At the Billionaire’s Wedding (9 page)

Not that their relationship was going to resume while there was business to be done. While covering the thousand details of putting on this event at insanely short notice, he’d managed to make it clear he couldn’t wait to get into more than her spreadsheets. Whenever she heard that deep, slightly indolent voice through the phone she would shiver and make herself concentrate on work.

And she succeeded. Harry had better have done everything he’d promised, she thought sternly. If he let her down there would be no chance of sex.

Not that there was anyway.

As they passed through the gates and descended the tree-lined drive to the house, she felt a pleasurable tension. Naturally she couldn’t wait to show her wedding couple the truly fabulous arrangements. Jane oohed as the gorgeous house came into view and even Duke pocketed his phone. Arwen wondered, with total irrelevance, if Harry would be wearing his low-slung jeans.

He was, waiting at the main door of the house looking delicious and curiously lordly for a handyman, or property manager, or whatever he was. Harry had a way of seeming at home; something to do with being comfortable in his own body. He’d been comfortable in her body too…

“Jane, Duke,” she said, dismissing the disturbing vision. “Let me introduce you to Harry Compton. He’s been wonderfully helpful and cooperative in pulling together the arrangements.”

“Welcome to Brampton,” he said. He greeted Jane first, with a cute bow/nod when he took her hand. “I hope you had a good journey. We’re thrilled to have your wedding here and we’ve done everything we can to make it run smoothly.”

“It’s even better than I thought,” she replied and Arwen relaxed a little. It was going to take a major problem to kill Jane’s infatuation with the place.

Harry shook hands with Duke and turned to Arwen. “Hello there.” She stood motionless in the shadow of his body for a second or two, then he kissed her on both cheeks. “I’m glad to see you, Elf,” he whispered, and turned his attention back to the others.

As he should. This was business.

Arwen thought she detected an undercurrent of nervousness beneath the slightly reserved courtesy that she had learned during a month in London was normal English good manners.

“Harry has been amazingly helpful. He knows everything about Brampton House.” She felt oddly protective of the man she’d come to know and trust.

After a couple of minutes’ small talk about trans-Atlantic flights, jet lag, the beauty of the house, and so forth, Mark appeared on the steps, displaying distinct signs of agitation.

“Excuse me, Harry,” he said. “There’s a telephone call for you.”

She wondered what was so urgent that Mark couldn’t have taken a message, and why the pair of them had left their guests of honor stranded on the front steps.

“Well, well,” Jane said, turning from the spectacular view down the avenue and piercing Arwen with a shrewd glance. “I see you’ve become quite friendly with the Honorable Harry.”

“The English kiss everyone,” she replied cautiously.

“Not because of that. From the way he looked at you, I can tell he likes you a lot. How do you fancy being Lady Melbury?”

Arwen stared at her. “Whatever do you mean? He’s only the handyman, or property manager, or something. Besides his name is Compton.”

Jane laughed. “The Honorable Harry Godfrey-Granville-Compton, son and heir to Lord Melbury. Have you learned nothing from reading my books, Arwen? English lords have different family names from their titles.”

H.G.G. Compton.
The rat bastard. He had to have been laughing at her all this time.

Duke, ignoring this exchange, was staring at his screen. He frowned, shook it, stabbed at it with his finger a few times. “There’s no signal here. And no Wi-Fi either.”

“Excuse me, Duke,” Arwen said, her jaw clenched in a rictus grin. “I need a word with Harry. I’ll be right back.”

Mark, who was sitting behind the antique desk in the part of the hall set up as a reception area, winked at her and pointed at a door. He knew; rat bastard number two. She found Harry in the small sitting room yelling into a telephone. He concluded by slamming down the receiver with a string of expletives.

“Not so calm now, Your Lordship?” she said.

“Arwen…” He bounded forward then stopped. It was a brave man who dared to placate this particular wedding planner in a rage and Harry seemed to have gotten the message.

“About the Internet,” he said. “I can explain.”

