The British Billionaire Bachelor, Act Three (17 page)

Gently kissing her thighs, he sidled on to the mattress and stretched out next to her, pulling her against him. She was whimpering softly, murmuring something he couldn’t make out, and when he spoke her name she didn’t react. Simon smiled; she was flying, lost in her subspace.

Sitting up, he watched her, filled with a deep sense of joie de vivre. Gently wiping the hair off her face, he softly called her name, guiding her back down. Finally fluttering her eyes open, she stared up at him in wonder.

“Welcome back,” he purred.

“Mountains, and sun, warm, healing sun,” she breathed.

Sighing, he laid back down and cradled her, closing his eyes, allowing her serenity to wash over him.

B
ack in London, Joseph’s plans to take Lucinda to visit Oxfordshire or Cambridge had fallen by the wayside. Waking on Saturday morning, they’d cuddled and kissed and made love, fallen asleep, then started again, leaving their suite only once, late in the day for an early dinner.

Not getting out of bed until midmorning Sunday, they decided perhaps it might be best to appear somewhat civilized, so chose to have lunch in the dining room and read the Sunday papers. They had just finished their meal and were deciding how to spend their afternoon, when Joseph’s phone rang.

“It’s Hardcastle,” he announced, staring across at Lucinda as he pulled it from his pocket.

“How do you know it’s him?”

“Simon gave me this burner phone just for Hardcastle’s calls. He’s the only one with the number.”

Taking a deep breath, he flipped it open.

“Cardinelli,” he said casually.

“Joseph, Darren Hardcastle here. I’d like to have a chat. Are you available around one-o’clock?”

“Let me think. Yes, Lucinda has a reporter coming to the house for lunch at 12:30, so she’ll be tied up for at least an hour. I won’t have to worry about her,” he replied.

“Excellent, come to my house,” Darren decreed.

Joseph paused. ‘Always meet Hardcastle in a public place,’ Simon had told him. ‘I know you can take care of yourself, but he has a nasty reputation and I don’t want you to take any unnecessary chances.’

“Is there a problem?” Darren asked, sensing the hesitation.

“A bit. I need to stay close by in case Lucinda needs me. There’s a cafe just around the corner from the house called, The Black Kettle. I could meet you there,” Joseph suggested.

“I’ll see you there at one,” Darren replied sharply.

The line went dead and Joseph let out a whistle.

“That was quick,” he remarked. “I thought it would take him a few days to check me out.”

“Not if he has an internet dick,” Lucinda replied.

“What’s an internet dick?” Joseph frowned.

“An internet detective, someone who knows how to find information on the internet,” she explained. “There’s no such thing as privacy anymore.”

“I guess you’re right,” Joseph grimaced.

“So it’s happening. You’re going to meet him. Please be careful.”

“Of course I will, and I’d better call Simon and fill him in.”

Across town Darren Hardcastle was sitting at his desk in his study rubbing the back of his neck. It was his habit, what he did when he was thinking. He’d been after Sinclair for years. Getting the better of the nobility and the rich was his reason for living, and his favorite method of draining them of their money was blackmail, but he’d never been able to find any dirt on Sinclair.

He’d once heard a rumor that the billionaire had installed a BDSM playroom at Chatsworth Hall, but he couldn’t find anyone to corroborate the story, and even though he’d put several women in Sinclair’s path, women who would happily allow themselves to be tied up and whipped for the money he’d paid them, Sinclair had never taken the bait, and Darren had assumed the rumors were just that, rumors.

If Darren couldn’t blackmail his targets, his Plan B was swindling them out of their money, creating a legitimate business deal that he could manipulate and exploit. The Duke of Chatsworth had been easy, almost too easy. It had taken time, of course, but the payoff had been huge. It was when Sinclair had bought the old man’s estate that Darren had decided Simon was to be one of his marks. The man had megabucks, and Darren wanted as much of it has he could get his hands on.

Overhearing the conversation between Joseph and the fetching young starlet at The Ivy had been a brilliant stroke of luck, and Darren was convinced if he could get his hands on the property Sinclair wanted, he could hold the rich man’s feet to the fire and squeeze an insane price out of him, assuming of course, what he’d overheard had been correct.

