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“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
However, as he filled her in on family news as they travelled home, Sam seriously wondered if she’d ever be fine again.
32
Dylan rarely drank, believing it impeded his judgement.
However, as he downed a second straight whiskey in the space of an hour, he allowed himself the luxury of a wry smile.
He hadn’t needed alcohol to impede his judgement when it came to Sam—he’d done a damn good job of botching it all on his own.
Even now, after brooding on how foolish he’d been to fall for her act, he couldn’t believe they were over.
He dropped his head in his hands and rubbed his temples, wishing the hot blonde with the rapier mind and sharper wit had never entered his life three months ago. He’d been behaving out of character ever since, and despite her betrayal, a small part of him still wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any woman.
“Why did Sam leave?”
His head snapped up at the sound of his mother’s voice. She must have snuck into the den, as he had several hours earlier, though what he’d overheard changed his life forever.
“She lied to me.”
His mother pulled up the nearest seat. “She told you, huh?”
“You knew about this?”
He shook his head, hearing but not quite believing his mother would support such a scheme. She would obviously go to any lengths to see him married and it sickened him almost as much as Sam’s betrayal.
His mother shrugged, as if supporting a gold-digger and her claims to lay a hand on the Harmon fortune was no big deal. “Yes, I knew. I guessed the truth when I first saw her and we had a chat that confirmed it.”
Dylan took a deep breath, struggling to get air into his constricting lungs. “And you supported her?”
“Well, she explained things to me, and I didn’t see any harm in it.”
He leaped up from his chair, his temper flaring out of control for the second time that day.
“You didn’t see the harm in that little schemer setting her sights on using me to get at our fortune?” His voice rose several octaves and he didn’t care. “What were you thinking?”
To his amazement, his mother laughed. Not just an intimidated titter or a smothered chuckle, but an all-out belly laugh.
“Where did you get the idea Sam was after our fortune?”
He folded his arms and glared at the one woman in this world he thought he could trust.
“I overheard her on the phone earlier. She said she’d lied to me all this time and she wanted to marry me.”
“Oh dear,” his mother wiped away the tears from the corners of her eyes. “You’ve got it all wrong.”
“How?”
By the grave expression on his mother’s face, he had an inkling he wouldn’t like what she had to say.
“Have you heard of the Popov family?
“Of course. Who hasn’t? They own most of Queensland.”
“Did you also know they are descendants of Russian royalty?”
Dylan couldn’t fathom why Liz would be rambling about Russian royalty at a time like this, but he decided to give his mother the benefit of the doubt. She rarely minced words and was obviously leading somewhere with this.