Peter Northrop offered Henry the use of a bathroom to clean off the blood from his face and to change into clean clothes. Not particularly generous considering it was his overanxious security detail that had rumpled his appearance in the first place. After cleaning up, he went in search of Mr. Northrop, his wife, and his daughter Julia in their breakfast room. A pissed-off security guard followed him like a shadow on a sunny day. No doubt the fact that Henry would be sharing breakfast with the family while Declan was traveling to the hospital for a few stitches added to the man’s hostility.
As Henry trekked down an endless hallway, a large portrait over the fireplace in the study came into view. The sight froze Henry in place.
Alex.
She appeared to be about fourteen or fifteen in the painting. Her long brown hair had been pulled high into a messy ponytail with random chunks falling out around her face. The artist captured her brandy-tinted eyes filled with adolescent annoyance and rolled back in aggravation at having to pose for such a long time. The young woman, attired in black jeans and a cream-colored crewneck sweater, leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, defiant and amazing. A 4-D person in a 3-D world.
How could anyone want to tone down such perfection and force her into a staid life where she’d suffocate under social restrictions and extreme expectations? She’d set herself free to display her true colors to the world. Thank God she did, or he never would have met her.
When he arrived in the breakfast room, Mrs. Northrop offered him a seat. The family held themselves aloof as was expected. He’d arrived as an armed stranger at their door, searching for their lost child.
Mrs. Northrop, the real Gabrielle, sat poised and elegant, her smooth brown hair pulled into a neat bun. Wearing a simple tan dress and a sweater, she acknowledged Henry with a tentative smile, one that reached her cheeks, but faded before engaging her eyes. She offered him her hand in greeting.
Mr. Northrop, on the other hand, regarded Henry the way a duke of old would acknowledge a footman. He seemed put out to be having a guest of such little consequence. Henry cloaked himself with the aristocratic airs of his own father, another pretentious patriarch. He leaned back in his chair and countered Mr. Northrop’s attitude with a proud countenance of his own. As nonsensical as that seemed, it often worked to earn the respect of some of the blowhards in his own country.
Julia poured Henry a mug of coffee and offered him some refreshments. “Are you called Lord Ripon?” she asked while sliding the cream toward his cup. Despite watching a bevy of security guards disarm him a half an hour ago, she appeared quite at ease in his presence. Her smile seemed genuine and her demeanor welcoming.
“Please, call me Henry.”
He couldn’t help staring at her. Despite longer hair and a more sunny disposition, her appearance reminded him of Alex. Even as Julia held herself with the confidence that comes with a billion dollars in the bank, she acted approachable and warmhearted. He saw her approval of him, despite his airs of self-importance. Could she read his intentions so easily? Alex was a lousy judge of character, thus her current predicament.
“I haven’t heard from Alex in a long time. I’m curious for any news you can give me.”
“Julia, I’d prefer we refrain from discussing our personal business with Mr. Chilton.” Obviously not a fan of titles, nor familiar names, Peter Northrop didn’t seem to tolerate idle chitchat in front of strangers. He turned to Henry. “So how did you meet Alexandra?”
“She was a guest at a dinner party at my house. We’d decided to travel together to an art exhibition in Atlanta.”
“And the last time you spoke to her?” His tone became an accusation.
Henry restricted his words to only what Mr. Northrop needed to know. “Four days ago. She disappeared from the gallery. I’m worried about her, and now with the death on your property, I’m even more concerned.”
Mr. Northrop tented his fingers in front of his chin. “I find it strange that Julia loses contact with Alexandra for six months, and then Anna receives a cryptic message from her warning of a death threat. Within twenty-four hours, my head of security is gunned down on my property. And now, you arrive at her childhood home in search of her. She hasn’t lived here in almost a decade. Haven’t we been through enough?”
Henry couldn’t temper the scowl he aimed at Mr. Northrop. The guy didn’t want to help him. He wanted to minimize his bad press. “As I told you earlier, she went missing at the auction we attended together. I assumed she’d try to seek you out since she was in the States.”
“What specifically is your relationship with Alexandra, Mr. Chilton?”
What was their relationship? Business associates? Boyfriend and girlfriend? Lovers? “We’re engaged.”
Mrs. Northrop paled, and then pulled her emotions inside, leaving Henry to wonder whether she was more shocked by Alex’s sudden reappearance and departure or her engagement.
“Engaged?” Julia shrieked and jumped up to give Henry an unexpected hug. “How wonderful. When’s the wedding? We have to be invited. Tell Alex I’d travel through the nine gates of hell to see her again. Anna would, too.”
Before Henry could answer, Mr. Northrop cleared his throat for attention. Julia and Henry both turned toward him.
“How long did you wait to propose after learning of Alexandra’s family and the amount held for her in trust?”
“I beg your pardon? You know nothing about me and nothing about Alex, either, to speak such drivel.”