Risking It All: London Calling Book Three (29 page)

“Maddy,” she began. “You know how much we love you.” Her mother glanced at her father, who silently nodded. “Which is exactly why you need to listen to us.” As Madeleine moved to interrupt, her mother raised her hand between them, stopping her. “And
talk
to us.”

Madeleine shifted, crossing her ankles beneath her chair. Suddenly thirsty, she took a swallow of wine. “Okay,” she said. She realized she’d put this moment off for as long as her parents would allow. “Go on.”

Her mother smiled, and it seemed as if she relaxed in her chair. “You were always such an independent little girl. You demanded to pick your own clothes by the time you were three. You tied your shoes before anyone else your age. And you never once hesitated on stage, not even your very first night on Broadway.” Her mom’s eyes, so like her own, were closed as she remembered. When she opened them again, her gaze was unfocused. “We were so proud of you.” A shallow sigh, then her mother seemed to shake herself back into the present. She nodded toward her husband. “We still are. Honey?”

Madeleine looked at her father and was surprised to see a single tear run down his cheek. Alarmed, she said, “Dad? What is it?”

“You always apologize for what’s happened. But I want you to see that your mother and I don’t have a single regret.” Her father spoke softly. Reaching across the table, he took Madeleine’s hand in his own. “You’ve been our greatest adventure.”

Madeleine looked down to where her father’s hand covered her own. His skin was tanned, a testimony to the time he spent outdoors these days. Hers was pale. Small.
 

“And our greatest accomplishment.” He squeezed her fingers.
 

Madeleine swallowed a sob. “But—”

“No,” her mother said. “No
buts
.” Lines fanned out from her eyes as she smiled. “It’s past time for us to move forward as a family. There’s never been any need for regret. Worry, yes. But look at us.” She gestured to the three of them. “We are sitting here together, healthy and whole for the most part.” She patted her husband’s hand.
 

Madeleine’s father refilled their glasses. “As usual, your mother is right. There is no room here for sorrow.” He lifted his glass in a toast to Madeleine. “Or fear.”

At the mention of fear, Madeleine’s insides set to quivering. “I’m not scared.” She looked from one parent to the other, watching as the happiness faded from their eyes. “I’m
not
.”

Her father was the first to recover, and if the smile he adopted seemed a little forced, Madeleine chose to ignore it. She tapped her glass against his, hoping to move on to other topics.
 

“Good.” He cleared his throat. “That’s good. But it’s time to prove it.”
 

Shocked, she stared. Growing up her parents had been loving and supportive. They’d never been strict or demanding. In fact, she could say they’d given her room to make choices, encouraging her to find her own way.
 

Clearly, they’d decided to make a change.

“What do you mean?” she murmured. “I can’t prove how I feel.” She stabbed a piece of the salad and brought it to her lips. Despite the fact it was now wilted with dressing, she militantly chewed and swallowed. She gulped more wine to wash it down.

As Madeleine witnessed another glance between her parents, she knew they weren’t giving up.
 

“Actually, you can, Madeleine.” Her mother’s voice was firm.

Madeleine’s brows shot up. They almost never called her by her full name.
 

“We’ve been the ones to visit you for months now. We’ve become steadily more concerned seeing the way you lock yourself away here. It’s why we’ve been coming more often.”
 

Madeleine felt a sliver of self-pity worm its way into her heart. Why were they pushing her
now
?

Her father looked around the spacious room. “It’s a cage. No matter how luxurious or gilded, it is
still
a cage.”

She tucked her knife into her fork and laid them both on her plate. Most of the food she’d served herself still remained, cold and unappetizing. She took a deep breath. “I do leave here. I know you don’t believe me, but I do.”

Two pairs of eyes stared back, their expressions level. She felt fourteen again—like she was about to confess about a boy she’d kissed backstage.

“Granted, I go out alone and make sure I stay that way. I run. I go to the theater in the evenings, after dark.” There. She was being completely honest.

Her parents were holding hands now, their fingers linked atop the table.
 

“Good,” her father said. “That’s wonderful, honey.”
 

