The Tycoon's Socialite Bride (Entangled Indulgence) Page 5

  “I’ll send you the information for the gala,” she said, rising to her feet.

  What just happened? Had he really just agreed to forsake a written contract?

  He offered her his arm and she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. They descended the steps and walked in silence to the waiting car.

  After he opened the car door for her, she turned to him and said, “We’ll give you a ride back to Cahill’s.”

  “That’s all right. I’ll take a cab.”

  He removed her hand from his elbow and cupped it in his own, then ran his thumb over the velvet texture of her skin, intrigued by the surprising beauty of their contrasting skin tones.

  He’d failed miserably trying to convince himself this evening was about business. Still, even knowing the danger he was courting, he couldn’t let the night end with only a handshake. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss lasted only a moment. Heat flooded his body and he wanted more of her, but instead stepped back.

  Her lashes flew upward, revealing wide eyes and dilated pupils. Her mouth slightly open, she took a step toward him, then bit her lip, spun back, and climbed into the dark interior.

  He watched the glowing taillights fade in the distance.

  Would he regret going down this path to get the Holcombe? This woman had the potential to demolish his plans—a human wrecking ball. Was he making a huge mistake?

  Chapter Six

  Marcus strode into the foyer of the Harrington Estate, anticipation coursing through him. Holcombe would be at the Harringtons’ gala tonight, and Marcus couldn’t wait to face the man. He shifted impatiently, waiting along with a long line of attendees to be allowed entrance. Through the years, he’d played the scenario over and over in his mind, imagining every word he would say, every disdainful expression that would cross his face. When he’d been in danger of giving up, defeated from working two jobs and taking a full collegiate course load, he got all the motivation he needed by imagining the moment he would come face to face with David Holcombe.

  His mother used to urge him to leave what happened in the past and move on, the way she had. But he found it hard to forget. Impossible to forgive. He vowed he would set it right for her, and getting the Holcombe was the culmination of every action he’d taken since her death.

  When it was his turn, he gave his name to a young woman with a clipboard.

  “One moment, Mr. Pearson.” She spoke into her radio and a minute later, Pamela was crossing the room toward them.

  His body tightened. His eyes followed the dips and curves of her figure swathed in deep red fabric. “Hi.”

  “Um…hello.” Her gaze met his for a brief second, then slid slowly down his form, resting first on his chest, then his hips, and then…

  He fought back a grin. Pamela Harrington was checking him out. Now that was damned sexy. He cleared his throat, and instantly her gaze flew back to his and hints of pink flushed her cheekbones. She clenched her hands into fists.

  “You look beautiful,” he said. “The color of your dress brings out the green in your eyes. Stunning, really.”

  The pink in her cheeks bloomed, but she didn’t look away. “I appreciate the compliment, although the word ‘stunning’ may be excessive.”

  He reached out, caressed her elbow for a moment, then moved closer to her. Close enough to catch a whiff of her perfume. “Believe me, it’s not strong enough…,” he murmured.

  She cleared her throat. “We have a problem.”

  His stomach plummeted. “Did Holcombe not show?”

  “No, he’s here.”

  Marcus felt light-headed. He let out a huge breath. “Good. What’s the issue, then?”

  Rather than responding, Pamela gestured for him to follow. Nodding to a few people, she hurried to a small alcove hidden behind the propped-open double doors that led into the ballroom.

  “Do you have your phone?”

  “Always.”

  He gave it to her, and she immediately began tapping on the screen. When she handed it back to him, he read the gossip column she’d pulled up:

  Socialite Pamela Harrington and real estate mogul Marcus Pearson were spotted at the courthouse. Sources say wedding bells are in their future. Sorry, Mr. Wentworth, you snooze, you lose.

  If the tension that stiffened Pamela’s shoulders was any indication, this was not good.

  “I told you this would happen. Forty-eight hours! That’s how long it took for the information to leak from the courthouse.” She was wired, scurrying back and forth in the small space.

  He grabbed her shoulders. “You were right, but the information’s out there and we can’t recall it. What do we do?”

  “The website caters to the young movers and shakers in DC. Most of the people here are old guard. They may not have seen this. But we’ll need to talk to the Senator.”

  He followed her through the arched entryway into the ballroom. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the high ceilings, and the hardwood floors were polished to a reflective shine. The sounds of conversation and the clinking of glasses competed with the music playing softly in the background.

  “This is a beautiful house.”

  “The estate has been in my family for several generations. My great-great-grandfather, Jeremiah Harrington, built the main house in the 1920s, and since then each generation has added to it until it’s what you see today.”

  He grabbed two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter, handed her one, then strolled next to her around the perimeter of the room, stopping to check out the items up for bid in the silent auction.

  “Pamela!”

  His heart pounded in his chest. That voice was imprinted on his psyche in permanent marker. It was thinner than he remembered, but just as pompous.

  Pamela faced him and straightened his bow tie. “Are you ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Here they come. Hello, David.” Pamela held her hands out and let the older man draw her in and press a kiss on both of her cheeks.

