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“At least you don’t waste money on passing fads.”
“Not often. These newfangled glass windows were controversial when they first came out, but we like them.”
She smiled. “And you can still open them to pour boiling oil on marauders.”
“Absolutely. The designers thought of everything.”
“Is there a bathroom, or have those not established themselves in fashion for long enough?”
He gestured to a low wood door. She pulled the handle with some trepidation, and was surprised when it opened into a large, heavily marbled room with an appropriately antique-looking tub and sink and toilet in sparkling condition. At least she wouldn’t have to wash herself from a jug.
“There’s no shower, I’m afraid. We’re still not convinced those are here to stay, but water does come out of the taps, so you won’t have to call for Angus to bring it.”
“That is a relief. I’m not sure I want Angus seeing me in a towel.” She wanted to laugh, but somehow managed not to. “I am beginning to worry about finding this cup.”
“Why?” He frowned, which annoyingly made him look even more handsome.
“The place makes big look small.”
“It’s sprawling, but quite simple to navigate, and there’s little clutter to deal with. The Drummonds always seem to have gone in for a sparse, minimalist style.”
“How forward thinking.”
“Are you tired?”
“No. I was thinking about that bacon and what lucky person might get to eat it.”
He laughed. “Let’s go.”
Breakfast was served in a grand hall. They sat at a long wooden table, its surface polished to a high sheen. The blue-and-white porcelain plates had probably been imported from China in the 1700s. After they ate their fill from a collection of covered dishes, James offered to give her a whirlwind tour of the castle.
“You might be the first non-Drummond to see inside the east wing this century,” he murmured, as he pulled open a wood door studded with dark iron. He ducked through the low entranceway.
“Are you sure you won’t have to kill me because I’ve seen too much?” Her skin prickled with excitement, partly from gaining entry to the Drummonds’ inner sanctum, but mostly from continued proximity to James.
“Time will tell.” He shot her a dark gray glance that made her freeze for a second, until she saw the humor sparkling behind his steely visage.
She swallowed. Time would tell all, but she’d make sure to put plenty of distance between them before that happened.
He gestured for her to enter. The hallway was narrow and she brushed against his arm as she passed. Even through his expensive shirt, his touch still sent a hot flash of awareness coursing through her. What did his body look like under his elegant armor? Was he muscled and athletic, or was that just her fevered imagination at work?
Her heart pumped faster as she entered the low hallway with its coffered ceiling. Her cute shoes clacked annoyingly on the flagstone floor. James could probably lock her up in one of these rooms and it would be months—years—before anyone found her. “Where are you taking me?”
“The oldest part of the house. It’s where Drummonds piled their junk once they cleared it out of the more inhabited rooms. It’s the first place I’d suggest looking for the cup piece.”
“What kind of shape is it?” Online research into the story had told her it was the base of the cup they were looking for, but no need for him to know she’d done some digging on her own.
“Round, I’d guess. It’s the part that sits on the table, the base, so it could be a hexagon or similar.”
“I hope it hasn’t been thrown away over the years.”
“Or melted down to make bullets. That’s the kind of thing the Drummonds might do with miscellaneous metal.”
“They sound a lovely bunch, your ancestors.”
“‘Keep thy blade sharp’ is the family motto. It’s right on the crest under the raven’s claws.”
That might explain James’s ruthless pursuit of his goals. He had no idea she even knew of his reputation. She decided to call his bluff. “You seem so different.”
“Am I?” He didn’t look at her, but out a small leaded window, at the white sky. “Sometimes I wonder.”
“Why do you think of yourself as ruthless?” Maybe she could make him peer into his own hard heart and appeal to his sense of right and wrong to get her father’s factory back. Then he’d be grateful to her for helping him see the light. They could be friends—or lovers?—and live happily ever after.
Reality smacked her in the face as his laugh bounced off the thick stone walls. “I think I’m the last person you should ask about that.”
She decided not to push further. Not yet. She was here as his guest, and she didn’t want him getting suspicious about her motives. The hallway seemed to go on forever, and all the doors along it were closed. “What’s behind all these doors?”