She could see the obvious love behind the compassion in his eyes. And her mother looked the same.
 

She owed them so much. Too much to become a disappointment.

“I promise to do better. Okay?” She adjusted the strap of her watch. It was a gift from them for one of her birthdays.

“That’s all we can ask.” Her mother smiled. “Will you at least try to meet us outside the penthouse sometime soon? We can go to the zoo or someplace fun. Somewhere we can get lost in a crowd.”

Madeleine appreciated the sentiment while wondering how on earth she’d manage. “Okay, Mom. The zoo it is. Or someplace fun. Maybe in a week or two?”

It was almost imperceptible, but her mother’s face seemed to drop. Then she brightened again, pasting on a broad smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Okay, Maddy.” She nodded. “Okay.”

Madeleine rose to clear the table and bring out dessert. She would try, with everything in her, to do as they asked. They were remarkable people, and she loved them with every cell in her body.
 

She tossed back her shoulders. She’d starred on Broadway. Walked runways in Milan and Paris.

For crying out loud, she could handle a
zoo
in Chicago.

By the end of the evening, she almost believed herself.

***

Sebastian Payne allowed the helicopter to fully settle onto the landing pad before he removed his headphones and seatbelt. He popped open his door and lightly jumped to the ground as the rotors continued to sweep overhead. He shut it then ducked down while jogging away from the pad. After twenty yards or so, he stopped, turned back, and signaled his pilot with a thumbs up. Almost immediately, the helicopter rose again with a shrill whine as it climbed back into the sky.
 

He stood for a moment or two, watching it ascend farther before banking west to return to England. As it disappeared from sight, he sighed, steeling himself for his upcoming meeting with Angeline Sinclair.

Sebastian crossed the immaculate grounds of his estate, admiring the vivid green grass and superbly manicured topiaries. He hopped a low stone wall to walk through the formal gardens, then stayed on the path taking him to the house. It was hot on Jersey today, but his home sat high atop a hill that overlooked St. Aubin’s Bay. The winds off the Channel kept it cooler than expected, so air conditioning was rarely needed. Even so, he left those details to Angeline as she was his business partner and resident houseguest. These days he almost considered it to be more her home than his.
 

In truth, it still belonged to his parents. His family had multiple holdings, some dating back nearly three hundred years. Frankly, Sebastian was a little embarrassed by it all. Some days he wished he could escape to Ireland, home of his mother’s ancestors, and live in a modest country home somewhere near the sea. Most days he knew how impossible that wish really was.

The house on Jersey was as close to a getaway retreat as the Payne family came. He still remembered when his parents purchased it, fresh after the traumatic kidnapping that took him away from them for over three weeks. He’d been ten.
 

He pulled the side door open that would take him inside. The space was open, airy, and light—all the things Sebastian preferred. He could recall his mother’s demands while the work was being done to redesign the house after they moved into it prematurely. She hadn’t wanted to wait, understanding and sharing her son’s need to be away from London and the estate where they’d lived before.
 

He shook off the thoughts and memories. He needed a clear head for his meeting with Angeline. And it never did him any good to remember the things he couldn’t change.
 

Sebastian was reasonably sure where he would find Angeline. He considered going straight to his room to strip out of the suit he was wearing. Instead, he toed off his shoes and carefully set his travel duffel near the door. Padding silently through the house, he paused when he reached the kitchen’s swinging door.

No matter how quiet he was, he knew he wouldn’t catch Angeline unaware. She was calm and invariably serene, even in the face of the worst situations and darkest predators. She never lost control, never revealed anything she didn’t intentionally wish to be seen.
 

She was a mystery.

She also refused any personal security. The estate had the most technologically advanced alarm system available on the planet, updated recently by Dominic Martin. Motion sensor cameras dotted the perimeters and exterior grounds. She adamantly denied Sebastian when he suggested some for the household interiors.

“You know how sacred privacy is to me,” she’d said.
 

And he did. So he’d switched tactics and asked her to allow him to teach her some self-defense and basic fighting skills. Asking became insisting, and when she still denied his requests, he resorted to pleading.
 

