Claiming His Bought Bride Read online

  If she moved into her empty rental, chances were he’d move in after her. And at her gran’s…well, Damon would be welcomed like a long-lost son.

  But he wouldn’t stay in his childhood home, he’d made that clear in the past. She swallowed. Gaining physical distance from her husband was paramount. It was her only defense against his brutal methods of charm and seduction. Especially now she’d faced the reality that she loved him.

  And if this house was to become her child’s inheritance, then someone had to breathe some life into it first. It needed warmth and love before it was fit for her baby.

  Fate may have dealt her this hand, but she’d make the most of it.

  Damon surged to his feet, fists planted on narrow hips. “Just because Travis wants Lily to live there doesn’t mean she will. You can take your—”

  Lily stood and moved beside him, laying a hand on his forearm. “I’ll do it,” she said firmly.

  A muscle ticked in Damon’s jaw but before he could reply, Crawford closed his briefcase, dropped a set of keys in Lily’s hand and headed for the door. “My number is on that letter with the offer. Let me know if you need anything.” Then he all but ran from the house.

  Damon narrowed his eyes, watching the retreat. “Coward.” He swung toward her and fixed her with the intensity of his unflinching gaze. “You can’t live there.”

  Lily gathered all her courage to face the immovability of Damon once he’d decided on a path. But she had to do this, for her very sanity. She raised her chin. “I can and I will. I told you I’m leaving.”

  Features controlled, he grasped her fingers and brought their joined hands to rest on the muscled wall of his chest. “Lily, he’s only doing this to make sure he’s driven a wedge between us. He’s using you to attack me. He’d do anything to hurt me.”

  The gall of his hypocrisy astounded her for a second, before she yanked her hand free. The pain of being insignificant to the man she loved beside his obsession with destruction slammed once again into her heart. “That sounds familiar,” she hissed, barely restraining her anger. “I think someone else admitted that same fault recently—willing to do anything to hurt their ‘enemy.’”

  “This is different.” The certainty in his ice-blue eyes reinforced that he had no understanding of how damaged his dark soul was.

  Her shoulders slumped as all fight left her. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care why he’s done it, he has. And I’m moving.”

  She turned to the staircase. Being this close to the man who would never truly be hers was torture, as if a thousand jagged knives pierced her very soul.

  She needed to get her bags and get out of here. And haste was an absolute priority. Every extra minute in his company added another unbearable blade to the relentless attack.

  Damon stepped into her path, tall, solid, inflexible. “You were looking for an excuse to leave me,” he accused, eyes narrowed. “You never had any intention of giving this marriage a real go—you had one foot out the door from the beginning.”

  She grimaced. How could he even need to ask this? “Because the foot inside the door was dragged there, not invited in. You bribed me into the vows. Moved my furniture to your room without my consent.”

  He didn’t get it. Just didn’t get it. And her heart squeezed painfully at the knowledge that he never would.

  His expression changed and for the first time since Crawford’s visit, honest emotion emerged in his eyes—need. “I don’t want you to go,” he rasped.

  Too little, too late. “We don’t always get what we want, Damon. And sometimes the only answer you can have is no.”

  She turned and ascended the staircase, catching a flash of the vulnerability on his face as she did. But she couldn’t let herself worry about him anymore. She had to prepare for the move to her new home. Alone.

  Eight

  A fter two hours of packing and driving, Lily stepped into the foyer of Travis Blakely’s mansion, a cold trickle of dread running through her veins. The old man’s words had repeated over and over in her mind on the drive.

  “Take care of the baby. Tell him about me.”

  Though it might sound absurd to people who had known and despised him, Lily wondered whether Travis, in his last days, had indeed caught a glimpse of what it truly meant to be human. Whether, after leading a manipulative, selfish existence, in the end he, too, had wanted to be loved or at least remembered. The little girl in her—the one who’d yearned for her parents to notice her, to want her—understood.

