The Duchess Contest: A Jet City Billionaire Serial Romance Read online

  "She's a socialite and minor celebrity in the UK. She was on a British TV show recently that traced her roots back to Helen. The episode is set to air in a few weeks."

  "But does she have proof?" I asked.

  "I've not spoken with her directly. She claims the show has authenticated the paper trail that traces her ancestry. On the surface, it appears her claims are accurate, that she is descended from the late duchess. I need to look into the matter further. I've already set my people on it. My private investigator's team is hard at work now, trying not to draw any attention to our interest in her.

  "If her claim is proven, the terms of the late duke's will include her. You could have a choice of two women for your bride. Which will make the late duke extremely unhappy. He hand-selected Miss Hamilton for you."

  I took that in, holding in a laugh at the Dead Duke's potential unhappiness. How could a dead guy be anything? Unless he was coming back to haunt me, I didn't give a damn. "A choice of two women. That's good news. I'm all for choices." I couldn't help teasing Thorne. I still had no intention of marrying anyone.

  "I wouldn't trust her, sir," Thorne said. "There are rumors her father is in desperate financial straits. On the verge of losing what's left of his ancestral home. He funds Lady Rose's lifestyle. If he loses it all, so does she. She isn't the kind of young woman to take to economizing kindly.

  "It's my guess she smells money. I wouldn't be surprised if she decides to contest the will. Greed, Your Grace, drives many ambitions.

  "At this point, she doesn't know the details of the will, including the marriage clause. I can stall while I verify her claim. If she is who she says she is, I will be obligated to share the terms of the will with her.

  "Whether she would be willing to step into the role of your duchess isn't certain. However, to a certain type of person, money of this kind would tempt them to do anything." He sounded disgusted and offended. Disapproving of this new descendant on principle.

  I laughed. "Is this new chick hot?"

  "Sorry, Your Grace?"

  "Is she attractive? You're supposed to be screening for these things."

  "I couldn't say for certain. I haven't met her in person. If her pictures are an accurate representation, she looks fashionable and put together."

  "Don't be so cagey, Thorne. I want all the details."

  I imagined Thorne trying to suppress a sigh. "She claims to be single."

  "Claims?"

  "In cases like this, it's always best to make sure. Con artists out for money make all kinds of promises and claims. It's best not to get embroiled in a scandal like Lady Ellen, who married a married man and left her fortune and estate in legal turmoil and her family name in tatters. Of course, she didn't know he was married. He claimed he was divorced. But there you have it. The two of them were conning Lady Ellen.

  "We need to make sure Lady Rose isn't mistaken about her biological family. And proceed from there."

  "How old is she?"

  "Twenty-nine. I'll text you her picture. Or search online on your own. You can decide for yourself whether she's attractive or not." He paused. "I want to let you know that I will handle this situation. I very much doubt she is a legitimate descendant."

  "Are you making a pun, Thorne?" I laughed.

  "Hardly, Your Grace." Thorne paused.

  "Won't a simple DNA test verify her claims?" I asked.

  "They would, sir. If any of the late duchess' DNA was available to test against. But there isn't any unless we exhume her body. Which would only be a last resort. We only have Miss Hamilton's DNA to test against—the late duke authenticated her line. And we can't compel her to give it to us."

  Thorne paused. "It's my opinion that Lady Rose is what you Americans would call a gold digger. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, she is mistaken about her parentage.

  "The late duke foresaw situations of this kind arising. His will leaves all of the woman's half of his mother's money to the woman, of the correct bloodline, of course, who marries you. And that is the catch. Only your future wife will inherit anything.

  "It's my guess that many more of these women will surface the longer you remain single. You already have a fan club, I see."

  "So I hear. Word gets around," I said. "What am I supposed to do with them? How do I put a stop to this?"

  "Marry Miss Hamilton, and marry her soon."

  "But what about poor Lady Rose? Now that I have a choice, shouldn't I explore it? If she and I hit it off, I promise I'll marry her ASAP."

