Net of Lies (8 page)

‘Very perceptive, Kate.’ He was still smiling, but there was certain hardness in his eyes as he surveyed her face. ‘
It’s too bad that patience hasn’t always been one of your virtues.’

‘I thought we were going to talk
about the future.’ She eyed him rebelliously, aware of the heat creeping up her cheeks. He was implying she hadn’t been patient enough to wait for his explanations in the past—that she should have waited meekly for his choice of the time and circumstances that would be perfect to enlighten her about his true commitments.

‘True
.’ He nodded, his mouth tightening into a straight line. ‘I will try to remember that. However hard it might be at times.’

The rest of their trip went by in total silence after her snappy answer.
The driver wove through the midtown traffic, and a rainbow of colors from signs, shop windows, and traffic lights assaulted her eyes with a constant bombardment of color as she stared out the window. People were walking along the pavement, and the sight of cheerful couples embracing in the warm June night filled her with bitterness. She wanted to be like them, to erase her memories and be as hopeful and expectant as they seemed. She wished she could love and trust the man at her side while safely cradled in his arms. Instead, she was trapped with someone who had trampled all her dreams, destroying her belief in love and happy endings.

The car slowed down
, and she looked up at the lit façade of the hotel. Her lips twisted into a cynical smile as she realized their destination. She shouldn’t have been surprised, not after Marc’s hints at Raoul’s wealth. Still, arriving at Lanesborough Hotel in the middle of the exclusive Knightsbridge district surprised her. Everyone knew that the masterfully renovated, centuries-old hotel was the hottest destination in town, its superb suites offering unobstructed views of the manicured grounds of Buckingham Palace and the Constitutional Arch. Obviously, Raoul de Santos y Lorrena was nothing at all like the man she’d called her own under the heat of the Spanish sun. The efficient and polite service they received made it apparent that he was respected and welcome in the place, where bookings ran well into the next year.

Feeling a bit like Cinderella arriving at the ball, Kate bit her lip
. The large ornate mirrors placed strategically along the long hallway reflected her slim frame, and she caught the butler’s approval of her evening gown as he took them to the suite. She wondered what he would think if he knew that she had borrowed this dress, along with the jewelry, from her cousin. It had taken a fight to make her accept the generous offer instead of splurging for a once-a-year event.

Marc
had hinted that he hoped she would look impeccable, and his total lack of understanding of her financial situation had been the cause of their first fight. He came from a family where having money and spending it to prove status came as easily as breathing. His careless remark that she should have something special for the evening had proved to her how far apart their worlds really were. In the end, her pride had taken a backseat to her desire to please him, and she had accepted her cousin’s offer.

Feeling a bit like a cheat, she walked along
with Raoul, her dark-blue, strappy sandals providing her with an extra three inches of height, which still wasn’t enough to see eye to eye. She glanced at the tall, somber man whose smooth, lithe stride reminded her of a wild cat, sinuous and predatory. His Italian suit complemented his long, lean legs and broad shoulders.

She recalled reading about the hotel and its mysterious Royal Suite, a hidden private two
-bedroom suite tucked away somewhere in the hotel; its location was known only to a few select employees. It came with a private butler and was reserved for the most discriminate and influential guests. Peeking at Raoul, she thought that he fit nicely into this picture, his effortless elegance and obviously aristocratic background enough to provide him a stay in the lap of luxury.

She was surprised,
therefore, when they arrived at the door at the end of the corridor, because the lavish, yet generic room was nothing unusual.

Raoul’s
beautiful mouth stretched into a cynical smile as he let her go ahead, then inquired, ‘Disappointed, Kate? Did you expect me to be staying in more than a room, maybe?’ As in olden days, Raoul seemed to be able to read her thoughts.

‘I don’t care where you stay, Raoul. I thought we
had already established that fact.’ Keeping her poker face was difficult in the gorgeous surroundings. She tried to ignore the elegantly dressed windows, the beautiful silk-covered sofas, and the art that gave the room an ambience of timeless charm.

