The Duke's Boardroom Affair / Convenient Marriage, Inconvenient Husband: The Duke's Boardroom Affair. Michelle Celmer
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it couldn’t have been easy, working for those people.”
That was the way he’d referred to the royal family lately. Those people. “I’ve told you a million times, Daddy, that I am not upset. It’s a good job. Where else would I make such a generous salary? If it does well, the profit sharing will make me a very wealthy woman.” She found it only slightly ironic that she was regurgitating the same words he had used to convince her to take the position in the first place.
“I know,” he conceded. “But no salary, no matter how great, could make up for what was stolen from us.”
And she knew that he would live with that regret for the rest of his life. All she could do was continually assure him that it wasn’t his fault. Yet, regardless of whose mistake it was, she couldn’t help feeling that she would spend the rest of her life paying for it.
“Is it a nice hotel?” he asked grudgingly.
“Well, I didn’t actually see the hotel yet.”
“Why not?”
Oh, boy, this was going to be tough to explain. “There isn’t a manager’s position open in the hotel right now,” she said, and told him about the job with the duke, stressing that her contract wouldn’t change.
“That is completely unacceptable,” he said, and she could practically feel his blood pressure rising, could just imagine the veins at his temples pulsing. He’d already had two heart attacks. One more could be fatal.
“It’s fine, Daddy. Honestly.”
“Would you like me to contact my attorney?”
For all the good that would do her. “No.”
“Are you sure? There must be something he can do.”
Was he forgetting that it was his attorney who was partially to blame for getting them into this mess?
“There’s no need, Daddy. It’s not so bad, really. In fact, I think it might be something of a challenge. A nice change of pace.”
He accepted her lie, and some of the tension seemed to slip from his voice. He changed the subject and they went on to talk about an upcoming party for a family friend, and she tried to remain upbeat and cheerful. By the time she hung up she felt exhausted from the effort.
Performing her duties would be taxing enough, but she could see that creating a ruse to keep her father placated would be a long and arduous task. But what choice did she have? She was all her father had left in the world. He had sacrificed so much for her. Made her the center of his universe.
No matter what, she couldn’t let him down.
Three
Charles lived in an exclusive, heavily gated and guarded community fifteen miles up the coast in the city of Pine Bluff. His house, a towering structure of glass and stone, sat in the arc of a cul-de-sac on the bluff overlooking the ocean. It was a lot of house for a single man, but that hardly surprised her. She was sure he had money to burn.
Victoria pulled her car up the circular drive and parked by the front door. She climbed out and took in the picturesque scenery, filled her lungs with clean, salty autumn air. If nothing else, the duke had impeccable taste in real estate. As well as interior design, she admitted to herself, after she used her code to open the door and stepped inside the foyer. Warm beiges and deep hues of green and blue welcomed her inside. The foyer opened up into a spacious living room with a rustic stone fireplace that climbed to the peak of a steep cathedral ceiling. It should have looked out of place with the modern design, but instead it gave the room warmth and character.
She had planned to grab the laundry and be on her way, but the bag he had said he would leave by the door was conspicuously not there. Either he hadn’t left yet or he’d forgotten. She was guessing the latter.
“Hello!” she called, straining to hear for any signs of life, but the house was silent. She would have to find the clothes herself, and the logical place to look would be his bedroom.
She followed the plushly carpeted staircase up to the second floor and down an open hallway that overlooked the family room below. The home she had grown up in was more traditional in design, but she liked the open floor plan of Charles’s house.
“Hello!” she called again, and got no answer. With the option of going either left or right, she chose right and peered into each of the half-dozen open doors. Spare rooms, mostly. But at the end of the hall she hit the jackpot. The master suite.
It was decorated just as warmly as the living room, but definitely more masculine. An enormous sleigh bed—unmade, she noted—carved from deep, rich cherry dominated the center of the room. And the air teemed with the undeniable scent of the woodsy cologne he had been wearing the day before.
She tried one more firm “Hello! Anyone here?” and was met with silence.
Looked like the coast was clear.
Feeling like an interloper, she stepped inside, wondering where the closet might be hiding. She found it off the bathroom, an enormous space in which row upon row of suits in the finest and most beautiful fabrics she had ever seen hung neatly in order by color. Beside them hung his work shirts, and beside them stood a rack that must have had three hundred different ties hanging from its bars. She wondered if he had worn them all. The opposite side of the closet seemed casual in nature, and in the back she discovered a mountain of dirty clothes overflowing from a hamper conveniently marked Dry Cleaning.
It was shirts mostly. White, beige, and a few pale blue. She also noted that his scent was much stronger here. And strangely familiar. Not the scent of a man she had known only a day. Perhaps she knew someone who wore the same brand.
Purely out of curiosity she picked up one of the shirts and held it to her face, inhaling deeply.
“I see you found my laundry.”
She was so startled by the unexpected voice that she squealed with surprise and spun around, but the heel of her pump caught in the carpet and she toppled over into a row of neatly hung trousers, taking several pairs with her as she landed with a thump on the floor.
Cheeks flaming with embarrassment, she looked up to find Charles standing over her, wearing nothing but a damp towel around his slim hips and an amused smile.
She quickly averted her gaze, but not before she registered a set of ridiculously defined abs, perfectly formed pecs, wide, sturdy shoulders, and biceps to die for. Damn her pesky photographic memory.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. He reached out a hand to help her up and she was so tangled she had no choice but to accept it.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped when she was back on her feet.
He shrugged. “I live here.”
She averted her eyes, pretending to smooth the creases from her skirt, so she wouldn’t have to look at all that sculpted perfection. “I’d assumed you’d left for work.”
“It’s only seven-forty-five.”
“I called out but no one answered.”
“The granite in the master bath was sealed yesterday, so I was using the spare room down the hall.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled, running out of places to look, without him realizing she was deliberately not looking at him.
“Something wrong with that shirt?” he asked.
She was still clutching the shirt she had picked up from the hamper, and she realized he must have seen her sniffing it. What could possibly be more embarrassing?
“I was checking to see if it was dirty,” she said, cringing inwardly at that ridiculously flimsy excuse.
Charles grinned. “Well then, for future reference, I don’t make a habit of keeping clean clothes in the hamper.”
“I’ll