of his credentials? I’m not rubbing it in, but the more you can recall about him, the greater the chance of the police catching him.”
“He showed me glowing references from some of the people I remember from my father’s time here, including you.” She fished in her pocket and pulled out a business card. Hass’s name mocked her from the glossy surface as she handed it to Eduard.
He studied the card thoughtfully. “The details are probably as phony as his references. Did he have an accent?”
“Vaguely British, I think, but difficult to pin down.”
“He probably travels around the region, looking for new victims and staying a step ahead of local law. The local authorities may already have a file on him. He probably targeted you, as a foreigner, because…”
“Because I don’t know any better than to buy up chunks of Carramer’s national estate.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not going to see my money back, am I?”
“Probably not.”
She sank onto a chair in front of the desk. With most of her nest egg gone, she couldn’t afford to remain in Carramer for long. Her brother would give her a home until the baby was born, but the thought of confessing her present plight to him didn’t appeal at all.
“Still feeling unwell?” Eduard asked, watching her.
She lifted her head. “A little.”
“You do look washed-out.”
“Kind of you to say so.” She let her ironic tone thank him for his encouragement.
His aristocratic eyebrows lifted. “I wasn’t criticizing, merely stating a fact.”
“Sometimes ‘facts’ can be damaging, whether you mean them to or not.”
“Would you prefer me to lie to you?”
“I’d rather this whole mess hadn’t happened.” To her horror, she felt tears pool in her eyes. She blinked hard, but two droplets escaped down her cheeks.
Although she dashed them away furiously, Eduard noticed. He stood up, looking distressed. “Cris, please don’t.”
He had never been comfortable with emotions, she reminded herself, determined not to burden him with hers any longer. She got up. “I’ll start packing right away.”
Eduard stayed her with a sharp command. “Don’t go, not like this. I’d like to help if I can.”
Remembering how he had trampled on her feelings once before, she shook her head. “I got myself into this and I’ll get myself out again. I don’t need charity.”
“I’m not offering any, but I have an idea that may help.” He paused, then said, “Haven’t you wondered why I have the title of marquis, theoretically outranking my older brother?”
Her confusion increased. “I assumed it’s a Carramer tradition.” But she sat down again.
Eduard laced his fingers together on the desk. “In a way, it is. The Merrisand title traditionally passes down my mother’s line to the youngest child. One of her ancestors, also a youngest child, managed to offend a past ruler of Carramer and was given the title as an insult.”
What did this have to do with her? Still, she couldn’t resist asking, “Why was it an insult?”
“In Carramer mythology, Merrisand is a place that doesn’t exist except in imagination, what you might call a fool’s paradise.”
She bristled. “I know I’ve been living in one since I got here, but I don’t think…”
“I wasn’t referring to you,” he said before she could finish. “My forebear turned the title into an honorable one by setting up a charitable trust in that name. He built Merrisand Castle which still stands as a tourist attraction, the income going to the trust. With the title, I inherited responsibility for the trust. When Prince Henry left me the lodge, I decided to make it into a tourist facility to aid the trust, not unlike your plans for it.”
“The difference being you own it, I don’t.”
He gave her a wry smile. “Did you own the hotels you worked in?”
She stared at him, perplexed. “Are you offering me a job?”
“You have the skills and experience to run such an establishment, more than I do, come to that. You could set the lodge up and operate it until I finalize my tour with the navy in the next few months.”
“You have staff coming out of your ears.”
Her turn of phrase provoked another smile. “Staff, yes. People accustomed to running palaces and royal tours. It’s hardly comparable to looking after tourists.”
“True.” She quelled the expectancy rising inside her. Could this possibly answer her prayers? “What would I have to do?”
“Help me set up and run the best tourist facility in Carramer in aid of the Merrisand Trust.”
“What happens after you leave the navy?”
“We can discuss that when the time comes.”
By then she would be noticeably pregnant. Her original plan had been to work steadily on the refurbishing for as long as she could, then take the time she needed to have her baby and recover before opening the place to visitors. Eduard was hardly likely to want to wait that long. She found it hard to say, “Thank you, but I don’t think so.”
“Why? It’s not as if you have competing offers.”
She made a face. “You really should stop boosting my ego, or I’ll end up with a swollen head.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“Let’s face it, you don’t really want me around. You’re only offering me a job to ease your conscience, but there’s no need. I’ll be fine.” She was probably flouting protocol by not letting him finish. She didn’t care. She only wanted this over with. His job offer tempted her more than she wanted to admit, but her pregnancy made it impossible.
Overseeing the lodge for someone as demanding as Eduard would entail stress she didn’t need right now. And soon her condition would begin to show. How long would Eduard want her on his payroll then? Better to leave with dignity while she still could.
“My conscience is clear,” he surprised her by saying. “I didn’t con you into buying a pig in a poke.”
She hitched her fists onto her hips. “So you’re saying I’m stupid?”
“How do you figure that?”
“Well, I must be, mustn’t I? Any woman with half a brain would have seen through that smooth operator, instead of trusting him with every cent she had in the world.”
This time she did break down, unable to stem the tears cascading down her cheeks. Eduard was at her side in an instant, his arms enfolding her as he murmured to her in the lilting Carramer tongue.
Twelve years had banished much of the language she’d picked up, but the comfort in his tone reached her, his consideration making her feel worse. She dragged in a lungful of air, trying to stop the sobs welling up from her depths.
“Don’t fight it, let the tears come,” he said in English. “You’ll feel better afterward.”
She didn’t want to feel better. She didn’t want to be in his arms, fighting a war with herself over whether to ask him to kiss her again. Hadn’t she learned anything from her experience with her baby’s father, and from the cold way Eduard himself had rejected her? Suddenly she didn’t know if she was crying because of the lousy hand she’d been dealt, or because she knew Eduard wasn’t for her.
Both were excuses to feel thoroughly miserable, she thought sniffing hard. Pregnancy must be playing havoc with her hormones to make her come apart