At the Billionaire’s Wedding (20 page)

Still, Archer thought he’d better go to the cocktail hour, even though he knew very few of the other guests. Contrary to Denise’s tabloid scouting, there were no movie stars or royals at the event, but Jack Harper’s prediction that he could find some new clients was well-founded. Archer spent a half hour chatting with Piers Prescott, Duke’s college roommate. Prescott came from old money, but had the spirit of philanthropy one didn’t often find in the private equity sector. Unfortunately he also had a good memory for names.

“Quinn, from San Francisco,” said Piers thoughtfully. “Any relation to Ted Quinn, the venture capitalist?”

Archer was used to that question. In San Francisco, he’d heard it all the time. Quinntillion, his father’s venture capital firm, was based there, and it was legendary in financial circles. Archer never used his full name, but any time someone discovered he was really Theodore Archer Quinn II, they would exclaim, “You must be Ted Quinn’s son!” He’d moved to Boston partly to get away from it.

He took a breath and nodded. “He’s my father.”

“Well.” Piers looked mildly impressed. “Quite a history.”

He doubted the man meant Ted’s personal history, the one that mattered to Archer. “He’s a legend,” he said evenly, not adding his personal qualifier:
and a legendary jerk
.

“I think my family firm did some business with him.” Piers gave him a rueful glance. “If I recall, it was a bit bruising.”

Archer raised his glass in mock salute. “That’s the Quinn way. Sorry; I don’t have anything to do with Quinntillion.”

“No, I’m sure I would have remembered if Ted’s son had been part of his firm,” muttered Piers with a curiously grim expression.

Archer shook his head. “I went the other way. Computer science, then law. Which all worked out brilliantly when I crossed paths with Duke.” He grinned. “We both rocked Master Chief.”

Piers frowned, then groaned. “Don’t say
Halo
. Duke wore out our Xbox on that game. I can still hear the Gregorian chant soundtrack, and it makes me break out in hives.”

“Yep,” said Archer proudly. “I won the campus tournament.”

Piers eyed him. “How … impressive.”

He laughed. “My crowning achievement!”

“What’s that?” Duke had come up beside them. “Stealing my lawyer, Piers?”

“Another
Halo
warrior? Hardly.”

Duke grinned. “Whatever. Hey, Archer, come meet Jane.”

Piers moved off as Duke led him through the scattered guests to a pretty blond woman. Archer had seen her before, but he’d never actually met the future Mrs. Austen. She was friendly and pleasant, thanking him for coming to the wedding as if she really meant it, and it triggered something in Archer’s memory.

“I wonder if I could ask a favor,” he said to her. “My secretary Denise is a big fan of your books, and she sent one of them with me in the hopes you would sign it.”

Jane’s mouth opened in surprise, then she beamed. “Of course! Which book?”

“Er.” Archer cleared his throat.
“The Wicked Wallflower.”

An evil grin spread across Duke’s face. “Oh, that’s a good one. My favorite, in fact. That’s the one where a man finds himself engaged without having to propose.”

Jane gave him a look. “I would be thrilled to sign your book,” she told Archer.

“It’s for my secretary,” Archer said again.

“Have you read the others?” Duke was enjoying this. “You don’t want to miss any.
Wallflower Gone Wild
… whoa. I had to take a cold shower.”

“Duke!” said Jane in exasperation.

“My secretary says you’re her favorite author.” Archer decided to ignore his client for a minute.

“She should be.” Duke gave his future wife a scorching look. “Those books are badass.”

Jane widened her eyes at him, but her smile ruined any reproof she might have meant. “You just made my night, Archer! Do you have the book?”

“Up in my room.”

“Shall we go up? I don’t want to forget and the next few days will be frantic.”

They all walked up to his room. Archer pretended not to notice the whispered conversation between Duke and Jane, but he did catch a few heated glances between them. Duke had his arm around her waist and must have been whispering something dirty in her ear, from the way Jane was blushing.

