Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Thea could see the indecision in Fergus’s expression and knew it was because, as she had suspected would be the case, he wasn’t sure whether he wanted anything to do with something that would mean he had to continue to interact with a woman with the surname Morgan.
Her mother had a lot to answer for.
Not least being the way in which she had tried to trick Fergus when he didn’t fall in with Jessica’s plans to marry him.
What would Fergus have been like as a stepfather?
Better than Andrei, Thea would take a guess. The Russian had never been cruel or mean to her. On the contrary, she had been telling the truth when she said Andrei had basically ignored her existence after she refused his financial assistance.
She had no doubt Fergus would have made a much better stepfather.
Although Thea had to admit, the fact she now found herself attracted to him might have made that situation more than a little awkward!
How could she not be attracted to him?
Fergus was everything that encompassed tall, dark, and handsome. His age of forty-two also gave him an air of experience and sophistication. He was so handsome, with that chiseled chin, high cheekbones, and piercing green eyes, that he could have been a model on the cover of one of the romance novels Thea liked to read in her spare time. Throw in the fact he wore his elegant suits like a GQ model, and she doubted too many women would be able to resist him.
A fact Thea had noticed more than one Frenchwoman confirm as they walked past Thea and Fergus seated together on the bench.
Thea had noticed during the past couple of days that Frenchwomen, most of them elegance personified, could be very judgmental when it came to how a man looked and dressed. Fergus obviously more than passed those stringent tests.
Thea wondered what he would look like in a pair of fitted jeans and a shirt with the collar unfastened and the sleeves rolled up to just beneath his elbows.
Just as devastatingly attractive, she would guess.
But she hadn’t come here to drool over how attractive Fergus now was.
“I’m staying at the George V hotel?—”
“As most millionaires do,” he taunted.
Thea sighed at his obvious mockery. “It’s been listed as the best hotel in Paris. As I doubt I will ever have reason to come back here again, I thought I might as well stay at the best hotel.” Her chin rose. “I’m not paying for my stay with any of the fifty million pounds Andrei left my mother, if that’s what you’re thinking. No, that is sitting safe and untouched in the bank, accruing interest, and it will continue to do so until Lev agrees to take it back.” She shrugged. “Apart from a weekend in Cornwall last summer, I haven’t been on holiday for years, and so I decided I had enough money saved to treat myself to a stay for a few days in the best hotel in Paris.”
She didn’t regret that decision either. The hotel was as amazing as its online hype had said it was. Her suite even had a view of the Eiffel Tower. She could also see the rest of the magnificence that was the Paris skyline out of the spacious floor-to-ceiling windows. There was even a balcony in the sitting room she could step out onto if she wanted to.
Not that she’d spent much time in her suite or been able to go sightseeing when she was following Fergus all day and most of the evening. But she had one more full day here before she flew back to England. Now that she’d spoken to Fergus, no matter what his answer was to her request for help, she could probably see some of the sights later today and tomorrow before she left.
Her hope was that Fergus would fly back with her. Or at least agree to join her in a day or two. But she knew that would have to be his decision.
So far, it didn’t look promising in her favor.
“Did your stalker follow you to Paris?”
Thea looked blankly at Fergus for several seconds before his words fully penetrated her thoughts. “I don’t— I haven’t noticed— Oh God!” she gasped as the idea took root. “Do you think they could have done?”
It simply hadn’t occurred to her that might be the case.
Which was pretty silly of her, under the circumstances.
Fergus shrugged. “I’m merely wondering if my stalker has a stalker?”
“I’m not stalking you,” she denied distractedly before reaching out to grasp Fergus’s forearm. “Do you think my stalker followed me here and could be watching us right now?”
She had been so busy following and concentrating on ways to talk to Fergus that she hadn’t thought to take notice of whether or not her own stalker had followed her to Paris.
Perhaps she should have?
* * *
If Thea really did have a stalker, and Fergus didn’t have any reason to think she didn’t—as she’d already pointed out, several times, she wasn’t her mother, and it would be unfair of him to think that she was anything like Jessica—then it would be odd if they hadn’t followed her to Paris too.
Fergus had become hyperaware of their surroundings and the people walking by the moment Thea told him she thought she had a stalker. So far, he hadn’t identified anyone whose attention seemed to be concentrated on her in particular. A couple of men had given her lingering glances, but why wouldn’t they? Thea was a beautiful young woman.
Which caused Fergus to admit he was now also hyperaware of the warmth of Thea’s hand gripping his arm. A slender hand, the fingers long and graceful and, as he had noted earlier, completely bare of rings.
Which, despite her surname being Morgan, didn’t mean she hadn’t worn an engagement or wedding ring in the past. A lot of divorced women preferred to keep their own surname or return to it if the marriage ended.
He didn’t doubt Thea’s apprehension regarding the person who had broken into her apartment was real. Understandably so.
It was a violation not just of her privacy, but on an emotional and mental level an event that must be deeply unsettling, to say the least. Which was probably the intention. Behavior like that said, Look at me, I can invade your private space any time I feel like it and take what I want.
