Barefoot in the Dark E-Book

Suzanne Enoch

• Herausgeber: NYLA
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 522

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Suzanne Enoch, a new romantic crime thriller featuring fan-favorites Samantha Jellicoe and Rick Addison… A simple pre-wedding getaway for a "reformed" cat burglar and her wealthy British fiancé – what could go wrong? Except for his contentious family, a crumbling Scottish castle, a legendary treasure, and a possible haunting, that is. Samantha Jellicoe, jewel thief extraordinaire, is still adjusting to being engaged to Richard Addison, billionaire entrepreneur and very hot British lord. Complicating that is the entire press corps hounding her for an interview – bad news for a mostly retired cat burglar intent on keeping her private life private. She is ecstatic when Rick suggests they escape to his castle in Scotland; she's less so when the old pile turns out to be dilapidated, full of Rick's resentful relatives, and (possibly) haunted. While he navigates the consequences of ignoring his family for the past fifteen years, Sam uncovers a legend of buried treasure – and realizes she isn't the only one searching for the famous highwayman's loot. While Sam is an expert at blending into the very different worlds of patrons and thieves, meeting people important to Rick is way more complicated. Combined with iffy phones, unreliable lights and power, a clandestine treasure hunt, a wannabe reality-star girlfriend, and a rumored "restless spirit," this vacation in the Scottish Highlands might be more than a self-respecting former thief can handle. "Fricking vivid as hell, to be honest, and I loved every page of this rollicking ride."—New York Times bestselling author, Karen Hawkins "Each and every Enoch romance is a sparkling gem brimming over with marvelous characters, depth of emotion, intense sensuality and a plot that twists and turns, leaving readers breathless and deliciously satisfied."—Romantic Times, 4 ½ Stars!<= "With their indelible chemistry, their witty repartee, and their adventures sleuthing in the glamorous world of Palm Beach glitterati, Samantha and Rick are reminiscent of The Thin Man's Nick and Nora."—starred Booklist ". . . grin-on-your-face, hair-streaming-in the-wind joyride of a novel . . ."—starred Publisher's Weekly on FLIRTING WITH DANGER "Passion and emotion still run hot with the undeniably dynamic duo of Rick and Sam. Kick back as the superbly talented Enoch stirs the pot yet again for this mismatched pair . . . loads more hijinks and action!"—Romantic Times, 4 ½ Stars on A TOUCH OF MINX

Leseprobe

BAREFOOT IN THE DARK

SUZANNE ENOCH

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Excerpt from A KISS IN THE DARK, the next Sam and Rick Novel

Discover More By Suzanne Enoch

About the Author

COPYRIGHT

This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only.

This ebook may not be sold, shared, or given away.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Barefoot in the Dark

Copyright © 2018 by Suzanne Enoch

Ebook ISBN: 9781641970365

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

NYLA Publishing

121 W 27th St., Suite 1201, New York, NY 10001

http://www.nyliterary.com

DEDICATION

To every single person who ever read about Samantha Jellicoe and Rick Addison and wished, privately or aloud, that someone (ie, me) would sit down and write another one, for crying out loud. You’re the reason this story exists. Thank you for being so very, very, very patient.

And thank you for encouraging me to jump back into this crazy world. It’s really fun in here.

1

Tuesday, 1:02 p.m.

Samantha Jellicoe paused, her back plastered to the warm, rough-surfaced stone wall, then edged closer to the barred gate just beyond her. A thin line of sweat trickled down the side of her face, but she ignored it. That was rule number three in the thieves’ handbook; when any movement can get you noticed, don’t move.

The mutter of conversation just on the other side of the gate was mostly about filing times for stories, the legality of drones “accidentally” straying over private property, and something about shoes. It might have amused her, except that her name kept edging into the discussions. Her name. Her actual, real name. “Dammit,” she muttered under her breath. This was not good, especially when all the people who knew her name also knew exactly where to find her and had surrounded the place so she couldn’t leave without being seen. Well, most people wouldn’t be able to leave without being seen.

The phone in her back pocket vibrated in three short bursts. Refusing to jump, she tapped her earpiece against the wall. “What?” she breathed.

“You can see them from the security room, you know,” the cultured male British accent noted.

She stepped back a few feet from the gate. “Any sap could do that. And stop spying on me.”

“I will, if you’ll stop spying on them.”

Finally turning her head, she sent a glare up at the security camera hidden inconspicuously among the palm trees. “I don’t like being stuck in here. I want to go for a run.”

