Seducing the Enemy (5 page)

“But under the circumstances… I mean, it wouldn’t be… It’s not like we’re…friends or anything.”

His eyebrows lifted haughtily. “Whatever else you think of us, surely you don’t believe we are in the habit of assaulting guests in our home.”

“Of course not! I just don’t understand why…or what we could gain from…”

“Further understanding,” he answered glibly. “For the last fifteen years, communication has been hampered by anger and recriminations. Now seems to be the perfect time to come to know each other better. If, at the end of the week, we are on better terms, the families can continue negotiations.”

So it wasn’t an invitation at all. These were his terms: no settlement if she didn’t stay. “I see.” She spoke slowly to keep her voice even. “Do you really think we have that much more to make clear?”

“I only have
your
word that you and your family didn’t perpetrate an elaborate and malicious deception aimed at my nephew a week ago.”

She sucked in a harsh breath. “And I only have your word that your nephew didn’t know exactly who I was and perpetrate the same kind of deception on me.”

“Oh, no,” he said, his voice more dangerous because it was gentle. “Surely you don’t believe my nephew knew you would be at our club that evening, unless you think he was in collusion with your friend.”

Marietta felt her face blanch. What a fool she’d been to lower her guard. Despite his mild manner, Cyrus Damon was a powerful adversary.

He’d probably shown her courtesy, made her feel comfortable, so she wouldn’t expect it when he finally raised his weapons.

“Very well,” she said, with what she hoped was a cool voice. “Thank you for your hospitality. I accept the invitation. Perhaps by the end of the week, you will be confident that I am not the villain of the piece.”

“Then who do you propose the villain to be? My nephew, perhaps?”

Marietta stiffened. She could play just as well as him. “Oh, no,” she murmured. “I wasn’t thinking about
him
.”

She caught a glint in his eye—maybe anger, maybe appreciation. But before she could pursue the reaction, the door to the sitting room swung open.

A familiar voice began, “Cassell said I might want to—”

Harrison jerked to a halt when his eyes landed on Marietta. He looked just as handsome as she remembered and even more untouchable in another black suit and with newly trimmed hair.

He seemed a little tired, too, but his eyes missed nothing as he sized up the situation—her white tense face, his uncle’s arrow-stiff back, the neatly ironed flounce at the hem of her skirt.

“What is this?” he asked, his voice hard and wary. The same thing he’d asked in the conference room in Monte Carlo.

“Ms. Edwards was kind enough to pay me a visit,” Damon said calmly. “I’ve invited her to stay the week with us.”

“What?” Surprise cracked his cool control, and his eyes flashed anger as he turned on Marietta. “What new game are you playing?”

“I’m not playing—”

“Whatever our inclinations, Ms. Edwards is our guest now.” Damon spoke over her, his voice smooth but its effect like the crack of a whip.

Harrison’s lips tightened. “She’s our guest? What did she tell you?”

“She told me a story of what happened. I’ve yet to conclude—”

“I told him the truth,” Marietta cut in, angry at these arrogant men who refused to believe her. “And I never asked for your hospitality.” She emphasized the last word with pointed bitterness. “Since your nephew obviously can’t tolerate my presence, I’ll return home like I planned.”

“My nephew will remember his manners soon.”

Damon was a tyrant, all right—in his own polite way. Marietta wished Harrison would rebel. That he’d insist his uncle throw her out. He looked angry enough to pick her up and heave her out the door himself.

He didn’t. He swallowed and didn’t further question his uncle’s decision. Shooting her a look of icy contempt, he gritted out, “Of course, she’s welcome to stay. As long as she realizes that, whatever she’s planned, we are not easily made victims.”

How well she knew that. The Damons were never victims.

But her sister had been.

Torn between fury, dread, and a poignant ache at the memory of their night together, she ripped her gaze from him. He’d given her a sweet pea. She should have thrown the thing in the trash.

Focusing on an empty spot between the two men, she said, “I’ve done what I came here to do. Now all I need to do is stay long enough for one of you to believe me.”

“Stay the week,” Damon said mildly. “That should be long enough for me to take an assessment of the situation. Perhaps Harrison can show you around.”

