Solace in Scandal (17 page)

His brow furrowed. ‘That’s twice now that you’ve said something like that. Your father was Randolph Bardot.’

She was well aware of the fact.

‘Even before his crimes, he was a very wealthy man.’

She shrugged. ‘Because he knew where to scrimp and save.’

Alex’s brow furrowed. In the dimmed lighting of the nook, it made him look dark and intimidating. It reminded her of that first time she’d seen him watching her from the balcony, and she fought not to shrink back into her seat.

‘Are you saying that he didn’t support you at all?’

She breathed very slowly. ‘He paid the mandated alimony and child support. The judge also made sure he paid for my undergraduate degree.’

‘But nothing more.’

‘His lawyer was better than Mom’s.’

The air in the tiny room turned downright chilly.

‘It was all right,’ she said quickly. ‘She and I did fine together. We had fun. I … I just missed him.’

A muscle flexed in Alex’s jaw.

She turned her attention back to the pizza. Her appetite had fled, but she folded the slice in half and took another bite. Flavour filled her senses, but it might as well have been cardboard. ‘This is delicious. Thank you for including me.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘I would have been happy with a slice from the convenience store in Bedford.’

‘Enough.’ That was when he moved in that lightning-fast way of his. Leaning over the table, he speared his hand into her hair and cupped the back of her head. His grey gaze was searching and Elena caught something she hadn’t seen in him before. Caution.

The air in the nook changed. The outrage was still in his eyes, but it was accompanied by surprise. ‘You’re for real, aren’t you?’

The words were quiet and almost reverent, but she flinched and pulled back. ‘I don’t joke about money.’

This might all be a game to him, toying with numbers here and watching results there, but money had value to her. Apparently those who didn’t have it valued it more.

‘Wait. Stop. That’s not what I meant.’

She hesitated, fingers curling into her napkin. His hand still cupped the back of her neck, but it wasn’t controlling. It was almost … protective. She looked at him warily.

‘Why did you come here, Elena? To Wolfe Manor?’

‘You know why. To finish my dissertation.’

‘You could have done that anywhere. Why here?’

‘Leonard offered and the price was right.’

A muscle in his jaw flexed. With his stubbly beard, it made him look ruthless.

She sighed and shied away from that piercing gaze. ‘The same as you, OK? The truth is that I needed to be here. I needed to plan. And
rage
.’

She waited for the flash of anger, but her stomach squeezed when she saw what was in his eyes. He still guarded his thoughts and emotions like a wolf defending its den, but desire shone dark and clear. Only this time it wasn’t purely sexual. The wanting went deeper. To yearning.

‘Stay,’ he finally said, his voice raspy.

She’d known that, with them, dinner couldn’t just be dinner.

He shook his head and his thumb rubbed over her ear. ‘Just … stay.’

When Elena awoke the next day, she was alone in Alex’s bed. The room was quiet. The door to the office was closed and her clothes had been picked up off the floor. They were folded on the chair in the corner of the room and an extra blanket had been spread over her. Good thing. The air had a nip to it and all she was wearing was a T-shirt he’d loaned her. The bed wasn’t as warm without him.

She curled into the pillow as she surveyed the weather outside. The sun was hidden again amongst the clouds, but she could tell she’d slept later than usual. Her toes pointed as she stretched. She didn’t think she’d moved all night long. She barely remembered putting her head on the pillow and curling up in Alex’s arms.

Her hand settled against her stomach as she watched a hawk soar against the slate-coloured clouds. They hadn’t made love. They’d simply slept together. There’d been a strain in the air, but not with each other. He still seemed angry about something. He was adept at hiding his feelings and protecting his thoughts, but that much was clear. He’d held her to his side protectively. Almost possessively.

She couldn’t believe she hadn’t heard him get up.

She glanced to his side of the bed and spotted a note. Rolling over, she skimmed the brisk masculine handwriting. It made her come awake fast. He was working on her computer.

She flipped back the covers, got up and headed to the shower. She couldn’t laze around when he was doing that. Already she was worried about whether he’d be able to save her files.

And whether he’d look through them.

