Too Damn Rich (54 page)

He winced at the contempt in her voice.

"Well, bugger that!" she snapped. "What about
me, sod it? How about what I might want? Or haven't you bothered to
give me any thought?"

"I've thought about you constantly," he said
truthfully.

"Right. So, about this marriage you've so
kindly proposed," she continued remorselessly. "What would I get
out of it, pray tell?"

He sighed. "You would become one of the
richest women in the world. You would have money. Power.
Position."

"None of which, truth be told, I find all
that appealing."

So it's useless, he thought. I should have
known. But how he could have made such a mess of it ... !

He felt wretched, cheap. Appalled with
himself.

She used a thumb and index finger to remove
his hand from her wrist. He let go willingly, and fully expected
her to jump on Amethyst Dream and gallop off.

Instead, she continued to stand there,
hugging herself with her arms while frowning down at the
snow-carpeted landscape below.

"So this was the reason!" she exclaimed
softly. "Now it all falls into place!"

He glanced sideways at her. "What does?"

"Why Dina was so insistent about my coming
this weekend. Obviously, the two of you were in cahoots, along with
Becky, I imagine. Yes. You three had it all figured out. But first,
of course, I had to be lured here." She gestured at the rolling
countryside and Becky V's mansion in the distance. "Otherwise, how
could you spring your proposal on me?"

From his expression, she knew she had guessed
correctly.

"Zandra—" he began.

She cut him off. "Heinzie, please," she
begged. "Don't."

"But I must. Granted, you were invited under
false pretenses. But my feelings for you—"

"Heinzie!" Her eyes filled with tears.

He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Christ, but he'd blown it! He couldn't have botched it worse if
he'd tried. Hurting her had never been part of the plan.

Do we always wound the ones we love? he
wondered.

"Zandra," he pleaded, "try not to judge me
too hasti—"

But she had had enough, was running to her
horse and, a moment later, had Amethyst Dream galloping downhill.
Heading for the Greek Revival mansion in the distance.

Except for Alidad, Karl-Heinz stood alone
atop the rise, a solitary figure watching helplessly as Zandra
fled—

—putting distance between herself and him
...

... for good.

Lord Rosenkrantz was sipping champagne when a
movement outside the wall of windows caught his eye. It was Zandra,
astride the chestnut mare, hurtling toward the stables at full
speed.

"Oh, my," he said, clucking his tongue. "Oh
my, oh my. Do my eyes deceive me, my dear Becky, or does there seem
to be a spot of trouble?"

"Trouble?" Becky instantly sat up and
followed his gaze. "
Alors
. Not if I have anything to do with
it," she said determinedly, rising to her feet.

"Wait," Dina said, getting up. "It may be
better if I took care of this."

Becky hesitated, then nodded acquiescence.
"
Oui
. Why not? You know her better than anyone."

As Dina hurried out, Lord Rosenkrantz lifted
the champagne bottle out of the bucket.

"It looks," he predicted ominously, "as if
some fortification might well be in order. More champagne, my
dear?"

Sweetie?" Dina inquired, voice syrupy with
concern. She was speaking to Zandra, who she'd intercepted in the
mud room. "Is everything all right?"

Zandra, heel in a boot jack, yanked her leg
savagely out of a riding boot. "Why shouldn't it be? I mean, this
is the perfect country weekend." She glared at Dina. "Isn't
it?"

A frown marred Dina's flawless, Buf-Pufed
complexion. "I'm not sure I follow you, sweetie."

"You can drop the act. Game's over, darling."
Zandra shook her head in disbelief. "Jesus. You had it all figured
out, didn't you?"

"Sweetie?"

"My fairy-tale wedding to Heinzie!" Zandra
snapped angrily.

"Oh," Dina sighed, "that."

Zandra yanked her leg halfway out of the
other boot and kicked it off, sending it flying across the
room.

"Tell you what, sweetie," Dina suggested.
"Why don't we go into the library and talk this over nice and
calmly?"

"We can bloody well talk about it right
here!" Zandra stared at her. "How dare you! What the fuck did you
think you were up to? Or do you make a habit of pimping for
Karl-Heinz?"