“You could have given me some warning so I don’t look like an idiot in front of my most important clients.”

“What can I say?” For a moment he looked so like a golden retriever caught with a prime rib she had the urge to console him. Nor for long, however. Lord Harry had some explaining to do and not just about the mysteries of fiber-optic cable. “It was fine a week ago and went out again this morning.”

“You can come with me right now and tell Duke Austen how come he has to climb a hill to check his e-mail and how it’s your fault, not mine. And make it good because, unlike me, he understands this electronic crap.”

“He’s a reasonable man, I’m sure,” Harry said. “And why does he need the Internet when he’s getting married?” Arwen gave him her nastiest look. “I’ll explain,” he said quickly. “And there are options, but any good ones will cost so much I’ll hardly make any profit on the wedding.”

This was not a good moment for him to remind her that he, Harry, was the one making the profit. Not his aristocratic masters.
Handyman, my ass.
He
was
the aristocratic master.

Mark was giving the historic tour of the hall; Jane seemed enthralled while her fiancé continued to stare at his phone as though expecting the universe to right itself and signal to appear at any second.

“Mr. Austen,” Harry began.

“Please, call me Duke. Having trouble with your Wi-Fi, I see. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Probably not. As I told Arwen, I thought I had our problem sorted last week, but it’s gone on the blink again. The telephone company says it could recover at any time. Or not.” Arwen glared at him, silently fuming at the implication that Harry had kept her informed about the problem when, in fact, he’d never given her the straight scoop.

“I have to be in touch with work,” Duke said, clearly on the verge of apoplexy. “I can’t stay here. We’ll have to leave, Jane.”

“I’ve looked into the possibilities,” Harry said. “We could get a mobile satellite connection here within a day or so. Or the dedicated broadband could come back online. Or…” He went off on one of his technical spiels.

Arwen thought the strain in his face matched her own, as though he had as much at stake as she did. Though if Duke Austen walked, he’d still have his fabulous house and hotel and his
title
; Arwen wasn’t sure if her business would survive once the news leaked out of such a spectacular failure. Luxe Events could certainly wave goodbye to any more billionaire gigs.

Then Jane, wonderful Jane Sparks, the best friend a girl ever had, laughed. “Duke, honey, you promised me a Regency wedding and I guess that’s what I’m getting. I find it very sweet and romantic that you’ll have to pay attention to your bride instead of spending ninety percent of the time with your nose in the phone.”

“But…”

Jane tucked her arm in his and gave him a kiss. “You know everything’s fine. There’s no reason you shouldn’t go all week without checking in at the office.” She dropped her voice so only Arwen was close enough to hear. “Remember the hurricane?”

Duke gave his fiancée a scorching look. “I suppose,” he said. “And it’ll help with secrecy if the guests can’t be online all the time.”

“As to that,” Arwen said, “there’s cell signal at the gazebo in the park. We’ll fit it out with some comfortable seating and refreshments for when you—and other guests—want to rejoin the modern world for a little while. Otherwise we’ll immerse you in the aristocratic country life of old England. As Jane rightly says, nothing could be more romantic. Speaking of romantic, you must see your suite. It’s to die for.”

“I’ll be happy to take you now.” Mark inserted himself into the discussion. “I’ve already sent your luggage up. I thought you’d enjoy putting your feet up with a glass of champagne before touring the house and grounds.” He swept them off, leaving Harry and Arwen alone in the hall.

“What can I say?” He gestured hopelessly.

“About what?” The Wi-Fi thing pissed her off, but she was far more upset about the way he’d lied about his identity. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a lord? I suppose it amuses you to have sex with the peasants.”

“I’m not a lord, my father is. And yes, it amused me greatly to make love to you. And for the record you are about the farthest thing from a peasant I’ve met. I’m sure Mark could tell me who made that smart little red dress in which, incidentally, you look good enough to eat. I don’t name clothing, but I can spot expensive when I see it. Are you sure you weren’t amusing yourself by dallying with the lower orders?”

