Lovers' Lies (25 page)

"Close my business? Are you out of your mind?" The shocking question had Victoria almost choking on her toast. "Do you know how much effort I've put into building that business? Am I suggesting you stop working because of a few salacious scandalmongers?"

"The situation is not at all the same."

"Isn't it?" Her hand shook so much her cup clashed on the saucer as she set it down. "There's no way I'm closing my business, Keir. So wipe that idea from your mind."

"
You’re
out of your mind if you think you can waltz back into running
Victorian Grace
as you’ve done in the past." He gave her one of those cool penetrating glances she’d come to hate.

Appetite destroyed, Victoria pushed aside her breakfast. Was there no area of her life untouched by the Strathmore machine?

"I can’t venture out the door without being mobbed," she said bitterly crumbling a slice of toast. "There must be some way around this persecution."

"There is one other solution." He gave her another considering glance. "I’ve had my PA find a competent woman who can manage it for you, if you agree."

Allow someone else to run my precious baby?

"How would that help?" Much as she hated to admit it, Keir’s solution was about the only viable one.

There was no way she could return to the shop in her previous role. The hounding of her by the press made that impossible. Now, the mainstream media and magazines were picking up the story.

After reading some of the articles from so-called
'informed'
sources, Victoria was left her scratching her head in disbelief.

Privacy be damned!

"It's the only other alternative to closing the business down."

"I guess," she sighed despondently.

"Chloe has checked the woman out. She’s a top notch florist with impeccable references and known for her discretion. If I arrange a secure internet connection for you so you can liaise with her over the net, will that work for you?"

Faced with the alternative of closing her business, Victoria reluctantly agreed to long distance management.

A rap on the door jerked her back to the present.

"You ready? The police are waiting on us."

Victoria opened the door of the spacious bedroom Keir had assigned her. So much for any wild thoughts she’d had of sharing his bed.

What did I expect after deceiving him?

She shrugged off his searching glance, and lips set in a mutinous line, accompanied him downstairs to the garage.

A strained silence settled as he swiftly covered the distance between Dunstan
and her flat where they found a police cordon in place.

Victoria’s heart sank as she saw the bevy of reporters. They must listen in on the police scanners. This break-in would give Strathmore's fodder for tomorrow’s papers.

Keir gripped her hand. "Courage Victoria."

"I’m so sick of this," she muttered.

The night bodyguard got out of the back seat, unfurled an umbrella, opened her door and screened her from the crowding press.

Keir kept a firm arm around her shoulder as they walked up the once familiar path now eerie when illuminated by the strobe of blue and red police lights interspersed with blinding white flashes from photographer’s flashlights.

Heart thrumming in her throat Victoria stepped past the policeman guarding the door.

A plainclothes detective stepped forward, flashing his identity card.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the lights.

Keir stiffened beside her.

A whimper escaped her as she took in the carnage.

Hers and Connor's clothes were ripped and torn, furniture cushions slashed and ripped open, chairs broken, her china cabinet with her mother's Royal Doulton, overturned and smashed.
 

Obscenities were written in feces and red paint that ran down the walls like great gobs of blood.

Drawers were pulled out and contents strewn everywhere, books ripped and tossed carelessly.

Food and china fragments embedded in the walls.

Someone had trashed her flat with a real vendetta.

With an almost inhuman cry, she pulled free of Keir's grip and scooped up a severed doll’s head splattered with red paint.

A plain clothes detective moved swiftly taking if from her grasp. "Don’t touch anything Ms. Scanlan."

Keir caught her in a crushing hug, turning her face into his chest.
 

"Does my fiancée have to witness this?"
 

She felt the vibration of his fierce question through the wall of his chest.

"We need to see if anything is missing."

"How the blazes do you expect her to know if anything is missing among this carnage. Victoria does not need to see any more of this depravity." Fury was vibrating off him in waves as he cut the detective’s splutter off short. "I’m taking her back to Dunstan. You do what you have to."

Keir turned to the security guard. "When the police have finished I want a guard here."

He turned back to the detective. "I don’t want any photos of this appearing in the press. If any do, I’m holding you personally responsible."

Without another word, he turned her towards the door and the waiting vultures.

His menace was tangible as he shielded her from the waiting cameras and blinding flashlights. Shrill questions peppered them from all sides, breaking the pre-dawn quiet. Keir bundled her in the back seat, their bodyguard driving.

Cradled against him, Victoria trembled as reaction set in.
 

"I’ve had Mandy as long as I can remember," she said in a sad dreary voice. "Who would do that?"

Keir hesitated then murmured quietly his breath ruffling her hair. "It’s no use even trying to second guess a pervert’s reasoning."

"They’ve ruined and broken everything. What can I do?" A shudder ripped from her. "How could anyone
do
that?"

"I’ll deal with it," he said decisively.

"How?"

Her fingers clenched into claws, digging into his arms. "If it’s okay with you, I’ll get a team of cleaners and packers to salvage any personal possessions that can be saved."

