The American Heir: A Jet City Billionaire Romance

  Riggins looked up from his phone when I walked in with Heidi beside me. I held my arms out and did a little spin in front of the mirrors for him.

  Riggins raised an eyebrow. "Empire? A little obvious, isn't it?" He didn't seem concerned by Heidi and Linda's presence, or worried they'd catch his meaning. "You have a beautiful figure. Try something fitted at the waist and bodice. A full skirt will be fine if it has the right flare. But I'd prefer something that hugs the hips."

  I turned to Heidi. "I told you he'd have an opinion."

  We both burst out laughing. I ended up buying the first dress I'd tried on. And a hat. Because British ladies wore hats on important occasions. It was a perfectly dainty and totally outrageous hat, too. Riggins gave me no end of grief over it. And yet he'd joined in with Linda and Heidi when they insisted on it.

  "But it will ruin my hair!" I protested lamely before caving to Heidi, Linda, and Riggins, and buying it. "I'm American. We don't wear hats unless it's winter, and then only knit beanies or something."

  Riggins arched a brow and zinged one at me, clearly enjoying putting me in my place: "You're a British lady now, duchess. Don't forget it. British women love hats."

  Yes, but give me a good old American baseball cap any day of the week. But only for casual days.

  Riggins and I walked back to the castle companionably, but I longed for passion. I'd missed him so much.

  I stopped at the castle wall in front of the entrance to the estate and took Riggins' hands. "Aren't you just a little bit happy about the baby? Neither of us planned it. I swear to you, I was as surprised about it as you. But since it's coming and there's nothing we can do about it…"

  I wanted him to reassure me, even if he had to lie.

  His gaze swept over me and rested at a point somewhere in the distance over my shoulder. "I've never been a kid person. They're not my thing."

  "They don't have to be your thing, Riggins, for you to love your own child. Your own baby will be different."

  He kept staring into the distance. "My old man bailed on me. The men that came and went in my mom's life were no example of fatherhood." His gaze met mine briefly. "I have no confidence I'll be a good dad. And if you can't do something right, why do it at all?"

  He looked at the castle wall. "This is a hell of a legacy and responsibility to saddle a kid with. How will the baby grow up normal?"

  "He or she will grow up with what's normal to them. And anyway, bad parenting isn't genetic."

  The breeze ruffled his hair. I clenched my fist to keep from reaching up to brush it out of his eyes and caress his cheek. "Cheer up! With any luck, the Dead Duke has done something to ensure you'll be a great daddy and his heir will grow up completely competent and fit for this life."

  "Now there's a comforting thought," Riggins said dryly.

  "You're going to have to fake some enthusiasm this afternoon. People expect dukes to be absolutely thrilled about a possible heir. It's tradition."

  When his eyes met mine again, the corners of his lips curled very slightly into the faintest of smiles. "Fake it till we make it. You think that's the Dead Duke's plan for us?"

  I gave in to my urge and ran my fingers lightly through his hair to comb it. The intimate touch brought up a memory of our romp in the poison garden, and with it all the promise between us. He remembered, too. I saw it in his face.

  I dropped my hand. "Maybe. But I give him more credit for deviousness than that."

  Chapter 6

  Haley

  Lights flashed in our faces as Riggins and I stood arm in arm on the lawn outside the castle beneath a large white marquee, as the Brits called a tent used for social occasions.

  I admit to having been confused when Gibson suggested renting a marquee. My study of British English hadn't included it. I wondered why we should rent a huge theater-type sign with flashing lights. Was this pregnancy really headliner material for a theater marquee? And wasn't a huge, gaudy sign just a little bit tacky?

  Fortunately, he saw my confusion and described what he had in mind. And as it turned out, the tent was beautiful, especially decorated with flowers and baby-themed items. And warmed by outdoor propane heaters strategically placed.

