Page 30 of The Heiress Masquerade (Dollar Princess #2)

Aimee marched down the footpath back to Wilheimer’s residence, her annoyance with Harrison growing with each step she took. The man was even more stubborn than her father, unable to accept that love didn’t have to equate to loss. And even if it did, surely it was worth it?

She knew to the bottom of her soul her parents wouldn’t trade their love to soften the heartbreak that would occur if anything happened to either one of them, preferring to have loved each other than never loved at all. But then perhaps that wasn’t being entirely fair to Harrison. To have lost both of his parents as a child, and then been discarded by his grandfather when he needed the man most, would probably steel anyone’s heart against loving someone.

It was as frustrating as it was heartbreaking, because Aimee knew he had a lot of love to give, if only he’d let himself do so, but given his constant protestations otherwise, it was unlikely he ever would. The thought was depressing, because as much as she was starting to love him, she didn’t think she’d be able to go along with having a marriage that was mutually agreeable but lacked love.

“Aimee?” a man said from behind her.

“Yes,” she said, only realizing too late she’d responded to her real name, which no one should know. “It’s Evie actually,” she quickly corrected, spinning around to the voice. It took her a second to recognize the clerk from the telegram office, and another second to see the pistol he was pointing at her.

“Don’t lie,” the man spat out with a smirk as he waved the pistol about. “I know who you really are. And don’t you dare scream or run, Miss Dollar Princess, or I’ll shoot you.”

She nodded, not wanting to startle him, given the hand he was holding the pistol with was shaking lightly. “I won’t.” How had he found out who she was? Surely, he wouldn’t have assumed that from the telegram she sent. “William, isn’t it?”

His eyes narrowed. “It is.”

“So, William, why are you pointing a weapon at me?”

There was a glint of resolution in his eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? We’re kidnapping you.”

“Of course you are.” Did Harrison always have to be right? He’d never let her forget it, she was sure. But then William’s use of the term we registered in her thoughts. “We?”

Leaves crunching underfoot sounded to her right and Aimee swiveled her head in that direction.

“Yes, we,” Deirdre said, emerging from some trees just off the footpath, dressed all in black and holding a pistol in her hand. “And you’re going to make us a pretty little penny, too.”

“Is this your kidnapping attire?” Aimee couldn’t help but ask, hoping that if she could rattle her, it would give Aimee a chance to pull out her own pistol.

Deidre pinched her lips together before twisting them into a tight smile. “So overly confident as I’m sure only a million-dollar heiress could be, but you won’t be so confident shortly with what’s planned for you. And if you don’t shut up and do as you’re told, you’ll be a dead heiress.”

A sliver of fear ran down Aimee’s spine at the absolute certainty in Deirdre’s eyes. If she was as obsessed with her and her father as Molly warned, then Deidre could be very dangerous. “Look, Deidre, I know you think we’re sisters—”

Deidre laughed. “You’re really not right in the head like I was told, aren’t you?”

“Who said that?”

“Never you mind,” Deidre replied, before she glanced behind Aimee. “Now, William.”

Before Aimee could even react, William’s hand darted around from behind her, pressing a wet cloth against her mouth. She reached up and grabbed his arm, trying to wrench it away from her, but the sickly sweet smell of the rag was making her head spin, and she found her arms losing all their strength.

“Have a nice little sleep, princess,” Deidre cooed, before a blackness started to engulf Aimee’s vision. “And don’t you worry, we’ll look after you. You’re our golden ticket, after all.”

…

Harrison pulled out his pocket watch for the fifth time since Aimee had gone to see Mrs. Holbrook. How long could it take to give her some instructions? Yes, Mrs. Holbrook was thorough, but it had been over an hour, which seemed far too long.

“Looking at your watch again, Harrison?” Jane purred, sidling up to him after retrieving a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “Anyone might think you’re bored with my company, which is the last thing I’d want.” Her free hand traced up along his right bicep through the material of his jacket. “I’d much prefer to entertain you this weekend…especially in the evenings while we’re both naked in your bed.”

She was batting her eyelashes up at him in a manner he used to find attractive but now found oddly false, and there was a calculation in her eyes again that suggested she was trying to manipulate him. Had she always been like this? Or was he only just now seeing it?