After a quick rinse, she got dressed in the clothes she’d worn the day before and made the bed. Looking around, she realised she had nothing to do. She didn’t want to go up to the tech room. Seeing her computer in bits was more than she could take. She rubbed her hands against her thighs. She couldn’t dwell on this. She needed to do something.

She went down to the kitchen and was happy to find Marta.

‘Good morning, ma’am.’ It came as no surprise that the cook was a morning person.

‘Good morning, Marta.’

‘You look all pink-cheeked and refreshed.’ The welcoming smile on the woman’s face turned a bit lopsided.

Elena’s cheeks turned pinker. There was no way to hide the fact that she’d spent the night. ‘I slept well.’

‘Would you like some breakfast?’ the cook asked as she flipped a piece of bread on the hissing skillet in front of her. ‘I’m making French toast.’

The scent of cinnamon made Elena’s stomach growl. She hadn’t eaten much of the pizza last night. ‘That sounds wonderful.’

Marta grinned at the rumble and pointed to the counter with her spatula. ‘There’s some fresh fruit to tide you over until it’s ready.’

Elena was reaching for the strawberries when she noticed the newspaper. It appealed to the sense of hominess she was feeling. She hadn’t read news in print since she could remember, but with her computer on the fritz it was the perfect alternative. She climbed onto the barstool and skimmed the front page. The economy was the top headline as it seemed to be every day.

She opened the paper to the next page. Marta slid a plateful of hot French toast in front of her. Not wanting to let it cool, Elena spread butter on the slices and liberally poured on maple syrup. She rolled her eyes in bliss when she took her first bite.

‘Oh, Marta. This is divine.’

The bubbly chef practically beamed. ‘Orange juice or coffee?’

‘Yes, please.’

She’d made it through half the stack before she glanced again at the newspaper. When she did, she stopped with the fork halfway to her mouth. Bartholomew Wolfe stared up at her, haughty and narrow-eyed. It was an article about the possible sighting in Belize.

Her relaxed mood disappeared.

She read the article carefully, but the story was just as vague as all the ones that had come before it. A man matching Wolfe’s description had gone into a bank to exchange a large amount of American money for Belizean dollars. It was a short piece that the reporter had lengthened by tying it to the story of Alex’s release. How nice for him to bring the attention back to Wolfe Manor.

She took another bite of French toast and chewed mechanically. She didn’t see anything unique in the piece. Nothing stood out as either a hoax or the truth.

She glanced across the breakfast bar. Marta was wiping down the counter adjacent to the stove.

‘Did you work here when Alex’s grandfather was around?’ she asked as innocently as she could.

The woman turned, her gaze going to the newspaper. ‘I did.’

Elena waited.

Marta glanced to see if anyone was about. ‘Horrible old man,’ she whispered conspiratorially. ‘Sullen and self-centred. He’d keep dinner waiting for hours and then be unhappy when it wasn’t perfect.’

Elena frowned. ‘Do you think he’s really in Belize?’

‘He could be anywhere.’ The cook shrugged. ‘As long as he doesn’t come back here, I’m happy. Master Alex is much better to work for.’

Come back. That possibility hadn’t even occurred to Elena. He wouldn’t dare, would he?

She was hiding here and nobody had found her.

She swirled a piece of toast in the puddle of syrup on her plate. ‘It would be too big of a risk for him to come back, even if he is still in the country.’

‘True. Although if he does, his room is ready and waiting.’ Marta nibbled her lower lip. ‘Come to think of it, I should make sure it’s dusted.’

Elena’s chin snapped up. ‘His room?’

‘It’s right upstairs.’ The cook pointed overhead. ‘Above the kitchen, in fact.’

‘His things haven’t been packed up?’

‘Oh, no,’ Marta said, shaking her head. ‘Master Alex told us to leave everything just the way it was. For the investigators.’

It had been a year and a half since Alex had gone to prison. It had to be more than two years since Bartholomew had last been seen. For real. He’d gone on the run right about the time her dad had died.

Elena’s fork clanked against the fine china. She wasn’t going to go there.

She scurried off the high stool. Her head was spinning so fast, she nearly forgot Marta was in the room. ‘Thank you,’ she called over her shoulder.