  "I'm sorry, Your Grace. That would be ill-advised of you. Lady Rose hasn't been vetted. Even if she turns out to be a descendant of the late duchess, she wasn't the late duke's choice.

  "Believe me when I say he gave the selection of the next mistress of Witham very much thought and thoroughly vetted Miss Hamilton. She's called out by name in the will. And you do understand that if Lady Rose's claim is allowed to proceed, the details of the will will be made public. At the very least, much more likely to be leaked. Is that really what you want?"

  Chapter 2

  Haley, the possible future Duchess of Witham

  At two a.m., Steve, the weekend manager at the bakery, called and asked me to come in on my day off and pull an extra shift. Someone had called in sick. Working on my days off was becoming a habit. My constant desperate need for money made me willing to come in at a moment's notice and put me on the top of the bakery's call list.

  I was awake, anyway, lying in bed, trying to come off the high and fight off panic. That feeling of something beautiful slipping away, or being pulled from my weak grasp. From the fullness of balancing on the precipice of falling in love to the darkness of a dream dying before its time.

  My mind was racing, too active to rest. How was it possible to sleep after a date like this? It had been…a fantasy. And yes, I had initially thought the success of the date and the way I was beginning to feel about Riggins meant I would never marry him. But the appearance of this new challenger changed everything.

  Riggins' kiss was still light on my lips. I wrapped my arms around myself, remembering the feel of his arms around me. The news from Sid kept interfering with my daydreams, coming between my imaginary Riggins and me.

  This Rose, Lady Rose, adopted daughter of an earl, appearing out of nowhere. She had to be stopped. I had to stop her. For Sid. And, yes, for me. And possibly even for Riggins. My motives for marrying him were pure, at least. What would hers be? Social climbing?

  I kept telling myself, He doesn't want to marry you.

  The point could be made that he didn't want to marry anyone. And that I wasn't ready to get married, either. Certainly not after knowing him less than a week. That this might be nothing more than one of those crushes that burns quickly and dies out. By this time next week the infatuation, love, whatever it was, could die. And I would find myself noticing his every flaw and wondering what, exactly, had made him so attractive.

  Realistically, though? I couldn't see that happening. Not with a guy like Riggins. Although I had a habit of falling hard and fast for guys, and regretting it quickly afterward, this felt different. And not just because of the circumstances. This felt…real.

  After such a fantastic date, I would have had a hard time sleeping, anyway. But now there was her. The eleventh-hour competition. I felt my dreams of never having to answer a work call in the dead of night again slipping away.

  I didn't like to admit it, but deep down, I think I had felt secure in my power. Smug. I was the last of my line. The last single female of childbearing age in the late duchess' family. Unless Riggins could find a way to break the Dead Duke's hold on us, we were "stuck" with each other and no one else. And even if he did find a way, it meant a cure for Sid and plenty of money for me, anyway.

  That old line about not realizing what you have until it was gone made scary sense to me now. I couldn't believe I had been considering not marrying him. I'd been so dumb and innocent, thinking everyone was good and kind. That no one would try to take h
im away from me while he played knight valiant and fought for our freedom. That greed didn't exist in our world.

  I'd had the duchess fantasy for less than a week and already some British bitch was trying to take it away. Where had she come from? How real were her claims? How could Thorne have missed her? He'd seemed so…so…so competent.

  Assuming her claim was legitimate, with Rosanagh Lily Browne—first name pronounced like the American name Rosanna. (Yes, I looked it up. Silly English names. You'd think they spoke a whole different language.) Anyway, with Lady Rose, in the picture, Riggins had an alternative to buying me off. He could marry her instead. What if a dozen more English Roses popped up? Or a hundred? Riggins couldn't buy them all off. Sooner or later, the safest thing for him to do was marry. Me. Or one of them.

  I felt sick at the thought. I felt Sid's cure slipping through my fingers and my happiness fading away.

