Page 33 of Beautiful Revenge

I don’t normally have an issue with silence, but I do now. In a matter of moments, Devon Donnelly unnerved me back in the dining room. It’s like we’re in a life-and-death game of who’ll blink first as we walk in stride through the gardens and toward the lake.

We exit the gardens and come to a stop overlooking the vast lake in the very spot I was supposed to be married. There’s not one remnant of the ceremony. No altar, no seating, and definitely no orchestra. Not even a stray flower petal.

I can’t take it another moment and finally break the silence. “You have a funny way of being honest.”

He stops and takes in the view of his own property before turning to me. “Just allowing you a moment to appreciate the night. You haven’t had a chance to take a breath to enjoy anything since you arrived.”

I hug my sweater around my bare shoulders to fight offthe chill. If only I could do the same for my nerves. “I’d enjoy it a lot more if you weren’t so cryptic.”

“There’s something to know about me. This—” He motions to the beautiful surroundings with a lazy wave of his hand. “Isn’t in my wheelhouse. It’s a retirement gig for me. I own fifty-one percent of it—a majority of that is financed. My sister put the rest of the cash down as a silent investor.”

“An investor,” I note, taking in the random fact that came out of left field. “That’s nice of her.”

“And she’s hardly silent. That’s beside the point. The reason I’m telling you this is because I had a whole career before this back in England.”

“Let me guess—it wasn’t in hospitality?”

“Hardly. I worked in intelligence.”

One thing I’ve noticed about Devon Donnelly since I first laid eyes on him was his appreciation for the finer things. His suits are custom and fit him like a second skin. If I had to pigeonhole this man into a career, I knew it wasn’t hospitality, but I wouldn’t guess intelligence either.

I let that sink in and can’t help but wonder why he’s telling me this. “I’m guessing you weren’t a professor at Oxford.”

“Not that kind of intelligence. More like the Secret Intelligence Service.”

A new energy pulses through my veins. It’s all I can do not to take a step back. “A real-life James Bond. Those movies aren’t my thing, but isn’t it strange for someone like you to tell someone like me about your prior profession? I thought intelligence work was secretive and dangerous. Laying all your cards out can’t be normal.”

If I wasn’t watching close enough, I’d miss the hint of bitterness in his expression. “I have nothing to hide. One quick internet search and you’ll know my entire story. I was burned in the worst way. The world knows who I am. My career ended in a split second.”

“I’m sorry. Though, I am curious why you’re telling me. Is this thegetting-to-know-youphase of sharing a suite?”

He shakes his head and ignores my question. “I have contacts in the industry—people who can get me sensitive information should I need it. I’m laying this out for youso when I tell you why I actually brought you out here, you won’t play stupid and waste my time or yours.”

I can’t help it. I do take a step back.

He takes a step forward.

My heart skips a beat. “I’ve wasted enough time in the last year.”

He pauses as he stares me down. I may not feel threatened, but I do feel challenged.

And I don’t like it.

I’ve had enough. I open my mouth to demand that he get to the point when he blows my mind. “You kidnapped your father.”

I suck in a quick breath to keep myself from fainting. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Devon smiles.

The jerk actually smiles.

“Remember...” He lets that thought hang before he lowers his voice. “Intelligence. Don’t lie, Harlow.”

Easier said than done. The need to escape, however, is so strong, I wonder if I really do need to leave Winslet altogether, even though that’s the last thing in the world I want to do. “Well, your intelligence is ... wrong.”

“I promise you, it’s not,” he counters. “Just as I thought, the longer you stick around, the more interesting I find you.”

Fuck.