  Riggins wore a custom-made suit he'd picked up in London on one of his previous trips. And a tie in the colors of the family crest that cost several hundred dollars at least. I wore my new dress and hat with its spiraling protuberances of feathers and lace, as I gazed adoringly at the father-to-be, with no faking needed. I did adore him. In the way Helen had adored the Dead Duke even during the stage when she believed he only wanted her for her money. Life repeating itself. Right now, I knew Riggins needed me to protect his finances. But in a different way from the way Rans needed Helen. I hoped I got my happy ending, too. That Riggins would someday confess his undying, dedicated love. Standing so close to me, he should have worried that my hat would poke his eye out.

  The setting was perfect. The castle featured nicely in the background of the photos and, although a few clouds scuttled by, the sky was mostly blue, and the lighting natural and flattering.

  My smile should have felt frozen on my face, but it was genuinely planted there from joy. Being with Riggins, who was faking his joy at being an expectant father way too realistically, made me too happy for the smile to be anything but genuine. Honestly, I knew his joy wasn't real, but I was letting myself live in this fantasy world while it lasted.

  I'd had tea and cakes set up for the press and the crowd of villagers we'd invited in for the big announcement. The tea table was covered with a white cloth and pastel baby-themed confetti in the shape of ducks and bunnies. The food was ready for the guests to dive into as soon as the press finished with us.

  I was proud of Riggins.

  He was charming and outgoing, completely at ease as he announced the due date. "November ninth."

  That raised a few eyebrows. Almost every gaze in the crowd fell to my flat abdomen. I pressed a hand to it without thinking, self-conscious.

  "It's early to be announcing a pregnancy, isn't it?" a reporter for one of the entertainment shows asked.

  There was no baby bump to report or photograph yet. I was sure that was a disappointment.

  Riggins laughed it off. "Traditionally speaking, yes. We'd have preferred to wait until the three-month mark. But since someone leaked the story…" His smile dazzled the crowed.

  They laughed with him, not at us. He had them entranced. They were falling in love with their duke. The Dead Duke had neglected his social duties for far too long. People were hungry to vicariously live the aristocratic fantasy through us. Riggins picked up on that.

  "About that," another member of the press said. "Rumor has it that the duchess' friend and former competitor for your heart, Lady Rose, leaked the story. Is that true?"

  I froze and felt the nausea rise. I still wasn't sure whether I should feel fury at Rose or sympathy. She'd been desperate and I'd been unable to help. If the money from our story, which was only the truth, saved her family estate, shouldn't I be the bigger person and be happy for her? Even though it had been a breach of trust for her to share it, I would have helped her if I could have. If this was the form my help took, so be it.

  Beside me, Riggins tensed, but his grin and charm didn't fail. "Frankly, I have no idea. It's not important. We're just happy to be expecting. This morning Dr. Turner gave us the good news the duchess is healthy and the pregnancy looks good. That's all that matters to me." He smiled at me in a way that took my breath away.

  The crowd heaved a collective sigh. Wasn't that sweet? Wasn't he adorable the way he looked at the duchess and wanted that baby?

  It would have been if it were true. Riggins, I realized with a start, was too good an actor to be trusted.

  The questions flew. Where would we have the baby? Would we find out the sex before it was born? What plans did we have for the nursery? Who would be the designer? Would we get the same baby carriage the Duchess of Cambridge favored? Would the baby be a d
ual citizen?

  Riggins gave non-answers, deflecting most of the questions with charisma and charm and the pat answer that it was still early days. We'd only just found out about the baby ourselves. Nothing was decided.

  I watched the crowd as I let Riggins handle the press. Happy as I was, I was still in the throes of early pregnancy nausea and feeling peaked.

  I recognized most of the people from the village, and, of course, the staff from the castle. I'd become on friendly terms with Mrs. Rees. We employed her cleaning service to do the castle housekeeping. She and her crew were in several days a week. There was the librarian and library staff from the village. Linda and Heidi from the dress shop. And over a hundred others.

  In the last decades, the castle grounds had rarely been open to the public. People were naturally curious. There was always a discreet detail of security people around the castle. The Dead Duke had employed a security firm, and we did, too. It was only prudent. The dukes of old had their knights to protect and serve them. We had hired security guards, high-tech cameras, drone details, and a sophisticated alarm system. After all, the castle housed as many, or more, precious historical objects as most museums.

