Billionaire's Runaway Princess (10 page)

Months ago, against her better judgment, Lizzy let Ian sweep her off her feet. When he disappears, leaving behind more than just regrets, she decides to follow him to Edinburgh and make sure he understood the consequences of their brief fling—due to arrive in a few months. Instead, she learns Ian was really Gerard. He stole his brother’s name and mannerisms to woo her before he was killed in a car accident.

An accident of her own leaves Lizzy on bedrest and stranded in Scotland with only her former lover’s brother to watch out for her. He takes good care of her, but she has to safeguard her heart, because she’s falling for the gentle billionaire, and she’s certain he’s in love with her too. Their love can either heal both their wounded hearts or shatter them into fragments with no chance of ever being whole again. It’s a risk Lizzy isn’t sure she’s ready to take. Is Ian?

Lizzy frowned and pulled her jacket over her swollen belly as she stood in front of the drab stone building. The weather in Scotland was colder than the weather in New York, which wasn’t what any reasonable person would call warm.  It didn’t help that her body and clothes had declared war on one another. The wool peacoat that fit her so well two weeks ago now strained at the lower buttonholes to accommodate her baby bump, another casualty of war. She had been so busy getting ready for the trip across the Atlantic that she hadn’t had time to buy maternity clothes. It seemed like a waste of money anyway. Her body changed each day, unperceivable changes that she didn’t notice all the time, but added together made her feel like a stranger in her own skin. But then her life would be full of changes once the baby was born.

It wasn’t that she disliked being pregnant, but Lizzy planned her life to the smallest detail. She always had. Form a strategy, plan it, and execute it. That was how she survived in the cutthroat world of art. Carelessness wasn’t her style. Careless people often found themselves an unwitting part of someone else’s plan and usually to their detriment. Lizzy had learned that lesson the hard way, and that knowledge had carried her from the tiny apartment in rough-and-tumble Washington Heights to a still-small, but more upscale apartment on the Upper East Side. It wasn’t much compared to some of the newer, fancier apartments in the area, but she made do.

Ian MacHolden changed everything. He was wealthy, gorgeous, and had a way of looking at Lizzy that made her feel like she was the only woman alive. Not even the hardened heart she’d once so prided herself on could withstand that. Five months and one shocking pregnancy test later, she still couldn’t explain how Ian managed to blast his way past her defenses. Or why he’d disappeared once the last wall she laid in place had come down. She pushed the thoughts aside as she stared up at the building. This trip wasn’t about her and Ian. It was about the baby, and she’d delayed the trip for too long already.

Lizzy couldn’t afford to waste time lamenting the past. She owed her baby the best, which meant a father, even if it put her in a room with the man who’d seduced her and disappeared. Lizzy closed her eyes to calm herself and take in her surroundings.

The wind was gentle, but had a slight chill that bit at her cheeks. If she’d left her hair down, it might have shielded her face from the worst of the wind, but she’d settled on a loose braid. Something that said, “I’m not here for a fight or a reunion. I just want to talk this out.” The only way to get warm was to go inside.

She took a deep breath as she walked into the lobby. The interior of the office surprised her. Wealthy men in New York loved to show off. They bought offices and homes in towers of glass and steel, the kind with sprawling marble desks with security clerks in suits. Instead, a receptionist in a crisp button-down shirt sat behind a small desk of glass and metal. She glanced up at Lizzy and smiled.

“May I help you, miss?” The woman looked Lizzy up and down.

In her rush to see Ian, she’d forgotten to change out of her travel clothes. Cotton pants and a T-shirt were comfortable travel attire, but not appropriate for barging into the office of a rich businessman. Lizzy cleared her throat and tugged at the hem of her waistcoat. “I’d like to speak to Ian MacHolden.”

“Do you have an appointment?” The receptionist turned to her computer. Lizzy knew this dance well. The dismissive receptionist and the eager walk-in. Men like Ian MacHolden always had a receptionist standing guard. Someone to let the peasants down without bruised egos when they tried to demand too much. Lizzy wasn’t having it.

“I don’t, but it’s urgent.”

“I understand, miss. But Mr. MacHolden’s schedule is full today, I’m afraid. If you’d like to come back another time—”

“I’m only in the country for a few days.”

