Page 17 of The Heiress Masquerade (Dollar Princess #2)
“I know I wasn’t meant to say anything,” Aimee began as she hurried along after Mrs. Holbrook down the hallway to their office. “But that translator was jeopardizing the whole deal.”
“Relax, Miss Jenkins, I’m not going to berate you for doing the right thing,” Mrs. Holbrook replied, walking into the office, and stopping short. “Lady Whitley? I didn’t know you were here.”
Aimee heard the subtle censure in Mrs. Holbrook’s tone and guessed that she was also not a fan of Lady Whitley’s. It was one thing they shared.
“Didn’t Harrison tell you he’s taking me to lunch today?” the lady replied to Mrs. Holbrook, a definite hint of annoyance in her tone.
“No. Obviously he didn’t,” Mrs. Holbrook replied.
“He does like to keep things to himself, doesn’t he,” Lady Whitley tittered, her gaze landing on Aimee. “So typical of a man. In any event, has his meeting finished?”
“Obviously, because I’m not still there,” Mrs. Holbrook replied.
“And how long will he be then?” Lady Whitley ground out, smiling tightly at Mrs. Holbrook, nothing friendly in the gesture.
“How would I know, Lady Whitley?” Mrs. Holbrook replied with a dainty shrug. “When, as you’ve just pointed out, he likes to keep things to himself.”
There wasn’t a hint of an expression on Mrs. Holbrook’s face and Lady Whitley clearly didn’t know how to respond, so she swung her eyes over to Aimee. “We didn’t get properly introduced when I walked in on you and Harrison. Miss Turner, wasn’t it?”
“It’s Miss Jenkins, actually,” Mrs. Holbrook replied on Aimee’s behalf. “Now if you’ll excuse us, Countess, we need to get back to work.” Mrs. Holbrook inclined her head and strode off to her desk.
Aimee went to follow but Lady Whitley reached her hand out onto Aimee’s and stopped her.
“It won’t work,” the countess said.
“What won’t?” Aimee replied, even more conscious of her English accent in front of an actual countess.
“Trying to seduce him.” She shrugged her shoulders, almost dismissing the matter. “He might have his fun with you, but, in the end, he’ll return to me.”
“You’re more than welcome to him,” Aimee insisted, mindful of Deidre trying to eavesdrop from her desk. “What you witnessed won’t happen again.”
“Yes, well, it wouldn’t have meant anything to Harrison, I’ve known him for years to know that,” she replied, her gaze scanning down Aimee’s length. “And how are you English? I thought the Thornton-Joneses were American.”
“My mother was English, and my father was American,” Aimee explained, glad that her accent was adequately fooling the woman. “I grew up here until I was sixteen.”
“And you don’t go by your father’s surname?” the woman asked with such an innocent tone that to the casual listener she sounded completely sincere, but Aimee could see the calculation in her eyes.
“My parents weren’t married.” Was this what Evie had to deal with every time she spoke to someone about her parentage?
“Oh.” The woman’s mouth formed a perfect little circle as she slowly nodded. “I see… Does Harrison know that?”
Aimee shrugged, wondering why the woman would care. “I’d assume so, given it’s not a secret, though I haven’t spoken to him about it specifically.” No, they’d been too intent on arguing or kissing each time she’d been alone with him to do anything as mundane as have a proper conversation. “Nor can I see why he’d care.”
The man had grown up himself as an orphan, practically on the streets from what her father had said. Despite Harrison’s faults, which were many, he didn’t strike her as someone who would care about someone’s background.
“You’re correct, he wouldn’t. You are, after all, only a trainee secretary,” the lady said dismissively, almost like she was trying to convince herself of that fact. “I’m sure you’ve barely even spoken.”
It was hard to speak when kissing someone, that much Aimee had discovered. “Not overly.”
“Yes, well, he’s been far too focused on the Wilheimer deal,” the countess replied. “He’s tenacious when he wants something and won’t let anything stand in his way. I’m much the same. Once I set my mind upon something, I’ll not let anything, or anyone , get in my way. Probably why Harrison and I get on so well, we’re so alike.”
“You seem to know him well.”
“ Intimately , my dear,” the woman returned with a self-satisfied smile. “Harrison has been so wonderful to fill the void of my late husband. He’s such a kind, considerate man, and is so talented in so many ways. If you understand my meaning.”
The woman couldn’t have made it plainer she was in an intimate relationship with him, and Aimee felt equally sick and furious he’d kissed her, all the while being involved with this woman. Men like that disgusted her, and she couldn’t believe how gullible she’d been. Her initial assumptions about him were correct—he was a bastard, plain and simple. “I think you two are just perfect for each other.”
“How sweet of you to say,” Lady Whitley purred, your eyes narrowing slightly at the obvious sarcasm in Aimee’s voice. “And, can I say, what a lovely outfit you’re wearing. It’s so simple and so delightfully plain . So appropriate for someone in your position to dress the part, isn’t it? I commend you for it.”
It might be a simple dress, but it fit Aimee to perfection, the blue of the skirt offsetting the blue of her eyes, and Aimee knew then and there the woman was jealous of her, perhaps even threatened, too. Well, she didn’t need to be, Aimee’s level of respect for Harrison Stone had plummeted to rock bottom.
But, still, she didn’t take kindly to those who thought they could use their positions to intimidate or belittle others. Which this woman was trying to do in spades. Aimee hadn’t navigated the waters of New York Society for her entire life without learning the skills needed to thrive.
“Why thank you, Countess,” Aimee replied. “One couldn’t likewise claim your Worth gown was plain at all.”
The lady arched her eyebrow. “You know your designers?”
“Indeed. The House of Worth is my aunt’s favorite, and I regularly travel to Paris with her and my cousin for their fittings.”
“You do?” The lady appeared disconcerted with the fact.
“Oh yes,” Aimee purred in the exact tone the countess had used earlier. “And now it is I who must commend you on your bold choice to wear a gown from their ready-to-wear collection. Goodness, no one in New York Society would dare to wear something from the rack, even if it was a Worth design. It must be different here in London.”
The woman’s mouth dropped open. “You’re very much mistaken. This isn’t from Worth’s—what did you call it? Ready-to-wear collection. This was custom designed for me by Mr. Worth himself.”
Now it was Aimee who arched her own eyebrow. “Lady Whitley, if you’re going to tell lies about your outfits, don’t do it in front of someone who knows the brand well. Firstly, Mr. Worth doesn’t design anything nowadays, given he’s ninety years old. It’s his sons, Gaston and Jean, who have taken over the reins. Secondly, I was in Paris two years ago and saw that very outfit on their ready-to-wear rack. So, no, it’s most definitely not a custom-designed gown of theirs.”
Lady Whitley’s mouth opened and closed for several seconds as she tried to respond but couldn’t find the words to.
“Jane, you waited?” Harrison Stone’s deep voice rumbled from behind them, and Aimee felt every inch of her body go on the alert.
He entered the room, his large strides covering the short distance to them with ease, with Ben just behind him, and she had to stop herself from launching at him and punching him for being a two-timing bastard.
But it was her own head she needed to knock some sense into, given her body was still craving him despite knowing what she did. What was wrong with her?