Joseph Cardinelli. He was the key. Brandon had checked him out and had reported that everything Joseph had told Darren had been true. He’d been a chauffeur at the Hotel Bel Air, there was a record of Sinclair hiring a town car for three days after he’d left Los Angeles, so it was logical to assume it had been for Lucinda, and Cardinelli was indeed clerking at a law firm in Beverly Hills.

It wasn’t a big job Darren needed from Joseph, but it was a critical one. Darren needed the details of the land deal Sinclair was working on, and he was hoping Joseph’s stay at the Sinclair mansion would mean he’d have access to Sinclair’s briefcase, or study. Everyone in London knew Tyler Anderson was Sinclair’s real estate guru, and Anderson certainly wouldn’t divulge any information, so Darren needed someone on the inside, someone who could sneak a look at the file, and he hoped Joseph could be his man.

Darren had studied his mark for years. Sinclair was careful, methodical, tough as nails, and brilliant. Of course that came as no surprise; a self-made man had to be all those things, and more. That Sinclair had an impeccable reputation and had remained scandal free was the annoying and surprising part of the picture, so if Darren was going to get his hands on some of Sinclair’s fortune, it had to be a business transaction. The land deal could be just what he’d been waiting for.

Rising from his desk and stretching his limbs, he stared across at his safe, his most treasured possession. It was huge, made of thick steel and virtually impenetrable. Made in the 1920s, nothing short of a blast of dynamite could open its door. Darren didn’t trust banks, and while he was forced to use them for his legitimate business transactions, he wasn’t about to place his ill-gotten gains in a safety deposit box.

He labeled his two sources of money, BMM Hard, and BMM Soft. BMM Hard stood for Bowl Movement Money, the cash he earned through his barely-legal wheeling and dealing. He had to pay taxes on those funds, and account for them, and it made him crazy.

BMM Soft was his acronym for Blackmail Money, and that money lived in his safe along with all the incriminating evidence he had on politicians, judges, celebrities, heirs and heiresses, and many others.

Over recent months he’d wondered if keeping all his eggs in one basket, albeit a virtual Fort Knox of a basket, was wise, but it had served him well for decades, and at such times the old saying would bounce around in his head, “If it ain’t broke…” so he’d left well enough alone. As far as anyone knew it was just an interesting piece of history, an antique, one of many such pieces in his home.

But Darren’s instincts had been right.

There were a handful of victims who were all too aware of the contents of the safe, and each of them, individually, were determined to get inside it and remove all the damning information, not just about themselves, but all the others Darren had in his pocket. Darren Hardcastle had ruined many lives, and his reign of terror was continuing unabated.

Brandon had, over time, kept Darren apprised of Sinclair’s various well-publicized deals, and a comprehensive file on the supermarket project was on already on his desk. It was no secret Simon was planning to buy a farm, or raw land to transform into a farm, to grow his own crops. What wasn’t public knowledge was what Darren had overheard at The Ivy; not only was Simon going to grow crops, he was planning to build an entire town, and after an exhaustive search he’d finally found the very special, elusive acreage that would accommodate his needs.

I’m going to find out where that land is and buy it right out from under him, and if he wants it, he’ll have to pay plenty,
Darren smirked, striding around his office, rubbing his neck.

He couldn’t lose. If the soil was that usable, and the location so perfect, even if Simon didn’t pay the exorbitant price Darren would ask, someone would at some point. He could buy it and hold it until some other rich jerk came along. He just needed to know where the land was, and how much Simon had offered. It was all up to Joseph.

Back at the house it was almost time for Joseph to leave, and Lucinda was being difficult, insisting she join him.

“But I can sit at another table. You can tell him the reporter canceled,” she argued.

“Absolutely not,” Joseph declared. “Besides, I’ll probably only be gone a short time. He gets right to the point, he won’t be keeping me around to discuss the weather.”

“This is pissing me off,” she pouted.

“Stop being a brat,” he scolded. “Just stay here and behave yourself, or grab a cab and go shopping, or call your mother, but whatever you do, behave yourself.”

Walking to his closet he pulled out his black trench coat and headed for the door.

