Read the book: «Entangled With The Heiress»

One

Trinity Hyatt walked down the museum hallway, keeping her steps light on the tile floor as if she were a child trying to sneak past her parents. As if the sound of the gala from the west wing wouldn’t cover her brief getaway.

She just needed a moment, a moment away from the speculative gazes and prying questions. A moment to breathe…

But then she thought back to the headline she’d seen when she turned on her computer this morning.

Suspicious Marriage Threatens

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That damn blogger… Her mother had drilled into her growing up that using profanity was only for the uneducated, but Trinity had found its occasional use more than satisfying as an adult. Since the mental slip was the only form of anger Trinity allowed herself, she hoped her mother forgave her this time.

Didn’t the anonymous columnist understand how much words hurt? Not to mention how the photograph that accompanied the story made Trinity relive the moment standing beside Michael’s grave as half the country watched and ultimately judged her. Why couldn’t her online tormentor see the grief on her face? Why couldn’t this person tell her tears were genuine?

Trinity locked away the memories of the painful whispering and curious stares during tonight’s charity gala, brought on by today’s post. Instead she tried to focus on her momentary solitude in one of her favorite places in New Orleans.

So many memories from the familiar hallways of the ASTRA Museum flitted through her overtaxed mind, bringing a welcome peace. She remembered holding her mother’s hand as they walked in the blessed quiet, without worry over someone yelling at them or telling them to leave because they didn’t fit in because they were too poor. The museum had been open without cost every Saturday. They’d often made the trip across town on the bus to spend a few hours away from her screaming father, looking at the paintings and sculptures, appreciating the beauty that drew them even though they knew nothing about art.

Later, Michael had wandered these halls with her, filling her mind with stories of the artists and the sometimes harrowing journeys the pieces went through before coming to be displayed in the Southern United States.

They were both gone now, to Trinity’s never-ending grief. But she tucked it down inside and locked it away, because Michael had left her with a very important job to do. And she would. She would step back out into the charity event with her head high and represent her best friend and everything he’d worked so hard to build.

But for just a moment, she needed peace and calm to surround her.

A twinge of guilt stole through her as she reflected on her husband…though it was still hard to think of him as such. Ten years her senior, Michael Hyatt had been her friend and mentor of sorts for a long time. Then they’d barely been married a week. She had trouble accepting that he was gone, though the explosive crash of his private helicopter had taken him from her just a little over six weeks ago.

The ache he’d left behind weighed on her day and night.

Coming to a standstill in front of a hundred-year-old painting of a peasant woman holding her infant son, Trinity stared at the muted colors. Her vision blurred, the familiar details disappearing as her brain simply drifted. Even the ache this particular portrait always evoked inside her remained subdued. Children were another part of her life to be mourned, and she didn’t want to handle that tonight.

When her eyes felt too full, she let her lids close, ignoring the solitary tear that flowed down her cheek.

“She looks happy… At peace, wouldn’t you say? Despite what must be hard life circumstances.”

Startled to hear an echo of her own past thoughts on this particular painting, Trinity turned. She hadn’t heard anyone approach. But the man now standing beside her took her very breath away.

His dark hair had a touch of premature silver at each temple. The color echoed the cool gray of his irises, which had subtle green striations. His bearing was distinguished enough that he fit into the elegant surroundings of the museum, but he didn’t have the soft edges that a lifetime of high living gave many men in this world. Head and shoulders taller than her own average height, he left Trinity feeling dwarfed. He filled out his tux just enough to hint at muscle without too much bulk.

His gaze dropped to her cheek, leaving Trinity uncomfortably aware of the cool air over her moist skin. As casually as she could manage, she wiped the tear away. He didn’t mention what he’d seen.

The very look of him mesmerized her even more than the paintings. An embarrassingly long moment drew out before she could force herself to breathe in a long drink of air, then she offered a small nod. “Yes, I’ve always thought so.”

