Modern Romance Collection July 2024 Books 1-4

CHAPTER THREE

WHITEOAKTREES towered on both sides of the lane, their thick branches creating a canopy so thick only the smallest slivers of sunlight pierced the ground. But in those little pockets of sunshine, the crushed seashells covering the drive glowed white.

Rosalind Sutton stood and stared, one hand clutched around her briefcase, the other around her umbrella. Beyond the trees there would be a gate, and beyond the gate lay the castle.

Not castle, she mentally corrected herself, chateau.

She’d learned that from Bonar, the kind, elderly man who’d given her a ride from the village and shared his extensive knowledge of the Chateau du Bellerose as his clunky truck had sputtered along a dirt road flanked by rolling hills.

The stone bridge that separated her from the trees linked the chateau to the rest of the world. A river cut through the gorge that separated the plateau the manor had been built on, providing the only way in or out. Key, Bonar had said, to defending the manor house when it had first been built.

And now providing sanctuary for one very stubborn, very rude billionaire who had a contract to sign.

The memory of that moment in the hall of the Diamond Club crept into Rosalind’s mind. She’d felt someone watching her, had taken a guess as to who spied on her just beyond the light from the diamond chandelier. She had only seen his legs, hands hanging at his side. The rest of his body had been masked by darkness.

When she’d said his name, something had arisen between them, pulsed. A jolt of energy, a shock of sensual awareness.

Awareness that had evaporated as soon as she’d said the word inheritance. She had felt the anger, seen his hands tighten into fists.

And known that whatever battles she had fought so far, from sitting outside of his office in the pouring rain to calling in a number of favors just to determine the address of the elusive Diamond Club, were nothing compared to the war she would have to wage to secure that signature.

Instinct, along with extensive research, had prompted her to keep tabs on the Lykaois private jet at Heathrow Airport. A flight plan had been filed the morning after she’d been escorted out of the Diamond Club. A short trip from London to Le Havre on the Normandy coast. A quick review of the Lykaois family properties in France had netted several results, including a penthouse in Paris and a villa on the shores of the French Riviera.

But there had been only one in the Normandy region: a centuries-old manor just outside of the small village of étretat.

One train and two taxis later, she was finally here. No henchmen in Savile Row suits to toss her out. No stone-faced secretaries telling her to stop coming by unless she wanted to be arrested.

Yet still she hesitated. Part of her wanted to turn around and follow the dirt road down to étretat. To walk through the streets lined with homes constructed of timber and brick, to relax with a glass of wine at a beachside restaurant and gaze at the white chalk cliffs. To seize a moment’s peace.

Later. She made herself that promise as she forced herself to walk across the bridge toward the shadowy tunnel created by the trees. After securing Mr. Lykaois’s signature, she would enjoy the remaining days of her cottage rental. Maybe she would even take an actual vacation, spend a week in Paris or Rome.

Yeah, right.

Once she secured this promotion, her already demanding schedule would become even more so. Late nights, long weekends, holidays. The price to pay for working her way up at a prestigious law firm.

She’d been working toward this promotion ever since she graduated law school and accepted a position as a junior associate at Nettleton Thompson. Her ascension from a small town in Maine to being offered a job in London had made her parents so proud. It had been her mother’s dying wish to see Rosalind reach even further, achieve even more, than anyone in her family had ever dared to dream.

Sometimes, Rosalind wondered if she should have told her parents how much she would have preferred a smaller firm, an organization dedicated to helping people who needed her services versus the ones who could pay a small fortune.

But then she remembered her last conversation with her mother, the pride that had rang in Jane Sutton’s weakening voice.

It wasn’t just her version of the dream that mattered.

The next step of that dream was within reach, so close it nearly drove her mad that one man held the power over her career with Nettleton Thompson.

Unbidden, the one glimpse she’d gotten of that man rose in her mind. Cloaked in shadow, there had been no reason for her body to respond to the glance they’d shared.

Tension tightened her muscles, her breath quickening as she remembered the sudden burst of heat deep within her belly, a heat that had spread and made her body languid even as sparks had skipped through her veins.

Utterly ridiculous.

So why couldn’t she forget it? Why had she woken up every morning for the past week tangled in her sheets with her heart pounding, tendrils of sensual dreams she’d never experienced before lingering with her throughout the day?

She paused halfway across the bridge. Morbid curiosity drew her to the edge and she leaned over. The drop down to the thin line of water at the bottom of the gorge was dizzying. She sucked in a deep breath, knew she was secure behind the solid wall of stone. But her heart beat a little faster as she continued on.

On toward the one man who had stirred inside her a carnal curiosity that, despite her best intentions, she couldn’t ignore.

It had been easy to resist the attentions of overly hormonal teenage boys when she’d been so fixated on earning money for college. Then, once she’d reached Chicago, dating had fallen low on her priority list. One girl in her dorm, Louisa, had accused her of having impossible standards. Of building up what her first time would be like to impossible heights no man could meet.

Perhaps, Rosalind thought as her shoes scraped across the stone underfoot, Louisa had been right. Perhaps she’d never let her dates go beyond a kiss because she’d been afraid. Afraid that her fantasies of her first time, of intimacy and sex and the man she would share her body with, would fall far short of her desires.