The receptionist smiled again, but this time, it didn’t reach her eyes. Lizzy knew that move too. The blow-off smile. Lizzy could almost see the receptionist’s mind calculating how long it would take to shoo her away. “I’m sorry, miss, but there’s nothing I can do if you don’t have an appointment.”

Lizzy sank her teeth into her lip. Leaving without seeing Ian was out of the question. She’d blown almost two grand on the trip. Nearly one month’s rent money on a plane ticket. That wasn’t counting food, cab rides, or anything else she might need. She wasn’t broke, but she couldn’t afford to do the entire thing again in a week. Lizzy leaned against the wooden desk. The edges of her waistcoat parted, giving the receptionist a full view of her swollen belly.

“You don’t understand. I need to speak with Mr. MacHolden. It’s time-sensitive.” Lizzy cast her eyes down toward her stomach. Or where her stomach would be if her swollen breasts didn’t block it from view. “And I’m not leaving until I’ve seen him.”

“Oh.” The color drained from the receptionist’s face as she reached for the phone. “Your name?”  

“Elizabeth…Lizzy Burdette. He’ll remember me.”

Lizzy pushed her waistcoat closed again. She glanced around the room, her eyes moving over photographs of men posed in front of stills that hung on the beige walls. The oldest had a sepia tone that caught Lizzy’s eye. It was skillfully staged for an old photograph, each of the dozen people in it stood in just the right spot in front of the still to create a pleasing composition. The photo closest to her featured a man and two teenage boys. They must have been brothers, judging by the family resemblance. One of the boys was Ian. He’d dropped more than one hint about running the family business, but he’d never said that business was booze. Maybe women in Scotland were snobbier than American women about where the money came from.

The receptionist’s voice brought Lizzy back to reality. “Miss Burdette? Mr. MacHolden will see you now.”

The interior hallway was warmer than the lobby. She rubbed away the beads of sweat that gathered on her brow with the back of her sleeve. Once she was in the office, she could take off the waistcoat and give Ian a good look what their fling had created. But for the moment, she was more concerned with not having anyone notice her. People tended to forget that just because a woman was pregnant didn’t mean it was okay for strangers to touch her. Another lesson Lizzy had learned the hard way.

As they approached the end of the hallway, the silence became more than Lizzy could stand. “Let me guess. He said he’s never heard of me.”

“Mr. MacHolden couldn’t place your name. He agreed to see you because you were so insistent.”

Lizzy bristled at that. “I have as much right to see him as anyone else. Just because I’m not bringing money in the door—”

“I didn’t mean to imply anything, Miss Burdette.” The receptionist opened the heavy wooden door. “Mr. MacHolden, Lizzy Burdette to see you.”

“Thank you, Abby,” he said, though he didn’t turn his chair around. The receptionist, Abby, dismissed herself. Lizzy pulled off her coat and tossed it onto the nearby chair, but didn’t sit.

The interior of the office fit the exterior. It was charming in an old-world sort of way, and unlike what Lizzy expected. A strange sensation tugged at her. Something was off, but she couldn’t put her finger on what. She wrote it off as jet lag and the shock of being in a new place half a world away from anything familiar.

“I didn’t think you’d see me,” she said. “Since you left in such a hurry.”

The chair swiveled around, and the man sitting in it locked eyes with Lizzy. He was well-groomed and gorgeous, with tousled red hair and piercing hazel eyes, but he wasn’t Ian MacHolden.

A swell of anger washed over her, the power of it making her stumble backward toward the door. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“I ought to be the one asking you that question, Miss Burdette.” He leaned forward, his muscular arms braced against the desk.

“I’m looking for Ian MacHolden.” Her stomach roiled. She’d expected a lack of enthusiasm from Ian about her pregnancy, but she hadn’t anticipated him to hand her over to a stranger. The darkest part of her, the part that took months to silence enough to make the trip at all, figured Ian didn’t love her, that his sweet words meant nothing. But she hadn’t expected this level of disregard.

The man’s brow furrowed and leaned forward against the polished wood top of his desk. “I’m Ian MacHolden, Miss Burdette, and I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”

Lizzy pressed her back against the door as if the sturdy material would give her the strength she needed. As if the cold wood could counteract the weakness she felt spreading through her knees.

“I know Ian MacHolden. I’m his...I was his....” She didn’t know what to call herself. Ian had said all the right words, words that she’d needed wanted to believe in spite of herself. He’d even waited until she was comfortable opening her body to him, but just when she’d opened her spirit too, Ian had disappeared. What could she call herself? His lover? The mother of his child? Neither title felt like the entire truth.