She could almost hear the man on the other end of the phone sitting forward. “Samantha, if you want to go for a run, have Ben drive you out somewhere. Do not hop the fence.”

“Sorry, Rick, you’re breaking up. I can’t…hear… Oops – lost you.”

“I can still see you standing there, dammit,” Richard Addison retorted, his voice dropping and his accent intensifying. “And I don’t want to see your arse disappearing over the wall on the evening news. Come back inside.”

Because she wasn’t an idiot, she left the line open, but she didn’t bother to answer him. Yes, she could have seen them from the security room. She already had. She’d been glaring at them for the past twelve days, as a matter of fact. But she’d wanted information, and she couldn’t get that from the non-stop, indecipherable buzz of overlapping voices echoing in the security room. So now she knew, and it did not make her feel any better.

“Samantha, get away from the wall before someone sees you.”

She shot an affronted look at the camera. “Who do you think you’re talking to, bud?”

“I didn’t mean to insult you. Just come inside.”

“You’re the one who had to go and tell Frank Castillo we’re engaged, so this zombie horde of press vultures is all your fault. If you can’t think of another way for me to get out of here without people snapping photos and shouting questions at me, I’m going over the back wall. You have two minutes.”

“I had no idea Frank would type up our conversation in his police report, or that that bloody Backstage Pass show trolled the damned things. It’s not entirely my fault, anyway; I was only attempting to explain why I’d put a Samurai sword through a man’s shoulder and left him stuck to a shelf in my library.”

“Ah, good times.” And to think that had only been two weeks ago. Since then, the press and paparazzi and half the girls from the “Rick’s Chicks” fan club had been staking out Rick’s Solano Dorado estate. Stupid West Palm Beach was supposed to be used to shit like rich, gorgeous Brits getting engaged to mysterious nobodies, but they apparently hadn’t gotten the memo about that this time.

“Yes, good times,” he echoed. “Except for the bits about you nearly getting killed and me ruining a perfectly good Samurai sword. Get back in the house.”

She continued away from the front gates, heading for the east side of the property. “Ninety seconds,” she breathed.

“Why do you have to be so bloody stubborn?” Rick’s hiss came in her ear as she changed course, moving in a direct line toward the back of the estate once she’d gotten beyond the line of sight from the front gate. “And why does part of me think you’re trying to escape because of our conversation this morning?”

“Sorry, ‘conversation’? I don’t recall.”

“You recall everything. And I only asked you if you like the idea of a spring wedding. Not that the ceremony had to take place then.”

Because he was still watching her, Samantha kept moving, didn’t clench her fists, and didn’t let the stark terror running down her spine show at all. “I told you I’d marry you, Rick. Don’t I have to look at bridal magazines and shit before I decide on what season I prefer?”

“It’s not a requirement, no,” he returned.

“Fine. But this is about me being a prisoner in here. Not about a wedding date.” It was mostly about that, anyway.

“I don’t like this scrutiny either, but I’m not planning the Great Escape.”

“That’s because you’re used to people looking at you and taking your picture. I nearly shit myself the last time I ended up in that clip on Nightly Dish. People aren’t supposed to know who I am.”

“People aren’t supposed to know who you were,” he amended, that smooth, seductive whisper touching his voice. “The person you are has nothing to hide.”

“Bullshit. The person I am still has nearly six years of statutes of limitations to wait out. I’m going for a run, or I’m going to end up looney tunes crazy and taking off all my clothes while I go screaming through the house.”

Silence. “I might enjoy that,” Rick said after a moment. “Come in and give it a go.”

Samantha slowed as she reached the midway section of the east-facing wall of the large estate. This side bordered the Newton property, which didn’t have nearly as many cameras and sensors as Solano Dorado boasted. From there it would be just one more wall jump to the road that meandered through the plethora of multi-million-dollar homes that littered this part of Palm Beach. Then she could even boost a car and get the hell out of Dodge until things calmed down a little – the point being, she would have some options.

She took a run at the wall, digging the toes of her running shoes into the uneven stone, and gripped the ridged top with her fingers. “I’ll see you in an hour or two,” she said, levering herself up to a crouch at the narrow top of the wall. “Or maybe I’ll check into some cheap hotel in Orlando and pretend I’m a tourist.”

“Devon,” he said.

Pausing, Samantha looked over her shoulder to face the nearest security camera. “What?”

“You asked for an alternative to this break-out. I’m suggesting Devon.”

“Could you be more specific? Because as I recall from an earlier conversation, you were planning on spending the entire month of September roasting in Florida while I wiggle around like a butterfly on a pin.”

