Claimed By The Wealthy Magnate

Barcelona. Don’t go there.

As for the panic—she’d tamed it once, and she’d tame it again. All she had to do was be Lady Kaitlin—be the calm, in control woman she’d taught herself to be. The woman who could produce suitable emotion on tap without feeling a thing.

‘We need to talk, Kaitlin. In private.’

Oh, hell. She knew exactly what Prince Frederick wanted to talk about—he wanted to propose and she just didn’t want him to. Not yet. Not ever, said a small, defiant voice that she tuned out without compunction. This was what she wanted—what most women would rip their own arm off for. Marriage to a wealthy, handsome prince who also possessed the bonus of a moral code. So of course she wanted him to propose—but just not now.

‘Yes, we do. But not here. This is Gabe and Etta’s day. I don’t want us to overshadow it in any way.’

She’d been there and done that at her sister’s wedding, and the guilt still pinged within her.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t think us having a conversation will overshadow Gabe’s wedding. In truth, I don’t think anything could overshadow this day for him. Gabe is a man in love.’

Frederick was right—though who would have thought it? Her big brother, nearly as big an emotional disaster zone as Kaitlin herself, had succumbed to the biggest emotion of all and fallen hook, line and sinker for Etta Mason.

‘Even so...it is still their day. If we disappear to have a “private” conversation every reporter in the room will clock it.’

To say nothing of her parents. The Duke and Duchess of Fairfax were watching their eldest daughter like a pair of hawk-eagle hybrids.

The Prince frowned, and it was a relief to hear the deep sound of her brother’s voice from behind her.

‘Kait.’

She turned gracefully, smile in place to greet the euphoric bridegroom, and then she froze. Her brain scrambled for purchase and her stomach nosedived as her eyes absorbed the identity of the man standing next to her brother. Surely she was in the throes of a hallucination? Please let that be the case. She’d take the prospect of insanity over reality in a heartbeat.

Pulling up every ounce of learned poise and ability to rise to any social occasion, she forced her jaw to remain clenched and prayed that no one could hear the accelerated pounding of her heart as she let her gaze rest on the man next to Gabe.

No doubt about it—it was Daniel.

Same dark brown hair, same raw energy that couldn’t be concealed by the expensively tailored suit. Those oh-so-familiar ice-blue eyes met hers full-on and she could read the anger in their depths. An anger she didn’t—couldn’t—blame him for. After the most magical night imaginable she’d sneaked away into the chilly Barcelona dawn without so much as a by your leave. Worse, she had lied shamelessly about her identity.

What to do? What to do now?

There was zilch she could do—except hope that he wouldn’t expose her. Yet even as her head reeled with the sheer horror of the situation, and its potential for disaster, her body betrayed her with a frisson of memory that prickled her skin.

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ Gabe said, though Kaitlin noted there was not so much as a hint of apology in his tone. ‘But I wanted to introduce you to someone. Kaitlin, this is Daniel Harrington. He has made a generous contribution to the manor and is also linked with the Caversham Foundation.’

Mind racing, Kaitlin forced her lips to turn up in a polite smile with a touch of appreciation. Her years of careful practice in front of a mirror to perfect a smile for any occasion was coming in handy. Even as her brain seethed with tumult it tried to come to terms with the scale of the disaster.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said, her voice even as she held out one perfectly manicured hand, impressed to see that her fingers didn’t so much as tremble. It was a shame the same couldn’t be said of her insides. Then he clasped her hand in his, in the briefest of handshakes, and a funny little thrill raced through her bloodstream.

No! No! No! There could be no thrills of any sort—that was a complete non-starter. It was imperative to focus, to work out a way to end this whole scenario before her life imploded. In public.

‘Likewise,’ Daniel said, his voice silk-smooth and deadly as nightshade. ‘I must admit I hoped to meet you today.’ A smile utterly devoid of mirth turned up his lips. ‘I’d like to discuss a project with you—I realise this is a big day for you, and you have lots of duties as maid of honour, but it will only take a few minutes.’

Kaitlin quelled the urge to cover her ears, close her eyes and hope that would equate to sudden invisibility. But that wasn’t an option. Somehow Daniel had worked out her identity and he now had the ammunition to embroil her in a scandal. Worse it would impact not just herself, but Frederick as well—and that wasn’t fair. True enough, technically Kaitlin had done nothing wrong—but her association with Frederick had begun near enough to that disastrous Barcelona night as would make no difference. To the press, at least.

This scenario was a nightmare. She had hoped—believed—that she would never see Daniel again, and here he was, requesting a few minutes of her time.

Who was she kidding? His words had been posed as a request, but his eyes were glacial, his jaw was set, and she knew if she didn’t acquiesce he’d have no hesitation in forcing the issue.

‘Of course,’ she murmured. ‘I’d be interested to hear what you have to say.’

The words fell from her lips automatically—she didn’t want anyone to suspect how rattled she was. Lady Kaitlin Derwent didn’t do rattled, and now was not the time to start.

‘Well, there’s no time like the present. Would anyone mind if I whisk Kaitlin off?’

Kaitlin blinked. That was not what she had in mind—she’d wanted time to think, regroup.

Prince Frederick glanced at her. ‘It is entirely up to Kaitlin whether it is convenient for her to speak with you now.’

Etta glanced from Daniel to Kaitlin and back again. ‘I don’t need you to do anything but enjoy yourself. That’s what I’m hoping everyone will do.’

Daniel smiled. ‘I promise I’ll keep the business talk to a minimum.’

‘Make sure you do,’ Etta said with a light laugh. ‘Now, we had better mingle.’

Gabe twined an arm round his bride’s waist and they smiled at each other—smiles that could only be described as goofy—and Kaitlin experienced a small pang of envy, felt the sudden ache of emptiness. Exacerbated as she glanced from Frederick’s closed expression to Daniel’s glacial one. Not so much as a hint of goofiness in the vicinity.

Frederick nodded. ‘Make sure you’re back in time for the waltz.’

With that he moved away, through the throng of guests, and within moments had been absorbed into a group.

For a second Kaitlin stood, her high-heeled sandals rooted to the marquee floor, frozen by the surreal impossibility of Daniel’s presence. Fear dried her mouth. How had he found her? What was he going to do? Questions crowded and jostled in her brain, even as she kept her expression neutral. Yet alongside the anxiety that stretched her nerves there was...awareness.

Try as she might, she couldn’t stop the memories from tumbling back. Sensations, taste, passion, laughter...the feel of his touch skimming her skin... The very thought made her shiver across the nine-month gap.

Rein it in, Kaitlin.

Because clearly Daniel was not walking that path of memory—his expression displayed a cold anger that was not a happy omen for the forthcoming discussion.

Come on, Kaitlin.

It might still be all right—if he’d wanted to create a scene he surely would have done so by now.

‘How about we take this outside?’ he suggested, his voice hard.

Kaitlin shook her head. ‘No. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about us.’

Lord knew she didn’t want anyone to get any idea about them at all—even a glimmer of the truth had the potential to destroy her future.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Bit late to worry about that now, isn’t it?’

‘Shh! For goodness’ sake, could you please keep your voice down? We need to be discreet.’

Her head spun, though she took pride in the knowledge that not a single observer would notice her inner turmoil. All that was on show was the poised, collected Lady Kaitlin Derwent, chatting politely to a wedding guest. Unless, of course, anyone actually overheard the content of the conversation...

He shook his head. ‘Wrong. You need to be discreet. I couldn’t care less. So, if you want discretion I suggest we take this outside. There’s less chance we’ll be overheard or interrupted out there.’