For the briefest instant, a surprised expression crossed his features. She noticed a faint lifting of one dark brow, so quick she wondered if it had even happened.

Trinity stiffened. The question of whether or not he was a reporter hadn’t occurred to her, but having seen that same expression on the faces of the people who hounded her day in and day out, she couldn’t help but wonder. Had he followed her here on purpose?

Having swallowed the story that she’d been raised in a rural, strictly religious household, most press hounds didn’t expect her to speak with a cultured accent or intelligent words. After all, she had to be a money-hungry hick to have come from obscurity to inherit the entire Hyatt fortune. It was the very image that Michael’s family had painted of her.

That idea sold more stories, more of the candid pictures they hunted her down for. They didn’t want to look for the truth, the deeper truth of who she was, of what she’d survived.

But the man’s expression disappeared so quickly that Trinity wondered if she was just being paranoid because of her current situation. Now his cool gaze trailed down her sapphire gown, one of the few Michael had personally picked out for her. For once, Trinity wasn’t left feeling vulnerable and exposed. Instead a small wave of unexpected heat flowed over her.

“Needed a little breather from the party?” he asked quietly.

Though it was probably a banal piece of small talk, Trinity was shaken at how much it echoed her own thoughts. She tried to brush it off. “These things do tend to get a little stuffy at times.”

“I agree. In many ways.”

Goodness, that grin reached all the way to the core of her. Something Trinity had never experienced before…and wasn’t really comfortable experiencing now.

To her relief, his gaze moved past her to the elaborate cream-and-gold walls of the rotunda, pausing at each of the twelve specially chosen pieces displayed permanently within this space. “This isn’t just peaceful. It’s unique. Gorgeous,” he said, his voice deepening in a way that sent a tingle down her spine.

What was wrong with her tonight?

“You’ve never been here before?” she asked to fill the silence.

Part of her was resentful that this man, and the sensations he seemed to be calling to the surface, had interrupted her time in this special space. The other part of her couldn’t quell the fascination that kept popping up in unexpected, uninvited ways.

I’m a widow, dang it. A recent one.

Unaware of her inner turmoil, the man answered, “No. This is my first time. My first time in New Orleans, actually.” He held out a hand. “I’m Rhett Butler. Nice to meet you.”

Trinity felt her mouth drop open in a most unladylike way. “Seriously?”

“No,” he said, flashing another hundred-watt smile, “actually my name is Rhett Brannon. But when in the South…”

Stinker. “That’s good. I was beginning to think your parents had a strange sense of humor.” Not that his dark good looks and riveting charisma wouldn’t allow him to double for Rhett Butler.

Something deep inside warned her not to make nice. The outstretched hand reminded her of a snake she knew was dangerous. It caused a combination of fascination and fear in her suspicious brain. She couldn’t risk one misstep in the game Michael had begged her to play.

She stretched her hand out and politely shook. “Thank you. I’m Trinity, Trinity—Hyatt.”

Her hesitation was automatic. Even after almost two months, she had a hard time grasping that her last name had changed, that there was now a paramount need to present herself as Michael’s wife. He had counted on her. The charity counted on her. She had to do the right thing.

“Trinity, huh?” Rhett said, not showing any recognition of who she was. Was he simply a good actor? Or did he really not know? “That’s an interesting name, too.”

Definitely. “My mother was highly religious.” She let a small smile stretch her lips. “I’ve always wondered if it was a reminder to me. To never forget the Father, Son and Holy Ghost.”

“And have you?”

She was startled enough to answer honestly. “Some days are easier than others.”

The rueful grin that stretched his lips fascinated her more than it should have. “I can agree with that,” he said.

A small silence fell, bringing with it that uncomfortable sense of awareness of his masculinity and presence. It only eased a little as he motioned for them to stroll farther around the rotunda.

At least she didn’t have to look directly into those mesmerizing eyes. But the silence didn’t sit well with her. “So what brings you to NOLA?” she asked.