Except now everything she’d ever dreamed about in the safety of her own bed and her own flat was coming to life at the worst possible moment.

Not to mention the worst possible man.

Her phone rang and yanked her out of her immature thoughts. Cursing when she saw who was calling, she answered.

“Yes, sir?”

“Where are you?”

Robert Nettleton’s voice, smooth as whiskey and cold as ice, snapped through the line.

“France, sir.”

“Making progress, then?”

“Yes, sir.”

Kind of...sort of...not really.

“Good. I needn’t remind you of what rides on the completion of this contract, Miss Sutton.”

She gritted her teeth.

Only every other time we’ve talked the past six weeks.

“No, sir.”

“Good. The deadline is eight days away.”

“I have a flight booked back to London for Tuesday, sir.”

“Be in my office by Wednesday morning at nine a.m. with the signed contract, Miss Sutton. I want to see it with my own eyes. Daily updates are encouraged.”

She rolled her eyes. It was as if her hard work the past few years had been wiped away over one damned document.

“Yes, sir.”

“Your future at this firm—”

A burst of static made her wince as she moved off the bridge and into the shadows of the trees.

“Sir?” The static faded, followed by a single beep. “Great.” Rosalind shoved her phone in her pocket. While she wasn’t upset at her conversation being cut short, she didn’t care for the lack of reception as she prepared to walk into the proverbial lion’s den.

Walk to the chateau. Get the signature. Get out.

Cool air kissed her skin as she moved beneath the trees. Quiet descended, save for the soft crunch of shells beneath her feet and the occasional trill of a bird. The tension she’d been carrying slowly drained away, replaced by the peace she had desperately been seeking ever since she’d had the unfortunate luck to be assigned to the Lykaois case.

The research she’d conducted on the new CEO of Lykaois Shipping, the third generation to hold that title since the company was founded, had been fascinating. Griffith Lykaois was known to indulge in pleasures most people couldn’t even dream of. Six-figure bottles of wine. A contemporary painting that would have paid for two dozen students from her tiny hometown to go to college. Black truffle and caviar dinners at the most expensive restaurants in the world. And of course, as evidenced by the numerous photos taken over the years, a revolving door of glamorous women on his arm. Even when he had finally settled down for more than a week with one woman, it had been a supermodel famous for sporting the world’s largest diamond during a photoshoot...and little else.

Yet despite his predilection for obscene luxury, he also had the rare distinction of showing up to his office and working. The British division of Lykaois Shipping had soared under his guidance. He played hard, yes, but he worked just as hard.

Or at least had until a drunk driver had T-boned Griffith’s Lamborghini, killing his father and leaving Griffith with severe injuries and a patchwork of scars. Some theorized a plastic surgeon would ensure that only the tiniest wounds would be visible. Others whispered that the reason Griffith had taken a leave of absence for an entire year had been because he was too ashamed to show his face in public.

The interview his ex-girlfriend Kacey Dupree had given less than two weeks ago certainly hadn’t helped squash those rumors.

Whatever had happened, Griffith Lykaois had left behind his life of vice and hedonism for isolation.

She did feel sorry for him, had felt a kindred pain of loss when she’d read about the accident, seen the photos of twisted wreckage and bits of glass scattered across the road. But even if he wasn’t engaging in decadent endeavors, he was still making selfish choices. Choices that had made her life hell, from the veiled threats from Mr. Nettleton about her future at the firm to the embarrassment of being escorted out of the Diamond Club.

She shook off her frustration and focused on the bittersweet, earthy scent of oak that filled the air, the occasional flash of warmth when a sunbeam fell across her face as she walked. She had been so driven for so long, so intent on working hard to get out of the town her parents had told her over and over was too small for what she was capable of, that she hadn’t stopped to just breathe.

Or think about what I wanted.

Uncomfortable at the path her thoughts had taken, Rosalind shifted the strap of her bag to the other shoulder. It wasn’t her parents’ fault they had wanted the best for her. It wasn’t their fault she had never gotten the courage to tell them she wanted something else. How could she, when they had looked at her with such pride? With hope that she would continue down the path they’d set for her.

You’ll be a senior lawyer at Nettleton Thompson one day. I know it. You won’t give up on that, will you?

I won’t... I’ll make you proud, Mom.

Her parents had married young, scrimping and saving to buy a tiny house with a constantly leaking basement and three small bedrooms they’d crammed themselves and four kids into. Rosalind’s older brother had been destined to follow in their father’s footsteps as a lobster fisherman. Her two younger brothers had been adamant about going straight to work after high school, to make their own way.

It had fallen to Rosalind to achieve her parents’ dream of having a child graduate college. A dream that had surpassed their wildest expectations when she’d been accepted into law school in Chicago, followed by the internship and then the job offer.

She’d never questioned herself before. Had simply accepted the praise they’d heaped on her, preened at the knowledge that her parents thought her so capable and merrily gone after each goal they encouraged her to reach for.