  His actions to Damon were unforgivable; she could never condone or excuse the damage he’d wreaked on the vulnerable child or the man Damon had become. But Gran’s mantra had always been, hate the sin, love the sinner. It was how Gran had coped with her son’s treatment of his own child, Lily. Gran had made sure Lily was no longer neglected, but she’d also made peace with her son in her heart long before his death.

  Lily looked from the sweeping white marble staircase to the black-tiled ballroom entranceway—each facet of the decor reflected the coldness of its owner’s heart.

  Perhaps loving this sinner was too much to ask. But compassion? A little compassion she could spare for a fellow human being. Or try to.

  And if you allow a drop of compassion for him, her heart whispered, shouldn’t you confer the same to his nephew?

  Instinctively, her hands went to her slightly rounded belly. No. As much as she’d like to forgive and trust Damon, she simply couldn’t risk it. Access visits to their child when he was on his best, charming behavior was the limit of what she could afford. Constant contact would be a danger to the emotional well-being of both her and her child. She wouldn’t allow anything to blur or erase that knowledge.

  A plump man with a large walrus mustache shuffled toward her, interrupting her reverie. “Oh, Mrs. Blakely, we’re glad you’re here.”

  She’d always liked the man who acted as butler and chef rolled into one. There was a small staff to help, but Thomas ran this house.

  She smiled for the first time in hours—since before she’d been summoned here earlier in the day…before she’d found out about the depths of the darkness in her husband’s soul.

  Even as she’d left and Damon had loaded the suitcase into her car, his silence had screamed his guilt. The proud jut of his jaw had broken away her last remnant of hope.

  She took the last step toward the butler as he reached her. “Thomas, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  He pulled her into a bear hug, something he’d never done before.

  Confused, she allowed the hug, then pulled back. “Thomas?”

  Eyebrows pinched together, he shuddered out a breath and shook his head. “We’ve had a call from the nurse. Mr. Blakely passed away fifteen minutes ago.”

  Lily felt the blood drain from her face. He’d died while she was driving to his house with his last words to her replaying in her mind. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

  At a lock clicking behind her, she and Thomas both turned to see Damon standing framed by the opened door, at his feet the suitcase she recognized from their trip to New Zealand.

  “Honey, I’m home,” he said with a wry smile.

  Irritation surged that he’d followed her, but she had to acknowledge that part of her had known he would. Of course he would. And that same part of her wanted to be close to him, even now. To touch his solidness and be held.

  But she pushed the tumult of emotions aside because, regardless of her physical reactions and his deplorable behavior, Damon’s last immediate relative, besides their unborn baby, had just died.

  How would he react to the news? Probably relieved—his contempt for his uncle would barely permit more, yet she couldn’t be sure. She knew only that she needed to be the person to tell him.

  Lily moved to his side and sought his eyes. “Damon, your uncle passed away a little while ago.”

  He stiffened, eyes boring into hers, but gave no clue to which emotion the news evoked.

  Thomas mov
ed forward. “If there’s anything I can do…”

  Damon’s eyes flicked to Thomas. “No.” He shook his head, as if shaking off a passing mood. “You probably had more affection for him than anyone, Thomas, and I know that wasn’t much. I’m well aware he had to pay for your loyalty.”

  Thomas shrugged, a confused sadness in his eyes. “He wasn’t an easy man to work for, but I won’t speak ill of the dead.”

  Damon gave a curt nod. “Tell the others that regardless of what happens with the estate, I’ll make sure they’re taken care of.”

  Lily held back a gasp. He’d take care of them? It was her place, surely, to take care of the house and its inhabitants? But she held back the words as they balanced on her lips. Of course Damon would think this way. And for many reasons, it wasn’t the time to start arguments. She’d let it slide this once.

  But just this once—she was through having her life dictated by Damon Blakely.

  “Thank you.” Thomas began to say more, blinked, closed his mouth then walked away.