It wasn’t the middle of nowhere, but it did have the benefit of being not Palm Beach. Plus, it had an even stonier wall around the house and gardens than the one on which she currently perched. “You’re not lying just to get me back in the house, are you? Because you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”

“I’m not lying. But I’m not discussing it any further while you’re perched like a damned owl on my wall.”

“I’m perched like Batman. Not an owl.” She’d likely pushed him far enough, though. Honestly, she didn’t want to see her arse on the evening news, either – or spend the night in a crappy hotel. Shifting, Samantha dropped back into the garden, bending her knees to absorb the jolt. “Okay, but we’re leaving tonight.”

“I’ll make arrangements as soon as I hang up with you.” He paused. “Meet me in the kitchen, will you?”

“Fine.”

Though she was perfectly capable of getting into the house completely unseen and undetected, there was an almost equal thrill in simply walking up and pulling open a door. Just like she belonged there. Rick, of course, would say that she did, but even after a year with him it still felt...like a very expensive outfit that didn’t quite fit. Or maybe it did fit, and she was just worried about getting mustard on the front.

It was all so…weird. She’d pretended to be a wealthy, sophisticated gal on more occasions than she had fingers to count them on. She spoke a couple of languages and knew more about art and antiques than some museum curators. But when she drank champagne with men – and women – in order to case their estates and then steal their treasures, that was an act. That was just her fitting in to go mostly unnoticed.

But now one of the wealthiest, most eligible bachelors in the world had decided he liked the scrapes and scars beneath her act. That made going unnoticed much more problematic. For her, at least – Rick seemed to think she was just being paranoid. In fact, he insisted that she had nothing at all to worry about as long as she stayed retired. Yeah, right. She’d believe that…well, never, probably. And since he knew more about the jobs she’d pulled as an art thief than just about anybody else, he probably didn’t believe it, either.

As she opened the house’s side door, she pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed. After two rings the line picked up. “Jellicoe Security,” the smooth, Southern drawl announced.

“Hey, Aubrey,” she returned, jabbing a finger in Rick’s direction as he emerged from the hallway and the security room beyond. While he didn’t mind her – them – being seen in public, anyone overhearing an argument ticked him off. “Please tell me I have some business.”

“What you have, my dear,” the sometime professional date for the elderly ladies of Palm Beach and her self-appointed office manager said, “is reporters. They’re even trying to talk to me, and you know it’s against my nature to refrain from chatting with people. I’m feeling positively frazzled.”

“I’ve never even seen you sweat, Aubrey. Which is quite a thing, being that it’s ten thousand degrees and four hundred percent humidity here right now.”

“Precisely.”

She made a face at the phone. “Just keep refraining, please. Shit. I don’t suppose anybody cares if no privacy-minded client is going to hire me for a damn thing as long as all those cameras are circling me.”

“Well, you could always just get it over with and give them an interview.”

“Keep making jokes, funny man. I may be making myself scarce, but I’ll check in later and let you know the details.”

“No hurry, Miss Samantha. I’m teaching myself a new photoshopping program. I thought it might come in handy if we ever have to analyze photo evidence.”

She hung up, turning to face the tall, black-haired Brit who’d literally exploded into her life just over a year ago. Bomb makers didn’t advertise the romantic potential of their products, but she’d certainly come to appreciate it. “Aubrey’s learning how to doctor photos, and tumbleweeds are blowing through my office.”

Caribbean blue eyes took her in, from her auburn-colored ponytail to her scuffed white running shoes. “This will die down, you know,” he commented, leaning a hip against the small kitchen table. “Someone will cheat on someone or start showing a baby bump, and the tabloids will charge back to the West Coast and forget about us.”

“Then they should fuckin’ get on with it,” she retorted, opening the fridge and pulling out a diet Coke. “I can’t even get to my own damn office.”

“You could, if you weren’t determined to remain invisible. We could control the circumstances of an interview.”

He tilted his head at her, a lock of his black hair falling across one eye. The man could have been a model, or more likely one of those gorgeous athletes selling energy drinks or soda or mysteriously seductive colognes. He could have any girl he wanted even without the billions in his bank account. Being the complete package made him way too noticeable, as far as she was concerned. The exact wrong man for her ever to fall for, really. But fall she had, and hard.

“My profession – both of them – requires discretion.” There. That sounded logical.

Rick straightened, approaching to lean around her for a bottle of water. “Your one profession,” he corrected. “You are not a thief any longer.”

