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* * *
The Rottingdean Experience was an even bigger success than Lizzie had envisaged. Money poured in. And though these were only small amounts compared to the debt owed, the buckets full of coins and small-value notes represented the pride of the estate to her. The hall where the auction was to be held was full to capacity, and it seemed that everything was going smoothly, until the auctioneer called to say he was indisposed, and there was no one else available to take the sale.
Lizzie faltered—but only for a few seconds. There was someone who could take the sale, she determined.
She dressed up and put on her high-heeled shoes. An auctioneer had to show a bold face to the world, and not seem defeated, and she was nowhere near finished yet.
‘Who knows these items better than I do?’ she asked the group of representatives from the various institutions with an interest in the outcome of the sale. ‘And devils can’t be choosers,’ she pointed out.
And so it was agreed. Lizzie would take the auction.
‘My lords, ladies, and gentlemen,’ she began in a firm, upbeat voice, standing on the rostrum where everyone could see her. ‘Today we are holding a very unusual and special sale where many of these items have been in the Fane family for centuries, so I hope you all have your funds in place, because I know you’re all going to want to spend lots of money.’
A ripple of good-humoured laughter opened the proceedings, and from there the sale flew along at a rate of knots.
* * *
He remained in the background as Lizzie took the sale. He had his people planted in the crowd. Several more were online, and there were a couple on the telephone. He had this sale wrapped up. The bright light that had first attracted him to Lizzie when she was little more than a child was blazing strongly today. Far from being beaten by circumstance, she had this crowd eating out of her hand. As he looked around he noticed that the faces of the staff at Rottingdean had the same zeal as Lizzie’s written all over them, yet they were watching her part with what had to be a lifetime of memories for them. They all had true Scottish grit. Nothing was going to get them down. With their life in ruins they had come into their own, because of one petite figure wielding her will as well as her gavel, a tiny woman who was a giant when it came to courage and vision, and getting things done.
A thunderbolt struck him, or maybe it had struck on the day Lizzie walked back into his life. She was the only woman he wanted, and he would do anything it took to persuade her to come back with him to Brazil. But would she ever leave Rottingdean? Would she even trust him enough to let him try to win her back?
Trust had been an issue for both of them, he reflected as he watched Lizzie run the sale with precision and calm assurance, but he had to hope that lack of trust was behind her now, as it was behind him. There were some prizes worth fighting for, and he could be as determined as Lizzie when it came to achieving his goal.
* * *
Lizzie drew a deep breath. ‘And now the final lot.’ She paused for effect and, more than that, to calm herself. She couldn’t afford to let her voice shake now. ‘Rottingdean House, ladies and gentlemen. This beautiful home you’re standing in now—’
There was an uncomfortable silence, and then one of the representatives from the bank came to the foot of the rostrum to whisper something.
Lizzie felt cheated. She felt as if the auction would have given her time to mourn the loss of her childhood home, and now there was no time.
‘My apologies, ladies and gentlemen—I have just learned that a sale has been agreed prior to this auction, so, for today, this auction is over.’
That was it? Lizzie thought, feeling unsteady as she climbed down from the rostrum. How quickly the sale had gone. A lifetime sold off in a matter of minutes—several lifetimes, she reflected, thinking of the ancestors who had lived at Rottingdean before her. How she got down those few rickety wooden steps, she would never know. She was reminded of the first time she’d been put on a pony and had looked for railings to hang onto, only to find there were none. As in life, she reflected wryly. She was on her own now, and had to plan accordingly.
‘Excuse me, Miss Lizzie.’
‘Yes?’ She smiled at the representative from the bank. She bore him no grudges. What was the point when he was only doing his job?
‘Should I call you Lady Elizabeth?’ he said, blushing bright red.
‘Definitely not,’ she reassured him. ‘Lizzie’s fine.’ She didn’t want anyone calling her Lady Elizabeth Fane when she hadn’t earned the title. It was just an accident of birth. And there was something else, Lizzie thought as her mouth quirked with amusement. Maybe she was delirious with sadness, and weary with disappointment, but all she could think about was being in bed with Chico—so she might be wearing high-heeled shoes, but she could state categorically that she was no lady.
‘Can I help you with anything?’ she said pleasantly, seeing the man from the bank was still hovering.
‘The new owner would like to see you,’ he explained.