Arwen bit her lip. She hoped she hadn’t treated him like a menial, but she had thought of him as some kind of manual laborer, of an elevated kind. He was wearing his usual jeans, with a good shirt, and looked sexy as hell. When he mentioned eating her, she got hot inside.

But she couldn’t figure out his motive for presenting himself as a dumb wage slave instead of the owner’s son. Had he hoped to influence her report to Duke, somehow? She’d felt guilty about her attraction to him, and worried that she’d let it affect her judgment. It hadn’t occurred to her that he was the one doing the manipulating. She needed to consider the possibility from all angles, when she wasn’t feeling harassed and upset. Had he given her five mind-blowing orgasms—she hadn’t forgotten a single one—simply to keep her sweet about Brampton as the wedding site?

Yet she had agreed to it before she came five times. So perhaps they’d been provided to keep her from noticing any little shortcomings of his hotel, like a functioning kitchen and the freakin’ Internet.

“I can’t talk about this now,” she said. “I have too many things to deal with.”

“I got rid of the big pile of earth next to the stables,” he cajoled. “And we have a kitchen. The inspectors came yesterday so we canceled the mobile equipment.”

“Oh. That’s good.” The news tamped down her steamy indignation, for a second. “We had that sorted, for God’s sake.” She was talking like an English person now. “But the Internet?” She almost shouted with exasperation. “And your real name?”

He was looking at her with sincere concern in his blue eyes that she didn’t trust. “I messed up, Arwen,” he said. “It all started out innocently enough and now I really regret not telling you who I am.”

“I must go and see what the Next Gordon Ramsey is doing. I have a wedding to run and no time to spend on screwups.”

“Don’t you ever screw up?” he asked quietly.

“Not if I can help it.”

“How nice for you.” He sounded slightly nettled while she was ready to scream like a banshee.

Hoisting her leather tote over her shoulder she stormed off, then stopped at the door and turned. “I can’t afford to screw up because I wasn’t born a lord. I suppose Mark is a duke or something.”

“Uh, his family may possibly own the Delaville Group.”

“Good. He should know more about running a hotel than a freakin’ English aristocrat.”

Arwen managed to go almost twenty-four hours without exchanging more than a few terse words with Harry. She let Mark handle greeting the guests—she couldn’t complain about his skills—while she made final arrangements for the flowers and tents, made sure the Next Gordon Ramsey was installed in the newly inspected kitchen, and avoided his wandering hands. Only when Harry happened to come into the pantry while she was discussing the breakfast menu did she allow the chef to stroke her ass without repercussion.

She stuck her nose in the air when Harry followed her into the hall and waited while she had a few words with Jane’s college friend Cali Blake.

“I hear you’re a librarian,” she said.

“You must see the library here.” Harry smiled engagingly at the pretty Philadelphian.

He hadn’t shown
her
the library. Arwen didn’t even know Brampton had one.

“I would really love that.” Cali hid a yawn behind her hand. “Maybe tomorrow, so I can really appreciate it after some sleep? Or whenever you’re able.”

She followed Mark and a new batch of arrivals upstairs and for a moment the busy hall emptied, leaving Arwen and Harry alone.

“Are you ever going to speak to me again?” Harry asked.

“We’ve spoken.”

“Don’t be disingenuous.”

“Why didn’t you tell me who you are? It’s not a little lie, like saying you’ve read
Moby Dick
or you’ll call in the morning. I feel stupid and that is one of my least favorite emotions.” She felt itchy in her skin and it made her surly.

Harry folded his arms and frowned. “I don’t see why you’re so annoyed. Forgive me if I’m pleased when people seem to like me for myself, not because I’m the future Lord Melbury, an event that is unlikely to occur for many years, what with my father being well under sixty and in rude health. Besides, the peerage is all rubbish now, completely outdated and of no use except for getting a table in snobbish restaurants. I doubt I will ever use the title.”