“And I still don’t want my face plastered all over the damn world. You know there’s got to be that one security guard somewhere who happened to see me at a distance four years ago when I heisted a Monet.” When he frowned, she squinted at him. “That hypothetical guard and that hypothetical Monet,” she amended, “but you know what I mean.” She elbowed him. “So, have you called the airport yet to gas up the jet?”

A slow smile touched his mouth. “Perhaps we should pack rucksacks and hike into the wilderness. Live off the land.”

She snorted. “Sam don’t live off the land. I mean, I could, but it would have to be guys with badges and guns chasing me. Not guys with cameras.”

“Nice to see you put it into perspective. If we’re going to be away for a time, I need to go see Tom.” He dipped a finger into the neck of her T-shirt, hooked the material, and drew her up against him. Dropping a hot kiss on her mouth, Rick lifted his head again to look down at her. “Don’t disappear anywhere.”

Samantha reached up to tuck the straying strand of his hair back behind one ear. “I’m not missing that flight.”

“Mm hm. We’re leaving for the airport at seven.”

“‘K. I just have a couple more phone calls to make.”

Rick paused halfway out the kitchen door. “Walter Barstone and Aubrey Pendleton are not coming with us. We’re going on holiday. This is not going to become one of your capers.”

“Huh,” she returned, folding her arms across her chest. “You sure that’s how you want to word that?”

He walked back up to her, his steps measured. “If either of them appears anywhere in the U.K. while we’re there, I’m going to fly Tom Donner in to stay with us. That’s how I’m wording it.”

Well, that was the kind of bluff she didn’t want to call. Samantha scowled. “I do not want stupid Tom Donner, attorney at law, everywhere I turn around.”

With a smile, Rick brushed his thumb along her lips. “I know. Hence the effectiveness of the threat.” For a long moment he gazed at her, those blue eyes of his practically melting her insides. “I know Walter is your family,” he finally said, leaning in to kiss the corner of her mouth. “I also know that when you have him about as back-up, you tend to take more risks.” He kissed the other corner of her mouth. “We’re going on holiday. To escape from the press. Not to jump off buildings or break into museums.”

“Very funny.” Weighing her alternatives, Sam stuck out her hand. “No Stoney and no Aubrey, and no Tom Donner.”

He shook her hand. “Agreed.”

She pulled her hand free, then put a finger into his breastbone. “And you will relax, too. You talk a good game, but I know you’re pissed off, too. Holiday. Vacation. Whatever you call it. That’s what this is. Just you and me.”

Richard continued gazing at her, but she knew it was more to let her know he was serious than anything else. Just like she knew he didn’t like any of this, either. Anything obstructing the way he lived, the way he conducted his business, didn’t get tolerated. Generally. She had a good hunch that the only reason he’d restrained himself from bellowing and flinging people about for the past two weeks was because he was trying to set an example for her. “I’ll see you by seven.”

Before he could turn around again, Samantha grabbed his shirt. “Not so fast, Brit,” she muttered, and plastered her mouth against his. Whatever it was about this guy, and however bad she probably was for him and his massive business empire, she was supremely glad that he’d asked her to marry him. Because she didn’t think she’d ever be able to shake him out of her system. He kissed her back, pressing her up against the kitchen counter in that possessive way of his that made her all shivery inside.

Just when she was ready to start ripping the buttons off his very expensive blue dress shirt, he stepped backward. “Seven o’clock,” he said, his voice a little rough, and with a cocky grin he left the kitchen.

Dammit, he did that on purpose. The damned Brit totally got off on her not getting off, or he wouldn’t wind her up and walk away like that. Cursing under her breath, Samantha made her way upstairs to call Walter “Stoney” Barstone and tell him to hold down the Jellicoe Security fort because she was going on vacation.

“Good,” Stoney said when he picked up his phone and she told him about England. “I can’t even watch the local news anymore without needing a valium. You’re way too in the spotlight, honey.”

“It’s not my fault,” she returned, scowling at the vase of orchids resting on the end table. “Castillo blabbed after Rick blabbed. You’d think cops and billionaires would be more discreet.”

“No, it is your fault, because you’re hanging out with cops and billionaires.”

She sighed. “Just be glad I’m not engaged to the cop.”

“Christ, Sam, I think I just had a seizure. Go to England. Have a vacation. If this is the life you think you want, you’d better get a good taste of it before it’s too late to change your mind.”

“I’m not changing my mind, Stoney. Besides, wasn’t it you who told me I’d live longer if I hung up my cat burglar suit?”