‘The new owner?’ She looked around. It couldn’t be Chico, Lizzie reasoned, because Chico would have made himself known. She hadn’t heard from him for three days now. When she spoke to his PA she presumed Chico was back in Brazil. It was the student graduation in a few days, and he would never miss that.
‘He’s in your grandmother’s study.’
‘Oh, is he?’ Lizzie felt her temper rising, and knew that had more to do with Chico than any slight inflicted by this new owner. ‘He couldn’t wait to get his feet under the table, I suppose.’ She left the man from the bank staring after her anxiously.
She knew the moment she reached the door what she would find behind it.
‘Chico,’ she said as she walked in. She tried to maintain a calm demeanour, but after being in a room full of sun-starved individuals, dressed in muted heather tones, seeing Chico in all his piratical splendour was quite a shock. He was dressed all in black: black shirt, black jacket, black trousers, with his wild black hair barely tamed for the occasion. He looked as if he had just stepped from the centrefold of a polo magazine. He was quite simply the most bronzed, bold, and beautiful man she had ever seen. Right now, his only flaw, as far as she could tell, was the expression on his face, which was knowing and even faintly amused. He looked every bit the conquering hero. He towered over her, all-powerful, and completely in command, but she refused to be intimidated. At least he’d had the good grace not to sit behind her grandmother’s desk, but had chosen to stand by the window overlooking the lake, from where he was regarding her now.
‘Lizzie...’
‘So, you’re the new owner.’
She felt a chill come over her as Chico inclined his head, and remembered her father’s words: Revenge is a dish best served cold. A sudden spear of dread pierced her as the doubts set in. Was that what this was all about? Was Chico revenging himself for her parents’ crimes? He had certainly controlled the sale, she realised now, just as Chico controlled everything else in his life. He did that with his iron will and his bottomless pit of money, so, whatever she had tried to do, the outcome for Rottingdean House was always going to be the same.
‘Revenge is a cruel taskmaster, Chico,’ she murmured as they locked eyes.
‘Revenge,’ he murmured thoughtfully. ‘I really hadn’t seen it that way, Lizzie.’ There was something in his eyes that called her doubts foolish. ‘I see coming back here as a long-awaited dream.’ There was a long silence, and then he added, ‘I can still remember the thrill of being invited to the big house. I was quite happy bedding down in the stables while the Brazilian polo team was given comfortable rooms in the house—I was always happiest with the horses, and a bit awkward in company.’
‘I remember,’ Lizzie murmured, drawn back to that time.
‘I should have stayed in the stables. I was safe there, had I but known i
t at the time.’
‘Go on,’ she urged softly, sensing Chico had an important memory to share when he fell silent.
‘Eduardo had planned to go into town with your grandmother to get her view on a classic car that he was thinking of buying and shipping back to Brazil, and he was going to take your grandmother to dinner afterwards, to thank her for her time, while I remained with the grooms. Imagine my astonishment when I received an invitation via your mother’s personal maid to attend a soirée with Lord and Lady Fane. I had no idea what a soirée was, and imagined it was some sort of tea party. I just hoped I wouldn’t have to eat a formal dinner, because Eduardo was still teaching me which cutlery to use.’ He paused. ‘It all sounds so silly now, doesn’t it?’
‘Not to me,’ Lizzie argued.
‘It was a party of sorts,’ he said dryly. ‘I was lucky to get out with my life.’
‘I can imagine,’ Lizzie agreed as they both thought back.
‘I was so young—such a fool. I had no idea that at this type of party dress was optional, or that drink and drugs were mandatory, along with a host of pretty young boys and girls just over the age of consent. I didn’t realise that money was changing hands either, or that I was supposed to be the star turn. I didn’t realise how strait-laced I was until I walked into that room and witnessed the “performance”, as Serena described it, which was well under way by the time I arrived—youth-on-youth, girl-on-girl, and every other variation on a theme—all free to view in a tangle of naked limbs on a bed decked out with black satin sheets, to a soundtrack of moans and hard metal.’
‘You and me next,’ Serena had purred in his ear as she tottered about in her ridiculously high heels and marabou-trimmed negligee. With one hand she had reached for a drink from the tray the naked butler was holding, while she used her other hand to attempt to grope Chico through his pants. ‘I’ve been saving myself for you,’ she had informed him seductively.
‘What did you say to my mother?’ Lizzie asked, jolting him out of these thoughts.
‘I think not,’ he explained, which made Lizzie laugh.
‘And then you backed your way out of the door as quickly as you could?’