“Business. Some people I’ll be working with brought me along tonight.”

“Generous of them.”

His grunt could have been a confirmation, but she suspected she heard a bit of skepticism behind the sound.

“Are you here with your husband?”

Surprise shot through her, until her quick glance found his gaze resting on the band encircling her ring finger, the tiny cluster of emeralds and diamonds twinkling in the lights from above. “No,” she murmured. “I’m a widow.”

It still felt weird saying it out loud. It still felt strange to realize she and Michael had been married. For her, it had essentially been a business proposition—with infinite benefits considering the fortune she stood to inherit. And a favor to the man who had been her best friend, even if it had turned out to be the hardest job she’d ever faced.

And she faced it alone, now that Michael was gone.

Rhett cocked his head to the side, an obvious question in his expression.

“My…husband, Michael Hyatt, passed away recently in an accident.”

Rhett’s nod was slow and sage. “Yes, I believe I heard about that. Helicopter accident, wasn’t it? Very sad.”

Of course, he would have heard of it. Michael had not just been a lifelong friend and the owner of the charity Trinity had run for him, he’d also been a wildly successful, multimillion-dollar businessman. The question was, what else had he heard?

As if he sensed her subtle withdrawal, Rhett paused to meet her gaze head on. There was nowhere for her to hide. “Please accept my sincere condolences for your loss.”

Startled, she felt pinned by both his look and his words. His wasn’t one of the trite I’m sorrys that preceded the endless questions she wished she never had to answer again.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

“You’re welcome.” A smaller version of his grin appeared, but dang if it wasn’t just as charming.

For a moment, Trinity found herself drifting, wishing she wasn’t Michael’s widow, wasn’t the most talked-about person in New Orleans at the moment, and was simply a woman who could respond to that smile without a worry in the world.

But she wasn’t. Time ticked inside her head, counting off the seconds until someone realized she was missing from the elite crowd.

“I really should be getting back,” she said. Someone had surely noticed she was gone by now. Especially Michael’s aunt and uncle. They didn’t miss a move that she made.

And neither did the press.

Defeat weighed down on her as she remembered reading today’s post and photos on the NOLA Secrets & Scandals blog. She’d never have noticed it on her own. Jenny, her secretary, had pointed it out. The hints about a money-hungry widow threatening the livelihoods of countless families gave her an idea of what information the author had hunted down, but not an idea of when the full story would hit… As if Trinity didn’t have enough to stress her out.

Didn’t anyone understand that she shared the questions—and fears—about how her husband’s death and the lawsuit filed against his estate by his aunt and uncle would affect the business’s 50,000-person global workforce?

She assured herself time and again that she was carrying out Michael’s wishes. But she had to wonder what he’d been thinking to put a global empire and the fate of that many people under the direction of a charity program director like herself. Still, despite her many misgivings, she never let her worries surface in public. There were too many people eager to use them against her.

Though the question haunted her night after night, she was determined to do her very best by all of them…including Michael.

But those worries were nothing compared to the butterflies in her stomach and unfamiliar heat in her core caused by the man walking by her side. “Yes, I definitely need to get back.”

“But we’re just getting to know—”

Trinity sped up, snagging her shoe in her dress in her clumsy attempt to get away. She tripped and flung out her hand to catch herself.

Without warning, she found herself engulfed in musky male scent and heat. Her body froze, but her instincts knew exactly what they wanted. She breathed deep, sucking in the hint of cologne and the savory scent of him, imprinting his essence on her lungs.

Immediately guilt snaked through her. She pushed against his arms, needing to be free. But he didn’t release her until she was once again steady on her feet.

“Please don’t,” she gasped, recognizing her response to him with rising fear. Attraction by itself, let alone to a man she knew nothing about, was the last thing she needed in her life.

Unfazed by her protests, Rhett simply arched a brow as he pulled back. “I assumed from our talk that you didn’t care for a crowd.”

Puzzled, she said, “Yes?”