  Marcus didn’t move, couldn’t breathe as he stood two feet away from the man who’d ruined his mother and changed his life. The years had not been kind to David Holcombe. His blond hair was thinning and there was more flesh along his jawline and a thickness around his midsection that hadn’t been there years ago. But it was him. Marcus would never forget those cold eyes or the haughtily curled upper lip.

  “Pamela, you resemble your mother more with each passing year.” Holcombe patted her hand. “What a magnificent turnout!” He pulled a handkerchief from his inside coat pocket and dabbed at the sweat on his baby bottom–smooth forehead. “I told Vivian if we attended only one party this year, it had to be a Harrington affair.”

  He turned to the slight brunette standing next to him, but she wasn’t paying attention. Vivian Holcombe, dripping in diamonds and pearls, clutched a champagne flute and swayed to a melody only she could hear.

  “We’re thrilled you could make it,” Pamela said. “David and Vivian, please allow me to introduce you to Marcus Pearson.”

  Holcombe bared his teeth and extended his hand. “Pearson. Should I know that name?”

  You damn well will know it soon enough.

  Pamela let out a superficial giggle. “David, I’m surprised at you. The entire business world knows his name. Forbes named him one of the top CEOs under thirty-five. Pearson Enterprises is responsible for some of the most successful property launches in years, with projects in New York, California, and Arizona. But he got a lot of notice recently for constructing top-quality affordable housing in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina.”

  Her defense touched him. She really had Googled him.

  Holcombe focused on him with laser-like precision. “If Pamela Harrington vouches for you, you must be an exceptional young man. My family has also done well in real estate.”

  “How so?”

  “For generations we’ve owned one of the most successful boutique hotels in the District. You’ve probably heard of it
, the Holcombe?”

  Marcus tipped his head.

  Holcombe straightened and frowned. “You must be new to our city if you haven’t heard of the Holcombe. We’ve hosted heads of state, foreign dignitaries, rock stars.”

  The man had misinterpreted his acknowledgement. “I do know of the Holcombe, actually. As it happens, I’m not new to DC. I grew up here.”

  “Marcus is a native, David,” Pamela said, moving close to him and slipping her hand into his, in an obvious effort to calm the tension rising in him.

  The breathless quality of her tone sent a rush of desire straight to his groin. Where had that come from? He looked down at her and she widened her eyes comically. Getting the hint, he released her hand and slid an arm around her waist, pulling her close. The impact sent waves of heat through his body.

  “I didn’t know you were dating again,” David interrupted, his voice grating on the mood. “Senator Harrington didn’t mention it the last time we spoke.”

  “I’m sure he has more things to do than worry about my dating life.”

  “Oh, my God. Is it true?” A female voice broke through the conversation.

  Pamela stiffened and Marcus turned to see the source of her tension. A young blond woman in a blue dress alternated between staring at her phone and the both of them.

  “Is what true?”

  “It’s all over District Dish. Are you two getting married?”

  Vivian shifted, the sudden movement taking them by surprise. “How lovely!” She directed an unsteady smile at her glass and drained its contents in one swallow, then exchanged the empty glass for a full one off the tray of a passing waiter. Lifting it high, she toasted, “To the happy couple.”

  Her slurred words failed to carry the message, so she tried again, announcing loudly and clearly, “They’re engaged, darlings. Pamela Harrington is engaged!”

  “No!” Pamela clutched Marcus’s arm, her eyes going wide. He followed her gaze, watching as each small group learned the news. “Not like this. He can’t hear this from strangers.”

  She stumbled away from him, heading for her father, who was holding court across the room with the secretary of commerce and the CEO of a major computing company. Damn. Marcus couldn’t let her approach her father now. What would she say? He stepped in front of her and placed his hands on her forearms, his broad shoulders blocking her view.

  “Marcus, not now. I have to go. I have to get to the Senator before—”

  “Calm down. We can do this. And this might help.”

  Closing his eyes briefly and sighing, he pulled the small black velvet box from his pocket. He’d bought it the day before, after their visit to the courthouse. He wasn’t sure when he would give it to her, but something made him bring it tonight and now it appeared his decision would come in handy. He flipped open the lid to reveal a square-cut diamond with a simple platinum band.

  Pamela gasped, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. She reached out a finger and caressed the downy cushion. “I wasn’t expecting this,” she murmured, still staring at the ring.

  Nerves tightened his stomach. He slid the ring on her finger and kept his voice low. “Consider it part of the costume.”

  She held out her hand and the lights of the ballroom sparkled on the ring’s surface. She looked up and smiled…then froze. “It’s Alice.”

  “The woman you mentioned the other night? The one who’s been a mother figure to you?”

  “Yes. She’s on her way over here. She knows me better than anyone. If we can convince her, we might be able to pull this off.”

  “You never said a word,” Alice exclaimed, removing her glasses from her face and letting them hang on the platinum and diamond chain that hung around her neck.

  “I didn’t have a chance. Everything happened so quickly.”

  A bell chimed. “I have questions, but they’ll have to wait,” Alice said quietly, then raised her voice to be heard over the guests. “The first course will now be served in the Lilac Room.”

  People filed past and offered their congratulations on their way to dinner. In the commotion, Marcus lost track of the Holcombes and Pamela’s father.