‘My family has been staying here for generations
,’ he provided, ignoring her acidic response. ‘To be honest, that’s the only reason we’re here right now. It is not my style, never has been.’

She could believe it
. The opulence of the room weighed down on her like a beautiful, yet unbearable stone.

‘So what is
this thing we need to talk about, Raoul?’ She was eager to get their conversation over with and leave. She was bothered that the staff might think she was his date; their judgmental, if discreet glances cast her way made it obvious that they thought exactly that.

‘Sit down, Kate
.’ He gestured to the sofa. He walked over to the hutch, where a silver tray held bottles and cut-crystal glasses. As she sat at the edge of the sofa, she watched his long fingers pick a bottle, then he poured himself a generous helping of amber-colored liquid that sparkled like liquid gold in his glass. He turned to her, her hands folded primly in her lap, everything in her pose screaming impatience and readiness to leave. He smiled briefly and pointed to the bottles, his dark eyebrows raised questioningly.

‘Anything you fancy? I strongly suggest you have something
.’

If he was trying to bully her with his dark innuendos,
she intended to disappoint him. She shook her head resentfully in refusal.

He sighed
in resignation and moved toward the sitting area, where he folded his long frame into an armchair. The light-blue and cream stripes of the silky upholstery made his dark suit and somber expression even more austere, reminding her of famous works by El Greco, his countryman by choice and a fabulous artist. Dark, elegant, and haunting, the characters who populated his paintings had an inexplicable element. It was beauty and darkness, strength and pride, all merged to bring forward exquisite features and the inner light.

Raoul de Santos y
Lorrena carried himself with the same deep pride, his hooded eyes never wavering during a conflict. Tall, dark, and virile, he sat motionless, the deceptive calm of his perfect body never fooling her.

‘How well do you know Mar
c Stevenson?’

H
is calm inquiry brought blood to Kate’s cheeks. ‘It’s none of your business, Raoul.’ She lifted her chin in a defiant gesture. ‘My private life has nothing to do with you. Not anymore.’

‘I agree.’ His calm nod sent shivers of unease down her spine.

She felt something dangerous hanging over her head. An absurd desire to get up and run before he had the chance to ruin her life yet again almost forced her to her feet. She remained seated, some fatalistic weakness holding her spellbound, as she waited for him to continue.

‘
I’m trying to establish how deeply involved you are with his criminal activities, that’s all.’ Crystal clear and to the point, he watched her like a hawk stalking its prey. ‘I think it’s important for you to understand, if this conversation is supposed to get us anywhere.’

‘Criminal?’ she repeated with stiff lips. ‘
You must be out of your mind. Marc isn’t a criminal. That’s insane!’

‘What makes you so
sure?’ He struck like a cobra, his dark eyes enigmatic and reserved. ‘The fact that he might be an excellent lover and a lenient boss doesn’t rule it out, now does it?’

‘You tell me
.’ She was too mad to think it through before she spat back at him, her voice shaking, ‘He isn’t my lover and certainly is not lenient as my boss, Raoul. So keep your dirty comparisons to yourself, will you!’

She knew instantly that she shouldn’t have said it. T
he visible satisfaction that brightened his face at her admission made her grind her teeth in regret.

‘
He is a criminal, nevertheless.’ He smiled silkily, his eyes satisfied as he noticed the horrified expression that she wasn’t good at hiding. ‘We can play this cat-and-mouse game all night, even though, quite frankly, I’m dead tired and looking forward to going to bed. Or you can listen to me and answer my questions as truthfully as you can, and maybe, just maybe, manage to escape this mess unscathed, Kate. What is it going to be?’

‘
Go on,’ she whispered, her eyes glued to his face. ‘I’m listening.’