Nothing. Again and again, she refused. Finally, she laid a hand on his arm. “Sebastian, I can take care of myself.” She called him by his full name when she was serious. It reminded him so much of his mother, who was also a poised and elegant woman. In some ways, he supposed Angeline was a friendly substitute for his real mum who lived in happy indolence in France with his father.
 

But he continued to worry that someone might slip through security when Angeline least expected it. He considered her one of his responsibilities even though she’d hate the very idea.

“Sebastian, you can stop hovering outside the door. I know you’re here.”
 

Her voice, slightly raised, startled him out of his thoughts. He pushed open the kitchen door. Angeline sat at a small breakfast table near a bay window. Her long chestnut hair was piled up in a messy knot and she wore noise-canceling headphones, which were plugged into a laptop. She folded her hands in front of her as he strolled into the room.

“How did you know? Especially with the headphones on?” He didn’t give her time to answer. “You shouldn’t wear those. Someone could sneak up on you, and you’d never hear them.”

A smile barely tilted one side of her mouth. “Like you did?”

He shrugged, a little impatient with her. “You know what I mean.” He looked around the kitchen, spying a French press. Waving a hand toward it, he asked, “May I?”

Her full lips moved into a grin. “Bas, it’s
your
kitchen.”
 

He frowned slightly.
 

“Have some coffee,” she amended. A tiny line creased her forehead.
 

Before she could speak, Sebastian poured his cup full and lifted it to his lips. He took a deep swallow then abruptly lowered the mug. “What the hell is in this?”

“Chicory.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Feeling nostalgic?”

“Actually—” she began. They were interrupted by the buzzer indicating someone at the gates outside.
 

Sebastian moved to the wall where a security device allowed him to see visitors. It was the same device he’d first seen and used at Madeleine Price’s penthouse in Chicago. He could testify to its effectiveness. He’d had monitors installed in nearly every room of the estate.
 

Sebastian pressed a button and Dominic Martin’s face filled the small screen.

“What are you doing here?” Sebastian rarely tempered his tone, and especially not with Martin. They’d formed an uneasy truce over the past months but hardly a friendship.

“I’m glad to see you too, sweetheart.”
 

Sebastian gritted his teeth. The other man was an invariable smartass. Before he could reply, Dominic continued.

“Let me in, Payne. Otherwise, I’ll come anyway and set off all those beautiful alarms I installed for you.”

Angeline silently sidled up to Sebastian. He glanced over as she delicately pushed an elbow into his side. “Please, boys. Allow me.”

He moved and Angeline faced the monitor. “Good morning, Dom. You’re right on time.” She pressed the button that opened the gates. “Come on in. I have croissants.”

Sebastian saw Dominic flash a lightning grin before the video clicked off. He eyed Angeline. “You invited Martin.” It wasn’t a question. Sebastian hated the wasted energy of asking about things with obvious answers.
 

Angeline’s eyes flickered. “Yes.” She offered no apology. “I deemed it appropriate for our discussion.”

She sounded firm, unrepentant. Sebastian was a man who’d grown up with the privilege of money and inherent authority. Rarely did he encounter an individual with a will as strong as his own. But Angeline Dubois Sinclair trumped him in spades.
 

He nodded, bowing his head slightly. “As you wish.”

She walked to the kitchen cupboards, removing plates, napkins, and cutlery. She took down a cup and poured another coffee, then added a dollop of cream. Waving a hand, she indicated Sebastian to come over. “Sebastian, please set the table.”
 

He felt like he was eight years old again. Except no one had expected him to set a table, or do any household chores, while growing up. They’d had servants for that, something he’d taken for granted most of his life. “Yes, ma’am.” He coated the words with sarcasm.

Angeline smiled broadly, undeterred by his surliness. “Finally. Some respect around here.”

The kitchen door swung open, nearly bouncing back on its hinges. Dominic Martin strolled into the room, arms outstretched. “Ms. Angeline.” His accent was pronounced and spoke clearly of the American South.