He might pretend to be courteous, but she’d been right about Cyrus Damon.

Even to his own nephew, he was cruel.

Chapter Five

The Damons dressed for dinner.

It was a ridiculous, old-fashioned custom, and Marietta resented having to participate. She couldn’t offend Damon, though, not if she wanted their families to find closure.

Their driver had taken her to the hotel earlier to collect her belongings, so she showered and dressed in the only decent dinner outfit she’d brought—a simple black sheath dress without the matching jacket to be more evening-appropriate. She decided she looked fine. It didn’t matter if she looked pretty or elegant.

There was no one in this house she wanted to impress.

She composed a mask of indifference as she descended the stairs at exactly two minutes before dinnertime. In the foyer, she found a man standing with his back to her, staring out the large front window.

He was tall and dark-haired, his broad shoulders and strong back evident under a black dress shirt and his firm buttocks showcased in perfectly tailored black trousers.

Harrison. She was surprised he wasn’t wearing a suit.

She took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

The man turned, and a pair of startling green eyes studied her with frank curiosity.

Not Harrison.

The man who must be Andrew had nicely chiseled features and a flirtatious grin. Probably habitual for him, since she’d done nothing to encourage his interest except appear in the room.

“You must be Ms. Edwards.” He stepped forward.

She shook the warm hand he extended and managed to say, “Marietta. And I guess you’re Andrew.”

“Guilty.”

Not seeing Harrison’s face when the man turned around had flustered her. She felt off-stride and a little sleazy for lusting after a man, only to discover it was someone else.

She shouldn’t be lusting after Harrison, anyway. A great butt could hardly make up for his vile behavior.

Andrew appeared to enjoy her discomposure. “I’m so glad you’ve come to visit us for the week. It was getting rather dull around here. So you had a little fling with my brother in Monte Carlo, did you? Met him in a nightclub?”

Marietta gaped at the brazen question posed with such a neutral, conversational tone. “Excuse me?”

Andrew laughed. “Just a guess. But from that blush I think I must be right. Shall we go in to dinner? The others are probably waiting in the drawing room. We observe all the rituals here, if you hadn’t yet noticed.”

Baffled and mortified by having given away her relationship with Harrison, she took his arm mutely and walked to the drawing room with him.

“Harrison didn’t blab, if that’s what you’re afraid of. He doesn’t kiss and tell.”

Whatever bad qualities Harrison possessed—and there were plenty— Marietta didn’t believe indiscretion would be one of them.

Andrew continued, “He refuses to say anything about it. Actually, he’s been in a very bad mood since he returned. He won’t even insult me—just gives me the most terrifying icy glares. I’m hoping some company will cheer him up. What do you think?”

“I’ll certainly do my best to lighten his mood.” She gave Andrew a pointed smile. She might still be nervous, but she didn’t have to act like it.

He chuckled. Just as they entered the drawing room, he muttered under his breath, “This should be fun.”

…

Harrison couldn’t understand what his uncle was thinking.

It was one thing to be polite to your adversaries when you had no choice. But to welcome one to a week-long visit in your home was just asking to be deceived and manipulated.

As he sat down to dinner with his uncle, his brother, Marietta, and Cassell—who’d been with his uncle all day—Harrison struggled with anger, bewilderment, and defensiveness. And it was only going to get worse, he realized as Marietta sat down across from him, smiling at Andrew to thank him for helping her with her chair.

The formal dining room seemed overly warm, and he loosened his tie to breathe more easily.

His uncle started a pleasant, innocuous conversation about something he’d read in the newspaper that morning. Andrew picked up the slack.

Marietta was pale and composed, but tense. Her dark blond hair slipped out of the twist at the back of her head and wispy strands framed her face. They seemed to bother her—she kept tucking the loose hairs behind her ears in a futile attempt to get them to stay in place. She smiled and spoke when appropriate, but her expression and voice were obviously strained.

Harrison had no idea what she hoped to accomplish here. But the knowledge that she was as devious as Grace—and could still manage to look innocent and sweetly anxious—made him want to crush something.