‘
That’s better.’ He rewarded her with a smile that failed to find a response in her tense features. ‘Marc is selling stolen art. That’s the bottom line. I don’t think there’s another way to say it, so I will be brief. He buys stolen art and sells it to his own clients, knowing perfectly well where it comes from.’ He paused, waiting for her to interrupt him, but her total silence was the only response.

She couldn’t utter one single word
as she felt her head spin. Feeling on the verge of fainting, she bit her lower lip so hard it bled. The metallic taste of blood helped her overcome her weakness.
He’s wrong,
she thought desperately,
must have been…
Marc might have lots of vices, but this was definitely not one of them.
I know him well enough, don’t I?
They had been an item for over two months, and if he had done the things Raoul had implied, she would have noticed.

‘That’s not all
, though.’ His merciless voice interrupted her unhappy thoughts, and she looked up into his face, bracing herself for more bad news. ‘He is also underpaying for plenty of the pieces featured at your gallery, then selling them for exorbitant sums of money and pocketing the profits. Which as you will probably point out, is not illegal, but highly immoral, especially since he is preying on desperate people that have fallen on tough times.’

‘How do you know all that?’
Her heart constricted painfully. Not even daring to consider the other alternative, she prayed desperately that he was lying. ‘Are you working for the police, Raoul?’

‘
No, though I would find it very satisfying to lock him up myself.’ His dark eyes were as cold as obsidian stones, hard and polished. ‘But I do happen to have an older relative who he had tried to scam. Unsuccessfully, may I add.’ His gaze reflective, he took a sip from his glass. ‘My aunt contacted me and asked for help, since Marc seemed quite determined to get her to sell her pictures. I did a lot of research and arrived at the point that, even though it isn’t possible to involve police in these proceedings, something can be done. But it isn’t easy. I understand that.’

‘
What do you mean?’ She was starting to regret that she had refused the drink he’d offered. ‘I would think that you could march straight to the police and expose him, if you’re really sure you’re right.’

‘
The part about stolen art is difficult to prove.’ He sighed, unbuttoning his jacket. Her eyes followed his movements, watching him shrug it off carelessly. His broad shoulders stretched the thin fabric of his white shirt, and she swallowed the lump forming in her throat at the memory of the bronze, warm skin she knew to be underneath.

‘How so?’
she asked, desperate to escape this unexpected threat to her equilibrium, as she pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders.

‘These are transactions made behind closed doors, Kate.
Open only to Marc and his client, both sides obviously eager to keep it private. The only people who could implicate him are exactly the ones that are profiting from his lack of scruples. This is a dead end when it comes to gathering witnesses and proof of any kind.’

‘
So how can you be so sure it is happening at all?’

‘
Because he came highly recommended from people I happen to know personally, people who wouldn’t hesitate to pay a lot to satisfy their collector’s fever, the law only a weak obstacle to be dealt with. I asked around, pretending to be interested in acquiring some of the pieces that shouldn’t be on the market, and the answer was always the same. If you need to obtain the impossible, talk to Marc Stevenson, the rainmaker of the art world.’

His answer crushed the tiny tendril of hope that had stirred deep inside her.

‘And nobody’s become suspicious so far? I find it hard to believe, Raoul.’ She might be naïve, but the story had holes, and she would be damned if she believed him without clearing them up first. ‘If he is such a cheat and liar, how come he’s never gotten in trouble?’

‘Because he is very smart
. I will give him that.’ Raoul got up and went to the bar, where he reached for a second glass and filled it with the brandy he was sipping. He brought it to her, and this time, she didn’t feel like refusing, her whole body chilled with the fear that he might be telling the truth.

‘
He doesn’t run a large-scale business, Kate,’ he continued, watching her hand bring the glass to her lips. She could have sworn he had noticed the slight tremor of her fingers as she did so. ‘He has the main gallery, which is very legitimate, same with all the charity work. It is a perfect cover for something on the side. Do you understand? He never has more than a few special clients at a time, carefully pacing the orders.’