Patricia Seeley - The Millionaire Meets His Match

Gabe Preston had assessed the woman on the far side of the fence with a single, trained glance. Now he made a show of giving her a slow once-over, head to toe, just to see how she’d react. Nice legs, he thought fleetingly, as she reflexively retreated a step or two despite the obvious protection of the wrought iron gate standing between them.

Everything about her was all wrong. Her dressed-forsuccess suit was damp and wrinkled with heat and perspiration, but the style was a mistake in any case. The straight, clean lines of the short jacket and slim skirt had trouble accommodating the lush curves of her body which spoiled the intended silhouette.

The haircut was equally amiss. Some hair stylist’s fantasy of sleek sophistication, it clearly was supposed to have a sculpted appearance. Instead, her thick, dark hair was windblown and tousled. It curled and waved around her face damply, destroying the elegant simplicity she probably hoped for.

In short, she was a mess, albeit an attractive one, right down to the guarded but obviously distressed expression in her hazel eyes. Gabe was intrigued in spite of himself. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what it’s about,” he advised her.

Was Cass only imagining a change in his voice or did he really sound concerned now? Here was her opportunity, yet she balked at telling her story to a stranger. He would think her ridiculous and no doubt refuse to help.

“I can only say it’s urgent,” she hedged. “A matter of life and death, really. Please, won’t you let me in?” She read surprise and doubt but also hesitation in his unguarded eyes. Desperately she searched for a way to tip the balance in her favor. “I...I’ll pay you,” she added, fumbling at the catch of her purse.

For a moment the gardener looked stunned. Then he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

Cass didn’t understand what he found so funny. Did Mrs. Crosswhite pay this man so well he didn’t need any extra money, or was it the notion that Cass could have enough in her purse to interest him that he found so hilarious? Regardless, she seemed to have forfeited what little headway she’d made. Any spark of compassion she might have glimpsed in the gardener’s eyes had been extinguished by amusement. She snapped her purse shut

“Excuse me,” the man said, recovering himself and taking note of Cass’s stony expression. “I suppose that must seem like a logical offer to you. And it probably sounds hypocritical to say, standing in front of a place like this—” his arm made a sweeping gesture encompassing the estate grounds “—that money can’t buy everything. But it can’t, you know. That’s the first thing you learn when you’re around people who have lots of it.”

He leaned against the wrought iron bars of the fence, so close Cass could hear him breathe. He lowered his voice to acknowledge their new proximity. “Money is also no guarantee of sincerity, I’m afraid. No,” he said, shaking his head, “you’ll have to find some other way to convince me to let you in.” Then he made a deliberate show of giving her a slow once-over, head to toe, and grinned wickedly as he met her gaze.

Chapter Two

Cass glowered at the smiling gardener, trying without success to ignore the physical sensations that flooded through her body when she looked into his laughing green eyes. She was certain she knew exactly what this man expected her to offer by way of a bribe.

She wasn’t willing to go that far to see Mrs. Crosswhite. There had to be some other way to get inside the fence. But before she left this gate, admitting temporary defeat, she could still salvage a minor triumph. It would be a real pleasure to slap the smirk off the gardener’s face. “Just what do you have in mind?” she asked with studied innocence.

‘Well...” the man stepped back and made another exaggerated survey of her through half-closed eyes veiled by dark lashes. He smiled slowly. ”You could climb the fence.”

Cass stared at him, uncomprehending, so prepared for him to say something else that she could muster no response to what he actually said.

“You see,” he continued, “if I were to go back to my digging and you were to climb the fence while I wasn’t looking, then you could say that you’d become lost on the way to the house, and I’d have to show you there. It wouldn’t be as though I’d actually let you in. Once you’re on the grounds, you’re presumed to be a guest and I’d have to show you every courtesy.” The gardener’s grin was even wider now, and more knowing. He’d guessed the kind of proposition Cass expected and was enjoying her speechless confusion.

His smug good humor irritated her, not least because she knew how unfairly she’d judged him. She’d taken for granted he felt the same physical attraction that kept intruding, unbidden, into her own thoughts. Then she’d compounded that error by assuming he was the sort of man to take advantage of a woman in a difficult situation.

Cass narrowed her eyes in deliberation as she studied first the tall iron fence, then the gardener. If he was on a power trip, it was different from anything she’d seen before. He looked more like a kid who’d just dared his best friend to try something that would get them both in trouble. She glanced at the fence again. From the corner of her eye she saw the gardener’s eyebrows lift, as if he didn’t really believe she would even consider his bizarre proposal.

Cass took off her shoes and thrust them through the iron bars at the gardener. “Hold these,” she instructed, handing him her purse next, then shedding the boxy jacket of her suit. She hitched her skirt up to midthigh. Giving one last peek at the gardener’s astonished face, she proceeded to scale the fence with easy athletic grace. At the top she hiked her skirt higher and held on to it with one hand while she jumped down onto the grass of the Crosswhite estate, landing lightly with a deep flex of her knees. She stood up, dusting imaginary grass stains from her hands, then walked over to the gardener. “Thank you,” she said as she retrieved her clothes and put on her lowheeled pumps.