“Small bedrooms. Probably once inhabited by vassals.”
“What the heck is a vassal?”
He chuckled. “Hangers-on. People who lived off the good grace—what little there was of it—of the auld Drummonds.”
Like me. “Interesting. What would they get out of keeping such people around?”
“People who are obligated come in useful when you need a favor. Or some dirty work done.”
She glanced behind her, for no good reason. Had James brought her here for reasons of his own? She thought she was so cunning to get invited into the heart of his empire, but maybe he had his own nefarious plans for her.
The fearsome clack of her own shoe heels was getting on her rather raw nerves.
Suddenly James took a turn to the left and pulled back an iron bolt on a tall wood door. “Welcome to the oldest part of the castle.”
The door opened onto a sort of balcony. She stepped through it and peered over a stone rampart into a square-shaped hall. Antique wood furniture sprawled uninvitingly on the flagstone floor of the hall about thirty feet below where they stood. Above them a ceiling of great wood beams had probably held up the roof for a thousand years.
James marched along a gallery and down a flight of narrow wood stairs toward the main floor. She followed slowly, staring around the space. She could almost feel the presence of all the men and women who must have breathed the air in this space over the years. “This is incredible. How come you don’t use it?”
“The newer parts of the castle are more comfortable. And they have heat.”
A grand stone fireplace stood cold and empty. Visions of a roaring flame, and maybe something roasting on a spit, crowded her mind. “How strange to think that your ancestors have lived here since the day it was built.”
“They haven’t.” He stared up at a carved crest above the fireplace. “Gaylord Drummond lost the whole estate in a game of dice in the eighteenth century. That’s how some of the Drummonds ended up in America. He gambled and drank away everything they owned except the one mysterious cup everyone’s so excited about, so his three sons took off for the untamed shores of the New World to make their fortunes. There they apparently split up the cup and each took a piece, vowing to reunite it one day.” His stony gaze still rested on the chiseled stone.
“And one of them ended up back here.”
“He made a killing in beaver pelts up in Canada.”
“Poor beavers.”
“They used to make hats out of their fur. Very waterproof, apparently. He made his fortune, then sailed back here and bought the place from the son of the farmer who had won it from his father.”
“And presumably he brought his piece of the cup with him.”
James shrugged. “Can’t say I care one way or the other.”
“You’re terrible. It’s a part of your family history.”
“I keep this pile going. That’s my contribution to the family history. Maybe I should start playing dice. Losing it would save me a fortune.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Not really.” He finally looked at her, and again his gray gaze stole her breath. “Though sometimes I wish I did.”
She thought she saw emotion somewhere behind his stony facade. How could you not feel a powerful sense of history—even destiny—while standing in such an ancient and dramatic space? If she could feel it, she knew ancestral pride must beat somewhere in James Drummond’s cold heart. She could hardly imagine being heir to such a kingdom even if, by today’s standards, it was rather remote and unpopulated.
She drew in a long breath and stared about her. “I think it’s magical.”
His attention focused on her again, its icy blast like a laser. Did he suddenly suspect her of trying to worm her way into his affections so she could be mistress of this place? Women must have been trying for decades. She regretted her cheesy enthusiasm, and managed a casual shrug. “But I can see how a condo near Orchard Road would be easier to maintain.”
He laughed. “Unquestionably.” His eyes narrowed and she felt herself under scrutiny again. For a split second his gaze seemed to scan her body like an unemotional piece of precision equipment, but somehow it left her nipples tingling, her belly quivering and her knees shaky.
She wheeled around. Maybe if she couldn’t see him he’d have less power over her. It was infuriating how a simple glance from him sent her pulse racing. He was her enemy, for crying out loud. Perhaps he brought all his potential conquests here to astonish them with his family grandeur and made them swoon into his arms.
“So, where’s the cup?” She walked farther away from him, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Hardly. You know where the nooks and crannies are.” There didn’t even seem to be any that she could see. Though there were some battered wooden doors along one wall. “You know, the places where they locked up their enemies and left them for dead?”