  We'd hired an extra security detail to keep an eye on the crowd and keep wanderers out of the castle itself. The last thing we needed were interlopers in our inner sanctum. Because of the extra security, I wasn't too concerned as people wandered away from the main gathering. Other than the fact that I'd simply tossed that two-million-dollar set of lingerie in a drawer. Oops. Maybe I should lock that up with the duchess jewels. Then again, there were more valuable things in the castle. Like many of those paintings casually hanging on the walls.

  A movement on the edges of the grounds near the maze caught my attention. A tall man lurked, cloaked in the shadows near the maze, his face hidden. There was something vaguely familiar about him. The way he was skulking around wasn't in his favor, either. Why didn't he join the crowd? I made a note to have security check him out.

  The questioning finally ended. I was caught up in my duty as hostess. I invited everyone to help themselves to tea and sweets, and mingled.

  "Yes, lovely." "Thanks so much." "We're thrilled." "Thanks for coming." "Yes, a little earl would be just the thing." "At twenty weeks." "Yes, we plan on finding out. The future of the dukedom hangs in the balance." I repeated all these pleasantries again and again.

  The entire time, I felt I was being watched. Riggins was busy and involved in conversations of his own. When I looked out at the maze, I caught a glimpse of the man again.

  I grabbed a security guard and pointed him toward the maze. "I'm not sure. But if there's someone lurking, I'd like to know their intentions."

  "Yes, ma'am." The guard took off.

  Riggins came up to me and whispered in my ear, "Everything okay?"

  I frowned. "I think so. I saw someone in the maze." I smiled at him. "It's probably nothing. I've sent someone out to check." On impulse, I kissed him. And lingered long enough to express my interest. "You're doing beautifully. I'm not going to be able to trust another thing you ever say. You're such a fine actor. Or maybe liar is the better word."

  He actually smiled. "If business has taught me one thing, it's how to put on a show."

  The press conference party lasted no more than an hour and a half and was, by all accounts, a success. Our security team checked the maze and grounds, but could find no trace of the mysterious, lurking man. They scoured the grounds and checked the security feeds once more after the press and the guests left. There were no traces of him, or anyone.

  As the guests left happy and excited, Alice made a point of pulling me aside and telling me how much goodwill we'd made with the village.

  After the day I'd had I was exhausted. I went to my room to rest. And fell asleep as soon as I collapsed on the bed, without bothering to pull up a blanket. The most I'd done was kick off my shoes and take off my hat. And even that had taken supreme effort.

  When I woke sometime later, my new dress was rumpled and it was already dark out. Someone had thrown a blanket over me and turned on the gas fireplace. In the old days, a maid would have had to come in to light the fire. This old castle could get cold in a hurry.

  I glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight. How had I slept so long? Pregnancy hormones had to be to blame. Growing a new life took more energy than I had.

  Alice had texted me sometime before she went home for the day that she'd left a dinner tray in the fridge for Gibson to bring up when I was ready. The duke had taken his tray earlier and dined in his room. What was Riggins up to? Still trying to find a way to defeat my great-grandpa?

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes. In the dark, even my comfortable room could feel a bit scary. Something about a castle that was hundreds of years old brought out the gothic in my imagination. Truthfully, when Riggins was gone, I'd holed up in my room for the night and didn't like to come out until morning.

  The halls at night, even with electric lighting, could be intimidating and a little frightening. Footsteps echoed eerily on the tile floors. No plush, quiet wall-to-wall carpet like at home.

  Riggins had been right about those paintings of our ancestors, too, staring down on us with their eyes appearing to follow us. And then there were the ghost stories, which weren't confined to the Ghost Tower. The castle had its own set of spooks. Even if many of them were reputed to be my ancestors, I wasn't keen to meet them.

