Lizzie shook her head and went in through the rear kitchen door.

Whatever was happening over there was not her problem. She was far, far, far down the totem pole, just looking to get a tent erected for her flower arrangements"

Wow.

Talk about a lotta chefs, she thought as she scooted in and out and around all the white- coated, toque- hatted men and women who were giving themselves scoliosis making filo- dough and stuffed- mushroomy thingies.

On the far side of all of the Gordon Ramsay, there was a heavy, swinging door that opened into a plain corridor full of cleaning closets, laundries, and the maids break room" as well as the butlers living quarters, the controllers office and the back staff stairwell.

Lizzie went to the door on the right that was marked Private and knocked once. Twice. Three times.

Given that Rosalinda was as efficient and punctual as an alarm clock, the controller clearly wasnt in. Maybe shed gone to the bank"

" shall check again in an hour, Mr. Harris said as he entered the hall at the far end with the head housekeeper. Thank you, Mrs. Mollie.

My pleasure, Mr. Harris, the older woman muttered.

Lizzie locked eyes with the butler as Mrs. Mollie pared off. We have a problem.

{ 62 }.

He stopped in front of her. Yes?

I need just over twelve grand for the tent company and Mrs. Free- land is not here. Can you cut checks?

They require twelve thousand dollars? he said in his clipped ac- cent. Whyever for?

The tent rental. Its a new company policy Im guessing. Theyve never done this before.

This is Easterly. We have had an account with them since the turn of the century and they will defer. Allow me.

Pivoting on his spit- polish shoeshine, he headed for his quarters" no doubt to call the rental companys owner personally.

If he could pull this off and Lizzie could keep her tents and tables?

His PITA attitude might well be worth the trouble.

Besides, if worst came to worst, Greta could write the check.

One thing was certain, Lizzie was not going to ask Lane for it and they needed that tent: In less than forty- eight hours, the world was descending on the property, and nothing pissed off the Bradfords more than something, anything out of place.

As she waited for the butler to reemerge, all triumphant in his pen- guin suit, she leaned back against the smooth, cool plaster wall and found herself thinking about the dumbest decision she had ever made . . .

She should have let the whole thing rest.

After the dreaded Lane Baldwine had sought her out in the dark in the garden, she should have let the argument between them go. Why on earth did she care how wrong he was about her? How insane, egocentric, and ridiculous that silver- spooned fool was? She didnt owe him any kind of world- view realignment" besides, that wasnt going to happen without a sledgehammer.

Not that she wouldnt enjoy an attempt on those terms.

The problem was, however, that among her own deficiencies was the par-alytic need not to be misinterpreted by Channing Tatums doppelganger.

So she had to set him straight. And in fact, she talked to him all the way { 63 }.

home that night. As well as all the way back to Easterly the following morning. And then throughout the next week.

Eventually, she became convinced he was avoiding her: For the first time since hed come home on his break from graduate school, she didnt see him for seven days straight. The good news, if you could look at it that way, was that at least there werent any females coming around the house and leaving at odd hours in porn combinations. The bad news was that she was now over prepared with all her speeches, and in danger of revealing exactly how much time shed wasted yelling at him in her head.

And Lane was definitely still at Easterly. His Porsche" like he would drive anything else" was still around by the garages, and whenever she was forced to take a bouquet up to his room, she could smell his cologne in the air and see his wallet on the bureau with his gold cuff links.

He was playing her" and as much as she hated to admit it, the act was working. She was getting more frustrated and more determined to find him, instead of less so.

He was a master at women, all right.

The bastard.

With yet another fresh bouquet in hand, she headed up the back stairs for his room. She didnt expect him to be in there, but somehow, the idea of walking into his space and throwing out a couple of choice sound bites was going to offer her a release. When she knocked on his door, it was a hard demand, and after a moment, she pushed her way in"

Lane was there.

Sitting on the edge of his bed. Head in his hands, body bowed.

He did not look to the door.

Didnt seem to know anyone had come in at all.

Lizzie cleared her throat once. Twice. Excuse me, Im here to switch out your flowers.

He jumped and twisted around toward her. Red- rimmed eyes seemed to struggle to focus, and when he spoke up, his voice was rough. Sorry? What?

Flowers. She lifted the bouquet a little higher. Im here to replace your flowers.