"Oh, dear." Dina switched into her
Injured-Party Mode. "Really, sweetie, I wish you wouldn't be so
distressed."

"Do you think I like feeling this way?"

"Of course not. I only wanted what was best
for you."

"Right." Zandra's tone made it clear she
thought otherwise.

"Plus, you and Heinzie are tailor-made for
each other," Dina added.

"Are we?"

"Sweetie, you're the perfect couple. Each of
you has something the other needs."

"Do we now?"

"Yes, you do. Heinzie desperately needs an
heir. Otherwise he cannot inherit."

"And me? What do I supposedly need?"

"Why money, of course! Sweetie, you'll become
one of the richest women in the world!"

"Dina," Zandra said wearily, "has it ever
occurred to you that money isn't everything?"

"Of course it has. But believe me, sweetie,
it is better to have than to have not. And I speak from
experience."

"And does this experience of yours extend to
the bloody birds and the bloody bees?"

"What do you mean?"

"Dina! Ensuring Heinzie's inheritance
involves having sex. And bearing a child! More than one, if the
firstborn happen to be female. He needs a male heir in order to
inherit!"

"Yes, yes. I know."

"And has it also occurred to you that I might
not want to sleep with Heinzie?"

"Who says you have to?"

Zandra stared at her. "What? You mean, the
stork delivers it?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Dina smiled.
"It could."

Zandra could only shake her head.

"It's simple, sweetie. You see, there's a
loophole in the von und zu Engelwiesen law of primogeniture."

Zandra kept staring at her.

"For some reason," Dina explained, "it fails
to specify that the prince must be the father. Apparently, back in
the olden days, wives didn't dare stray."

Zandra remained silent.

"The only important thing," Dina said, "is
that the requisite trio of lawyers witness the birth. But who's to
say how the child was conceived?"

Zandra was speechless.

"Therefore, if sleeping with Heinzie is not
your cup of tea, it can all be done through artificial
insemination, so nice and clean, don't you think? Science has made
remarkable strides."

"So you've thought of everything," Zandra
said quietly.

"Why, yes," Dina said brightly, "I suppose I
have."

"Except you overlooked one minor detail."

"And what's that, sweetie?" Dina suddenly
looked worried.

"You'll have to find another victim," Zandra
said coldly. "It won't be me. Or do you see me wearing a 'Womb to
Let' sign?"

It was Dina's turn to stare.

"So forget it. My womb's not for sale. Nor
for hire, either!"

And with that, Zandra left the room, slamming
the door behind her.

"
Cherie?"
Rap tap tap.

Zandra could hear Becky knocking and calling
to her through the door. "
Cherie
..."

Can't I even lick my wounds in private?
Zandra thought angrily. Or is being left alone too much to ask
for?

"
Cherie
, please. Do open up."

God, how she wished Becky would give up and
go away!

No such luck.

Might as well get it over with, Zandra
decided. Maybe then I'll be allowed some peace. Unfolding herself
from the overstuffed chair, she crossed the sitting room of the
Tree Poppy suite and opened the door.

"
Mechancete, mechancete!
" Becky wagged
a playful, reproachful finger. "You had me worried. May I come
in?"

It's your house, Zandra wanted to retort, but
manners would not permit. She opened the door wider and stepped
aside.

Becky sailed in, shut the door, and adroitly
steered Zandra over to the green damask sofa facing the pine
mantel. They sat side by side, angled slightly toward each other in
order to facilitate conversation.

Becky looked around the red and green room,
as though its Tree Poppy walls, Tree Poppy chintz curtains, huge
dark paintings, brick-red overstuffed chairs, and walnut
furnishings were all new to her.

Nodding, as though in approval of the decor,
she folded her hands in her lap, saying, "Interesting. So English,
this room.
N'est-ce pas?
"

"Yes."

"Personally, in the city I prefer the French
style, but it does not translate well to the country.
Non
.
But the English! Only they know how to make country houses
comfortable.
Oui
."

Becky tilted her head and gave Zandra the
full treatment of her famous violet eyes.

"
Naturellement
, I have not come to
discuss decorating."

