Barbara Dunlop - Millions To Spare

Harrison stood. “Why would I give you back your phone?”

“So I can call a taxi.”

He shook his head. “You’re a criminal in my custody. You’re not going anywhere until you tell me the truth.”

Julia quickly looked through the purse, searching for the other important item. Where was the cotton swab? Her heart beat deeply in her chest. Where was her DNA evidence?

Harrison started for the door. “We’ll chat again after lunch.”

“But-”

“Do enjoy your breakfast. Can I have Leila bring you anything else? A magazine perhaps.”

Julia didn’t want a magazine. She wanted a cell phone, a PDA, a walkie-talkie, anything with which to communicate with the outside world.

“Can I use a computer?” she tried.

He chuckled. “Right. That’s likely.”

“Well, can I at least get out of this room?” Communication devices were obviously not coming in, so she’d have to get out and find one.

He frowned as he considered her request.

She gestured to the fenced grounds below the balcony. There were also guards at the gate. Come to think of it, the place had an awful lot of security for a horse stable. Maybe horse thieves were common. Maybe Harrison had a legitimate reason to suspect she was trying to steal Millions to Spare.

“Where am I going to go?” she challenged him.

After another silent moment, he relented. “I’ll have Leila show you to the main terrace. There’s a pool there, and the staff will bring you anything you need.”

Julia came to her feet, determined to push her luck as far as it could be pushed. “How about a tour?”

He raised one of his aristocratic brows. “A tour of what?”

“The palace, the gardens, the stable. If I’m going to do a story-”

He snorted his disbelief.

“-it’ll be helpful to slot in some background.”

He stared at her in silence.

“I do want to interview you.”

He took a step toward her. “I’ll give you a tour myself.”

Okay, that wasn’t exactly the perfect solution. She’d been hoping for Leila, or perhaps someone elderly, with hearing and sight challenges.

“Problem with that?” he asked.

“Not at all. I can interview you while we tour.” At least it was a step in the right direction. She could always hope Harrison got called away or distracted while they were out, and then she’d seize the opportunity.

He opened the bedroom door and gestured for her to precede him. They followed the same route back to the great hall. From there, Harrison led her through the glass doors and onto a huge, concrete veranda. It overlooked a picturesque, tiled pool surrounded by palm trees and deck loungers, with a few umbrella tables in the distance.

As they stood side by side at the rail, Julia was struck again by the excesses of Harrison’s lifestyle. Did he honestly feel the need to live like a king?

“What’s your first question?” he asked.

“What on earth do you do for a living?” she asked without thinking.

He glanced quizzically down at her.

“You have a very, uh, nice place here,” she elaborated.

“I own Cadair Racing,” he told her.

“Right.”

“Do you need a notebook for this?”

“No.”

Again, that skeptical glance that told her he was onto her.

“I have a very good memory,” she supplied, checking out the perimeter of the yard. The fence stretched into the ocean, but there was a chance she could wade around it.

“You rely on your memory?”

“Yes, I do.”

He nodded. “Please proceed.”

She wondered if the guards were armed. She hadn’t thought about the possibility of getting shot.

“Julia?” Harrison prompted.

She blurted out the first question that came to her mind. “Your full name.”

“The Right Honorable Lord Harrison William Arthur Beaumont-Rochester, Baron Welsmeire.”

That got her attention. She squinted up at him. “You’re joking.”

“I’m quite serious.”

So that’s where he got all the money. “Are you in line for the British throne or something?”

“Number two hundred and forty-seven.”

“You know the exact number?”

“Of course I know the exact number.” His mouth twitched for a second in what had to be an aborted smile. “Two hundred and forty-six untimely deaths, and I’m in.”

Julia struggled not to grin in return. “Will you kill them off yourself?”

His eyes squinted ever so suspiciously, reminding her that they were adversaries not friends. “Why? Is that what you’d do?”

The questions took her by surprise. “Hey, I might be willing to steal-” She cut herself off, astonished to realize she had been about to confess to stealing a swab of horse DNA.

“What?” he asked softly.

She frantically struggled to regroup.

“What is it you’re willing to steal, Julia?”

Her brain scrambling, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Toilet paper.”

His brows went up.

“Back at the jail,” she improvised. “I was getting pretty desperate.”

He propped a hand against the concrete rail, his gray eyes narrowing. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because you have trust issues.”

He gave a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Never had them before.” Then he shook his head. “You are definitely a problem for me, Julia Nash.”

She shrugged. “Then let me leave.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

He stared levelly at her for a few silent heartbeats, while the air all but crackled between them.

“If you know,” he finally said, “then I don’t need to tell you. And if you don’t know, then I definitely can’t tell you.”

“That was more convoluted than your full name.”

He gestured to a wide concrete staircase that led down to the pool and began walking. “Care for a swim?”

She kept pace with him. “I thought we were having a tour.”

“It’s getting warm.”

“I’m fine.”

He nodded, but he led her to one of the umbrella-covered tables and pulled out a chair.

Julia sighed. Getting a tour of the stables wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d hoped.

They’d no sooner sat down than three servants arrived. One spread a tablecloth in front of them. One added silver, china and crystal place settings. While the third placed a floral arrangement, a plate of scones and jam, and a pitcher of peach-colored juice.

“Roughing it?” she asked him.

“Is that an interview question?” Harrison dismissed the servants and poured the juice himself.

“No.” She sat back in her chair. “More of an editorial comment on your life.”

