry my own bag,” Claire said, coming around the car to his side.

“Forget it, Scarlet,” he said.

She was briefly insulted. “I have nothing in common with Scarlett O’Hara,” she said.

He started walking toward the Myddleton Arms. “Who’s talking
Gone with the Wind?
I was referring to your nails.”

Claire glanced down at her fingernails, which were a brilliant crimson, matching her toenails. She usually wore red nail polish to the evening functions she attended so often, and it had become a habit. She couldn’t even recall her last manicure, but obviously, she’d had one. “Are you one of those guys who hates red nail polish?”

He shrugged. “It’s sort of sexy.”

Claire smiled at his back.

There was hardly any traffic, and far more tourists than Claire had expected. Many of the tourists were visibly American, lumbering about in shorts and sneakers even at this hour. As they navigated their way across the square, her gaze took in the hills surrounding the town again. “Ever see
The Sound of Music?
”

“Fifty years ago,” he said, snorting.

“Party pooper,” she returned.

He gave her a look. “Are we having a good time yet?”

“You’re a great companion,” she said frankly. “What is it, Pavlov’s training? I mean, the minute you sit down in a plane, you fall asleep. Don’t eat, don’t drink, don’t snore, don’t use the john, just sleep. It’s really fun traveling with you.”

“That’s what you’re supposed to do on night flights to Europe, Claire,” he said, pushing open the front door to the inn with his shoulder. “And I read on the flight to Cardiff.”

“The conversation was scintillating,” she said.

“You remind my of my second baby sister. She had an identity crisis when she was twelve, and it’s still going on.”

She made a face at him, and he caught her in the act. He raised one eyebrow. She grinned. “I’d rather fly with Sleeping Beauty than Garrulous George, anyway,” she said.

“Garrulous George?” He looked up for God. “Heaven help anyone involved with you.”

It felt like a compliment and Claire felt somewhat pleased as they checked in.

However, there was a problem.

“What do you mean, you have only one room? We called last night from JFK and explained that we needed two rooms, and a gentleman assured me that he had the extra room.” Ian was trying to keep his tone contained but not doing a good job. Claire could see that he was pissed.

“I’m so sorry, sir. I don’t know how there could be such a mix-up. But the town is full. We’re full. I could ring up a few inns, though, and see what we’ve got.” She smiled helpfully at him.

Ian did not soften. “I’d like to see the manager,” he said flatly. His eyes were cold.

Claire broke in. “Ian, if they don’t have another room, they don’t have it. It’s okay. It’s only one night. I promise not to be witty. And I won’t wear your T-shirt to bed,” she added slyly.

He turned to look at her. “We are not sharing a room.”

Claire’s smile faded. His eyes were black with resolve. “What, do I have cooties or something?” She should not be disappointed, but she was.

“You know that is not why.” He ground his jaw.

“BO?”

“Claire, cut it out. This is serious.”

“Warts?” she asked, wide-eyed.

He started to sigh and laughed instead, and the girl behind the desk giggled. She said, “Sir, we do have a cot. I can give you a cot. Will that be any help at all?”

Ian turned away.

“Bring on the cot,” Claire said with gusto. But she was nervous, all the same. Not that anything was going to happen, which of course it was not.

After they had settled in, there was a knock and a bellboy appeared, holding a silver ice bucket. In it was a bottle of champagne. There was no cot in sight. “Compliments of management, sir, miss,” he said with a freckled grin.

Claire watched as Ian let him deposit the tray on the small table by the window. Ian thanked him and the boy left.

“Now we have a perfect excuse to eat in,” Claire said.

He glanced at her, then lifted the bottle. “Amazing. Veuve Clicquot in this place. Good stuff.”

“Open it,” Claire said. “And it’s not good, it’s excellent, my dear.”

He faced her, his hands on his hips. “Let’s talk, Claire.”

She became still. “About Elgin?”

“No. I do believe that, for the moment, we have exhausted that subject.”

Claire wished she could think of something silly or witty to say. She couldn’t. So she waited, with no small amount of dread.