While Jane sat down to autograph Denise’s book, Duke prowled the room, glancing out each window. “Where do you run off to every day?”

“To get some work done. I can leave the office, but it won’t leave me.”

“Right.” Duke squinted into the sunset lighting up the west-facing windows. “Someone told me you found an Internet connection.”

“Maybe.”

His host’s electric blue eyes flashed at him. “Where? I had to separate two programmers from each other’s throats yesterday. They can’t survive offline.”

Archer shook his head with an air of regret. “I was sworn to secrecy. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

Duke snorted. “Fine. Jane will be disappointed; she thought you were sneaking out to meet women, since you didn’t bring a date.”

For some completely unaccountable reason Archer found his throat needed clearing. Twice. “No. Just me and my laptop.” Hidden away in Natalie’s garden paradise, living for the little plates of sweets she brought out. He had a sudden memory of her rubbing one foot along the back of her other ankle, scribbling in her little notebook the whole while, and felt an unhealthy flush of heat suffuse his body.

“Your laptop makes you blush like a girl?” Duke grinned wickedly. “Don’t forget I’m marrying a romance novelist. I know the signs, dude. I hope the woman you, ah,
aren’t
sneaking out to see is a babe.”

Archer was spared having to reply when Jane crossed the room to them. “Here you go.” She handed Archer the book. “Tell your secretary I’m going to send her a copy of my next book before it comes out.”

“She’ll love that.”

“Shall we go back down?” Duke draped his arm around Jane’s shoulders. “Or not? I can’t let one of my programmers get laid more often than I do at my own wedding.”

“Oh my God, don’t mention Rupert!” Jane groaned.

“How can I not?” returned Duke. “Is there a single person at this wedding who hasn’t seen him and his girlfriend getting busy somewhere?”

Archer remembered the couple dry-humping out beyond the gazebo. “Are they the couple who can’t keep their hands off each other?”

“I think they’re sweet,” said Jane sternly. “Just … indiscreet.”

“Exhibitionists,” muttered Duke to Archer.

“Well, maybe a little,” agreed the bride, her face pink.

“So are we going back down?” Duke asked. Jane rolled her eyes at her fiancé, but went with him. At the door, Duke paused, glanced back at Archer, and hissed, “Ask her to the wedding.”

“Who?” Archer tried to pretend he had no idea what Duke meant.

The groom smirked. “You know who.”

The door closed behind them and Archer was left to contemplate it in silence. Ask Natalie to the wedding? He liked the idea, except that he didn’t know her very well and had obviously said something wrong the last time they spoke. He wouldn’t mind seeing her in a slinky dress, nor watching her walk around in high heels. He also wouldn’t mind getting her out of the dress and heels, but he warned himself not to go there. And there had to be better place to take a woman than a wedding, where everyone would be drunk and prone to saying stupid things like, “When are you two getting married?” That was too much stress for any first date.

On the other hand… He was only in England for a few more days. Even though she was also from the Boston area, she might not be going back any time soon. Archer hesitated, then admitted to himself he would like to see much, much more of Natalie.

He walked down to the cottage the next morning and set up his laptop on the patio table as usual, but when he opened his e-mail, it failed to download. The Internet indicator just blinked, indicating it wasn’t finding a signal. Archer tried a few things, but still came up empty. The Wi-Fi was down.

Tentatively, he knocked on the garden door. After a minute the window opened and Natalie stuck out her head. “What?”

There was a streak of something dark on her cheekbone. Probably chocolate. The idea of licking it off popped into his brain, sudden and intense. He cleared his throat to get rid of the thought. “Uh, the, uh, the Wi-Fi seems to be out.”

“Is it?” Something beeped behind her. “Shit!” She disappeared from the window.

Archer deliberated. He needed that Wi-Fi. He had also, unfortunately, sworn to stay out of her way, and it seemed clear there was a bit of chaos going on in the kitchen. While he stood there, she reappeared in the window. “Sorry about that, but I don’t have time to fix it. Maybe tonight.” Another timer started beeping, and with a roll of her eyes she vanished again.