“Oubliettes are more of a French thing. We Scots prefer to slit their throats in broad daylight then have a party.”
She had to laugh. “A simple folk.”
“Yes. Reporters have accused me of similar behavior in my business dealings.” Humor glittered in his cool gaze.
She cursed the way her heart fluttered. He’d just admitted that he was a ruthless bastard! How could she still be attracted to him? She should be worried about her own sanity. “Do you think they’re right?” She tried to maintain a steely stare.
“Maybe.” He turned and strode across the room, leaving her standing there, heart pounding and unspoken words crowding her brain.
You stole my father’s business and left him penniless and devastated. She had to keep a cool head until she figured out how to get it back. She couldn’t let him know that she was on the side of those who despised him. “I guess that’s just business, huh?”
He wheeled around, and she was surprised to see a half smile on his face. “It’s a relief to talk to someone who understands.”
She blinked. Okay. She’d opened this trapdoor and fallen in all by herself. “I haven’t had to slit any throats yet.”
He laughed. “You’re still young.”
“Not really.” How arrogant of him. He was only a few years older than she. “I have plenty of life experience.”
Laughter danced in his eyes. “Of course you do.”
She wanted to slap him. “I started my first business when I was twelve.”
“A lemonade stand?”
“Buying old computers and reselling them for scrap.” She lifted her chin. “Much more profitable than squeezing lemons.” No need to mention she’d had the lemonade stand, too.
He moved closer to her. Which was unsettling considering that they had about an acre of space around them. “I started my first business at eleven.”
“Competitive, aren’t you?” She raised a brow. All the tiny hairs on her body stood on end, prickling with awareness as he moved even closer.
“Very. Some have even said it will be my downfall.”
Maybe sooner than you think. “What was your first business?”
“I bought wholesale chocolate bars and resold them to the desperate souls at my boarding school.”
“A captive audience.”
“The best kind.” His shoulders were broad, almost straining against the elegant cut of his shirt. The great room was cool, but she could feel her body temperature spiking as he shifted his stance. His gray gaze rested right on her face, thoughtful, daring her to argue with him.
She straightened her own shoulders and raised herself to her full height, which unfortunately was a good half a foot less than his. “Is it hard to find a captive audience these days?”
“Not at all.” He held her gaze for a heartbeat. “Everyone’s captive in one way or another.”
“Are you?” Had he moved closer? She didn’t see him move his feet, but he was now so near she could lift her hand and touch him. His male scent—expensive wool and subtle musk—tickled her senses. Her nipples now strained against her bra, and she hoped he didn’t notice.
“Absolutely.” His voice was a low growl that took her by surprise, but not as much as the way he stepped in, lifted her chin deftly with his fingers and pressed his lips softly to hers.
Electric voltage zapped through her. Her body temperature shot skyward as his tongue touched hers. I’m kissing James Drummond.
She felt the weight of his palms settle on her lower back. Her breath now came in unsteady gasps, and her hands crept up to his torso and fisted themselves in his shirt.
This man is a beast. He chews people up and spits them out. He just confessed as much!
His low moan in her ear made her desire surge. Her fingers dug into his hard back. His rough skin created pleasurable friction against her cheek as he shifted the angle of the kiss and plunged deeper, making her arch her back and lean into his arms.
Uh-oh. Instead of fighting him off, she gripped him tighter and kissed him back with all the strength she possessed.
His scent was intoxicating. Surprisingly masculine and rugged, betraying the man hidden beneath the expensive designer clothes. She could feel the raw passion of his warlike ancestors surging through them both.
Was there magic in this place? If so, it might be the dark and scary kind. She certainly didn’t feel fully in control of this situation—or even herself—at this moment.
And there was that family curse to contend with….
James’s strong hand squeezed her buttock, which made her squirm. Her breasts bumped against his chest, and his other hand rose to skim her nipple with his thumb. His lips never left hers. His kiss was alternately fierce and tender, drawing her in and taking her breath away. She’d never been kissed like this.
He’s your enemy.
