Javier threw her a disdainful glance that seemed to question her intelligence. ‘Naturally a thorough investigation has been made into your private affairs. I know everything there is to know about you—and you don’t come cheap,’ he informed her coolly. ‘The upkeep of two thoroughbreds which you show at dressage events,’ he listed when she opened her mouth to argue. ‘The private education at an exclusive college for young ladies, not to mention the luxury flat while you were at university. There was no slumming it in student digs for you, was there, Miss Beresford?’
‘I paid the rent on the flat with money released from an insurance policy set up for me by my grandparents,’ Grace said tightly. Her anger was bubbling inside like molten lava beneath the earth’s crust. Any minute now and she would erupt, but the release of pressure and the torrent of furious words she wanted to throw at Javier Herrera would scupper all chances of helping her father. ‘And I worked damned hard for my degree,’ she defended herself.
‘In the history of art?’ The derision in his voice made her long to hit him. ‘I’m sure it’s proved very useful.’
‘Extremely, in my profession,’ Grace said coldly. ‘As you seem to know so much about me, I’m sure you’ve discovered that I run my own antiques business.’
‘I know that you like to play shop in a pretty little establishment in Brighton,’ he murmured, his accent sounding particularly strong as he pronounced the name of the English seaside town where Grace had spent most of her life. ‘But The Treasure Trove is hardly a thriving business, is it? Oh, come on,’ he derided when she frowned. ‘You barely make enough profit to cover your overheads. Your business acumen leaves a lot to be desired, Miss Beresford,’ Javier told her flatly.
‘It’s true that my profits haven’t been as good as I hoped, but it takes time to build up a good reputation in the world of antiques,’ Grace muttered, her cheeks flaming at his scathing comments about her fledgling business. Before opening her shop, she had loved her work as a junior cataloguer with a famous auction house, but her life in London had come to a crashing halt when she’d ended her engagement to Richard Quentin. Heartbroken at Richard’s betrayal, she had fled back to Brighton, and with her father’s support had opened The Treasure Trove. But in her first year of trading, business had been slow. After paying her bills, she’d had little money left over for extras, and it was true that she had allowed her father to treat her sometimes.
Angus had loved to spoil her and take care of her, just as he had taken care of her mother, she acknowledged painfully. She’d enjoyed an extremely comfortable lifestyle, but the realisation that her father had paid for those treats with money he’d stolen from the bank was unbearable. Sick with shame and mortification, she lifted her eyes to Javier, who was watching her expressionlessly, his golden eyes hooded so that she had no clue to his thoughts.
‘I should share the blame for this whole terrible mess,’ she said huskily. ‘I have to face the fact that my father stole from your bank, not just to pay for my mother’s medical expenses, but because he wanted to continue giving me the lifestyle I’d been used to. You don’t know how terrible that makes me feel.’
‘Annoyed that your lifestyle is going to have to change, I imagine,’ Javier drawled derisively. ‘Losing your main source of income must be extremely inconvenient, but I’m afraid that my bank—with the help of your light-fingered father—is no longer prepared to supplement your spending sprees.’
‘Are you suggesting that I knew what he was doing?’ Outrage lent a sharp edge to her voice.
‘Do you expect me to believe that you didn’t? I’m not stupid, Miss Beresford. It’s quite clear that you have your father wrapped around your little finger,’ Javier told her, his mouth thinning to a cruel line as he subjected her to a cold stare. ‘All your life you’ve sat back and allowed him to indulge you, and, now that your pampered little world is falling apart, you’re panicking.
‘What did you hope to achieve by coming here?’ he demanded savagely. ‘Did you really think you could persuade me to turn a blind eye to embezzlement on such a huge scale? Your tears may work with your father, but they do nothing for me,’ he added harshly. His eyes strayed to the clock on the wall. ‘Your two minutes are up.’
‘I came to offer to repay the money my father took from you.’ Grace stalled him frantically. ‘I’ve already agreed to a sale price on Littlecote and my shop, and together with the shares left to me by my mother I can raise two million pounds.’