Chapter Twenty-nine

ALEX

I must have shocked Mr Taylor deeply, because a slight expression of surprise was visible for an instant when he opened the door and saw me. "I thought you were out for the day, sir," he said.

"So did I, but I changed my mind. Is Nate still here?"

"Mr Mortimer went upstairs after breakfast and, as far as I'm aware, hasn't left the house."

"'Kay, thanks."

Taking the stairs two at a time, I hesitated at the first floor. Drawing room or his bedroom? I decided on the drawing room. No point in climbing another two floors to find he'd been down here all along.

I opened the door and froze. Nate was sprawled on the floor, with Steven kneeling next to him.

"Nate! Oh, God—what's wrong with him?" I plummeted to my knees on his other side. The knot of terror in my gut loosened a little when I found he was breathing. His eyes were closed, and when I shook him, trying to get him to wake up, he didn't react. I reached for my phone, my gaze glued to his face. "Have you called an ambulance?"

The blow that knocked my phone flying blindsided me.

Steven rose slowly to his feet. "I should have known," he spat out. "Tweedledee and Tweedle-fucking-dum."

I still hadn't grasped what was going on, though my dragon drove me to my feet to face the threat. And then my brain moved out of shock and into gear. "Have you done something to him?"

"Just run along, back to your little nest of provincial dragons." His gaze flicked scornfully over me. "Keep your mouth shut, and you'll get the two mill. Open it, and you'll find the Fortescues can make your life hell on earth."

"Are you actually insane?" I asked him. "What the hell have you done to Nate? And no, I'm not going anywhere." I was moving to retrieve my phone when he lunged at me and slammed me into the wall.

If he pinned me, this could have only one ending. I jabbed rigid fingers at his eyes, and he jerked away, off balance enough for my foot behind his ankle to send him staggering backwards.

If not for Nate, I'd be able to get out of here, but I wasn't leaving him with Steven. I spared Nate the quickest of glances, but he hadn't moved from where he was slumped on the floor. It looked as if he'd fallen, and no one had helped him. My dragon was fighting to get out and punish the one who'd done this to Nate.

I couldn't let him out because we'd destroy part of the house in our rampage, not to mention exposing the existence of dragons when Mr Taylor came running to investigate what the hell was going on. But my dragon was looking through my eyes as I glared at Steven, who was advancing on me with clenched fists. Fury thrummed through every nerve in my body.

To my amazement, he stopped dead, staring at me, and ducked his head slightly. What the fuck?

Sadly, whatever was going on with him didn't last. He shook his head and looked at me again, and I could practically see a red curtain of rage descending. He charged at me like a maddened bull.

It became a desperate dance for survival as I tried to avoid tangling with him, darting in when I could to attack his gut, his balls, his throat. I couldn't land any meaningful blows. Despite his size, he was fast. Damned dragon instincts.

He'd backed me towards the balcony doors, and I yanked the brass standard lamp over, hoping to hit him in the head with it. At the last second, he sensed the danger and twisted out of the way so that the lamp crashed harmlessly to the floor, its delicate glass lampshade smashing on the floorboards.

"You're a little shit," he growled, and lunged. Jerking backwards, I tripped on the hem of a curtain and fell, crashing to the ground with him on top of me. Desperately, I reached for one of the shards of lampshade and swung it at his face. He reared back, swearing savagely, a line of blood blossoming on his cheek to match the stinging cut I'd just inflicted on my thumb. I drove my fist into his gut, hard enough to punch his breath out of him.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" I'd never heard a human voice sound so like a dragon.

Steven froze above me, breathing in painful-sounding whoops. James Fortescue stood in the doorway, his eyes snapping with fury. He was balanced on the balls of his feet as if he might shift at any instant. And then he noticed Nate.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Exactly what I want to know," I said, and shoved at Steven. "Get the fuck off me."

He did, reluctantly, his gaze on his father the entire time. "You're not supposed to be home yet," he said.

