Megan Cole - Riches - Snog, Steal and Burn

His mouth felt lovely and Jhumpa’s good intentions fell by the wayside. She was thousands of miles from home, in a city where no one knew her. She needed a release. Seductively, she lowered her dressing gown.

‘I’m not always a lady.’

Caleb’s blue eyes darkened with lust. ‘And I’m not always such a gentleman.’

A hundred miles away in Gloucestershire, Luci Cadwallader hadn’t been able to sleep either. After tossing and turning for hours she’d given up on the idea. Instead she was walking round the north-east corner of the estate, her feet swishing through the long grass. It might be the middle of the night but going for a walk always made Luci feel better.

A pale moon shone down on the English countryside, bathing it in a ghostly glow. Somewhere up ahead in the woods an owl hooted. Most people would be scared to walk here by themselves but it didn’t bother Luci. She knew every blade of grass like the back of her hand.

On the slope, Cadwallader Hall stood in darkness. None of the staff had stirred when she’d slipped out. Luci shoved her hands in her pockets and carried on walking. If she stayed out here long enough the sun would rise. She didn’t want to get back into bed and be alone with her thoughts again.

It had been thirty-three days since she’d left the Orkneys, throwing everything into a suitcase while Jeremy Fitzwilliam waited. They’d flown from Glasgow airport straight to the Indian embassy in London. Everything since then had been a bit of a blur.

Luci still didn’t understand why her dad had been in Kashmir. Sure, the Indian border wasn’t that far from Bhutan, relatively speaking, but wouldn’t her father have mentioned he was going to a different country? They kept in touch as much as they could when he was away: emails, Facebook, Skype. Even though his phone was going straight to voicemail Luci was still leaving messages. Hearing his voice made her somehow feel closer to him.

The embassy had told her what they knew. It wasn’t much. For some reason unknown to everyone, her dad had been in the region and had been kidnapped by Kashmiri rebels. Quite why, they weren’t sure, but the general opinion was that the rebels had thought Luci’s dad was a spy. Luci hadn’t believed it at first. He wasn’t a spy! He was her kind, loving, dashing father who made funny origami out of notepad paper and was obsessed with watching cricket. Viscount Peter Cadwallader was a university professor, a scholar, a country gent. About as far from a spy as you could get.

But as the days had gone by and there was still no word, Luci had started to feel less sure. Her dad had definitely been away a lot more over the last year. Research, he said, and Luci had taken his word for it. Why wouldn’t she? Now, she was starting to question things. Research for what?

Then that letter had turned up, asking her to attend a meeting at her own house. Weird. At the bottom, there was a note telling her to make up two of the spare rooms. Who else was coming? Stevenson, the butler, knew nothing about it, and neither did the family lawyer when she’d phoned him. The whole thing was like an Agatha Christie movie. The more Luci tried to work out it out, the more confused and frustrated she got.

By this time tomorrow, the houseguests would be here. All Luci could do was wait. Sighing, she brushed the head of a passing cow parsley. It was going to seem like the longest day ever.

Suddenly there was a noise in the undergrowth behind her. Like someone had stepped on a twig. Luci stopped and turned round.

‘Hello?’

The woods were dark and silent. From nowhere, Luci felt a prickle down her neck. Someone or something was watching.

‘Who’s there?’ There’d been a few poachers in the area recently. Luci didn’t fancy a run in: they might turn nasty about being caught out. It was a ten-minute walk to the house and too far for anyone to hear her shouts for help.

‘Hello?’ she said again, sounding a lot braver than she felt.

Nothing. Luci frowned. Maybe she’d imagined it. Or maybe it was an animal. Poor thing’s probably more frightened than you are, she told herself.

All the same, she had a sudden urge to get out of there. Luci turned round and started walking back, but an irrational fear gripped her and she started running, faster and faster until she was pelting up the front lawns, hair flying as if the hounds of hell were in hot pursuit. At last she reached the back door and came to a shuddering, gasping halt.

Her heart was hammering so hard it hurt, Luci looked back down to the woods. They were as quiet as the grave, no sign of life. With the safety of home reached, her panic seemed like a total over-reaction.

What’s the matter with you? Luci shook her head. She’d been spending far too much time by herself lately. A cup of cocoa in the kitchen was what she needed right now.

Halfway down the corridor, Luci went back and made sure the door was double-locked again.

Chapter Six Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-one Chapter Twenty-two Chapter Twenty-three Chapter Twenty-four Chapter Twenty-five Chapter Twenty-six Chapter Twenty-seven Chapter Twenty-eight Chapter Twenty-nine Chapter Thrity Epilogue Credits Previously by Megan Cole About the Publisher

All that could be heard was the ticking of the grandfather clock. The three girls sat in silence, looking anywhere but at each other. Celine started jangling the silver bangles on her wrist, full of restless energy. This is fun. Someone had better tell her what was going on in a minute.

She’d arrived at Heathrow airport drunk as anything. They’d stopped via Madrid and she and Remy had made full use of the VIP lounge. She could hardly remember the last bit of the flight, except for the old people making a complaint about her and Remy, and the airhostess coming to have a discreet word. Over-reaction! It hadn’t been like they were having sex or anything.

She’d said goodbye to Remy with a passionate snog in a waiting area near Arrivals. A suited chauffeur and a grey Bentley had been waiting outside to whisk her off, through the dreary London outskirts towards the countryside. That’s when she’d started sobering up and the euphoria of the last fifteen hours had quickly disappeared. In a car with no idea where she was going, a bad taste in her mouth and a banging head, Celine’s trepidation had returned with a vengeance. The last fun-filled fifteen hours with Remy had felt like some kind of amazing dream.

Now, sitting in the drawing room of this random English mansion, Celine looked over at the other girls. The Indian girl - Jhumpa, Celine thought her name was - was still tapping away on her iPhone. She clearly thought she was above everyone else. Celine didn’t like her. And what was with the smart jeans and Chanel jacket? She looked like she was about to go into a business conference.

Miss Up-Herself looked up and sighed irritably. ‘Is there anywhere with better reception? I’m trying to send an important work email and it’s really slow.’

‘Near side of the lake’s the best,’ the other girl said, Luci, the English one whose house it was.

‘The lake?’ From Jhumpa’s disgusted expression, Luci may as well have said Timbuktu.

‘Yeah.’ Luci grinned. ‘Sorry, it’s about the best place out here.’ She looked so English, Celine thought, with her shiny brown hair and fitted checked shirt. Apparently she’d just got back from riding when Celine had turned up, and was still in her jodhpurs and riding boots.