“I haven’t noticed anyone following you,” he now assured her.
“Thank goodness.” She breathed a sigh of relief as she removed her hand and leaned back against the bench.
Fergus immediately missed the warmth of that hand. “Do you have an ex-husband or ex-live-in lover who could have let themselves into your apartment with their own key?”
She turned to look at him. “Absolutely not,” she answered firmly. “I’ve never been married or lived with anyone. Nor have I ever given a key to my apartment to anyone.”
“Not even a neighbor in case of emergency?”
“No.”
Fergus nodded, more pleased with her answers than he knew he should be.
Yes, Thea had a delectable arse, but the two of them could never become involved. Not only because of their past connection, but because Thea was eighteen years younger than him.
A fact that was becoming less and less important to him the more time he spent with her…
“Did you try calling the police after the break-in?”
“And tell them what?” Thea scoffed. “Someone’s been lying in my bed, and they took my pillow with them when they left? Sounds like the start of a fairy tale to me, so God knows how it would have sounded to the police. Look at the way you reacted when I told you!”
Fergus knew she had a point. “You’re sure nothing else was taken?”
“Positive. The only jewelry I possess is a cameo ring my father gave me when I was seven. It has sentimental, not monetary, value and is still in its box on my dressing table. So, you see, nothing was taken but the pillow. Which, quite frankly, even I know sounds ludicrous.”
It did sound a little…lacking in substance. Fergus doubted the police would even be interested enough to send someone out to take Thea’s statement, let alone check the apartment for fingerprints.
But Lev Yegorov’s interest in marrying Thea, an interest she said she didn’t return, was of greater concern. Especially if, as could easily have happened, Lev had arranged for someone to break into Thea’s apartment. No doubt in the hope she might turn to him for protection.
Fergus had heard and read enough about Yegorov junior to know that, like his father, what he wanted, he usually got. Anyone who tried to say no to him had a habit of changing their mind or conveniently disappearing.
Lev seemed to be humoring Thea’s refusals to his marriage proposal at the moment. But that didn’t mean he was averse to using underhand methods, such as frightening her into depending on him, to attain his goal.
Did Fergus want to become embroiled in Thea Morgan’s problems?
The answer to that was a resounding no.
Should he, as the only man she said she felt she could trust—understandably, it seemed, after the situation she had described to him—help her?
His cell phone rang before he could answer that question, the ringtone of “Incy Wincy Spider” telling him exactly who his caller was. “I’m sorry, I have to take this,” he told Thea as he stood up.
“Of course.”
Fergus moved to stand a few feet away from her before answering the call. “Angel, my love, it’s lovely to hear from you!” he greeted warmly.
* * *
Thea only had to hear the affection in Fergus’s tone when he answered the call, so different from the cold and indifferent way he spoke to her, to realize her assumption that he didn’t currently have a woman in his life had been wrong.
She glanced over to where he had turned slightly away from her as he continued his conversation with the woman he called Angel and my love. He had lowered his voice so that no one—especially Thea?—could overhear what else he had to say to his lover.
Forcing Thea to acknowledge she was nothing more than an intruder in Fergus’s life. A ghost from Fergus’s past he wanted nothing to do with. A reminder of an incident in his life he would rather forget. Thea was probably someone he would rather forget. She had been a fool to ever think she could come to Paris and ask for his help.
Fergus was still turned slightly away and deep in conversation when Thea rose silently to her feet and turned to disappear into the crowds of people enjoying a leisurely stroll along the famous Champs-élysées.
Within minutes, she was able to turn down the side street where the George V was situated. Unlike the previous times she had entered the hotel, she barely registered the opulence of the lobby as she made her way through to the elevators.
Her mind was blank as she stepped into the ornate space to press the button for the floor where her suite was situated. It remained as empty of thought after she had stepped out of the elevator and walked down the hallway to her suite.
Until she noticed that the door to her room was partly open.
Followed by the immediate thought that the maid must be inside making her bed and cleaning the room.
That thought was quickly followed by the realization that the usual service trolley wasn’t parked outside with the clean sheets and toiletries stored on it.
“Hello?” Thea called hesitantly as she pushed the door open further and entered the suite.
The sitting room was as tidy as when she left it. Tidier. Which meant that the maid had already cleaned this room.
The bed was made in the adjoining bedroom, which meant the maid had cleaned in here too.
A quick glance into the bathroom showed it was empty and also tidy, clean towels hanging neatly on the heated rack at one end of the bath.
Thea turned back to the bedroom, her heart starting to beat loudly as her gaze became riveted on the only thing that definitely hadn’t been there when she went out early this morning.
Sitting in the middle of the neatly made bed was the pillow—well, the pillowcase: she doubted it was the same pillow inside—that had been stolen from her apartment in London three days ago.
She froze when she heard a slight shuffling noise behind her.
Before she could turn to identify the source of that noise, something struck her hard on the side of the head, and she was immediately enveloped in darkness.