Single Girl Abroad: Untameable Rogue

‘I can imagine,’ she murmured. ‘Was that the reason their marriage failed?’

Luke shrugged. ‘One of them, maybe. But there were other difficulties. Other responsibilities that Jake had to shoulder that got in the way of a marriage.’

Whatever they were, Luke didn’t offer them up. Instead he changed the subject. ‘You said you and your brother were wards of the state. When did that happen?’

‘My mother died when I was seven. My brother was four. My father drank himself to death a year or so later.’ She offered the information up as fact, no sympathy required, and no real expectation of Luke’s understanding.

There was no way to describe the desperation that came of growing up in the care of the state. No money, no permanent home, no control. She hadn’t even been able to keep Remy with her. Only what would fit into a carry case and the dreams she’d carried in her head. One day when I’m old enough … One day when I’m rich … One day when I’m loved …

Madeline lifted a hand from the steering wheel and lightly touched her necklace. That someone, anyone, could love her had come as such a shock. William’s innate kindness had simply sealed the deal.

‘It’s still there,’ said Luke gently. ‘The necklace.’

Silently, Madeline returned her hand to the wheel.

‘My mother died when I was thirteen,’ said Luke next in a rusty voice that bespoke a topic usually avoided. ‘My father’s still alive, but he wasn’t much of a father for a while. There were five of us kids, and we were luckier than you. We got to stay together. We had a house. We had a father in residence, at least on paper. Occasionally, he even remembered to pay the bills. And the four of us younger ones … we had Jake.’

‘I’m glad,’ she murmured, and drove in silence until they reached the skyscraper that housed the first-floor gallery. She drove down into the underground car park, took one look at the bank of lifts and parked by the stairs. The stairs would bring them out onto the street level. Glass doors would take them into the building, and an escalator would take them directly to the gallery door. Luke would doubtless enjoy a little Orchid Road sightseeing far more than he’d enjoy looking at the inside of yet another lift.

She couldn’t be alone in a lift with Luke Bennett right now. Not without reaching for him. Not without wanting him far more than she should.

Luke strode through the luxury marble-and-glass foyer without really admiring it. He liked having enough money that he would never go homeless or hungry. He didn’t see a whole lot of appeal in courting the kind of wealth that Madeline and the Yi family administered on a daily basis, no matter how sweet their rides.

He was here for his brother, and maybe—almost certainly—he was here because he couldn’t stay away from Madeline Delacourte, she of the unwieldy bank balance and gut-wrenching vulnerability. He’d seen the broken child in her eyes when she’d offered up her brief childhood history. He’d seen it in the uncertainty with which she wore those shiny stones. He got it now, he finally got an inkling of why wealth and power ruled her.

The homeless child demanded it.

That same child who hadn’t been able to walk past Po without doing something to help him.

The child tore at his heart. The woman the child had become had the capacity to steal it from him whole.

An art show.

Lord save him, this wasn’t his world.

‘Ready?’ she said lightly.

To fall in love with her? ‘Not in the slightest,’ he said as they stepped off the escalator and approached the door, where a weather-beaten little peacock of a man stood waiting beside a podium that might normally be used to display a menu but tonight held only a list of names.

‘Madeline Delacourte,’ the man said, with what looked to be genuine delight. ‘It’s my pleasure to see you out and about again. It’s been too long.’

‘Arthur,’ said Madeline in reply, and bestowed on him a polished smile. ‘You rogue. What are you doing here?’

‘My job,’ said Arthur. ‘You’re looking at Gallery One’s latest curator.’ The little rogue peacock put his palm to his chest. ‘Arthur,’ he said grandly, ‘has fallen on his feet.’

‘Congratulations,’ said Madeline, and turned towards Luke, as if conscious of having left him out of the conversation. ‘William was very fond of acquiring antique Chinese porcelain pieces. Arthur was very fond of finding them for him. The last piece Arthur found for him was a magnificent funeral vase which cost a small fortune, even by William’s standards.’

‘Ah, but it was a masterpiece,’ said Arthur. ‘Was it not?’

‘Indeed it was, and I have to say it came in very handy.’

Arthur blanched. ‘You didn’t.’

‘Oh, but I did,’ said Madeline with an amused smile, and sashayed through the sliding glass doors.

Sparing a searching glance for the shell-shocked doorman, Luke followed her into the gallery and played the part of companion and helped Madeline remove her lightweight wrap.

‘I take it William’s currently resting in the funeral vase,’ he murmured.

‘He was very fond of it,’ said Madeline. ‘It seemed the least I could do.’

‘You didn’t …?’ Luke knew a little something of Chinese funeral vases—most of it gleaned from his sister. He shook his head. ‘Never mind.’

‘Never mind what?’

‘Nothing. Except …’

Madeline waited expectantly for him to finish.

‘How did William die?’

‘It was very strange,’ she said. ‘He stepped out onto the road unexpectedly and got run over by a truck.’

Luke stepped back and handed Madeline her wrap. They made their way towards the first painting, a white circle on a black background, with a smaller black blob dead centre of the white circle, and bright red squiggles radiating from its centre. It looked like a drunkard’s eyeball and Luke would definitely not want to wake up to it every morning.

The price tag made him grin.

He tilted his head and studied the painting some more. No, not a drunkard’s eyeball. A dead man’s eyeball. ‘A truck, you say?’

‘Mmm.’ Madeline moved on to the next picture. More blobs, different colours, with a fork sticking out of the centre. ‘I’m really not seeing the symbolism,’ she murmured.

‘That’s okay.’ Luke was seeing more than enough symbolism for both of them. ‘So … William buys a funeral vase—’

‘Actually, I bought the funeral vase, even though William chose it. It was a birthday gift.’

Luke shuddered. ‘So you buy William a funeral vase … and then he gets run over by a truck and dies.’

Madeline turned to stare at him, amused incredulity writ plain on her face. ‘Luke Bennett, are you superstitious?’

‘No,’ he muttered darkly as a tiny, dark-haired matron dressed in sleek dove grey approached them. ‘Not precisely.’

‘Elena,’ said Madeline with a smile. ‘Always a pleasure.’

‘When Bruce told me he’d seen you out and about I rejoiced for you,’ said Elena, with what sounded like sincerity. ‘Six years is too long a time for a young widow to cloister herself away from society.’ The woman turned to Luke, her eyes sharp and assessing. ‘And you must be Luke.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Jianne said yours was the most beautiful family of warriors she’d ever seen. I’ve never met Jacob, but if he’s anything like you I think she must have spoken true.’ Elena’s gaze cut back to Madeline. ‘Is it true?’