  I cursed my trusting nature. I needed a lawyer. A good one. Someone schooled in unconventional law and relationships. If only I'd already had one draw up an agreement between Riggins and me, I wouldn't be in this mess. Riggins would be bound to honor a signed document, a contract. I'd waited too long. Just days had been too long. I didn't even know how to find a good lawyer. Or have the money to pay for one. All that talk in Thorne's office had just been bravado. When it came down to actually acting on it, I was at a loss.

  I needed to talk to Thorne. I sent him a frantic text to call me as soon as possible. What was he doing about this new woman? Did he know about her? Was he playing us, too? Was this part of the Dead Duke's strategy to get Riggins to marry and reproduce? Did she have a legal right to be the next duchess?

  I Googled Lady Rose. Read everything about her that I could find. Facebook-stalked her. Stalked all of her social media accounts. What I read and saw made me more and more anxious.

  She was evidently a popular British socialite. A social media hound who'd been romantically linked over the years to some of Britain's hottest bachelors. The kind of woman who cultivated fame and media attention for sport. She had over a hundred thousand Twitter followers! One hundred thousand. The number boggled my mind. She tweeted everything, little miss social media butterfly. Including how excited she was about meeting her only living biological relative. Funny she didn't want to meet Sid. Adopted relatives apparently didn't count. Kind of ironic, considering.

  And now she was invading the American press, courting the American entertainment shows, trending on social media in America. She was sly and well-schooled in getting attention, I would give her that.

  Lady Rose was even listed in Britain's ultimate guide to the peerage. Yes, fascinating reading. I found that online, too.

  She was the adopted daughter of the Earl of Colchester and his second wife. His second ex-wife of four. The earl apparently believed in marriage, but had a roving eye his wives found hard to ignore. He had several biological children with each of his various other wives. But Lady Rose was the only adopted one.

  Her parents divorced when she was four. She'd been raised by her social-climbing mother, who'd never managed to snag another title above countess again. Lady Rose had gone to a prestigious British public school. Which was confusing. Here in the States we'd call it a private school.

  She was a British socialite who apparently was determined to emulate certain American women who'd become famous for being famous. She'd recently found her biological roots after being a minor celebrity guest on a BBC program that traced celebrities' ancestors for them. The episode was scheduled to air soon. But Lady Rose had let the cat out of the bag early. The show had managed to crack the seal of her adoption records and trace her family tree back to Seattle and early twentieth-century heiress Helen Wares, later the Duchess of Witham.

  Helen's father William Wares had been a lumber baron, made a killing in the rebuilding of Seattle after the great fire of 1889 destroyed the city. And selling to the railroads. All those railroad ties had to come from somewhere. His name was still big in lumber circles, apparently. Though the company he founded had gone public long ago and eventually gotten into paper production and, more recently, technology.

  Wasn't that good luck for Lady Rose, finding me now at the height of her quest for fame?

  It hadn't taken her long to sniff out the story and insert herself in it. And on paper, at least, she looked eminently more qualified for the role of duchess than I was. Did she know she was one of only two contenders for the title?

  I rode the bus to work, nervously killing time, waiting for Mr. Thorne to call or text me back. He was staying in Seattle until Riggins and I settled things, i.e. married. He'd been right not to trust us. But if he'd been in London, he would have been up and available.

  Lady Rose had only come on the scene yesterday, and already she was almost more of a celebrity than Riggins as she flitted from interview to interview. Gushing about how excited she was at the thought of meeting another biological relative—me.

  She'd thought she was the last. She was thrilled to find out she had an American relative. She would just love to meet me. And, of course, the new duke. Because, in a way, they were related too! They both shared in the heritage of Witham House! How lovely.

  Right. I bet she would like to meet Riggins. Was she the kind of woman who would be happy to marry for money and a title? Thrilled, even. Maybe it was the goal of her life. Looking at her previous dating history, I guessed it was.

  And what was all this about a fan club? Riggins had a fan club. A plane full of his groupies was scheduled to arrive on Monday. It would have been funny, hysterical even, if it had been happening to someone else. The whole situation was ridiculous.