“For some odd reason, we’re partners now. And believe me, it is odd, and I can’t seem to recall just how this happened.”

Claire nodded a bit guiltily. “I pressured you. Because of my dad and William.”

“That’s hardly a rational explanation.”

“Maybe you should open the champagne.”

“Are you listening?”

“I am all ears.”

“I want to talk about this goddamned chemistry that’s between us.”

Claire blinked. The word “chemistry” seemed to hang in the air. “Okay,” she said, and her voice sounded like a squeak.

“Why are you acting so surprised? It’s obvious you are attracted to me, and it’s a natural thing. I mean, David just died—”

“Hold on!” Claire was on her feet. “Who said I’m attracted to you, buster? And what does David have to do with anything?” The pulse in her temples was hurting her now.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he said softly. “And why are you getting that hurt look in your eyes?”

She folded her arms tightly across her chest. “Well, rejection isn’t the most pleasant of life experiences.”

He stared. “Claire, we have to be sensible now.”

“Of course.” She was an idiot, she told herself, to even think about him. Damn it! Why couldn’t she have kept her eyes in her head just a few times?

“Look, I think you’re rebounding after David’s death, and—”

“You are not a shrink, and don’t go analyzing me.”

That shut him up.

“Please open the champagne,” she said. She picked up her carry-on and purse and stalked into the bathroom. It was immature, but she slammed the door, then locked it. She had the urge to cry.

Now she hoped they would bring up the cot. She said through the door, “You are so arrogant, Marshall! I’ll bet you think that reception girl was in love with you, too!”

“Actually, no, I don’t, and you didn’t even let me finish” was his calm reply from the other side of the door.

“Well, I know you hate having me for a partner, but get this: you’re stuck with me now!” Claire turned on the shower while stripping off her black pants and white knit top. A thong and triangle bra, both white and lacy, followed.

“Believe me, Claire, I know you are sticking to me like glue. Krazy Glue, remember?”

“No, now it’s worse. Like a tick to a dog. Like a bloodsucking tick! I hope you’re opening that champagne, because I am in desperate need of a drink.”

“I am.”

She stepped into the shower, and the pain of his rejection brought a sick feeling to her chest. She heard the cork popping as she scrubbed herself and then quickly washed her hair. But truly, what did she expect? A torrid love affair while they were chasing Elgin? That wasn’t even her style, and maybe he was right. Maybe she was on the rebound after David’s death.

Claire stepped out of the shower, shivering, as it was very cool in Wales at night. “By the way, I am not rebounding because of David,” she said through the door, toweling off and jumping into a pair of jeans. “I was going to ask him for a divorce.” She pulled on a T-shirt; unfortunately, it was his. “Our relationship died years ago. I can’t even remember the last time we had sex.” She opened the door, wrapping a towel around her head.

He stared. “That’s nice to know,” he said, and he was flushing. He held out a flute of champagne.

Claire snatched it and downed half in one gulp. “Like that?”

“Impressive. Is this a contest?”

“Maybe. Let’s see who gets drunk first.” She would win, hands down.

His mouth quirked. “Claire, you never let me finish. Okay, so maybe this isn’t about rebounding for you. I’m not rebounding from anyone, remember?”

Claire went still. “What are you saying?”

“What am I saying?” He was incredulous. “What I’m saying is that I am dedicated to bringing Elgin in to the authorities, preferably with a case that will hold up in a court of law. I am determined, Claire.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I’m determined, too. For David, and to prove William and Jean-Léon innocent.”

“Will you stop interrupting?” He smiled and shook his head. “I’d really like to finish.”

“Okay.” She managed a smile, still afraid of what it was he wanted to say, but not as afraid as before.

“Quit looking so wounded, Red,” he said softly. “Stop putting words in my mouth and feelings in my heart before you even know me.”

Claire nodded uncertainly.

