November Harlequin Presents 2(63)

‘I admit I told a small untruth, but I’m not a thief,’ she mumbled, blushing furiously as she recalled the story she had concocted about having an appointment with the Duque. In normal circumstances she prided herself on her honesty, but it was going to be difficult to convince Javier Herrera that she was trustworthy.

‘No? Then who gave you permission to steal from my garden?’ He strolled across the room and stopped in front of her, so close that her senses quivered as she caught the spicy tang of his cologne. She stood dazedly while he ran a bold finger down from her jaw to the valley between her breasts. Her breath was trapped, and she felt dizzy from lack of oxygen. Wordlessly she stared up at him, and then gasped when he suddenly snatched the rose that she had tucked in her buttonhole.

‘It’s just one rose,’ she whispered.

‘And what is the theft of one rose, when your father has already fleeced me of three million pounds?’ he murmured sardonically.

‘Oh God!’ Grace gave a despairing groan as once again she was hit by the enormity of her father’s crime. ‘I know it looks bad…’

‘It doesn’t look bad, Miss Beresford, it looks awful,’ Javier commented mildly, but Grace wasn’t fooled by his smile. He was the lion waiting to strike and she was the prey who had foolishly crept too close.

‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered, aware that the words were totally inadequate. She swallowed the tears that clogged her throat as she acknowledged the full scale of Angus Beresford’s embezzlement from the bank—three million pounds that over a period of time he had transferred into false accounts.

Her father’s slide into deep depression had been coupled with a manic belief that one lucky win on the roulette table would enable him to appease his creditors and repay the money to the bank. But somewhere along the way he had lost his grip on the situation and now his life was in free fall.

‘I know my father has done wrong—but he had his reasons,’ she began.

‘I’m sure he did,’ the Duque de Herrera drawled in a bored tone. ‘And he can tell them to a judge.’ The phone on his desk rang and he picked up the receiver, listened for a moment, and then replaced it before giving her another hard smile. Grace knew instinctively that the call had been to inform him that the police had arrived, and panic overwhelmed her. This was her only chance to plead her father’s case and she wouldn’t give up without a fight.

‘It’s been fascinating to meet you, Miss Beresford, but I’m afraid it’s time for you to leave,’ Javier said coolly.

‘Please! You have to listen to me. My father…’

‘Deserves everything that’s coming to him.’ He was already at the door, his body language warning her that his patience was at an end, but Grace was desperate.

‘He’s ill, mentally ill. He didn’t know what he was doing.’

‘Oh, come on, surely you can do better than that? Angus Beresford took advantage of his position and was systematically transferring money into false accounts for the last eighteen months. He knew exactly what he was doing,’ Javier told her scathingly. His hand closed around the door handle, but before he could open it Grace flung herself against the wood.

‘He could see no other way. Please—give me five minutes of your time,’ she implored. ‘And let me try and explain his reasons for doing what he did.’ For a heart-stopping moment she thought Javier was going to drag her forcibly away from the door. His hand closed around her wrist in a bruising grip, but suddenly a sharp rap sounded from the other side of the door.

‘What is it?’ he demanded tersely in his own language, unaware that Grace could understand the question or his servant’s reply that the police were waiting in the hall. She’d failed, she thought numbly. Her father’s solicitor had warned her that Angus faced a lengthy prison sentence and nothing could save him now. Suddenly she was bone-weary, and the tears that had hovered perilously close to the surface since her earlier terror in the garden slid silently down her cheeks.





CHAPTER THREE




TRUST a woman to turn on the water works, Javier thought contemptuously as he stared at the twin rivulets of moisture trickling down Grace’s face. It never ceased to amaze him how the fairer sex was able to dissolve into tears whenever it suited.

At thirty-five he lived life in the fast lane in every sense of the word—fast cars and even faster relationships, some of which didn’t even get off the starting block but made a pleasant diversion for a night or two. He’d seen it all—every devious twist of a woman’s mind as she’d sought to gain her own way. And for him, weeping was the biggest turn-off of them all.