  So now I had this Rose person to contend with and a flight of fancy to fend off. Seriously, what was next?

  I had Sid to think about. If someone else caught Riggins' eye, who knew what he would do? I'd been so waffly. So congenial. So willing to go along with Riggins' plan that I'd screwed up and maybe screwed Sid and me out of the money we needed. And me out of something wonderful with Riggins.

  I usually loved the city early in the morning when it was almost quiet, the way it was when I showed up for work. But I barely noticed it. I arrived in my baker's whites, hair pulled up and in a hairnet, bags beneath my eyes.

  On Saturday mornings there were usually two bakers on staff. Cody was the other one working. Great.

  "If it isn't the duchess. I didn't expect you to show up today after a night out with a billionaire. Shouldn't you be calling in rich?"

  Duchess? I froze in place, panicked for a second that I'd been found out. Until I realized he was teasing. I must have been tired. "Haha. I'm flattered you give my feminine charms so much credit. But it was only the first date."

  "Only the first? You expect more?" Cody raised his eyebrows.

  I shrugged and glanced at my phone, hoping for a text from Mr. Thorne. Or Riggins. Both would be good.

  "He hasn't texted you yet?" Cody laughed. "You got it bad! Give him a few hours' sleep, girl. Guys gotta chill before making the next move, you know that."

  I put my phone back in my pocket. "I was hoping for a text from the lawyer."

  "Oh? Does he work twenty-four hours now? You really are acting like a duchess." He shook his head. "Worried about this newcomer, Lady Something or Other, wanting part of your inheritance? Are you going to have to take it to a jeweler and have them split it in half now?"

  Under normal circumstances, everyone in the bakery knew everyone else's business. Now that mine was magnified by the media, my life had become the local entertainment. They all knew about my meeting with Mr. Thorne and the fiction that all I'd inherited was a small piece of jewelry worth a few thousand pounds.

  I rolled my eyes. "No idea. I hope she doesn't try to force me to pawn it. I could use the cash, but I don't want to split it with her. Anyway, I'm waiting to hear from Mr. Thorne."

  Cody nodded, firmly on my side. "Damn bitch."

  On Saturdays and Sundays, we opened at eight and baked m
ore breakfast pastries than during the week. To calm myself, I got in the rhythm, baking coffee cakes, bear claws, cinnamon rolls, and donuts. Looking at the clock every five minutes. Time had never trickled by so slowly. How early did Mr. Thorne get up? When would he check his phone?

  Had Riggins heard the news? What was he thinking? Was he already checking Lady Rose out? Had he seen how beautiful Rose was? Would he fall for her instantly? Would he try to buy both of us off? What happened if another female in the line fell out of the woodwork?

  I wanted to talk to him. But it was still too early. I couldn't call him this early. And wasn't it bad form for the woman to call first? For either of us to call at all the next day?

  Like Cody indicated, someone was supposed to text. My guy friends who were my age endlessly debated how soon a guy should text a woman after a first date. How interested did he want to look? How much relationship power did he want to give up? How much risk of scaring her away did he want to take?

  But this was different. I had to know where I stood. First I had to talk to Mr. Thorne to see what the legal ramifications were. Then I needed a lawyer. On Saturday? What about one of those guys you always see on the commercials? Been in an accident? Call Edwards Law. Don't settle until you talk to us.

  Maybe they were open on Saturdays. An ambulance-chaser marital law/inheritance lawyer? Was there such a thing? I was sinking low. But it wasn't like I had a lawyer on speed dial. And ambulance chasers worked on commission, didn't they? You didn't pay them until you got your settlement?

  Just after seven thirty, I was lost in my thoughts, when Steve came back in an agitated state. "Holy shit! Has anyone looked outside? There's a damn crowd out front waiting to get in. With a news crew and some woman decked out in tight jeans, an expensive coat, and heels. She's a looker, I'll tell you that. But what the hell is going on? Since when did a crowd line the sidewalk halfway down the street on an ordinary Saturday morning?"

  All eyes turned to me.