  When the three of them were alone, Alice pulled Pamela into a tight hug.

  “I’m thrilled for you.” She stepped back and trailed a finger down Pamela’s cheek. “Hold on to this feeling for as long as you can.”

  Pamela laughed, the sound bubbling out of her bordering on hysteria. “Why?”

  “Senator Harrington wants to see you.”

  …

  Marcus took Pamela’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  Alice shook her head. “He doesn’t want to see the both of you, just Pamela.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Pamela said. She squeezed his hand, released it, and hurried away.

  “To say we were surprised would be an understatement,” Alice murmured.

  With reluctance, he pulled his gaze from Pamela’s retreating figure. Alice’s voice was gentle, but her eyes were shrewd as they locked on his.

  “Forgive me for being rude, but Pamela was worried about her father’s reaction to the news, and I don’t want her to deal with that on her own. Can you tell me where she’s going?”

  Her expression didn’t change. She studied him, like a puzzle she was trying to solve. Finally, her features softened and she smiled. “Good for you.” She slid her arm around his, and he instinctively crooked his elbow. They started walking, as if on a lazy afternoon stroll.

  “Pamela’s mother, Cissy, was a wonderful woman,” Alice continued. “Kind, generous, compassionate. Pamela is a lot like her, so you can forgive us for thinking she could assume the duties of first lady of the Harrington family.”

  Exiting the ballroom, Alice steered them left. Marcus concentrated on her words, aware that what she was telling him was important.

  “She’s also like Senator Harrington: determined, intelligent, driven. Which is why she doesn’t fit as easily into the role as he would like. When Cissy died, I wished he’d turned to Pamela, instead of in on himself. He loves her, he really does. But I think his expectations of Pamela are tied up in honoring his memories of Cissy.”

  They stopped in front of a small velvet rope, staffed by a large man in a black suit.

  “You can let Mr. Pearson through.” She patted Marcus’s arm. “Senator Harrington’s study is at the end of this corridor. Good luck.”

  Once the henchman granted him access, he walked down the passageway, the din of multiple conversations and clinking silverware fading until all he could hear was his own breathing.

  Ahead of him a deep raised voice came from a wooden door with brass handles that stood ajar. “Are you pregnant?” the man asked.

  “No!” Pamela’s voice. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “What else would explain that tasteless display? Honestly, Pamela, what are you thinking?”

  Realizing he’d come to the right place, he inched the door open and slid into a room with floor-to-ceiling bookcases and warm wood furnishings that embodied all his youthful illusions of how the upper class lived. It even smelled the way he’d imagined, an affluent mixture of citrus, pipe smoke, and leather.

  He didn’t try to hide his presence, but the man was so focused on his daughter he didn’t notice Marcus standing in the doorway.

  “I was the last person to know, in my own home, that my daughter was engaged. People I barely know approached me, offering their congratulations. Do you know how that made me look?”

  Pamela didn’t respond. She stared out the window, her posture tense, giving him an unobstructed view of the lovely expanse of honeyed skin along her back.

  “That dress,” Warren Harrington said, as if he’d read Marcus’s mind. “You’ve never worn something so…so exposed. Your mother would never have worn a dress like that. Did he tell you to wear it?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Both Harringtons turned at the sound of his voice. Although Marcus had directed his comment to the man on
his left, his gaze was glued to the woman at his right. He was struck, quite suddenly, by the resemblance between the two. A similarity around the nose and chin. An air of privilege that hovered over them.

  Senator Harrington’s eyes bulged. “You don’t belong back here. These are private quarters, for the family only.”

  How the man managed to look down his nose at him when Marcus still topped him by four inches, he didn’t know. Must be a trick entitled men learned in the womb. But Marcus hadn’t amassed his fortune by being easily intimidated.

  “I’m Marcus Pearson, sir. And soon, I will be family.”

  “If you think you can get to me through my daughter, then you are mistaken.”

  Harrington delivered the words with such antagonism Marcus was thrown off guard. The last time he’d been spoken to in that manner he’d been a boy, standing in the alley behind the Holcombe. His nostrils flared as if he could actually smell the rotten garbage baked by DC’s infamous humid heat.

  Pamela waved her arm at her father in an angry gesture of dismissal. “Not everything is about you. I can choose my own husband.”

  Marcus crossed the room to stand by her side, resting his hand on the small of her back. At the feel of her bare skin, his palm tingled and his fingers flexed involuntarily before settling firmly against her. She roused slightly, but didn’t move away.

  “This is not what I planned for you. He is not who I would have chosen.”

  “Why not? He’s smart, he’s successful, and he’s ambitious. What is it he lacks?”

  “I don’t know him. You’ve never mentioned his name, never introduced him to me, and now, you announce you’re getting married. Is my confusion totally inappropriate?”

  No, Marcus thought, it seemed very reasonable.

  “This isn’t about you not knowing him. You’re upset because you want to control every aspect of my life and I made this choice on my own.”

  “Which proves you need my help. On the Hill, I’m known for my judgment. There were times when I had to determine which projects to include in a bill and which to eliminate. Some of those decisions had a major impact on this country.”