“I’m not on the rebound. You’re a gorgeous woman. I thought so the first time we met. I was a bit deluded, because you seemed so perfect, the reigning society queen. But I saw some of the real Claire Hayden that night. You were upset. Vulnerable. You got me then, Red. Beauty and brains and fear, all tied up in one very pretty, super-glam package.”

She began to tremble. “Got you? How?”

“I’m a guy, remember?”

She snorted, then was mortified. “Like anyone could forget.”

He grinned. “I really wanted to sneak you down to my friend’s yacht and spend the night talking and drinking and fooling around.”

“You did?” She began to imagine just what they would do if they really did fool around.

“Yeah. I really wanted to.” He paused, grim. “Nothing’s changed, Claire.”

She gaped.

He stared back.

“That’s the problem, and I want it out in the open,” he said.

Claire watched him walk away. He’d removed his jacket and was wearing a chambray button-down shirt, tucked into beige trousers. Nothing was fitted, but she knew what his body was like—it was the superbly conditioned body of an athletic man in his prime.

Claire unsteadily put down her flute. She’d finished it in under five minutes—had to be a first. She went up to him and laid her palm on his incredibly hard and wonderful back. “Why is it a problem?” she asked softly. “It’s only a problem if you let it be.”

He didn’t turn. “One does not mix business with pleasure.”

“Why not?”

He turned. Their gazes locked. “I know you’re not really the wacky lady you pretend to be. Sometimes I see this frightened little girl in your eyes. It disturbs me, Claire.”

She trembled. “How can you possibly see her? She’s gone, Ian. I’m a grown woman now.”

“I see her. And I don’t know if I’m man enough to protect her from what she’s afraid of.”

Claire inhaled hard.

So did he.

A clock began ticking in the room—either that or it had been ticking all along and only now was resonant and audible. “I’m a big girl. I won’t break.”

“Damn right,” he said. “I won’t hurt you, Claire. Not now, and not tomorrow.”

He was rejecting her. In a goddamned heroic way.

“Don’t look at me that way,” he exclaimed softly. His palm cupped her face. “You pretend to be tough and strong, but right now you’re crying inside, and I can see the tears as clearly as if they were falling down your face.”

She pressed her face more fully into his hand, and her lips opened on the soft flesh in the middle of his palm. “Okay. There’s a place inside that hurts. I didn’t mean to find you so attractive. The plan was to protect my father. And William. I swear. But it happened, Ian, it happened, and I like you, and I’m stuck.”

“I like you, too,” he said. He looked down and she looked up.

Claire had never wanted a kiss more. Just a single lousy kiss. Except it wouldn’t be lousy. Claire knew that if he kissed her, her world would never be the same.

This was the moment.

He put both hands on her shoulders, as if to keep her—or him—at bay. “You’re growing on me, Red. Wisecracks and all. Let’s make a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” she asked, at once elated and dismayed by his words.

“We’re partners, real partners, from now until we bring Elgin in.” He smiled a little at her, but there was uncertainty in his eyes.

“Go on,” she whispered, hope flaring.

“No funny business.”

“No hanky-panky. And?”

“When this is over, we go out on a real date. I’ll even bring you flowers when I pick you up.” He smiled a little at her.

Claire bit her lip. “Red roses or white?”

“Whichever you prefer.”

“White.”

“White,” he agreed.

“And Godiva.”

He sighed. “And Godiva.”

“Where will this date be?” she asked.

His eyes finally widened. “What a little negotiator! Your choice.”

She grinned then. “Hmm. Sydney, Australia.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Well, I was, but now that I think about it, I have never been Down Under.”

“Claire. . .”

“Okay. Beijing.”

He laughed. “Beijing. You do realize we might not get visas?”

“You have clout.”

“I forgot.”

She became serious. “Is this a promise?”

“Only if you do not keep trying to seduce me,” he said.

’Trying to seduce you?” She pulled away, incredulous. “I have not tried, not even once, to seduce you.”

“Like hell,” he retorted. “You’ve been parading around with those red toes and those gray eyes and those tiny clothes of yours, not to mention the body, and what about my T-shirt? Like now?” His eyes flashed.