The gardener laughed again. This time Cass felt oddly pleased to have provoked the rich tenor explosion of delight.

“I can see you didn’t misspend your youth in smoky pool halls,” he said. “You must have been the local tomboy.”

“I still am,” Cass said proudly, defying him to contradict her. Her heart had begun pounding in delayed reaction to her reckless act.

“You’ll get no argument from me,” he said. He threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“Good. Then just tell me where to find Mrs. Crosswhite and you can go back to what you were doing.”

He reached for the white T-shirt lying on the grass and quickly pulled it on. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” he began.

Cass bridled instantly. “What? I thought we had a deal? You said—”

“Easy, girl, easy! I’m not reneging. I’m just trying to explain to you that I have to go with you. You’ll never find Emilie without a guide. Any of her employees would toss you out before you had a chance to look for her unless you’re with someone they know. They’re a very protective bunch. So stick with me, and I’ll do all the talking if anyone stops us. Got it?”

“Got it,” Cass said, tucking her damp blouse back into the equally damp waistband of her skirt. She decided to carry her jacket, at least until they reached the house.

“Good.” The gardener reached for her hand and tugged lightly to start her moving. He kept hold of her hand as they walked, even though it was clear to Cass they were simply heading in a straight line across the grassy expanse of lawn toward the imposing manor house. The huge hand enveloping hers comforted Cass, like a promise of safe passage through the terrors of life. She felt a surge of optimism. She had made it inside the gates. She was going to see Mrs. Crosswhite. Everything could work out, after all.

They came up on the rear of the house, threading their way through an elaborate English-style garden with a maze of box hedges. They crossed a broad brick patio to a set of French doors, which the gardener pulled open, gesturing for Cass to go inside. She hesitated, watching him kneel down to unlace and kick off his boots before entering the house himself.

Once inside he crossed rapidly to a wall phone and picked it up, not bothering to dial. A few moments later he said, “Mark? I’m in the morning room. Would you ask Emilie to meet me here? I’ve brought her an unexpected guest.”

The morning room. That was a good name for it. It would be even more impressive in the early hours of the day than it was now in late afternoon. Huge windows and glass doors allowed the sunlight to bathe every corner. Beautiful healthy-looking plants flaunted their rainbow hues everywhere—tall ones standing in pots on the floor, smaller ones resting on tables or hanging in baskets from overhead hooks. White wicker furniture accented with overstuffed cushions in a green and yellow floral pattern completed the motif. Cass could have believed she was standing in a furnished greenhouse, except the air was deliciously cool.

The gardener hung up the phone and flopped into one of the flowered chairs. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said.

Comfort was an impossibility at that moment, despite the cultivated charm of the room. Cass was too worried about her impending interview with Mrs. Crosswhite. She tried to mentally compose herself, but found herself distracted by questions about the man who had brought her this far in her quest to rescue Crudley. He’d twice referred to Mrs Crosswhite as “Emilie.” The first time, Cass had dismissed it, assuming he was being flippant about his employer in the way many employees are when the boss is out of earshot. Now she was forced to consider whether she had completely mistaken this man’s function at Crosswhite Manor and his relationship with its owner.

He seemed perfectly at ease inside the residence. He’d let himself in without a second’s thought, removing his boots first with what might be interpreted as proprietary care. He knew where the house phone was and used it to issue a rather peremptory summons for Mrs. Crosswhite. Now he lounged casually in a chair, awaiting the great lady’s arrival while encouraging Cass to make herself comfortable, too, as though he had every right to bring anyone into this house on any terms he chose. Who was he?

Cass licked her lips nervously. At this point he was her only ally. She’d tried lying to him, ordering him around and finally bribing him to worm her way inside the gate. He’d laughed all that off and helped her, anyway. Would he have let her in the gate if she hadn’t taken up his ridiculous challenge to scale the fence? She had no clue. It made her uneasy, though, having to worry about his motives and his pull with the woman whose help she’d come to request.

Cass pulled on the jacket to her suit and smoothed it as best she could, then ran her fingers through her wildly disarrayed hair trying to restore it to some semblance of neatness. She perched carefully on the edge of a chair and flicked a quick look at her guide. He was watching her with continuing frank amusement. She suppressed her irritation and forced herself to meet his laughing eyes. “Thank you for helping me,” she said.

He shrugged. “We had a deal. Maybe you’d better tell me your name, though. It will make the introductions easier when Emilie arrives.”

“Cass Appleton.”

“Gabe Preston. Nice to meet you.”

She nodded, then they lapsed into silence for several minutes.

The door opened abruptly. A tiny white-haired woman floated in wearing a long silvery gown that made her look like an earthbound cherub. She turned immediately to the gardener, who’d risen automatically at the sound of her arrival. “Gabriel, darling,” she said, lifting her smooth powdered cheek for a kiss.