The real Ian stood up, concern etched on his face. “Are you all right?”

The room lurched in Lizzy’s eyes. If the man she’d loved wasn’t Ian MacHolden, who was he? To whom had she opened her heart?

Lizzy shut her eyes. “I’m sorry, it’s just...I’m sure I know Ian. He’s a little bit taller than you, with green eyes and brown hair.” The description sounded lame, even to her ears. Six weeks of dinner dates and a few nights of passion, but she didn’t even have a picture to prove she wasn’t as crazy as she sounded.

Lizzy didn’t hear the man cross the room, but she knew he was nearby from the smell of his cologne. It was richer than her Ian wore. Spicier and more complex.

“Miss Burdette, is this him?” he asked

Lizzy opened her eyes and stared at the framed photograph the man offered. As her eyes cleared, the two Ians came into focus. The man who’d shared her bed, and the man in front of her. Both men in the photo smiled, but her Ian looked more tired than she remembered. Dark circles settled under eyes that the smile on his lips didn’t touch.

“That’s Ian,” she said.

The man pulled the photo back and shook his head. “That’s my brother, Gerard. I’m sorry, Miss Burdette.”

It took a moment for her to process the words. For as long as she could remember, she’d had a personal rule. Never tempt fate. Never assume a situation was as bad as it could get. Because the universe had a way of proving Lizzy Burdette wrong. She’d thought flying halfway across the world to see the man who’d abandoned her was bad. Doing it while carrying his child was worse. But this was a whole new level of awful beyond Lizzy’s wildest dreams.

“If he’s not Ian, then why...?” She didn’t know what to ask. Why use his brother’s name? That didn’t matter anymore. Why pretend? That didn’t matter either. People always had reasons for the masks they wore. Sometimes they were even good reasons. In the end, the deception didn’t change anything. She still needed to see Ian, still needed him to make good on his promises to her.

The man seemed to understand. He placed a gentle hand on Lizzy’s shoulder. She hadn’t realized she was cold again until the warmth spread from his hand through her cotton T-shirt.

“Gerard is—was never the best with responsibility. He loved to have a good time. He loved life and new experiences. It was always the details that tripped him up.”  

Lizzy stared at Ian. “Was?”

Ian nodded, grief tugging at the corner of his eyes. “Gerard was in a car accident twelve weeks ago. He didn’t make it.”

Lizzy clamped her hand over her mouth as her stomach flipped and swallowed as hard as she could. The real Ian seemed kind, but she doubted he’d be happy if his brother’s baby mama puked all over his carpet. Never tempt fate. Never think anything was as bad as it could get.

What little strength remained in her knees drained away, and Lizzy slid to the floor. The real Ian moved with her, his hands on her waist to slow her fall.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. A scream welled in her chest, a mighty cry of pain and anguish that she knew would never end if she gave it release. “I’m sorry, I just...”

Ian took her trembling hands into his own. They weren’t as soft as Ian’s—Gerard’s—had been. Their last night together he’d reached between for her hand and entwined their fingers. She had cherished that memory over their months apart, now and then looking at her hand and imagining that she could still feel his touch. She would never feel it again. Never see his mischievous grin or feel him run his fingers through her hair. Their child would never know him.

“Miss Burdette, I have to ask. Is Gerard the father?”

Lizzy was prepared to have a verbal showdown with her Ian. She was prepared for accusations and hurt feelings and promises to make good. She’d come to this country prepared for a battle, but hoping for a happy ending—she realized that now. Instead, she was on the floor of an office building miles from home with a man whose name she knew, but whose face was unfamiliar.

She struggled to her feet as fast as she could manage and tugged the door open, but the real Ian’s body blocked it from opening. After the second tug, Ian climbed to his feet.

“Miss Burdette, wait,” he shouted, but Lizzy was already running down the hall. She heard his footsteps behind her.

She kept running. Past the small desk with the puzzled receptionist. Back onto the street and the chilly Scottish air.

“Miss Burdette,” he shouted. Something in his voice sounded different. Panicked. Lizzy turned to unleash all the anger and confusion. What did she care if she hurt his feeling? What did his grief mean to her? Her Ian was gone, and all of her hopes for a happy family had gone with him.