  Once they were alone, Damon thrust his hands into his pockets and looked around. “I guess this is all yours, sweetheart.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself in a futile attempt to ward off the ugliness of the whole situation. It seemed too cold to be calculating a dead man’s assets so soon after his passing. “I’m not comfortable talking about this yet.”

  He let out a scornful laugh. “Come on, Lily. Don’t tell me you’re mourning that despot.”

  “No…not really. It’s just…within a few hours, I’ve been lobbed into this house and a fortune—” and heard the truth about the man I love and his view of me and our marriage “—I guess I feel…actually, I don’t know how I feel.”

  “Understandable. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve inherited all my uncle’s assets.”

  She looked up, searching his face for hidden meaning. “I told you I’d share it with you.”

  He shook his head in slow, almost methodical movements. “It’s all yours. I only ever wanted BlakeCorp.”

  Lily felt her jaw slacken. Was he serious? “I thought you’d want it all, or at least half. Even Travis expected court battles.”

  “Perhaps Travis didn’t know me as well as he thought he did.” He raised one eyebrow and the implication hung in the air, that she’d unfairly judged him, too.

  Had she? Discovering that Damon had been waging a war of destruction against his uncle without her even suspecting had shown her many things, including the more she knew about Damon, the less she knew about him.

  If you allow a drop of compassion for Travis, her heart repeated, shouldn’t you confer the same to his nephew?

  Yet…Damon seemed to live for acquisitions. “Even if you hate the house, you still must have expected it’d come to you?”

  He shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “This property is small peanuts. My portfolio is worth more than ten times what Travis was at his peak. A house here or there barely registers.”

  She frowned and watched him walk back to his luggage, bring it in and close the door. Could it be that simple? A mere issue of sums and figures, with no consideration of Damon’s driving force—ownership. Possession. Retribution.

  If there was more to this laying down of his sword, he wasn’t ready to share details. She could see that from the set of his shoulders. The closed angles of his face. He’d spring the surprise of his true motives on her at some stage…but this time, she’d be expecting it.

  Damon was only generous when it suited his purpose. He’d taught her that well.

  She wrapped a hand around her throat, knowing it was a defensive move even as she made it. “However we do it, I consider my portion belongs to our baby. And that’s only if there are no challenges to the will.”

  He waved a hand, tossing the idea aside. “I’m the only one who’d have a claim to challenge. And I told you I won’t. It’s yours.” He moved over to a hall table and picked up a crystal bowl in casual assessment. “Will you sell?”

  “No.” She swallowed convulsively. “There was some fine print in his will that I only noticed when Crawford’s letter pointed it out. I can’t sell. I only inherit if I keep it so it can be passed to the baby in turn.”

  Replacing the bowl, he stretched his arms wide, taking in the interior of his childhood home. “So rent it out. Leave it here to rot.” He lifted one shoulder then dropped it in a nonchalant gesture of disinterest. “Let the Dog Protection Society use it as kennels. But don’t live in it. It’s as cold as a coffin.”

  “I have to.” Her voice wavered and she cursed it. This wasn’t something she needed to be anxious about. She had a plan.

  He turned back to face her, eyes trained on hers. “Why?”

  She took a breath, held it, then released it slowly. “That was the rest of the fine print. I inherit only if I don’t sell, and I live in it for at least twelve months.”

  Damon swore. “Then forfeit. Nothing is worth that.”

  “I wouldn’t just lose the house. I’d lose everything. The money. BlakeCorp. Everything.” She couldn’t do it to her baby or Gran, or even Damon, despite what he’d done. They might have no future, but she wouldn’t be another person to deny him his birthright. “It’d all go to your cousin, Mark.”

  He held her gaze, unmoving, face impassive, and a vague cloud of suspicion filtered through her mind. Why didn’t he react to the possibility of losing BlakeCorp? His lack of concern didn’t make sense. But before she could make any meaning of the thought, Damon closed the distance between them.