Oh. Thank you. Thats awfully good of you.

{ 64 }.

Clearly, he had no clue what he was saying to her. The politeness seemed like just a reflex, the conversational equivalent of a lower leg kicking when its knee was hit with a rubber hammer.

This is not your business , she told herself as she went across to the bureau.

The swap took a split second, and then she had the barely wilted, old one in her hands, and was walking back over to the half- open door. She told herself not to look over at him as she left. For all she knew, his favorite hunting dog had ringworm . . . or maybe that girlfriend of his in Virginia had found out about all his extracurricular exercise here in Charlemont.

That biggest mistake thing happened just as she got to the jambs.

Later, when things had blown up in her face, after shed overridden her walls of self- protection and gotten burned, she would become convinced that if shed only kept going, she would have been fine. Their lives wouldnt have slammed into each others and left such shrapnel all over her.

But she did look back at him.

And she just had to open her mouth again: Whats wrong?

Lanes eyes swung up to her. Im sorry?

Whats your problem?

He braced his hands against his knees. Im sorry.

She waited for something else. About what?

His eyes closed, his head ducking down again.

Even though he made no sound, she knew he was weeping.

And that was so completely not what she expected from someone like him.

Closing the door, she wanted to protect his privacy for him. What happened? Is everyone all right?

Lane shook his head, took a deep breath, and recomposed himself. No.

Not everyone.

Is it your sister? Ive heard shes had some issues"

Edward. They took him.

Edward . . . ? God, she had seen the man around the estate from time to time" and he appeared to be the last person anyone could take anywhere.

Unlike his father whose office was at Easterly, Edward worked down at BBC headquarters in the heart of the city, and from what little she knew, he was the anti- Lane, a very serious, extremely aggressive businessman.

{ 65 }.

Im sorry, Im not quite following? she said.

He was kidnapped in South America, and the ransom is being negoti- ated. He rubbed his face hard. I cant imagine what theyre doing to him"

its been five days since the demand. Jesus Christ, how did this happen? He was supposed to be protected down there. How did they let this happen?

Then he shook himself, and pegged her with hard eyes. You cant say anything. Gin doesnt even know yet. Were keeping everything quiet so it doesnt get out in the press yet.

I wont. I mean, I wont say a word. Are the authorities involved?

My fathers been working with them. This is a nightmare" I told him not to go down there.

I am so sorry. What a pathetic statement. Is there anything I can do?

Which was just another pathetic bunch of syllables.

It should have been me, Lane muttered. Or Max. Why couldnt it have been one of us? Were worthless. It should have been one of us.

The next thing she knew, shed put the vase down somewhere and was over by the bed. Is there someone I can get for you?

It should have been me.

She sat down next to him and lifted a hand to touch his shoulder, but then she thought better of that"

A cell phone went off on the bedside table, and when he made no move to answer it, she asked, Do you want to pick that up?

When he didnt reply, she leaned to the side and looked at the screen.

Chantal Blair Stowe.

I think its your girlfriend.

He glanced over. Who? Lizzie reached around and picked up the phone, showing the screen to him. No, I dont want to talk to her. And shes not my girlfriend.

Is she aware of that, Lizzie wondered as she put the thing back.

Lane shook his head. Edwards the only one of us whos worth a dime.

Thats not true.

He laughed in a hard burst. The hell its not. And that was your point last week, wasnt it.

{ 66 }.

Abruptly, Lane focused on her, and there was a strange silence, as if it were only then that he realized who was in the room with him.

Lizzies heart began to pound. There was something in those eyes of his that she hadnt seen before" and God help her, she knew what it was.

Sex with a playboy was nothing she was interested in. Raw lust with a real man? That . . . was so much harder to walk away from.

You need to go now, he said in a tight voice.

Yes, she told herself. I do.

And yet for some crazy reason, she whispered, Why?

Because if I wanted you when it was just a game" that stare of his locked on her mouth" in my current mood, Im desperate for you.

Lizzie recoiled, and this time when he laughed, it was deeper, lower.

Dont you know that stress is like alcohol? It makes you reckless, stupid, and hungry. I should know . . . my family deals so well in"

I t is taken care of, Miss King.

Lizzie jumped out of her skin with a gasp. What!

Mr. Harris frowned. The tent rental. It has been taken care of.

Oh, yes, great. Thanks.