Page 23 of Hidden Heir With His Housekeeper

She stiffened. She wished he would stop calling her that. She didn’t like it any more. Because the nickname seemed to be loaded with the brittle cynicism she’d noticed when he’d first stepped into her path at the club, but had convinced herself had never been aimed at her. Now she was a lot less sure.

‘What makes you think round two is a foregone conclusion?’ she murmured, finally getting up the courage to assert herself, at least a little bit.

‘Yeah? Why wouldn’t it be?’ The penetrating gaze skated over her—kicking off those blasted endorphins again—but she didn’t feel confident and empowered any more, she felt hopelessly exposed... And unfairly judged. ‘Is it because I haven’t proposed marriage yet?’ he added, his voice thick with derision now. ‘Or because you need to let Daddy know you’ve got me on the hook first before you put out again?’

Her jaw dropped as she lurched out of his arms, not sure she’d heard him correctly. Or understood what he was implying.

‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’ she managed to murmur around the boulder in her throat.

He laughed again, but the caustic chuckle held no humour at all.

‘Come on, Princess, you can drop the act now. I know why the Medford Ice Queen deigned to jump me last night. The virginity was a nice touch, by the way—cute and original. And I’ll admit the condom was my bad, although I’m sure we can figure out a way to make any consequences work for both of us. But I’m not as dumb as you seem to think I am. Nor am I as gullible or as easily impressed as Jack Wolfe.’

She stumbled back another step, so horrified she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even really process what he had just said. There were so many unfair and unjust accusations to unpick, she couldn’t seem to grasp hold of any of them.

But what was far worse was the way he was looking at her... As if she were...nothing. Because the cruel resentment and the rigid fury in his gaze threw her back to that terrible night when her father had ranted and raved and thrown Katie out of the house. Then turned to her and told her to stop whimpering and get out of his sight.

And she’d done exactly what he’d told her.

But Mason’s ruthless demolition of her confidence was so much worse because, instead of shouting or screaming, he looked so calm, so cold, so confident. And, unlike her father, who had never been able to control his temper, Mason knew exactly how much damage he was doing.

‘Okay,’ she said calmly, without any clue as to why she was so calm when he had just sliced apart her self-esteem in a few scalpel-sharp strokes like a surgeon extracting a donor’s heart, each cut deeper and more efficient than the last.

But this was no bloodless evisceration, she realised as soon as she managed to gather enough oxygen for her lungs to start functioning again, because the injury felt all too real.

She walked into the bedroom on autopilot. After discarding his T-shirt, she found her dress and yanked it on, then located her shoes, all as the suffocating memories from that night so long ago—and from last night—pressed down on the gaping wound in her chest.

The only thing that mattered now was getting out of here before the pain became too debilitating.

‘I should go,’ she said, again with perfect politeness, as she crossed the living room.

He stood by the counter, staring at her as if she had lost her mind. But it was a sign of how far gone she was that his cynical frown seemed like a win compared to the blank indifference of moments before.

‘So, you’re going to sulk now? Because I figured out your little act?’ he asked.

She didn’t reply, because it took all her strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Once she got out of the loft apartment she dashed to the emergency stairs, knowing she couldn’t wait for the lift in case he followed her.

She had to hold it together, had to get out.

But as she scrambled down the stairwell she couldn’t hold back the indescribable pain any longer. Or the silent, self-pitying tears, so reminiscent of the night when she had watched her sister being evicted from her life... And done nothing.

She scrubbed her cheeks, sucking in jerky breaths, the vague thought circling around and around in her head that these tears were just as futile and pointless and cowardly now as they had been when she was twelve. When her world had fallen apart the first time.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘HELLO,MRSGOULDING, is my sister at home?’ Bea bit into her lip, determined to hold back the crying jag which had demolished her during the cab journey from Tower Bridge to Katie and Jack’s house in Mayfair.

Clare Goulding, her sister’s housekeeper, was a professional, so her expression barely changed as she took in Bea’s bedraggled appearance. But Bea could see the pity in the older woman’s eyes when she replied.

‘Why, yes. Mr and Mrs Wolfe are in the dining room having breakfast with Luca. Do come in.’ She held the door wide, not asking for an explanation. ‘I’ll let them know you’re here.’

‘Thank you, but could I borrow some money first to pay the cab driver who brought me here?’ Shame washed over her at the thought of the cabbie she had begged a lift.

‘I’ll handle it, Miss Beatrice,’ the housekeeper said. ‘Don’t worry.’

Guilt twisted in Bea’s stomach, adding to the wave of humiliation which had been building ever since she had run out of Mason Foxx’s penthouse loft half an hour ago.

Panic had assailed her in the cab, finally drying the futile tears as she’d realised she couldn’t return to her father’s house or everything Mason had accused her of would be true.

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