Nina Milne - Claimed By The Wealthy Magnate

Daniel had no doubt whatsoever that ‘Lynette’ and Katlin Derwent were one and the same.

Now, in the vast marquee that housed the reception party, he located her. Stood in a corner, deep in conversation with a tall blond man he knew to be Prince Frederick, ruler of the Principality of Lycander. Raw emotion slammed into his gut. Anger alongside the unwanted sting of desire and a primal instinct that yelled mine.

Instinctively he bunched his hands into fists.

Cool it, Dan. Violence no longer featured in his life as a solution, and initiating a brawl was not an option. After all, Prince Frederick was blameless in this whole sorry mess, and it shouldn’t matter to Daniel that Kaitlin’s hand rested on the Prince’s forearm as she looked up at him.

Yet anger at her deception still pulsed in his veins. Along with the memory of his sense of loss and chagrin when he’d woken up in the swish Barcelona hotel to find no sign of the woman he’d shared such an amazing night with. Not so much as a blonde hair curled on the pillow had spoken of her presence. No strand or fibre of clothing. Just an elusive trace of her rose scent, and the ache in his body that had awoken him in the expectation of her still being beside him.

Then had come worry—heightened by the fact that it had been her first time...a fact she had refused to elaborate on or discuss. Had he mistaken the wonder of the night? Did she have regrets that her first experience had been with a stranger?

Then had come the conviction that she was in trouble. Hell, he’d even wondered if she’d been forced to leave. More fool him.

Anger burned cold under his control.

He allowed only the civilised approach—Daniel got what he wanted through law, order and fair negotiation. That had been his vow a decade ago, and he’d lived by those rules ever since.

Frustration tautened his sinews with the desire to lash out. He would not revert to type—would not embrace the ethos of his family. That was why he’d walked away ten years before, though the cost had been high.

A memory snaked into his brain: his mother’s beautiful face, twisted in entreaty as she’d stretched out a pleading hand. ‘Don’t go, Danny. Please don’t walk out through that door.’

‘Daniel.’

He swivelled in recognition of the well-modulated tones of Gabriel Derwent, groom and brother of the Lady Kaitlin.

‘Glad you could make it.’

Gabriel smiled and Daniel blinked—the Earl radiated palpable happiness.

‘Etta. This is Daniel Harrington—CEO of Harrington Legal, a new associate of my father’s, and also a new patron of the Caversham Foundation.’

Daniel recognised the slight edge to Gabriel’s voice and couldn’t blame him. He’d negotiated an invitation to this wedding with the Duke of Fairfax, Gabriel’s father, by dint of making a sizeable donation to the Derwent Manor restoration fund. When Gabriel had found out he’d called Daniel and explained that he wanted an additional price—a ‘donation with a difference’ to the Caversham Foundation, a charitable trust that helped troubled teenagers.

‘Daniel, this is my wife—Etta.’

Pride and awe touched the syllables, and Etta positively beamed, her tawny eyes sparkling with joy.

Daniel searched his repertoire of happy wedding talk. ‘Congratulations,’ he mustered.

Though who knew for what? Marriage shackled you, created ties that would bind and link and imprison you. His own mother’s marriage was proof of that.

‘Thank you.’ Gabriel studied his expression and his smile widened. ‘Though I get the feeling you aren’t a fan of marriage.’

‘It’s just not for me.’

Etta shook her head. ‘Perhaps you haven’t met the right woman.’

His gaze must have flicked across to Kaitlin for a fraction of a second, because Gabriel followed his line of sight and his forehead creased in a small frown.

Daniel thought rapidly. ‘Though from what I’ve read it sounds as though your sister will follow in your footsteps shortly?’

Keep it casual.

‘Perhaps,’ Gabriel said, his frown deepening, almost as if he didn’t like the idea.

‘Why don’t we introduce you?’ Etta suggested.

Bingo. Not exactly the way he’d planned it—but Daniel was nothing if not versatile. ‘Great.’

Gabriel strode towards where Kaitlin and the Prince were engrossed in conversation. Satisfaction brought a small, cold smile to Daniel’s lips as he followed.

* * *

Kaitlin looked up at Prince Frederick and tried to suppress the all too familiar feelings of panic. Chill out. Or chillax. Or whatever the current phrase was. But she couldn’t—despite the size of the marquee she felt hemmed in, and fear knotted her tummy into a tangle of panic. Which was nuts. She was standing next to royalty—how much safer could she be? The Prince would have strategically placed bodyguards everywhere.

Though you could argue that those bodyguards were only interested in the protection of the Prince—she’d no doubt be seen as collateral damage.

No, that wasn’t fair. Frederick would care. Not because he loved her—he’d been upfront about that—but because he was a dutiful man. Or at least she thought he was—the Prince was even better than she was at keeping his true self under wraps.

Yet over the past months she’d learnt he had a moral code that meant he would protect her out of duty.

So she was safe. But, however many times her brain told her that, her nerves still fluttered with an anxiety that increased daily—a throwback to all those years ago when it had been her constant companion. If she was honest, the panic had been on the up ever since her disastrous trip to Barcelona nine months before.

Barcelona. Don’t go there.

As for the panic—she’d tamed it once, and she’d tame it again. All she had to do was be Lady Kaitlin—be the calm, in control woman she’d taught herself to be. The woman who could produce suitable emotion on tap without feeling a thing.

‘We need to talk, Kaitlin. In private.’

Oh, hell. She knew exactly what Prince Frederick wanted to talk about—he wanted to propose and she just didn’t want him to. Not yet. Not ever, said a small, defiant voice that she tuned out without compunction. This was what she wanted—what most women would rip their own arm off for. Marriage to a wealthy, handsome prince who also possessed the bonus of a moral code. So of course she wanted him to propose—but just not now.

‘Yes, we do. But not here. This is Gabe and Etta’s day. I don’t want us to overshadow it in any way.’

She’d been there and done that at her sister’s wedding, and the guilt still pinged within her.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t think us having a conversation will overshadow Gabe’s wedding. In truth, I don’t think anything could overshadow this day for him. Gabe is a man in love.’

Frederick was right—though who would have thought it? Her big brother, nearly as big an emotional disaster zone as Kaitlin herself, had succumbed to the biggest emotion of all and fallen hook, line and sinker for Etta Mason.

‘Even so...it is still their day. If we disappear to have a “private” conversation every reporter in the room will clock it.’

To say nothing of her parents. The Duke and Duchess of Fairfax were watching their eldest daughter like a pair of hawk-eagle hybrids.

The Prince frowned, and it was a relief to hear the deep sound of her brother’s voice from behind her.

‘Kait.’

She turned gracefully, smile in place to greet the euphoric bridegroom, and then she froze. Her brain scrambled for purchase and her stomach nosedived as her eyes absorbed the identity of the man standing next to her brother. Surely she was in the throes of a hallucination? Please let that be the case. She’d take the prospect of insanity over reality in a heartbeat.