"The client cancelled the meeting, and it seems that was just as well. What in the name of all that's holy is going on?"

"I found Nate like this, and then your shit of a son attacked me," I said, blood from my thumb dripping onto what was probably a priceless Persian rug. After a quick glance at Steven to ensure he wasn't going to attack me again, I crossed the room and knelt beside Nate. He was still out cold. I tapped his cheek lightly and said his name. No response.

"Steven?" The fury in that voice sent a shiver down my spine, and it wasn't even aimed at me.

"Mortimer's been snooping. He told Ella about our plans. Your plans," Steven amended swiftly. "Mum told him to leave today, so I was making sure he'd still be here when you returned."

"You were going to leave him in the middle of the drawing room and hope everyone politely refrained from mentioning the body on the floor?" James's tone was acidic.

"I was—"

"For God's sake," I interrupted. "He needs an ambulance." Where the hell had my phone gone?

Steven scoffed. "Don't be so melodramatic. He's only had a bit of Versed."

"Steven." The bass threat from James's dragon vibrated through his voice. "What is Versed, and why do you have it?"

"It's a sedative," Steven said. He flapped a hand in Nate's direction. "He'll be fine in a while. Coffee will help bring him out of it."

"And the second part of my question?"

Steven shrugged, attempting to look unruffled, though his body was tense as he faced his father. "You know what human bankers are like. Every bathroom's a pharmacy."

"Tell Taylor we are not to be disturbed. Make a large cafetiere of coffee and bring it up here."

Steven glowered, though only once he'd turned away from his father.

"Oh, and Steven?" James said. "You're going to be drinking some of it yourself, so I can be sure it's not laced with anything."

James turned to me. "Get him off the floor." The lack of concern in his voice gave the impression he wanted Nate off the floor because he was making the place look untidy rather than for his comfort.

As I was gathering Nate into my arms, scared stiff by the fact he hadn't roused at all and was completely floppy, the bastard strolled over to the bar and poured himself a drink.

I lifted Nate and laid him on the sofa, feeling the strain of his weight across my shoulders. I'm not small, but neither is Nate. It would have been easier if I had the sheer bulk of James or Steven. If I had, I might have been able to cut the fight short and get Nate out of here before James arrived. As it was, I didn't know where this was going.

Steven was dangerous, with the power and lethal instincts of a bull. He could kill you in his fury but could probably be outwitted. James was a different proposition entirely and every hair on the back of my neck had been standing on end since he'd arrived. But I could do nothing to get both of us away, and there was no way I'd leave Nate alone with them.

I sat on the sofa and placed Nate's head in my lap. Stroking his hair, I willed him to wake up. "Nate?" He stirred slightly. "Nate." It wasn't my imagination—his eyelids moved. Relieved beyond words, I trailed my fingers down his cheek. "Wake up, Nate."

When Steven returned with the coffee, Nate was upright, for certain values of the word. He couldn't sit up straight and was collapsed against me, his head on my shoulder. At least he was awake. Sort of. He'd slurred badly when he'd tried to speak.

Rage was building deep inside me that Steven had done this to him, but I couldn't let it out. I had to stay watchful and steer us safely through this.

True to his word, James made Steven take some hefty swigs from the mug of coffee he'd poured before passing it to me.

"Nate?" He rolled his head on my shoulder and opened his eyes. "This'll help," I told him, hoping to God it was true. His eyes focused, and then he flinched back from where I was holding the mug to his lips. "No."

"It's okay, it's just coffee."

"Alex?" The confusion in his voice twisted my heart. If Steven had been within reach at that moment, I think I'd have murdered him.

"It's okay," I said again. "Just drink some of this for me."

With persistent coaxing, he drank it all. By the time he'd finished, he was more alert, and I held out the mug imperiously to Steven for a refill. He looked as if he wanted to throttle me, but under his father's eye, he simply refilled it.

