She laughed. “I’ll talk it flat, thanks. Fits better with being kidnapped by pirates.”
He brought the glass to where she sat on the sofa, legs curled under her, and handed it to her, their fingertips brushing at the transfer, sending little charged sparks up his arm.
The thrill of the win.
Because it was certain he would win her over to his plan. He had waited over thirty years for his revenge—there was no way it would be jeopardized by the whim of a reformed rich girl.
“Are you hungry?” he asked after she had taken a few sips and set the glass on the end table.
“Not now, thank you.” When she wasn’t paying attention to them, her default manners were everything one would expect from a high-bred young lady.
He wondered if she knew that.
“I would like to know where I’m being kidnapped to, though,” she continued, her questions mild and offhand as she stared out at the sea views around them.
“Calla, on the Sidran coast.”
She filed the information away, the process as obvious to him as if he was the one doing it.
Known for his ability to read people, for cutting through the layers of deception and power-grabbing to discern the path of his advantage with uncanny and unparalleled accuracy, he had never encountered anyone as transparent to him as Helene.
Watching her, it was as if he could read her thoughts even as they formed in her mind. He wondered if it drove her crazy that her face showed her thoughts so clearly. He bet it did. He could picture her as a younger woman, practicing in the mirror, trying to hide her reactions.
The thought made him smile. He was willing to bet she had been adorable—purely earnest in an effort to change something that was fixed.
“Why Calla?” she asked, and in the question he heard layers.
“My home,” he said, unable to restrain the pride in his voice. He had been born a duke’s heir and had everything stolen from him. Then he had picked himself up, and climbed his way back to the very same position by his own strength and means. His title had been a gift from the Sidran king. None of his peers could say the same. It was unheard of.
Perhaps it was why his inner compass was so strong. He’d braved paths, both on land and sea, that other men had feared to tread—attack, loss, poverty—and not only lived to tell the tale, but also used them to catapult his way from their dark recesses to the very top. By himself. By trusting his instincts and inner guide and no one or nothing else. Growing up in the Sidran capital poor would have taught him that hard lesson, if witnessing his father’s betrayal and resulting loss of everything hadn’t already drilled it into the very fabric of his being.
He required Helene’s participation in what was the most important campaign of his life, career and retirement, but trust was not a requirement, neither hers nor his. Compatibility, which they had in spades, and agreement, which she had given, were all that was required from her. Now that both were secured, it would only be a matter of time before they were well on their way.
However, as he took in the incredibly dangerous, barely clothed woman in his cabin, he had to admit that there was an unexpected flavor beneath revenge, and it was turning out to be a bit more...complex than he’d anticipated.
Challenge, he’d expected—she was one of the most dangerous and accomplished women in the world. Her vow was certainly a dangerous hurdle, but he was confident he could seduce her and had come to terms with the idea of making love to the daughter of a man he loathed long before setting his plan in motion—he would not have been the first man to turn the lights out and close his eyes for the greater good.
What he hadn’t been prepared for was how good it would feel—not the achievement of his revenge, but its execution.
He hadn’t anticipated she would feel like a live wire in his hands.
He hadn’t planned on caring whether or not she was impressed with what he’d grown from the ashes of his life. But as his home came into distant view through his cabin’s portholes, he realized it was the case nonetheless.
Calla—his little bay, purple-blue in the twilight, and it’s palatial manor, set farther inland in the harbor, visible high above the high-tide line and built into the craggy savannah forest cliffs. Here was a fortune he had built himself.
Though he could not see them yet, ships, he knew, were docked farther into the harbor, safe and sleepy in their moorings, peacefully undisturbed. He’d worked hard to ensure his home was lovely, prosperous and pretty.
And with his ship’s incredible speed, it was only a short time later that he sent the command to set anchor.
His personal assistant met them, boarding immediately with the change of clothing he’d ordered for Helene. With just seven days for his seduction, he didn’t want any of it to be uncomfortable...even just for the duration of the drive to Caline, his ducal manor.
Visible from the docks, Caline, his home, jutted out from the hillside overlooking the bend in the river and the entire city of Calla, high above the city. Reaching it by foot was an uphill undertaking along an ancient trail under the best of circumstances, even if the journey was breathtakingly beautiful. Attempting it at the end of a long day, which had included an unexpected bout of sparring with one of the world’s best soldiers and running headlong into her unexpected little vow, was not, however, the best of circumstances, and so he called a car for them.
Tonight he would wine and dine her in the privacy and seclusion of home, before he took her out to charm her with his city.
Helene’s expression, however, upon opening the delicately packaged garment box brought by his assistant, did not suggest his seduction was off to an auspicious beginning.
She held up a simple dress—blue, flowing and long. Her lips pursed and she drew her eyebrows together, her opinion obvious, and he had to hold back his laugh.