The Impostor Prince. Tanya Crosby Anne

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      He was her father’s good friend. Her best friend’s father.

      “In fact,” he continued. “I might even be persuaded to make the loan a gift.”

      Claire shook her head. “My lord—”

      “You needn’t answer just now,” he said, and opened a drawer. He removed a card. “Take some time. Think about it. And if my offer does not suit you, I know a man who may be able to assist you in locating your brother.”

      He snatched his pen from the inkwell and scratched something on the card.

      “Thank you,” Claire said numbly. She stood, her mind reeling. “I’m so sorry for having burdened you.”

      Her stomach turned.

      He handed her the card. “Keep in mind that Ben is a grown man,” he said. “And whatever befalls him is of his own doing.”

      “Yes…thank you,” Claire repeated. “Please…give my love to Lexie when she awakens.”

      “Of course, my dear.”

      Claire didn’t wait for him to see her out.

      She hurried to collect her belongings and practically ran out the door, clutching the card in her hand.

      It wasn’t until she reached the street that she dared even to examine it. On one side of the calling card was Lord Huntington’s full name and address. Scribbled on the other side was the name and the address of one Wes Cameron, Private Investigator.

      She shuddered, uncertain whether it was Lord Huntington’s offer or the name and address he’d offered her that caused it.

      Tears pricked at her eyes as she walked down the street toward Highbury Hall.

      They were neighbors, for God’s sake!

      She had supped with his entire family!

      She had considered Lady Huntington a second mother in the absence of her own, and Claire and Lexie had practically grown up together, spending summers at each other’s country estates.

      The idea of lying with Lord Huntington—and more—was worse than unthinkable—it was utterly distasteful. It would be tantamount to carrying on with her own father.

      First thing in the morning, she would seek out Wes Cameron. It was the only acceptable solution.

       Chapter Six

       T he following morning, Ian awoke fully dressed sprawled atop a strange bed.

      Disoriented by the unfamiliar environs, he tried to regain his bearings.

      London.

      Berkeley Square.

      He was lying on an enormous bed, pretending to be someone else, with no one seemingly the wiser.

      And thanks to complete exhaustion, he’d had the first sound night’s sleep he’d enjoyed in nearly six months.

      He lay still a moment, determining how best to proceed and wondering how Merrick fared in Glen Abbey. Had he revealed himself as yet? Or did he, too, have cause to hold his tongue?

      Only time would tell.

      One thing was certain—the man was bound to have had one hell of a headache after Ian’s head butt. Only Angus McPherson had a harder head than Ian.

      Morning light streamed in through draperies that had, apparently, never been drawn. The sun’s rays cut a gilded path across the room, illuminating the figure of a man seated cross-legged on the bare floor at the far end of the apartment.

      The unexpected presence gave Ian a start.

      It took him a groggy instant to realize it was only Ryo, who sat facing the bed, his eyes closed. He remained still, his palms resting on his thighs. Was he praying? Meditating?

      In either case, what the devil was he doing in Merrick’s bedroom?

      “You are awake, denka,” the little man said, though he hadn’t bothered to open his eyes.

      Ian dragged a hand across his whiskers. “Bloody hell! It’s damned fortunate for me that you weren’t bent on my demise,” he groused. “I never even heard you enter the room.”

      The foreigner opened his eyes, tilting Ian an undecipherable glance. “A man at peace has little to fear. But he who seeks revenge should remember to dig two graves,” he said cryptically.

      A warning?

      Ryo sat unmoving, his passive posture scarcely any threat. Ian studied him, wondering what role he played in Merrick’s life. It was quickly becoming apparent he was something more than a driver.

      A bodyguard, perhaps?

      But the notion nearly made Ian laugh out loud. Ryo was hardly of a stature to protect himself, much less anyone else. And yet, he had somehow managed to evade Rusty Broun.

      “You have much to do today,” the little man announced, ceasing with the riddles and disregarding Ian’s scrutiny. “Your father wishes an audience. He was much displeased that you did not seek him at once upon your return.”

      So bloody what.

      Let the bastard wait.

      Considering how best to evade everyone for the remainder of the day, and Ryo in particular, Ian dragged himself to the edge of the bed to remove his boots.

      Ryo was right about one thing: Ian did have much to do today. However, none of it had a bloody thing to do with Ryo’s, Merrick’s or his father’s agenda.

      “I must first speak with you regarding a matter of some importance,” Ryo said.

      Ian grimaced. He wasn’t entirely certain he wished to hear what the man had to say. He stood and turned his back to Ryo, pretending to occupy himself with his morning ministrations.

      Someone, presumably Ryo, had arranged a fresh set of clothing upon the valet at the foot of the bed. Ian examined the shirt he was wearing, unbuttoned the wrinkled garment, removed it and tossed it upon the bed, glad for the change of clothes.

      So, he determined, Ryo was a driver, a bodyguard, a secretary and a valet. What else?

      “I have a tale I wish to share, if you will allow it.”

      “Go on,” Ian allowed, though reluctantly.

      “In my country,” Ryo began without further invitation, “there is the tale of a man whose horse escaped him and wandered into the territory of the northern tribes.”

      Whatever he’d expected the man to share, it certainly wasn’t a blessed bedtime story. He cast Ryo a questioning glance.

      Ryo ignored it, continuing with his tale. “Everyone consoled this man, except his father, who said, ‘Perhaps СКАЧАТЬ