Page 44 of Gold Digger
Ollie let out a huff. “I’m…” he cleared his throat and looked to the side, “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have said that.”
I blinked in surprise. “Wow, the great Duke of Buckingham apologises.”
“I mean it, Lottie. I shouldn’t have embarrassed you like that.”
I narrowed my eyes at him then and took a step towards him. “I’m not embarrassed by the fact I cleaned for a living. It’s honest work. I needed the money and I didn’t have many other options.” Fuelled by my anger, I didn’t realise how close we were now. I was on tiptoes with my face just inches from his. We’d moved towards each other almost unconsciously. It was only when his gaze dropped to my mouth that I realised my mistake.
“Lottie,” he breathed, an almost desperate quality to his voice. In that moment there was just me and Ollie in our own bubble. The strength of desire between us so tangible I could almost taste it.
“Sorry, love,” a man’s voice snapped me out of my trance when he bumped my shoulder on his way past. Ollie opened his mouth to speak again but I wasdone. As I darted around him he caught my hand. I looked back at him for a moment, my body swayed forwards but then a vision of Hayley flooded my mind and I snatched my fingers from his.
I couldnotafford to be distracted by Oliver Harding. Not again.
Chapter 20
Is she here?
Ollie
“Mrs H, I really don’t have time for this,” I snapped. “I’m sure there’ll be ample opportunity to insult me over my lifestyle choices and berate me for the recycling later.” Mrs H did not approve of the bottles that accumulated when you lived like I did. I knew she was right – I was hitting it too hard in order to block out the dreams ofher.
I had no idea what was wrong with me, but the bone-deep yearning was getting ridiculous. I’d only seen her a handful of times since the pub three months ago, but that didn’t seem to make any difference. To try and forget, I went out nearly every night, accepted every invitation, put up with the paparazzi and let women drape themselves over me in bars and clubs, hoping to feelsomething… something other than the ache I felt for her. But it never ended with me taking any of those women home. No, I invariably either stumbled home alone, or with some mates in tow to work our way through the pile of now empty bottles that Mrs H objected to so strongly. But still, her face, her eyes, the way she tripped over her own feet, the way her head tilted to the side when she was listening – everything about her was replaying in my brain obsessively.
It was exhausting. I wasn’t sleeping properly. When I closed my eyes all I saw was her, then when I finally did sleep it was littered with fevered dreams of her. I’d wake up sweating and rock hard with my arms empty and the ache of loss in my chest. I could not carry on like this, but I had no idea how to break the cycle.
It was getting to the stage where I was having trouble remembering why I cared that she’d accepted the bribe. What right did I have to judge her? And it was also painfully clear to me that I knew next to nothing about her. The desperate quality of her voice when she spoke about needing the money was haunting me. What did I know about needing money? All my energy was directed at protecting my legacy, and it had been drilled into me that meant maintaining and, in my case, accumulating more wealth. That’s the terrible fear that drives us heirs in the aristocracy – the worry that after hundreds of years, we’ll be the ones to fuck up the dynasty, to lose it all. The weight of our ancestors’ expectations seems massive. But honestly, just like Lottie once said, those guys are dead – they don’t care if I’ve added another billion to the empire they built. Is that really what I want my legacy to be? How is that benefiting anyone other than me and my family?
I’d also been thinking about Cordelia, who I still saw at events now. And it struck me how even five years ago, just after she’d sold me out to theDaily Mailand I broke off the engagement, I’d never felt half the level of betrayal that I did when Lottie took my mother’s payoff. And I certainly never picked a fight with Cordelia. Why did I continue to berate Lottie when the payout she’d received was a fraction of Cordelia’s and did far less damage to my reputation?
Mrs H put her hands on her hips and blocked my way in the corridor. “We have a problem,” she said in a firm tone. “And it’s nothing to do with your bad habits, although rest assured yourmotherwillbe hearing about the recycling later.” I looked up at the ceiling to seek patience, my hand on the back of my neck.
“What problem? Honestly, Mrs H, I don’t have time to?—”
“There’s someone in the house,” her voice had dropped to a whisper, and my eyes snapped back to hers as I frowned.
“Christ,” I bit out. “Where? Have you called the police?”
Mrs H pointed to the library door behind her as she shook her head. I moved quickly to position myself between her and the door. I’d had crazy stalkers in the past, but none had ever actually managed to break in. The last thing I wanted was for one of them to hurt Mrs H.
“Go to the kitchen and call the police. Don’t come out until I tell you to.”
Luckily my golf clubs were in the hallway. I took out a five-iron as I moved to the library door but stopped when Mrs H grabbed my arm. She was still shaking her head.
“Put that down,” she snapped as if I was still a naughty little boy she needed to rein in. “I’m not calling the police. And you’re not to go in half-cocked with a bloody golf club. You’ll scare her half to death, the poor thing.”
My eyebrows went up. “Mrs H, these people can be dangerous. Do as I say and go to the kitchen. Call the police.”
“Oliver Harding!” she shouted after me as I stalked to the library, golf club still in hand. But when I threw open the door and stormed in, it was empty. I frowned as I slowly lowered the golf club. Mrs H, as always not following orders, was right behind me and tapped my shoulder. “Up there,” she whispered, pointing at the mezzanine. I squinted up in the direction she’d indicated. At first, I couldn’t see anything, then I blinked as a small shoe came into focus, which was quickly pulled back into the shadows.
“What the fuck?” I whispered as I started to walk towards the spiral staircase.
“Don’t scare her,” Mrs H whispered, still on my heels as I made my way up the steps. I waved her away, still not sure if it was safe, but she just tutted in my wake. Once I was at the top and my eyes adjusted to the shadows up there, I saw her. She was huddled in the corner, her arms wrapped around her knees, her big brown eyes staring up at me under her mop of caramel hair. Those eyes flicked to the golf club I realised I was still holding. She looked terrified.
“It’s okay,” I murmured, lowering the golf club to the floor and then holding my hands up to show I meant no harm. “I’m not going to hurt you.” I stepped towards her, but she shrank back from me, her eyes widening with more fear. Realising that our size difference was freaking her out, I lowered down to a crouch, with my arms resting on my bent legs and my hands dangling between. I tilted my head to the side. “Want to tell me what you’re doing in my library, sweetheart?”
She shook her head in a rapid, jerky movement, her caramel curls spilling all over her shoulders. Looking into those eyes, I felt a jolt of recognition and I frowned.
“Do I know you?” I asked, and she shook her head again. I smiled at her, hoping to put her at ease, but it just seemed to scare her more. “How did you get in?” Her eyes flicked over, past my shoulder to where Mrs H was standing, which wasn’t a surprise. The woman was the least security-conscious employee I’d ever had. I’d frequently come home to the front door left wide open whilst she was on the job. “Well, that was very clever of you.”