  Thankfully, my room had an en suite bathroom. Otherwise I'd be holding it all night. Risk venturing down the dark halls? Shudder. Dashing to the bathroom with my eyes closed, like I did at our normal-sized suburban home as a kid, was the other unappealing option. Not very dignified, or brave, for a duchess.

  Even though my room had been modernized, there was no way to completely get the draft and dampness out of a castle. A creepy coldness could present itself at odd times. And you think a modern home creeks and groans. That's nothing compared to the noises a castle makes. There is a reason even perfectly normal castles get reputations for being haunted.

  I stretched and got sleepily to my feet. The curtains weren't drawn. They loomed large, gaping holes to the outside world. If I turned on a light, I'd be even more in a fishbowl.

  The night outside was cloudy and dark. I walked to the windowed alcove that jutted out from my room. On sunny days it was my favorite spot in the room. Its floor-to-ceiling windows on all three sides were beautiful. And obviously a relatively modern addition. If you can call two hundred years ago modern.

  I paused before drawing the heavy drapes, and peered out. It had a view of the grounds stretching directly before it. There wasn't much to see on this cloudy night. Thankfully for my heart and imagination, no shadowy figures or big, sulfurous fire-breathing dogs moved in the maze. I had Sherlock Holmes to thank for that last fear.

  If I stood at the window and looked off to the side, I had a clear view of the Ghost Tower. Generally, I didn't look that direction after dark. On purpose. The Ghost Tower still freaked me out. The stories I'd heard of it weren't pretty. A castle didn't stand for five hundred years without accumulating its share of gruesome history.

  Today, for some reason, my gaze flicked past it. My heart stopped. There was a light, like from a candle, in one of the upper tower rooms. It flickered for an instant and disappeared.

  My heart stood still. I felt myself pale.

  "Riggins!" I ran for his room, which adjoined mine. "Riggins!"

  His door was unlocked. I rushed in unannounced without even pausing to think he might be in bed already. If this had been the olden days, I might have worried about walking in on him with a chambermaid. Wasn't that what powerful old dukes did, screw innocent maids? Mine wouldn't. And wasn't. And he wasn't in bed, either.

  He was sitting at his desk with his laptop open. He looked up when I charged in. "What's the matter?" He frowned in concern, taking in my rumpled dress and wild-eyed expression. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

  "I think I have."

/>   He pushed his chair back, stood, and came to me, pulling me into his arms, and laughed softly and reassuringly. "Score one for you! Not everyone is privileged with a visitation. Who did you see? Old Rans? Was he in your room looking for Helen? How did he look—old or young and in his prime? I'm hoping in his prime. When I come back to haunt this place, I sure as hell don't want to do it as an old man."

  I rolled my eyes at the absurdity and snuggled into him, loving him for the way he put my fears at ease. "My great-grandfather isn't on our approved list of specters."

  I shivered and used it as an excuse to burrow even deeper into his embrace and rest my head on his chest. There was no place I'd rather be than his arms. I belonged here, with him holding me. He made me feel safe and content, unafraid. Ready to take on the world. And maybe even the supernatural if necessary. I allowed myself to linger and breathe in the scent of him. But just for a moment. We had a ghost to chase.

  I pulled back, grabbed his arm, and tugged him toward my room. "It was in the Ghost Tower. Come see. Maybe it will come back."

  He reluctantly let himself be dragged to the window in my room. But the Ghost Tower was dark and serene.

  Riggins arched a brow. "Was your ghost gruesome? Headless, maybe? Or dripping blood?"

  "Don't try to scare me, duke." I pointed, feeling his heat as he stood behind me and rested his hand protectively on my shoulder. Maybe all that faking earlier was starting to work. "It was in that window. Just a flickering light. Are lights male or female?"

  "I have no idea." He squinted, looking almost comically as if he was trying to use the powers of his mind to make it materialize again. Finally, he sighed. "You probably saw the security guard on his rounds."

  I shook my head, adamant. "No. The Ghost Tower is always locked. The guards check the door on their rounds, but that's it. None of them go in there at night." I shuddered again. "It would be cruel to make them."