  He took her hands, gripping firmly. “Travis is trying to flex his muscle from beyond the grave.” His jaw hardened. “We can’t let him win.”

  For several seconds, she soaked up his touch, his nearness, his heat, before stepping back, out of his reach. “I have no intention of letting him win. I’m going to beat him at his own game.”

  His forehead wrinkled in disbelief. “By doing what he tells you?”

  “No. By making this old place a home.” A place of stability and security that could never be taken away. No one could gamble away her child’s clothes and toys. No one would force her child to move on before she or he even made friends or settled into school. No one would ever have that power again.

  She crossed her arms under her breasts, holding the thought close to her heart. “I can make it something worth inheriting.” And then, despite the maneuverings of Travis, she’d have had the last say in the whole affair.

  Damon regarded her with an expression bordering on pity. “This house is a lost cause.” He extended a hand. “Come home with me.”

  Lily took a step back. She had her plan worked out. She’d be independent, a home owner. And no one, no one, would ever again use her as a pawn for their own ends—by buying a stake in a poker match, or marrying her to access a will—again. She squared her shoulders and met his gaze. “I’ll transform it. Make it into a home. Don’t worry about me, I want to be here.”

  He stepped closer, following her retreat, and cupped her shoulders. “I’m not leaving you and our baby alone at night waiting for thieves, or worse. By morning the world will know Travis Blakely is dead and it’s no secret the contents of this place are valuable. It may have been an excuse for getting you here, but Travis was right about that. I won’t leave you vulnerable.”

  A shudder ran down her spine at the thought of being in this cold house late at night, pregnant, alone but for staff at the other end of the building. She’d likely lie awake listening to every little bump and creak. To know Damon was down the hall…she’d be safe.

  But after breaking up with him, she couldn’t ask it. She licked dry lips. “The house has an elaborate security system. And three live-in staff. If it was enough to protect a sick, dying man, it’ll be enough to protect me.”

  Damon’s mouth set in a grim line. “If you’re staying, then so am I.” He retraced his steps to the door and picked up his luggage. “We’ll take the main bedroom in the north wing.”
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  Lily sat on the edge of the bed in the south-wing bedroom she’d moved to. She’d changed into a satin lilac nightgown and was ready to turn in, but something stopped her.

  Restless, she crossed to the dresser, picked up a sheaf of papers and began to flick through the plans she’d sketched for the revamping of the mansion. She’d had the ideas and hadn’t wanted to waste time, so had asked Thomas to bring her a tray instead of going down for dinner. The side benefit was avoiding another confrontation with Damon over the dinner table.

  Damon. At the thought of him, her restlessness escalated and her blood heated. Thinking of the way the warmth of his hands could suffuse the fabric of her clothes to warm her right through. The seductive timbre of his voice. Memories of the hot slide of naked bodies in the dark of night.

  Her core throbbed and her skin tingled with awareness. How would she go through her life, never lying with him again? Never rising to the heights that only he could take her?

  And yet she couldn’t give in to her body’s insistent clamoring for his lovemaking. She had to keep her distance. They’d been down this path before and it led to heartbreak….

  So why, she asked herself, was her hand on the doorknob?

  She let out a long sigh. If she were completely honest, she had to admit something, even if only to herself. She wanted Damon with a blinding need. He was down the hall. He was her husband. And it didn’t have to mean anything. Didn’t have to mean they had a future.

  The morning after they’d arrived back in Australia, married, he’d said maybe all that mattered was how right it felt when they made love, and they’d handle the aftermath when it happened.

  Come. Live in the moment with me, he’d said.

  Her eyes drifted closed as she contemplated sneaking into his room, climbing under the covers, perhaps finding him naked, welcoming her. The vision left her light-headed with craving.

  Maybe she could live in the moment just once more….

  Pulse racing, Lily opened the door and padded silently down the hall. She’d regret this tomorrow, but right now the need to touch him, to be touched, was something she could no longer deny or control.