Page 19 of The Billionaire's Princess

I open my mouth, determined to ask him if we could get a private drink later. To offer an apology. To admit that I may have jumped to conclusions and handled things badly that night.

But my father’s voice intrudes before I can get any of that out.

“I didn’t know you knew Damon Black, Charlotte,” he says, appearing beside us and beaming as though he just got word that my grandmother amended her will to make him the sole heir. His high color and red nose indicate that he’s enjoyed another drink or two since our arrival. The knowledge does not thrill me. Nor does his obvious interest in Damon. “Care to make the introductions?”

No, I wouldn’t care. Not with that speculative light in my father’s eye. Nevertheless, I revert to the crisp manners that have been drummed into me since birth.

“Daddy, this is Damon Black. Real estate magnate. We met briefly at Bemelmans several weeks ago.” I pause to shoot Damon a veiled warning look, which he ignores as he shakes my father’s hand. “Damon, this is my father, Prince Edmund. Duke of Montgomery.”

“Delighted,” my father says, pumping his hand.

“Pleased to meet you, sir. I understand that you have quite the personal collection of art.”

My father’s smile now threatens to swallow his entire head and perhaps eat into his neck. “As do you. I’d love to see your Picasso sketches. I’m sure they’re stunning.”

As an art lover, I try not to gasp.

“That could be arranged. They’re out at my family home on Long Island.”

“I look forward to it. And while I have you to myself for the moment, I’d hoped to make some discreet inquiries about selling some of my Baroque pieces.”

Damon’s interest sharpens. “Really? You’d get the best prices at an auction.”

“Yes, but I’d rather do without all the publicity,” my father tells himwith a rueful grin. “Perhaps we could take a meeting at my home at your convenience? Discuss it further? My private secretary would make all your travel arrangements, of course. And you’d stay at the guest house on the estate.”

“I’d like that.” Damon’s impassive gaze flickers to me, then quickly returns to my father. “I’ll take you up on the estate, but I’ll just take my jet, thanks.”

Jet? He has a jet?

“As you wish,” my father says.

“I’m free this weekend,” Damon says, to my further astonishment. “What about you?”

“I can be,” my father says, lighting up like a solar flare.

“Will Carly be there?” Damon smoothly asks my father, his attention flickering to me. “I thought I read something about her being an art history major?”

I freeze, caught somewhere between my desire to be a grown and independent woman who makes her own scheduling decisions, my desire to see Damon again and my fervent wish to have nothing to do with any of my father’s financial issues, which may or may not be shady, especially if they grow to somehow involve Damon.

I open my mouth to register a complaint.

“Of course she will,” my father boomsbefore I can say anything. “We’ll both see you very soon. I’ll have my private secretary arrange everything.”

“Great,” Damon says with a gotcha gleam in his eye as he turns to me. “I look forward to seeing you both again soon.”

With that, he walks off, taking all the air in the room with him and leaving me feeling oddly deflated as I stare after him.

“Did I detect a trace of chemistry between you and our wealthy new friend?” my father asks, a poorly hidden trace of glee in his voice.

“What on earth are you talking about?” I say, as annoyed by the question as I am by the sudden appearance of a gorgeous blonde by Damon’s side as he arrives at the bar. It occurs to me that I can’t spend the entire evening fighting this irrational jealousy every time some woman blinks in Damon’s direction, so I focus on my father. “I barely know the man.”

“You’ll get to know him. And you could certainly do worse.”

“Do worse for what?”

“Husband, of course. What else?”

Outrage gets the best of me.

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