Zandra met her gaze directly. "I didn't think
you did."

Becky nodded. "Dina tells me she and you had
une bisbille
... a small tiff?"

"Oh, but that was nothing!" Zandra said, with
grandiose understatement.

"
Bon
. I am happy to hear it."

First Heinzie approaches me, Zandra thought,
then Dina, and now Becky. What is this? Tag team wrestling?

"Dina mentioned it had something to do with
Heinzie," Becky said. "
C'est vrai?
"

"Yes. He proposed, I turned him down. End of
story."

"Pity. You would have made a most attractive
couple. And he could use your help, you know."

"My help. Yes, I suspect that's why I was
lured here."

Becky's violet eyes went opaque. "Sometimes
such subterfuges are necessary. I deemed this to be one of those
occasions. I did not mean to insult you,
cherie
. If I have,
I extend my sincerest apologies."

"Apologies accepted."

"
Alors
. Now there is no more need of
subterfuge. May I speak frankly?"

"Please do."

"I am appealing to you on Heinzie's behalf.
Cherie
, won't you reconsider?"

"And marry him, you mean?"

Becky nodded. "
Oui
."

"I'm sorry, but the answer is still no."

"Even if we make it worth your while?"

"Even then. Yes."

"May I ask why?"

"Because I have my own feelings to
consider."

"Feelings," Becky sighed. "
Cherie
,
must you be so
obstine?
Can you think of no one but
yourself?"

"If I don't," Zandra said, "who will?
Heinzie? Dina? You?"

"You are a silly, selfish little ingrate. I
see that now."

Zandra flared. "I'm selfish? Haven't you got
it turned around? It's you—you and Dina and Heinzie—who are being
selfish. Please, darling, do me a favor. Next time someone needs a
descendant of the Holy Roman Emperors, kindly leave me out of
it?"

Zandra started to get up, but Becky caught
her by the forearm and pulled her back down.

"We're not quite finished,
cherie
."

Zandra thrust out her chin determinedly. "I'm
afraid we are."

"You silly child!" Becky's lacquered talons
dug into Zandra's arm. "Why must you be so difficult? Why—?"

Zandra had no desire to argue, and remained
silent.

"People get married for convenience all the
time," Becky went on. "To get their green cards. To secure tax
advantages. To hide unsavory predilections behind respectable
facades. The reasons are endless."

Zandra still did not speak.

"All you have to do is marry Heinzie and give
him a son. Afterwards, you can do as you wish. Divorce him. Live in
luxurious splendor for the rest of your life ..."

Zandra had had enough. "You might as well
save your breath. I'm really not interested."

Becky's eyes narrowed. "Ten million dollars.
Is that enough to interest you?"

"You haven't been listening. I said, no
sale!"

"Twenty million, then?"

"You can make it a hundred million, and you'd
still be wasting your breath!"

"
Vraiment!
" Becky scoffed. "You? Turn
down a hundred million?"

"Yes. Me."

"
Cherie
, please. Don't make me
laugh!"

"
Chere amie
, I'm not trying to."
Zandra imitated Becky to scathing perfection. "
Alors.
This
discussion is
fini
."

The mimicry was so arch that Becky let go of
Zandra's arm and jumped to her feet.

"How dare you!" she hissed.

"Perhaps now," Zandra said tightly, "you'll
kindly leave. Think it's time I started packing my things. Wouldn't
want to outstay my welcome."

"That," Becky said icily, "might not be such
a bad idea. I shall arrange for a car."

And turning on her heel, she left, shutting
the door soundlessly behind her.

Five minutes later, Zandra was on her way
back to the city.

At Becky V's, predinner drinks were being
served. Nina Fairey, roaming the huge sitting room, nursed a glass
of white wine.

"What," she wondered aloud, "is keeping
Zandra?"

It was Becky who replied.

"I'm afraid she took ill,
cherie
. But
she did ask me to convey her regrets."

"It's nothing serious, is it?"

"
Non. Non
. Probably just a stomach
virus. You know. Ah! Here come the hors d'oeuvres. You really must
try the miniature pizzas. They truly are sublime!"