He gently removed her hand from his arm and took a step back. “Jane, I’ve agreed for us to be friends, but that’s all.”

“You know friends can still occasionally enjoy each other’s company,” she said with a decided pout. “Most especially at a house party.”

“That won’t be happening.”

Her eyes narrowed. “This is because of Miss Jenkins, isn’t? You’re sleeping with her.”

“That’s not your business, Jane.” He was getting frustrated with this conversation and the building sense of urgency that Aimee was taking too long.

“I thought you had a rule to never become involved with your employees?” Jane’s voice was getting louder with each word. “Yet here you are fornicating with your secretary.”

“She’s not my secretary, Jane—”

“A trainee secretary then—”

“She’s my fiancée.”

Jane’s face blanched, her fingers squeezing the stem of the champagne glass until they went white. “You’re jesting, surely?”

“No, I’m not. She agreed to marry me this afternoon. At least I think we’re still engaged.”

“But you told me you weren’t interested in marriage only a few months ago.” Her voice had turned deceptively soft. “And yet here you are now engaged to someone completely unsuitable to be a future countess, given she’s an illegitimate bastard whose mother was a maid!”

“You’re forgetting my mother was a maid, too,” Harrison said, his voice clearly showing his displeasure.

“At least she was clever enough to marry your father, unlike that harlot’s mother!”

“That is enough, Jane. I will not have you disrespecting my fiancée.”

“Yet you’ve obviously disrespected her enough to have become engaged to her,” Jane hissed back. “But the joke is on you, Harrison, because Society will shun you for your choice, at least they will after I’m done ensuring they do.”

“If I hear that you’ve even looked unkindly at my fiancée, let alone spoken a single word about her to anyone, I will make certain your bank forecloses on your loans and no other bank will lend you a penny more. You will be the one Society shuns given you won’t even be able to afford rags to dress in.”

She blinked repeatedly, gulping in a breath. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“There’s no need to lie to me, Jane,” he replied. “I know your late husband gambled away most of your dowry within the first month of your marriage, and that you’ve been living on what little is left and the largesse of your paramours since.”

“How did you know…” Her voice trailed off, as fear replaced the anger in her eyes.

Harrison shrugged. “I always check the financials of whomever I’m getting into bed with, be that in business or in the bedroom.”

“You knew all along?”

“Information is power, Jane. I didn’t have a problem with it before, and I don’t now, provided you do everything you can to ensure my fiancée is happily embraced by Society.”

A panic-stricken look crossed her face. “How can I do that given her illegitimacy?”

“That won’t be an issue in a few weeks’ time.” Once he’d settled everything with Aimee’s father, and their engagement became public knowledge, everyone would know of Aimee and Evie’s masquerade. Initially, it was bound to create a scandal, but with Harrison’s clout in Society, and Aimee being Thomas Thornton-Jones’s sole heir, they’d have enough influence between them to ensure Society viewed the charade as a harmless bit of fun. And if they didn’t, he’d make them.

“How will a few weeks’ time change that?”

“Trust me, it will,” he said, unwilling to outline any details to her. “Now if that’s all, I have a fiancée to find.” He bowed briefly to her, then turned on his heel and strode through the guests mingling on the terrace.

Just as he entered the greenhouse a woman barreled into his chest. Steadying her, he realized it was Mrs. Holbrook, and there was an expression on her face he’d never seen before—worry.

“Where’s Aimee? And, yes, before you ask, I know she’s Thomas’s daughter, not Peter’s. Now where is she?”

“She’s meant to be with you,” Harrison replied. “You sent me a note requesting her to attend your room.”

Her gaze swung back to Harrison and the worry turned to alarm. “I didn’t send you a note.”

“It was in your handwriting.” He pulled out the note from his jacket pocket and handed it to her, desperately pushing aside the fear that was starting to clutch at his heart.

Her eyes scanned over the paper before returning to his. “It does look exactly like my handwriting, but it’s not…it’s my niece’s.”

“Your niece?”

She inhaled shakily. “Yes, and I think Aimee might be in terrible danger from her.”