By the time Nate was halfway down the second mug, he was able to hold it himself. His brain appeared to be coming back online, though he looked pale and unsteady. With cautious eyes, he appraised our situation.

James was sitting in an armchair, sipping his whisky and watching in a detached sort of way, as unperturbed as if he were at his gentlemen's club reading the Financial Times. Steven had slouched in another chair, and his gaze moved constantly between us and his father, his expression morphing between hostility and resentment.

"I don't suppose you'd care to leave and forget what you've seen here," James said conversationally, and I realised he was speaking to me.

"I'm not leaving Nate," I said.

Nate, who, with an effort, sat up straight. "I'm okay," he said, convincing precisely no one. "You should go."

"No."

"Alex." At the urgency in his voice, I turned to look at him. His eyes were pleading with me. "Go. Please."

I held his gaze, trying to read his mind. What advantage was it for me to leave? Margaret and the others were in the middle of the River Avon—if I called them, it would take them time to return. Police? James would easily convince them. Nothing to see here, officer, merely some troublesome underprivileged visitors I was trying to help. By the way, give my best to your chief constable, my good friend and golfing partner.

"I'll leave when you do," I said, and Nate closed his eyes, hiding his expression.

"Well, then," James said pleasantly, sounding for all the world as if he were about to start a meeting. "Nate Mortimer, what's your answer to Steven's charge that you've been prying into my private affairs?"

"I don't know what he's talking about," Nate said.

"And what you said to Ella?"

His brow wrinkled. "What did I say to Ella?"

James's temper was rising, but I didn't think Nate was being deliberately stupid. He was struggling to understand.

"You said that Dad planned to disinherit Charlie in favour of me." The satisfaction in Steven's voice had me itching to punch him again.

"Oh, that. I suggested what my grandfather might do in the situation, that was all."

He made it sound convincingly offhand, as if that had truly been his meaning. But it was too late.

"Cut out the nonsense, Nate. I know why you're here. I've suspected all along, but there's that expression, giving someone enough rope to hang themselves with." James leaned forward slightly, his eyes gripping Nate's. "And, between us, I'd been thinking that if you could be persuaded from your loyalties, you could be an asset to our family."

"Dad!"

"Shut up, Steven. You've cocked this up so magnificently that I don't want to hear another word from you." His gaze was back on Nate's, and there was something in his eyes, an expression of regret, that sent a cold shiver down my spine. "But it became clear to me last night that you march to your own beat. I could never rely fully on you. You're sentimental, and that's a dangerous flaw."

He rose to his feet, and it was as if his dragon's wings stretched out, blocking the sunshine and rendering the room small, cold and dark. Or maybe that was just the way I felt at the look in his eyes. "You've left me with no choice."

There had to be something I could say to stop this.

"Nate's joining our family," I improvised wildly. "If he's done something wrong, we'll make restitution."

A vein in James's forehead throbbed as he glared in my direction. His tone, however, remained bizarrely pleasant, and that was somehow more chilling than if he'd raised his voice. "I can't fail to notice that none of this surprises you, Alex. I suspect it isn't a shock to you that Nate's been spying on his hosts. You've gone to some lengths to hide your relationship with Nate, but your texts tell a different story."

My jaw dropped. My texts?

"If you're going to leave your phone around for someone to look through, Nate, you must realise that people are going to take advantage of the fact. There are some marvellous spyware programs these days."

Fuck. We really had been babes in the wood in our attempts to investigate them.

Nate hadn't taken his eyes from James's face. "Alex doesn't know anything. Let him go."

Panic seeped through his voice, and cold fear clenched my heart as I realised this really was it. It was ridiculous. We were in the twenty-first century, in England, in a posh house in the middle of a city. This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't.

"I was thinking car accident," Steven said into the silence, proving me wrong.

I looked sideways at Nate, assessing. Was he recovered enough to fight? Because damned if I was going down without one.

There had to be a way out. There had to be some magic words to stop this. We just hadn't found them yet, and I had the feeling we were almost out of time.