He didn’t speak at all as they were served the salad, then the soup, then the main course. Anything he said would be uncontrolled and reveal too much.

He’d already divulged too much.

The conversation had shifted to politics, and Cyrus Damon said in a soft aside to Cassell, on his left, “That reminds me—we need to see the incorporation papers on Stanford East. Can you be sure to request them?”

“I’ve already requested them,” Cassell replied. “They should be here tomorrow.”

Harrison frowned. “That could have been premature. We have to tread carefully with this merger. On whose authority did you request the papers?”

Cassell’s eyebrows lifted. “I knew Mr. Damon would need them. Is there any reason I shouldn’t have taken the initiative?”

Harrison’s brow furrowed when his uncle shot him an annoyed look. He’d offended Cassell, who had been the Damon family’s personal lawyer for thirty years. But Harrison had taken the lead on the new merger, and everything was supposed to be cleared through him.

“The request was inevitable,” his uncle said mildly, although his eyes were still cool. “No harm has been done, and I appreciate not having to wait.”

Cassell relaxed. He seldom showed any emotion, but he was committed to the Damons. He had no wife, no family of his own. Harrison had always assumed he thought of the Damons as his family.

For several years now, Harrison had wondered if his uncle relied too much on the man. No matter how efficient and devoted someone was, being dependent meant you gave up control. Look what had happened to him when he’d let himself go for one night in Monte Carlo. Harrison shouldn’t let his anger at Marietta spill over into something so trivial, though. He nodded at Cassell and let the matter go.

He was aware Marietta watched him through the conversation, but he didn’t catch her eye. As the plates were collected from the main course, his uncle asked Marietta, “Are you a reader, Ms. Edwards?”

“Yes,” Marietta said, brightening visibly at an easy conversation topic. “In fact, I studied literature in school.”

“What’s your favorite piece of literature?”

“
Jane Eyre
, of course.”

“Why of course?” Andrew asked.

“Don’t a lot of women tell you that’s their favorite book?”

Andrew arched an eyebrow. “Honestly, I don’t ask women about their preferences in literature very often.”

Marietta laughed, not as merrily as Harrison remembered from their night together but with what seemed like real amusement. “Well, if you do and if they’ve done any amount of reading, I bet about half of them would say
Jane Eyre
.”

“What would the other half say?” Andrew asked.

“Maybe
Pride and Prejudice
.” She made a face. “Or
Wuthering Heights.
”

“Don’t you like that novel?” Damon asked, relaxing at the polite, innocuous discussion.

“No. It’s an abominable book, and I hate all of the characters.”

“I thought it was supposed to be romantic,” Andrew said, his brow wrinkling. He turned to Harrison, probably an attempt to include him in the conversation. “Isn’t Heathcliff supposed to be some great romantic hero?”

Marietta snorted, her previous hesitancy gone. “There’s nothing romantic or heroic about him. He’s hateful and vindictive and cruel.” She slanted a look over to Harrison. “Perhaps he’s a true portrait of a man, but he’s not one I would want to know.”

“If I recall,” Harrison said, his eyes narrowing at her obvious implication, “Catherine is just as heartless and manipulative as Heathcliff. In addition, she is mercenary, disloyal, and willing to sell herself to the first wealthy man who comes along.”

Marietta’s lips tightened. She took a sip of wine and a deep breath before she responded. “So, anyway,
Jane Eyre
is my favorite. Jane is brave, honest, passionate, and moral. The man is the only deceiver in that one. Fortunately, he is thoroughly trounced by the end of the book and humbly learns his lesson.”

Andrew was amused, but Damon frowned. “I’m not sure I agree that’s what happened.”

Marietta blinked. “How do you read it, sir?”

“I’m no expert, of course. Since you’ve studied the book, you will certainly have a more sophisticated understanding than me. But it’s not about Rochester being a villain, is it? Isn’t it about a love that’s doomed from the beginning because of her moral nature and his inescapable family ties? Certain things are more important than romance, and love simply cannot overcome them.”

Marietta stared at Damon for a moment, her lips parted slightly. “You’re an excellent reader, sir,” she said at last. “Although, in
Jane Eyre
, love does overcome.”