“Are you going to walk me down or should I say goodbye here?” he asked.

“Here,” she sighed, moving across to him. “I’ll see if there’s something interesting on the tube, but promise me we’ll go somewhere fun tonight.”

“Yes, we’ll go somewhere fun, if you behave,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

She walked with him to the living room, then watched him leave and flopped down on the couch. One thing she needed to do was organize a change of sheets for their bed; the current set had seen way too much action.

As Joseph walked through the foyer he picked up one of the Sunday papers. He’d already read it, but thought it would be a good prop if Darren kept him waiting, and stepping outside he popped up his umbrella, the relentless misty drizzle refusing to abate, and as he set off he pulled out his phone and called Simon.

“I’m on my way,” he announced.

“Good. Play hard to get. If it’s too easy his radar will beep,” Simon warned, “and by the way, Belle and I have decided to start back early.”

“Drive safely, and I’ll call you as soon as I get home,” Joseph replied.

Striding down the street he felt a chill and turned up the collar of his coat, hoping it was a reaction to the cold and not a precognitive shiver. Turning the corner at the end of the street, The Black Kettle came into view, and he quickened his step, eager to get inside and order some tea. He wanted to be settled and relaxed when Darren arrived.

The tearoom was perfect for the meeting. Though it was lunchtime, it was a Sunday so there were very few patrons, and several tables were nestled in quiet nooks, a unique feature left in place as the old building had gone through its many renovations. Selecting the furthest from the door, the one least likely to have people sit nearby, Joseph immediately ordered a pot of tea and a plate of cakes, then opened his newspaper.

The service was prompt and efficient, and Joseph had just finished pouring a cup when he saw Darren walking towards him.

“Joseph,” the tall man smiled, pulling off his rich leather gloves and extending his hand. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Thanks for asking. I must admit I’m intrigued,” Joseph replied, shaking his hand briskly. “Tea?”

“Yes, always,” Darren responded, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get right to the point.”

“I would prefer it,” Joseph nodded, “though as I told you, my time isn’t my own, so I’m not sure-”

“This is a minor thing,” Darren interrupted. “Who’s paying you, is Sinclair paying you?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Do you know him very well?” Darren asked.

“Just to say hello. Lucinda’s only staying there because her sister is Simon’s fiancee, but they left the house the day we moved in. I guess she and her sister don’t get along very well. It’s all a bit weird if you ask me.”

“So, no great loyalty to Sinclair then?” Hardcastle pressed.

“No, none. To be honest, he was kind of a jerk to me in L.A.,” Joseph added for good measure, “and after I arrived here he changed the terms of our agreement. Kind of ticked me off, and that’s not confidential. I don’t care who knows it.”

“You had words?” Darren frowned.

“I can’t say we really had words. It may have been an honest misunderstanding, and I’m still pleased to be here, but it did tick me off a bit. If you don’t mind my asking, how is that relevant? I mean, what is it you want me to do?”

“Simple, it’s not illegal, might be a bit immoral, but it’s not illegal.”

“I’m listening,” Joseph nodded.

“I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation at The Ivy the other day, about the land he wants to buy. All you have to do is find out a few details. Where it is, who owns it, and how much he’s offering. You think you can do that?”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. I’ll pay you five thousand pounds for the answer to each of those questions. Simple job, not illegal,” Darren repeated, “but I need the answers quick, because if you can’t get them I need to find someone who can.”

“That’s a lot of money,” Joseph said quietly.

“You’re in his house, do you have access to his briefcase or his study?”

“Like I said, he moved out, but getting into his study is easy. I know he was working from there before they left, because Belle had been complaining to Lucinda about how many hours he’d been spending at his office, so he’d started working from home,” he lied, “but to be poking around in there…”

“I’ll get the information regardless,” Darren declared. “I just think it might be easier for you than for someone else, and you could end up with fifteen grand for five minutes work.”

“I’m just not sure,“Joseph wavered.

“All cash, no-one will ever know.”

“He might have some papers in his study,” Joseph remarked thoughtfully. “Lucinda told me he’s coming over tonight to pick up some files he left behind. He and Belle have been down in the country for the weekend. I could probably get in there before he gets home.”