Another shudder shook her. "Our clothes?"

"Will be destroyed," he said grimly. "Clothes are easy to replace. You happy with that?"

She nodded, acquiescing without protest.

A shudder of disgust shook her.

Her skin literally crawled at the very thought of putting a stitch of those clothes near her body, ever again.

Chapter Seventeen

H
ell hath no fury like a woman scorned
.

For the first time Victoria truly appreciated the meaning of the old adage. Who could have guessed the ice princess had enough red blood in her veins to have her father mount such a sustained attack?
 

Restless as a tiger in a cage, Victoria paced the luxurious room Keir assigned her.

She was trapped.

Hemmed in on all sides.

She was bored and frustrated. An hour in the morning spent liaising with Greta Beardsley wasn't near enough to fill her day. And, with Greta's tidy record keeping, and no other calls on her time, the necessary bookwork was soon finished.

Besides Mrs. Teague, Keir employed several other staff. And this left Victoria, unable to venture outside the gates, with far too much time on her hands.

You work too hard, you spend all day at Victorian Grace, come home to Connor, housework and the shop's books. Where's your time?

As she recalled Logan's words, a mirthless laugh shook her.

Two weeks ago she'd been working her tail off, moaning about not enough hours in the day.

Now, she was virtually left twiddling her thumbs.

And she knew which she'd prefer. She'd far rather be frantically busy than sitting idle. Only the hours she spent at Connor's bedside relieved the oppressive tedium.

Yet Keir took the intrusion of the press in his stride.

Only when surveying the carnage wrought in her apartment had she seen any glimpse of emotion filter through the mask of his inscrutability.

His fury when they entered her home after a police call was barely contained. She’d never encountered such feral menace in another human being. The man who'd taken charge that night was as savage as any primitive warrior.

And Keir's reaction displayed yet another facet of this intimate stranger.

Try as she might, Victoria was unable to erase the repulsive sight from her memory
 

Keir had seen her revulsion and reacted.
 

She paused a moment and stared down at the latest screaming headlines about her, Connor and Keir.

It seemed like every person she’d ever known was quite happy to share any tidbit of information they knew about her life, eating habits—

God, even the style of underclothes she wore—

And what the Strathmore hacks couldn’t find in hard fact, they invented with salacious disregard to the truth. Victoria had never realized the value she'd placed on her privacy, until it had been mercilessly stripped away.

She picked up a copy of
The Clarion
from the table where she’d dropped it and looked again at the photo of her and Connor making sand castles at the beach.
 

Beside it, a photo of a simpering woman Victoria barely knew, relating sordid details that owed more to a lurid imagination than their very remote acquaintance.
 

Disgusted, she flung the paper on the floor.

"Is it getting you down?"

She looked up to find Keir leaning against the door jamb his tie loosened and an amused smile softening his face.

"It’s insane," she said bitterly. "Are we allowed no privacy?"

"It’s no more than I expected." He straightened and crossed to her side. "It will eventually die down."

"And how long is eventually?"

"Who can tell?" He frowned at her, his eyes dark with turbulent thoughts. "I've just had a call from Connor’s doctor. He can come home."

Her surging joy was tempered by a wary caution, and a decided nervousness. She raised her brows in silent question. "You want him to come here?"

Keir pushed his hands deep into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "You don’t imagine you can keep him safe?"

Victoria emitted a frustrated sigh, but knew Keir was entitled to his skepticism.

"You know that’s not possible," she muttered darkly unable to guess at his thoughts. "You know neither of us is safe outside this fortress. I can’t venture out the door without being mobbed.
Holy guacamole!
You’ve even had to install Greta to manage my shop."

"The only other solution was closing the business down."

"I know. I know." Much as she hated to admit it, Keir’s solution was the only viable alternative.
 

Victoria supervised by phone and over the net.

"The notoriety has had one spin off," she said with dry amusement. "A huge increase in business."

"And that pleases you?"

"The manager has hired two assistants, full time, and a college girl who works after school."

"You're happy with the woman Chloe found?"

"Greta's an excellent florist." Victoria flipped open a folder she'd been looking at earlier. "And has a flair for weddings. Look at all these advance bookings.
Victorian Grace
is going from strength to strength."
 

"Which brings us to the next question," he said, his voice as smooth as treacle. "With Connor coming home it’s time we legalized our relationship. We should get married."

"What?" For a moment Victoria couldn’t believe she’d heard him correctly.
 

"Get married," he repeated patiently. "You know legalize our relationship."
 

Victoria laughed and shook her head.

From his lack of emotion, he could merely be asking her to pick up a loaf of bread from the corner dairy.
 

This from the man who’d led her on such a sensuous, passionate dance.
 

Dismayed, she shook her head.

She'd experienced Keir's passion and, years ago his love, and if he thought she'd settle for less, he was about to learn he'd underestimated her.

She was
not
Davina Strathmore.
 

And until Keir acknowledged this, she would never agree to marry him.
 

"What’s so funny?" he asked scowling at her, shoulders stiff.