“Well, if your hand had hit right there—” his gaze turned to the wall where she would have landed, right on the frame of one of the beloved portraits in the rotunda “—then you would have set off the alarm and brought a whole load of people running.”

And caused an epic scene being found in the arms of another man six weeks after her husband’s death. Her cheeks burned as she imagined it. She quickly covered them with her palms. What a nightmare.

“Thank you,” she choked out, unable to look up into Rhett’s gray-green gaze.

But he was having none of that. He tucked firm fingers under her chin and lifted her face, displacing her own hands covering her embarrassment. Then he removed his arm from her, creating a small, intimate space between them.

Then she felt his thumb rub against the fullness of her bottom lip. A jolt of electricity shot through her. His eyelids lowered, and he gave her a slumberous, searching look that sent aftershocks down her spine.

“My pleasure,” he said quietly. Then he was gone.

“So I see you’ve met our little gold digger.”

Something about Richard Hyatt’s voice always hit Rhett like nails on a chalkboard. Suppressing a wince took effort. He turned to find the heavyset man standing behind him, years of self-indulgence stamped on his pale, bloated face. His wife stood beside him, looking like his polar opposite. From the first moment Rhett had met with them, the couple had reminded him of the Jack Sprat nursery rhyme. Patricia Hyatt was pencil thin and her expression remained hard no matter the topic of conversation.

Somehow Rhett couldn’t imagine the pale, vulnerable woman he’d met in the rotunda marrying into a family that included these people, but appearances could be deceiving…as Rhett knew better than most. He’d been on the receiving end of dishonest treachery more times than he could count, personally and professionally, but it was his ability to look beneath the surface of a pretty face and find the hidden ugliness that made him a master at his job.

Well, he preferred to consider it a true calling.

Trinity appeared genuinely innocent, from her wide, doe-brown eyes to the emotions that had flitted through her expression when she’d thought she was alone. There was a purity to her beauty that drew him in, urged him to let his guard down and believe that she’d been a true bride to Richard’s deceased nephew, not a grifter. There was also something about her that woke sensations that weren’t usually a part of his investigations.

But crying in public when there was any chance she might get caught? That had his Spidey senses tingling.

Was she simply a great actress? Had she taken advantage of Michael Hyatt and caught an unexpected win when he died so suddenly? Had she wormed her way into his bed, then into his will? From what he’d been told, that seductive innocence was a lie…and it was Rhett’s responsibility to prove it.

Still, something about the whole scenario didn’t quite fit. Rhett’s instincts were usually spot-on from the moment he met someone. But with Trinity, the signal seemed to be intermittent. Not that he would be voicing that suspicion to his new client.

“Do you think it’s wise to be speaking with me tonight?” he asked before indulging in a miniscule sip from his whiskey glass. Normally, he didn’t drink on a job, but he did need to look the part in tonight’s crowd. And blending in, playing the part, was something at which Rhett was extremely skilled. He glanced around, noting that Trinity hadn’t returned to mingle in the crowd yet. But if she did, he wanted this meeting to look as casual as possible.

“Just a brief chat,” Richard said, his gaze shifting back and forth over the surrounding crowd in a way that was blatantly suspicious. He extended a meaty hand. “You know how to make it look like a first meeting, don’t you?”

Rhett smothered a sigh before shaking the other man’s hand. Working with amateurs who thought they knew everything was such a pain in the ass.

“Of course,” he said, his tone smooth and his voice pitched low. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Hyatt. I had the pleasure of meeting Trinity Hyatt moments ago.”

Richard smirked, as if pleased Rhett had taken his direction, but Patricia snapped, “Don’t call her that. I will never acknowledge that woman’s so-called marriage to my nephew. Ever.”

She might not, but that didn’t mean the law wouldn’t. Rhett didn’t bother making the distinction. That was their lawyer’s job.

“Regardless, our meeting was quite satisfactory. I don’t foresee any problems with proceeding.”