‘Are you done, dear?’

She was already in the hallway, heading for the staircase.

‘Oh, dear,’ Marta mumbled behind her. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have told you about that.’

* * *

The room wasn’t hard to find. It was at the opposite end of the hallway from Alex’s room – and the only one on the floor with the door closed. Elena approached it determinedly with her fists clenched and her jaw set. She reached out and grabbed the handle. She was surprised when it offered no resistance. The room wasn’t locked.

She pushed the door open but hesitated on the threshold.

The place was musty. It was the first thing that hit her. The stale air made her nose wrinkle, although the room was clean as a whistle. There wasn’t a thing out of place, but it was a scene stuck in time. A suit jacket was draped across the back of a chair. A book lay on the nightstand, along with a set of gold cufflinks. It looked as if an old man had just stepped out.

The floor creaked when she entered.

Her heart was pounding. She didn’t like the feel of the room, but she supposed it only reflected her feelings about the man. She moved to his desk. It was the messiest place in the room.

She thought of the investigators who must have gone through every piece of paper in the house. Had they found anything here? Had they taken it away as evidence? She didn’t know what she was looking for, but there had to be
something
.

Something to explain why. Something to show how.

Her hands were rock-steady as she began flipping through the paperwork. She was spying again, only this time she did it without compunction. He had all the advantages in the world, yet this old man had intentionally stolen from people. He’d taken away their money and their futures.

She scanned every scrap she could find on the desk and in the drawers. She looked at the calendar, flinching when she saw the date she’d lost her father.

Nothing.

There was nothing that gave her the satisfaction she craved. Feeling almost desperate, she flung open the closet door. The musty smell nearly knocked her over. The closet was filled with clothes. Bartholomew couldn’t have taken much with him when he’d run.

Of course, with that kind of money he could buy anything he needed.

She let out a sound that was nearly a growl as she stared into the wardrobe. She wanted to scream at the egotism … the sense of entitlement …

Grabbing hold of the door, she gave in to the impulse to slam it … except that, a moment after she released it, she stopped it with the tips of her fingers. Something had caught her attention.

Confused, she opened the door wide again. There were scuff marks on it. She tilted her head to make sure it wasn’t just shadow play. No, the closet door was pockmarked and scuffed on the bottom half. Paint had peeled off in places.

That was odd. Everything in this house was kept in perfect condition. Even the inside of a closet should have merited the attention of the maintenance staff. She knew Alex had left everything for the investigators to search, but the damage looked old. Why hadn’t –

Her breath caught in her throat until it felt like a knife jabbing.

Oh, no. Alex!

Her knees wobbled and she sank into an unsteady crouch. Her hand shook as she reached out. The marks were all low on the door … about the height of a child. She remembered the way Alex had kicked and clawed when he’d been trapped in the bathroom downstairs. Her hand pulled away as if burned.

Horrified, she looked into the interior of the tiny space. It wasn’t a walk-in closet. The house was over a hundred years old. The storage space was small and dark. There wasn’t even a bare light bulb hanging from its ceiling.

The elevator dinged just across the hall and she jerked. For the first time since she’d entered, Elena felt like she was invading. She lurched to her feet and turned towards the door.

She heard movement, but it was too late to hide.

Her gaze locked with Leonard’s when he turned into the room and, for a brief moment, she felt relief.

It quickly fizzled.

‘Oh, Miss Elena.’ The butler wrung his hands in discomfort. ‘You can’t be in here. You mustn’t –’

‘What is that?’ she demanded. Her finger shook as she pointed at the still open closet.

She knew what had happened. The evidence was clear, but she wanted it not to be true.

Leonard’s gaze started to go in that direction, but he couldn’t look. Her heart died a little when his woeful face turned back towards her.

‘How long?’ she asked, her voice barely above a breath. ‘How long did it go on?’

The butler blanched until he nearly disappeared against his crisp white shirt. ‘Miss Elena, I shouldn’t betray –’

Her spine snapped straight and she took two steps forward. ‘How dare you defend that monster!’

‘Master Alex,’ he said, reaching out to catch her arms. He looked sad and ashamed. ‘He wouldn’t want me talking about this.’