Nancy Warren - A Valentine from Harlequin - Six Degrees of Romance

“Oh, you really are naive, Charlie!” he sneered. “ You played no part in it, at least not directly. I did it for the insurance.”

More mystified by the second, she said, “I don’t understand.”

He gave a long-suffering sigh. “I’m a high-maintenance man. The kind of lifestyle I enjoy costs money. More, I’m afraid, than I’m willing to go out and earn. When I first met you, I thought you might be the solution to my problem.”

“You thought I was well-off?”

“No, dear. I thought you were loaded. Filthy rich.”

“But why?” Astonished, she stared at him. “I never gave you reason to believe that.”

“Not in so many words, perhaps. But there you were, on a first-name basis with half the bigwigs at that conference. Consulting with titans of industry dripping with old money. Naturally, I assumed you were somebody. So I made my move before anyone else got his foot in your door. You’re not all that bad-looking, you know, especially when you do yourself up, although I have to say that dress you’re wearing tonight makes you look a bit like a black widow spider. But I’ve come across a lot worse. Being married to you would have been tolerable, if only you hadn’t turned out not to be a member of society at all, but a corporate social convener working for someone else, for Pete’s sake!”

Charlotte didn’t often lose her temper but his scorn left her foaming with rage. “Not any longer, you arrogant stoat!” she spat, sorely tempted to wipe the smug expression off his face with the back of her hand. “Unlike you, I don’t mind working for a living—and hard enough that I’m my own boss now and doing very well. But you …! You are, without question, the most despicable excuse for a man I’ve ever had the misfortune to come across. And to think I was taken in by you for even an instant!”

“Well, there you have it, dearie. I played you like a violin, and you bought every second of it. As I said before, you’re so hopelessly naive, it’s laughable.”

“Not quite as naive as you’d like to think,” she told him acidly. “At risk of denting your oversize ego, you should know that I’d already had second thoughts about continuing our association, long before your letter arrived. Unlike you, though, I prefer to be more direct, so I planned to tell you to your face when we met at Thanksgiving.”

He laughed scornfully. “So you say! But if that’s the case, how come you’re making such an issue now of a situation that withered on the vine before it properly took root?”

“Because, you insensitive clod, thanks to you, I’ve been carrying around a load of guilt that was completely unnecessary! I soon realized that two weeks of fun in the sunny Caribbean wasn’t enough on which to base any sort of relationship, but I don’t enjoy letting people down and wasn’t looking forward to having to tell you I’d changed my mind, especially since you gave the impression you were totally besotted with me.”

“Appearances can be deceiving, Charlie.”

“With you, they certainly can! But I didn’t know that then, and I was ashamed of the relief I felt when I learned I wouldn’t have to hurt you. Ashamed at how soon I recovered from the shocking news of your ‘death.’”

“That’s just your pride talking,” he said imperturbably. “The truth is, you’re really eaten up with envy because I’ve found true love and you’re still looking for it. Which reminds me, Louella’s waiting. So if you’ve finished your inquisition…?”

“Heavens, yes!” She wiped a weary hand across her eyes. “Go. Please! Before the sight of you makes me sick!”

He complied with unflattering haste. She heard the French doors bang shut, followed within seconds from the other end of the balcony by the faint, expensive chime of cobweb-fine crystal.

Paolo’s hand swam into her line of vision, two slender flutes of the vintage Dom Perignon she’d recommended to the Duncans suspended between his lean, elegant fingers. “Another masterful performance, Charlotte. I suggest we celebrate with a glass of our host’s very excellent champagne.”

“You listened in again ?” Her stomach heaved unpleasantly.

“Certainly,” he said, with a marked lack of remorse. “John Weatherby isn’t the kind of man who’s squeamish about how he goes about getting his own way. I wasn’t about to leave you to face him without proper backup if you needed it.”

“I’m sure you meant well, but I already feel a big enough fool. I really don’t appreciate having everyone else believing it, too.”

“I’m not ‘everyone else,’” he said, tipping the rim of his glass lightly against hers. “And just for the record, you are no fool.”

She grimaced. “No, I’m a black widow spider.”

Just as he had in Barbados, he examined her at leisure, from the ankle-length black silk sheath John Weatherby had dismissed so callously to the upswept coil of her dark hair. “Spider, Charlotte?” he murmured, looping a finger beneath the small diamond pendant nesting just above her breasts. “I see only a woman whose natural beauty is enhanced by the classic simplicity of her gown.”

At his touch, a tiny current of pleasure chased down her cleavage. Suddenly parched, she took a sip from the glass of champagne. “Thank you. I needed this.”

“Because this last performance cost you so dearly?”

“Not at all. That was no ‘performance’ you witnessed, at least not on my part. I meant every word I said. If I seem upset, it’s merely because I’m embarrassed at how easily I was duped.”

“You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about,” he declared. “That’s Weatherby’s department. He’s a felon, guilty of arson and fraud, to say the least, and never mind his lesser crimes. So enjoy your champagne, Charlotte, stop looking so woebegone, and tell me what it’ll take to make you feel better.”

“Showing him who’s really emerged the winner in this fiasco!” she told him grimly.

Something of her humiliation melted as Paolo bathed her once again in his dazzling smile. “Consider it done, cara. I already have it choreographed down to the last detail.”

Oh, Charlotte was tempted to go along with him! But although Paolo’s sympathy was soothing, she barely knew him and if she hadn’t yet learned her lesson about throwing in her lot with a stranger, she deserved all the grief she’d undoubtedly reap.

“You’re very kind, Mr. Angelli,” she said, retreating to the far side of the nearest wrought-iron table, “but you’ve done enough. I really can’t allow you to become further involved in a mess entirely of my own making.”

“I’m already involved, Charlotte,” he said, that rich Demerara-sugar voice sliding over her name and turning into something at once sultry and exotic. Reaching across the table, he laced his fingers through hers. “You’re a woman of courage under fire, but that’s no reason to turn down my help.”

It took considerable strength to withstand his coaxing words, never mind the gentle steel of his hold. But she wasn’t about to leap blindly from one bad situation to another. “Not until you tell me what you have in mind.”

“Nothing disastrous. We’re simply going to rejoin the party.”

She breathed a sigh, part relief and, if she were honest, part regret. Despite her common sense warning her to proceed carefully, the more daring voice in her heart urged her to toss caution to the breeze. Paolo Angelli had intrigued her from the first. Now that the opportunity had presented itself, she wanted to get to know him better and there was no use denying it. “Is that all?”