Satisfied smiles appeared on Richard’s and Patricia’s faces. As much as the Hyatts’ obvious greed for their deceased nephew’s estate left a bad taste in Rhett’s mouth, he couldn’t deny their suspicions had basis in reality. Trinity Romero had become Trinity Hyatt a mere week before her new husband had died in a helicopter crash, taking her from a lowly administrator at one of her husband’s charities to a very wealthy widow. A claim her new family was already protesting in court. She did have a handwritten copy of his new will, but her lawyer insisted the official copy had been with her husband in the helicopter he’d died in on his way to his lawyer’s office.

Convenient.

“I knew you were the man for the job,” Richard was saying. “Our lawyer knew exactly who to turn to. A man like you will make her putty in your hands in a week—”

“Maybe less,” his wife murmured, eyeing Rhett in a most unladylike way over the rim of her wineglass.

Richard ignored her. “You’ll get the truth from her, then we will have evidence for our court case. Anything to put this whole debacle behind us.”

“Remember, I cannot guarantee that time frame, Mr. Hyatt.”

Richard’s ham-handed slap on the back left Rhett uncomfortable but he knew better than to show it. Clients were never happy if you gave any hint of not trusting them.

The pat was accompanied by a hearty, “I have full faith in you, my man. And it seems like others are starting to get on board.”

Rhett knew what Richard was referring to, as anyone in his position should, but still asked, “Meaning?”

“Apparently New Orleans’ resident gossip blogger, one of those anonymous channels that dishes all the dirt, has started digging into Trinity’s secrets. That should help our cause,” he said with an overly loud guffaw. “Our lawyer will send you a link before the meeting tomorrow.”

Again, Rhett didn’t let on that he knew about the gossip column. He was nothing if not thorough. No single thing was left to chance. Rhett had seen the alert just as soon as the post had gone live. NOLA Secrets & Scandals was exceedingly popular in the city and gaining ground across the South. In less than three months, the Instagram page connected with the blog had gained over 100,000 followers. It had caught on not just with gossipmongers, but within the upper classes, who relished knowing and spreading the secret tidbits the blogger exposed.

Rhett shifted a little in his jacket, for once wishing he’d sent his partner, Chris, instead of taking this job himself. But Chris had his hands full with a case involving a gigolo trying to swindle an elderly woman out of her fortune; Chris’s job was to seduce the old lady right out from under him so her children would ultimately receive their rightful inheritance.

On the surface, what their company did sounded down and dirty, but it really wasn’t. They might whisper a few sweet words or hold someone a little closer than publicly proper, but there was a line that was never crossed. A line that Rhett had never wanted to cross. After all, he’d had enough betrayal in his life without deliberately putting himself into a situation that could only have a bad ending.

They were coming down to the wire on that case, but Rhett couldn’t wait for Chris to wrap it up. Oh, Rhett could certainly do this job. Trinity’s beauty eased any hardship caused by her gauche in-laws. Just the thought of the hunt, the subtle maneuvers required to ferret out the information he needed to undermine any claim she had on the Hyatt estate set his blood pumping.

He just had to ignore the other things about Trinity that made his heart pound.

As his new clients eased off with a casual wave and a not-so-subtle wink, Rhett indulged in the barest sip of his whiskey. He casually zeroed in on the very spot where Trinity was standing. He’d known the moment she’d reentered the museum’s grand ballroom. His brain had registered every glance she’d thrown his way, no matter how much she’d tried to hide it. So he let the distaste he’d felt for his clients’ motives show momentarily on his face. He wanted her to see that he’d met her in-laws and didn’t care for them that much.

He could almost feel her curiosity and concern across the space between them.

Now he let himself make eye contact, then he lifted his glass in her direction, catching her wide-eyed surprise as he acknowledged a connection neither of them had put into words. Regardless of what her in-laws might say, what society might whisper or what his own conscience might condemn, getting to know each other was going to be a very sure pleasure.