A whole day without access to his e-mail? Thanks to the last few days he wasn’t behind, but he wasn’t ahead, either; “out of the country” didn’t translate into “unavailable for work” at Harper Millman. There was always the gazebo, he thought grimly. He could work with half the wedding party up there shouting into their phones, right?

He knocked again, then turned the knob and cautiously opened the door. As expected, it looked a bit out of control. No less than four pots steamed and bubbled atop the stove, and Natalie was stirring one, peering ferociously into the depths. “Maybe I could fix the Wi-Fi,” he offered.

A timer beeped and she smacked one hand down on it, silencing it without a glance. “It’s not my computer. It’s kind of old and takes a good bit of cursing to get working.”

“I’m pretty good with that type of machine.”

Still stirring, she glanced at him. Her face was flushed pink and her hair was curling up over the scarf tied around her head. “They teach that in law school?”

“I was a computer science major before law school.” He gave a hopeful grin. “I swear I won’t break it.”

She hesitated, and another timer went off. “Oh, fine, go ahead and try.” She threw open the oven door and bent down to look inside. “Perfect,” she breathed in apparent delight, lifting out a pan.

Archer unthinking agreed, blatantly staring at her ass, which was exquisitely displayed in a pair of faded jeans. “Absolutely.”

Natalie looked up, stray curls falling around her face. “What?”

He coughed, averting his eyes. “In there, you said?” He pointed at random.

“Yeah.” Her attention switched back to the pan in her hands. “These are just right. Where’s my pen?”

He left her making notes on whatever she’d baked, which smelled damned good, and went in search of the modem. She was right—it was an old machine, but it was also one he knew rather well. Back in college, he and his roommate had taken apart PCs like this for fun. Their room had looked like a factory exploded, but on the bright side, they built the most epic gaming system Harvard had ever seen.

The PC was set on an ornate desk that looked like something the Queen of France might have used. He followed the wires until he located the modem and other hardware, crammed into a large drawer in a squirrel’s nest of cables and office supplies. What a mess. Whoever lived here had spent some good money on a very tasteful renovation of a really old house, then set up a computer system from the Dark Ages. Shaking his head, he pulled the drawer open and started unplugging things.

Natalie baked six perfect trays of madeleines before wondering what Archer was up to. A quick look at the clock revealed it was past one, which meant he’d been working on the computer … a really long time. He usually walked down the hill before nine. By now she was used to seeing him sitting out on the patio as she worked, and twice she’d caught herself glancing out the window before remembering why he wasn’t there.

She made a few more notes on her madeleines and tossed her pen on the counter. Maybe it had been just a bit stupid to invite him to go fix the Wi-Fi. Who only knew what was on Amaryllis’s creaky old computer, and now she’d just gone and let a complete stranger poke around it. The guy didn’t seem dangerous or hacker-ish, but she had no basis for that. She pulled the scarf from her head and went into the office. “How’s it going?” Then she looked around. “Oh my God, what did you do?”

“Don’t worry,” he said absently, his fingers flying across the keyboard. He had put two thick books on the Art Deco movement beneath the monitor to raise it up, and there was a jumble of cables and wires and electronic boxes in the middle of the floor. The drawer where everything usually went was open—and empty.

Natalie blanched. Pippa had told her not to mess with anything, that it was all a little touchy but should work as long as she didn’t move things around. “This isn’t my computer! I have to leave everything the way I found it…”

He turned. “It’s a miracle it worked at all the way it was. The modem cable was pinched in the drawer, and half this stuff doesn’t work but was still plugged in. And when I started looking at the machine—”

“Whoa, why were you looking at the machine?” Shit; did Amaryllis have personal financial files on there? Nude photos? Given the hot young footballers she dated, it was a strong possibility. Natalie’s heart lurched. Pippa would kill her. “Usually just unplugging the modem thing and plugging it back in works.”