Her mother had lived long enough to see Rosalind try on her cap and gown the month before she graduated from law school, to learn about the job offer from Nettleton Thompson. Rosalind was on track to do exactly as her mother had wanted.

So, why didn’t she feel excited by that?

All too soon, the lane curved and she emerged from the trees and turned to find herself in front of the gate. Constructed of wrought iron, and flanked by two stone pillars topped with statues, it certainly put the little white picket fence back home to shame. Her eyes traveled up, landing on the figures atop the stone pillars guarding either side of the drive—women garbed in dresses that reminded Rosalind of ancient Greek statues. Both statues had tumbling hair threaded through with what looked like stars. One woman held a rose clutched to her chest, while the other held a thorned flower up to the sky, as if offering it to the heavens.

A few hundred meters behind the gate lay the chateau, a sprawling manor house with rows of arched windows gleaming in the sun and topped off by a steep roof. Even at this distance, it exuded elegance. The kind of place her mother had described when she’d tell tales of princesses and princes, palaces and dungeons, enchantresses and beasts.

A brisk wind tore through the bars of the gate. She put her head down and shivered at the sudden coolness as heavy gray clouds scuttled across the sky and chased away the summer blue. An even bigger cluster of clouds loomed up behind the manor. Bonar had mentioned a storm moving in from the sea. But he had said it wouldn’t hit until that evening.

She headed through the gate. She would get in, make her pitch and walk out with Lykaois’s signature, and be back in étretat before the storm really got going. Bonar had told her to call him if she needed a ride back to the village. Given how Lykaois had behaved so far, she doubted he would be so kind as to offer her a ride himself.

Rosalind took in more of the chateau as she got closer to it. Mr. Lykaois’s New York penthouse sat on Billionaires’ Row at the southern end of Central Park. It had been featured in a luxury real estate magazine, all glass walls and gleaming metal. The California beach house, fashioned in the shape of an L and colored gray, presided over a private beach and included a saltwater infinity pool that overlooked the Pacific. The Tokyo apartment overlooked Tokyo Tower and included access to a library, bar, spa and a private dining room serviced by international chefs.

So why had he chosen a centuries-old manor to hide out in? It was beautiful, yes. Expensive? Absolutely. Sweeping stone staircases trimmed in black railing framed either side of a three-tiered fountain. The steps curved up to a long terrace and massive double doors constructed of golden-brown wood with an arched window just above. The house had been maintained with not only great care but devotion to the original design. The final result was stunning.

But a very different feel from what Griffith Lykaois otherwise seemed to prefer. New, modern, flashy. Not historic and elegant.

Rosalind gripped the handle of her bag as she reached the stairs and started up. She needed to get her emotions under control. She’d had a strong reaction to him in the Diamond Club. But, as she’d told herself repeatedly in the days since, it had been understandable. Emotions had been running high. A lot was riding on her finally coming face-to-face with him and she’d read enough about the man, watched enough interviews from before his accident, to feel like she’d met him, knew him. Finally seeing him had pushed those emotions over the edge.

It made sense, too, that with her limited experience she would have a stronger response than the average woman. How often was anticipation better than the actual event?

Besides, she had other things to think about other than her hormones. Things like getting the contract signed and finally being promoted to midlevel associate attorney.

The thought of going back to London, of presenting the signed contract to Mr. Nettleton, should have buoyed her. Instead, it quickened her steps, as if she could outrun the restlessness that had been growing these past few months. Outrun the question that had been haunting her for months.

Do I want to keep doing this?

The strap of her bag pressed into her skin, the weight of her decision growing heavier with each step. She liked her work, liked hearing people’s stories and what had become important to them over the course of their lives. Yet as time had gone on, the once dignified atmosphere of Nettleton Thompson had started to feel more like a prison.

She had always considered herself a happy person. Even on days she’d slogged through thirteen hours of paperwork and client meetings, she’d been able to find the positives, like successfully navigating a will with a difficult client or watching the moon rise above the nearby Buckingham Palace.

But now...now she just felt exhausted.

The one positive in the struggle of reaching Mr. Lykaois was that she’d been able to put off confronting her dissatisfaction with her job just a while longer. To figure out if she wanted to work for the firm she had once thought she would retire from, or if she had the nerve to finally stop burying herself in work and make her own decision about what she wanted to do with her life. Live a little outside the walls of her office.

She shoved the questions away. Not the time to be having a personal crisis.

Now was the time to do her job.

She stopped in front of two massive wood doors.

Here goes nothing.

She raised the heavy knocker, a round loop of metal topped off with a sculpture of what looked like a rose, and let it fall.

No one answered.

Wind howled over the top of the manor, followed a moment later by scattered rain. Hunching her shoulders against the storm, she tried peering into one of the windows, but the curtains had been drawn tight. She went back to the door and knocked with her fist. One of the doors quivered, then slowly swung in.

She stood on the threshold, her hand tight around the handle of her briefcase. Technically no one had invited her in. But the door was open. And she’d come all this way after over a month of chasing the dratted man down.

Besides, it was starting to storm. Surely Mr. Lykaois would allow her to at least take shelter until the rain passed.

With a deep breath, she pushed the door wider and walked inside.