Seducing the Enemy Page 6

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.

  …

  The next morning, Marietta found the breakfast room empty, although the sideboard was filled with trays of eggs, potatoes, bacon, toast, tomatoes, and pastries.

  It was just seven o’clock, but apparently Damon and Harrison had already eaten, and Andrew wasn’t yet out of bed.

  She disliked being in the house alone, although she wasn’t sure the company of Damons would be preferable.

  She ate. Then she wandered around aimlessly without anything to do. Gordon told her that Damon had left instructions that she should make herself at home and that the staff was at her service. Apparently, he was busy with work all day. Harrison had gone to London until late afternoon.

  She took a walk around the grounds, trying to feel scorn rather than admiration for the beautifully kept gardens and wooded park. After lunch, she went to the library, hoping for something to read.

  What the hell was she even doing here, if everyone ignored her?

  She could have been home by now, surrounded by her friends and family and familiar landscape. She could have relaxed and fallen back into her real life.

  She’d taken this huge step, been victorious over her instinct to panic, only to be ignored—as if it were all for nothing.

  The library was huge and had a vast collection of books, but not the kinds she wanted. She needed something light and enjoyable—a romance or a cozy mystery. After browsing the shelves, she finally picked up Little Women and stretched out on a chaise near the window to read.

  It seemed strange that a male-dominated home like this one would have Louisa May Alcott on the shelves, but she would take her pleasures where she could find them.

  She’d gotten through a few chapters when something buzzed by her ear. She jerked away instinctively.

  A wasp darted toward her, hovering at the corner of the pages.

  She waved the book, but the wasp circled angrily, staying just outside the range of her book. Afraid it was going to sting her, she scrambled out of the chaise and backed away.

  She had no quarrel with the fat, friendly bumblebees that frequented the gardens in Provence, but she hated wasps. Thin and angular, they’d always struck her as looking malicious.

  When the wasp flew over to the bay window and buzzed around the glass, she warily sat back down on the chaise.

  In a minute, the insect flew over to join her again and Marietta jumped up, waving her book to shoo the wasp. She knew she shouldn’t rile them up by hitting at them, but how else could she get rid of them?

  The wasp made a few vindictive sweeps around her head, then returned to the window.

  She scanned the room and found a pile of magazines on a side table. Grabbing a glossy business publication, she stalked toward the window.

  The wasp had landed on the glass. She very slowly brought the magazine up and smacked it hard against the window.

  The wasp flew out of range just in time.

  With a snarl of annoyance, Marietta slapped at it again. She missed a second time, watching as it flew toward the ceiling, beyond the range of her arm.

  She waited, determined and on guard.

  This was war. She had to put up with arrogant, heartless Damon men, but she wasn’t going to be bullied by a Damon wasp.

  She stood perfectly still until the wasp alit on a delicate antique table that looked like it might be Chippendale. Inching toward it, she swung the magazine and once again missed her target.

  She chased the wasp to the arm of a leather chair, then the wall next to the window, and then a bookshelf. As it continued to elude her, she got more and more annoyed, and whirled to chase it full speed toward the library door.

  It was then that she discovered she wasn’t alone in the room.

  Harrison and Andrew stood in the doorway watching her antics in stunned silence.

  At that point, however, there was no way she could halt her momentum.

  The wasp cleverly flew between the two men in the doorway.

  Marietta’s magazine landed hard on Harrison’s face, the impact forcing her to an abrupt, clumsy halt.

  Harrison made a muffled sound of surprise and clutched at his eye. “What the hell?”

  Marietta froze with dismay, jarred by the unintentional blow. Still clinging to the magazine, she gaped at Harrison.

  Andrew gave a whoop. “
Assaulted in our own library!” he declared, choking on poorly hidden laughter. “Don’t deny you deserved it.”

  “Oh no!” Marietta gasped. She’d landed a really good blow to Harrison’s face. “I’m sorry. Did I get your eye?”

  “Looks like it.” Andrew was nearly doubled over now with his hilarity. “And I’m usually the one women want to smack in the face.”

  Marietta shot him an annoyed look and stepped over toward Harrison. “Did I hurt you? Let me look at it.”

  Harrison avoided her investigative hands. “Enough,” he gritted out. “Woman, you are a disaster.”

  This sent Andrew off into new peals of laughter.

  “I didn’t mean to.” She was distressed at having whacked Harrison, but Andrew’s amusement was infectious. And Harrison looked so outraged, clutching his eye and shaking with fury.

  “There was a wasp—” Her voice cracked on the last word. She had to glance away to keep from giggling, which did nothing to ease his mood.

  With a growling sound in his throat, Harrison commandeered the magazine, folded it in half, and swung. He didn’t appear to have even aimed, but his smack landed precisely on the wood molding, neatly squishing the wasp.

  “Oh!” Marietta felt a surge of indignation that Harrison could have so easily killed the wasp that had gotten her into trouble.

  Her response was evidently too much for Andrew. He fled, his howls of laughter echoing through the hallway.

  Because he’d lowered his hand, Marietta could now see the damage to Harrison’s face. His left eye wasn’t fully opened, and the cheekbone below it was bright red.

  She tried to feel pleased that she’d given Harrison a black eye.

  If anyone deserved it, he did.

  …

  Harrison was still stewing over Marietta that night.

  The woman was a disaster. A full-fledged, unmitigated, hopeless disaster.

  When he finished in his office, he took the long route back to his room so he could walk past Marietta’s door—in case she was up to something.

  He shouldn’t have been surprised—much less faintly disappointed—when Marietta verified his suspicions by sneaking out of her room. She closed the door quietly and turned down the hall.