“Only through supernatural intervention. Correct?”

“Yes, sir. And also through forgiveness.”

For a moment, a thick silence hung in the air, broken only by the clink of Cassell’s fork as he ate.

Then Andrew said, “I tried to read it once but gave up pretty quick. Is there a movie?

…

When Harrison was finally able to escape dinner, he went to his office like he normally did. The distraction was more welcome than usual.

He managed to focus on e-mail for about an hour, but too many emotions jarred his mind. So he started a web search on Marietta.

She was up to something. She had secrets to hide. If there was dirt on her, he would find it.

Though he was skilled with a variety of specialized search engines, his investigation turned up almost nothing. She didn’t use social media. Her name didn’t appear on the website of her family’s restaurant, and she didn’t seem to have any prior work history. She’d never been married. Never been arrested. Didn’t have a driver’s license. Never lived anywhere but Provence since she was five years old, when she’d moved with her mother to live with Edwards, who’d recently opened the restaurant in Aix.

Her mother had died of cancer shortly after they’d moved to France, and there was no information about her father. Marietta hadn’t been given her father’s last name, so perhaps he was never in the picture. Like Harrison, for much of her life she’d been raised by someone other than her parents.

He found her listed as an honors graduate of a reputable liberal arts university; she’d gotten her undergraduate degree online at nineteen. Harrison discovered her thesis in an online research database, written for the M.A. in English she’d earned through another strong distance degree program.

Her thesis was on
Jane Eyre
.

That was the extent of Marietta’s digital footprint, other than the articles about the tragic accident that had killed her sister and Michael Damon.

He couldn’t believe there was nothing more. A woman who had done what she’d done—deceived him the way she had—wouldn’t have such a spotless history.

There was dirt on her somewhere.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple between his fingers and thumb, and closed his eyes to refocus.

The way Marietta kept him from work—the one thing he’d always been able to rely on—made him more resentful than her other offenses.

When he heard a tap on the door, he jerked. Gordon stood in the doorway with a cup of coffee.

“Thanks,” Harrison said with an attempt at a smile. “You can come in.”

“Do you have a headache, sir?” Gordon carefully set the coffee on the desk. “Do you need some aspirin?”

He did have a headache, but he was pretty sure aspirin wouldn’t help. “No.”

Gordon paused, looking down at Harrison with something like understanding in his eyes.

The butler had gone out of his way to be kind when Harrison had first arrived at this estate, twelve years old and newly an orphan. Harrison had sat by himself for hours every day while his uncle worked and Andrew built a tree house. Gordon brought him milkshakes and an empty leather-bound journal. Harrison didn’t journal, and the first several times he’d left the pages empty. Eventually, out of sheer boredom, he made lists. First of everything that was wrong with the world, and then of everything he would do to make it better. Gordon took the journal with the empty milkshake glass each time.

Gordon had brought the journal out again after Michael died, but Harrison hadn’t seen it since. He didn’t know if the butler still had it.

While Gordon had never overstepped his position, the man cared about him like family.

Harrison took a sip of coffee. “Did you…did you notice anything out of the ordinary with Ms. Edwards?”

“No, sir. She has been very kind to the staff.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing that seems out of place? Any hint she’s hiding something?”

“Like what, sir?”

Harrison blew out a long breath. “I don’t know. She’s up to something, and I don’t know what it is.”

When Gordon didn’t answer, Harrison glanced up. The man looked at him with a questioning gaze.

“I know,” Harrison said, as if the butler had spoken. “I sound paranoid. But you don’t know what happened in Monte Carlo.”

“It is as you say, sir.” There was no inflection in the scrupulously polite tone, but Harrison had known Gordon long enough to discern his skepticism.

“You don’t have to believe me. Just keep your eyes out, would you? Let me know if you notice anything off. I can’t let her take advantage of my family.”

“Of course not, sir.”

After Gordon left, Harrison stared at his computer but the words on the screen blurred. He was too tired. He’d gotten behind, though. And people counted on him. His family counted on him. So he drank the coffee until the words cleared, and then he started to work again.