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CHAPTER THREE
LANCEWALKEDTHROUGHthe cobbled back lanes of Morenburg old town. One more night here in Lauritania’s capital and he’d be gone. He’d done his duty. He’d wished Rafe felicitations in his marriage but any hopes for his future happiness were a fiction.
Acid burned in his gut. Rafe was now one of them. Part of the Lauritanian aristocracy that had scorned them for years, though in the end Lance had sought their disapprobation. He supposed he couldn’t fault his friend’s choices. The chance to be a king didn’t come round every day. Rafe had been on a quest for power even when they’d been teenagers. It had driven him to become almost the richest man in Europe. Still, that hadn’t seemed to gain him the acceptance he craved. Not when the near feudal nature of this society was so ingrained.
Lance didn’t care about acceptance. He’d tried once, but being the black sheep suited him better. His father might have fought to change the tide, but that man’s respectability had only been surface-deep. Scratch it and he’d been as tarnished as the rest of them. He’d been mad for power too, would have done anything to ensure his family’s fortune, his own career, even at the expense of his daughter. Vic had been shunted from boarding school to boarding school, whilst Lance had been dragged along to learn lessons from his father on politics, diplomacy and being ‘a man’.
His father had once aspired to be prime minister. He’d never attained that lofty office, the family’s chequered past not completely rehabilitated in his lifetime. In Lance, his father had hoped that dream would come true. As heir, Lance might have played along...until his parents had shown the contempt they truly had for their children’s choices. He’d refused to engage with their machinations when pushed in the direction of a young woman his parents thought would kick-start a political career with an excellent wife from the right family. In truth, he’d been too interested in sampling the delights of many women rather than settling down with one for a career he wasn’t sure he wanted. And, since he hadn’t done his duty, Victoria had been forced into marriage.
He knew she’d done it to gain their approval. The girl who’d always been left behind whilst the family travelled for his father’s postings. Searching for love and acceptance from people who didn’t really see her value. He knew she’d attempted to buy those by agreeing to marry the man her parents had chosen for her. When Lance hadn’t tried hard enough to stop her she’d promised things would be okay, that it was what she wanted.
But the deepest, darkest truth was that her marriage had got his parents off his back. The price she’d paid for his failings had been too high. The way she’d seemed to diminish over the years, from a vibrant young woman to something...less. Wilting under her husband’s constant criticism, packaged as loving care. Lance’s deepest fear was that the hurt wasn’t only emotional.
That had set him on this path of destruction he so relished. Lance had gloried in his father’s disappointment right up to the day the man had died. Even now he was mouldering in the family crypt, Lance hoped he didn’t rest easy. Not after what he’d done to Victoria. The life she now lived. The bitter person who had replaced the hopeful young woman she’d once been. How he’d failed her was a wound that would never heal. As a child she’d adored him, followed him round whenever they’d been together. She would look at him as if he were some kind of hero when he’d tried to teach her how to fence or fly-fish.
He kicked at the ground with his foot as he walked, the anger always on a low simmer deep inside. This country brought back those thoughts—dark ones with no light in them. It made him far too introspective for his liking.
Except there was a flash of light here. A golden-haired angel who fitted in his arms as if she’d been made for him. He’d never really enjoyed dancing. He knew how to dance properly, because that had been expected of him, but he’d never seen the point of it when what he was really after was the main game of a woman horizontal. Until the reception last night, when what had started as thumbing his nose at the parents who’d turned her skin pale at the wake morphed into something else entirely. She was a woman to whom his body moulded seamlessly. He’d relished the light resting of her hand on his shoulder, the delicate grip of her other in his palm. Her slender waist and the way they moved together so perfectly. The time he’d spent with her had been more erotic fully clothed than anything he’d ever done naked.
Damn if he wasn’t getting hard thinking about it. The lust washed away his bitterness and anger, replacing it with a thrum of anticipation he couldn’t deny. If she were anyone else he might have stayed, sought her out and explored the blistering attraction, purely chemical and delectably rare. He knew she felt it too, from her dilated pupils and short breaths when he’d held her close, all soft and pliant as they moved together. They’d talked about the thrill of waiting. Of anticipation... All of that coursed, rich and heavy, through him. He could show her everything, hold her on a delicious edge for hours till she panted his name. But she was too innocent andneverfor him. She deserved a knight in shining armour. Not a wastrel. She’d already been engaged to one of those.
He exited the back streets into the bright autumn light of the main square with its emerald grass and flower gardens and fountains, making his way to the Hotel Grande Morenburg, its opulent sandstone façade dominating the street. As he did so, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He drew it out. The call was from his long-standing and, some might say, long-suffering butler.
‘Is there a problem, George?’
Most of the time his estate and business interests ran smoothly, his trusted staff knowing exactly what he required and carrying out his wishes without question.
‘Sir, the Snow family’s rent is in arrears. Your agent is talking eviction. I thought you’d wish to know.’
Lance stalked into the hotel foyer through glass doors held open for him by gloved doormen who bowed as he passed.
‘Mr Snow’s unwell again?’
The family had been residents of the village for generations, proud people who didn’t ask for help, even when they needed it.
‘Yes, sir. In hospital.’
‘The family require rent relief, not eviction. Ensure my wishes are made explicit. If the agent doesn’t like it, make discreet enquiries about finding a new one.’
‘Of course. Are you returning to London tomorrow?’
‘Yes. There’s nothing here to stop me.’
Lance hung up. The hotel hadn’t changed since his first time here in his teens. Still gleaming gold with cream marble and massive urns of flowers adorning the foyer, the hush of opulence cocooning everyone privileged enough to be able to walk through. Time stood still here, like most of the country.
Well, he moved forward relentlessly. Hell, he wasn’t going to stop for anything or anyone. He strode to the lifts. One more day, that was all he had here. Then he was gone. Leaving Rafe to his wealth and power and Sara Conrad safely untouched.
Near the lifts he caught a shadow, lurking behind one of the lush potted palms strategically placed all around the foyer, giving this place the illusion of an oasis away from the masses outside. A small figure all in black. Whilst he wasn’t a stranger to illicit assignations, it was uncommon for him to find a woman loitering behind a plant in a foyer. But this alluring figure...a glimpse of golden curls escaping from under a black hat pulled low over her face... His heart kicked up a beat and his feet carried him to the palms in more of a hurry than his brain liked.
‘Sara?’
She whipped round, her face pale and eyes wide as she seemed to falter and sway on her feet. He grabbed her elbow and steadied her. ‘What are you doing here?’
She backed up against the wall, everything about her wound tight. That pulse of heat deep inside him started up again. The irrational flash of hope that her being here meant something. The curl of tightness in his gut making him crave to touch her skin, draw her close.
‘I... I need to talk to you.’
Propositions were made to him all the time, business and erotic, by self-assured people as jaded and hungry as he was. They were always searching for something. That wasn’t Sara, but part of him hoped, and feared in equal measure, that what she wanted was as dark and dirty as where his thoughts headed.