“Am I about to get a lecture on privilege and excess?”

“You’re number two hundred and forty-seven in line for the British throne. I’m guessing this isn’t the worst of your excesses.”

He put down the pitcher. “I see you remember the exact number.”

“I told you I had a good memory.”

“And here I thought your lack of a notebook meant you were lying through your teeth, and you never really intended to interview me at all.”

Julia experienced a twinge of guilt. “Shows you how wrong you can be, doesn’t it?”

“Say my name?”

“Harrison Rochester.”

“You know what I mean.”

Julia smiled to herself. “The Right Honorable Lord Harrison William Arthur Beaumont-Rochester.” Then she paused for a beat. “Baron Welsmeire.”

“Damn,” he muttered, obviously surprised.

She pressed her advantage. “Has it occurred to you that I might not be lying?”

“Not even for a second.”

Their gazes caught and smoldered, while some sort of arousal rose unwanted within her.

“Where were you born?” she finally asked him.

“This is going to be a bloody long interview.”

She waited.

“I was born in Welsmeire Castle, south of Windermere-”

“You were born in a castle?”

“Yes.”

“Why not a hospital?”

“Tradition. Bragging rights. I don’t know.”

“So your poor mother had you in a castle so you could brag about it in later life?”

He threw up his hands. “There was a doctor in attendance.”

“Well, wasn’t that good of you.”

“I was a newborn at the time. Wait. No, not quite a newborn at the time.”

“Barbaric,” muttered Julia.

“It was her choice,” said Harrison.

“Well, I’ll be going to a hospital.”

“Good to know.”

Julia took a sip of her juice. “Brothers and sisters?”

“One sister. Elizabeth. Are you always this poorly prepared for an interview?”

Julia ignored his question. “So Elizabeth’s on the British crown list, too?”

“Considerably farther down than me.”

“Do you think that’s fair?”

“Are you here to talk about my horse or revolutionize the British monarchy?”

“We can’t do both?”

He cracked a grin. “Better women than you have tried.”

She moved a little closer. “Are you saying you agree with such a misogynistic approach to succession?”

He leaned in, as well. “I’m saying, at number two hundred and forty-seven, there’s little I can do about it.”

“You could oppose it.”

“In my spare time? I’m a busy man, with a lot of important business dealings and connections, international connections.”

Was he bragging?

He seemed to be watching for her reaction to that statement.

“Okay,” she drawled. “And how long have you lived in Dubai?”

He straightened, peering at her a few seconds longer.

“I’ve owned Cadair for ten years. I spend winters here, summers in England.”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“Engaged?”

He hesitated. “Not yet.”

Julia experienced a jolt of curiosity. What kind of woman would marry a man like Harrison?

Then she quickly realized just about any kind of woman would marry him.

“Sounds like a scoop for me. Who is she?”

“Who says I’ve picked her out?”

Julia cocked her head. “So can I tell my female readers you’re still available?”

“Julia, you have no female readers. You have no readers, period. This is a sham.”

“Then why are you going along with me?”

“I’m trying to figure out what you’re up to.”

“If I leave, I can’t be up to anything, can I?”

“If you leave,” he countered, “you could be up to absolutely anything.”

“I really need to call my friends.”

He shook his head.

“They’re going to think I’m dead.”

He got that intense, probing look on his face again. “Now, why would they think that?”

“Because I disappeared for twenty-four hours in a foreign country. In my world, that’s weird.”

“And what world is that?”

She leaned forward, slowing her speech, enunciating each word. “Horse-race reporting.”

“I almost believe you.”

It took Julia nearly two hours of feigned interest in libraries, paintings, statues, a wine cellar and Middle Eastern horticulture before Harrison was finally called away on business. He threatened to lock her back in her room, but she all but begged to see the stables. Finally, he relented, and left her in Leila’s care.

It didn’t take her long to figure out why he’d let her loose in the stables with a younger, smaller guard.

There wasn’t a single phone to be found in the cavernous building. Julia had seen a lot of stables in her career, and this one was magnificent. A rubberized floor, cedar plank stalls and dozens of horses were illuminated by fluorescent lights embedded in the high, tin ceilings.

They passed a tack room, and she abruptly halted.

“Can I look in there?” she asked Leila.

“Yes, you can,” said Leila politely, coming to a stop.

“Did you grow up in Dubai?” Julia asked, while she pretended to check out saddles and bridles and halters.

“I went to boarding school in Cambridge,” Leila replied.

“Really?” That explained her perfect English and her rather mixed accent.

“I know you’re looking for a phone,” said Leila, regret in her dark-brown eyes.

“Harrison knows it, too,” said Julia. “I’m guessing I won’t find one here.”

Leila shook her head.

“Yeah,” said Julia with regret. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have let me look around.”

“Not without being here to watch you,” said Leila. “His Lordship is quite intelligent.”

“You actually call him that?”

“His Lordship?”

Julia nodded.

“That’s his title.”

“I’ve been calling him Harrison. Was I incredibly rude?”

Leila fought a smile.

“What?”

“You’re his prisoner. Being rude seems like a small indiscretion.”

Julia couldn’t help but smile in return. “I suppose being rude is the least of my worries.”

“He’s a fair man,” said Leila.

“Then why won’t he let me make a phone call?”

Leila shrugged.

“You know, don’t you?” asked Julia. “But you can’t tell me. Out of loyalty to your employer.”