“That was before half the reporters in Florida started hanging out twenty feet from where you sleep. Go. I’ll keep Aubrey in line.”

More likely it would be the other way around. “Thanks. I’ll call you.”

“Be safe or be smart, honey.”

Samantha smiled at the phone. Some things never changed. “Will do.”

She updated Aubrey next, and at least he didn’t snipe at her for falling in love with Rick. She hadn’t actually ever hired Aubrey to be the Jellicoe Security office manager, but since he’d shown up six months ago and kept all her crap way more organized than she had any interest in doing, and because he seemed to have some idea about what her past was like and had never called her on it, she had no objection to him sticking around.

Once her two bases were covered, she trotted down the hallway to the humongous bedroom she shared with Rick and went to find a suitcase to pack for a trip to England. In the past she would have pulled out her emergency backpack filled with all the essentials a girl needed if she had to leave somewhere in a hurry, added a couple of shirts and pairs of pants, and been good to go. But Rick had shredded her pack and tossed it into the pool, so she had to start from scratch. With one of his monogrammed suitcases. That only seemed fair.

* * *

“Parking garage or out front?” Ben asked from behind the wheel.

“Out front,” Richard returned, eyeing his phone and its streaming live coverage of his Mercedes heading into Palm Beach proper. Bloody drones. “More direct flight line. I’ll be about an hour. Be close by; when I leave, it’s going to be fast.”

“No problem, boss.”

At that, Rick stifled a grin. Previous to Sam coming to live at Solano Dorado his personal employees had been more...formal. God, his life had upended over the past year. While he hadn’t loved every bit of it, neither would he have changed any of it. “And don’t bother to get out, since that’ll just give the press more time to catch up.”

Samantha would have suggested they just slow down and have him jump out the window so that Ben could lead the press cars on a merry chase, but he settled for a quick exit and a determined walk up from the curb. Refusing to hurry his steps as doom raced up behind him, he walked to the rotating doors of the building which housed the Donner, Christensen and Rhodes law firm and entered the glass-enclosed lobby. Doom was very loud and had a great many questions about who Samantha would be wearing at their wedding. All he cared about was that on their wedding night she would be wearing him, but he wasn’t about to say that aloud.

“Mr. Addison,” the security guard said with a nod, and pushed a button to unlock the nearest of the elevators.

“I believe I’m being followed, Joe.”

“Not for long, Mr. Addison.”

Rick stepped into the elevator and punched the button for the top floor. “You’re a good man, Joe.”

Tom Donner, for once in a suit and tie, was waiting by the elevator when the doors opened again. “Why is it that the private guy with the publicity-shy girlfriend always has a parade following him now?” he drawled, offering his hand.

“Because they want a story I won’t give them.”

“Well, at least I know when you’re coming by, these days. I just keep a computer streaming the local news.”

“If you’re finished pointing out the obvious, I could use a bloody beer,” Rick commented, returning the handshake and then leading the way into the well-appointed offices. While the other partners had a select few clients, he was the one who funded the tasteful paneling and the posh address. In fact, he was Tom Donner’s only client. That was the way they both liked it.

“Did Jellicoe chase you off Solano Dorado?” Tom pursued, closing them inside his office and pulling a pair of beers from the refrigerator set beneath a credenza. “She’s been calling Katie, you know. Nearly every morning. They’re like little hens, except one’s a scary, fanged, cat burglar hen.”

“Ex-cat burglar hen,” Rick amended. “I’m glad she likes Katie. Your wife’s a good influence on her.”

“Too bad I can’t say the same thing about Jellicoe.”

With a short frown Rick dropped into one of the two chairs facing Tom’s big steel desk. “That’s not what I hear. Wasn’t there something about a little surveillance the two of them did a few weeks ago, and the resulting—”

“No, you do not get to talk about that. Dammit.” The big former Texan flushed a bright red as he stalked to the window and back. Finally, his empty fist balled, he sat behind his desk. “She didn’t really tell you about that, did she?”

“She only mentioned that she’d taken Katie somewhere with her and that your significant other had seemed...excited afterward. And frankly, Tom, I know the benefits of having an adrenaline junkie about after they’ve had a rush.”

Over the past two weeks he’d also been learning what it was like to have a caged cat burglar about. It was not a happy experience. As agile-minded as she was, with nothing to occupy her but thoughts of ways she could escape the house without being seen, he was at least as ready for a holiday as she was.

“Suddenly some things make sense,” Tom muttered, taking a long swig of beer. “No wonder you want to marry her.”

“No wonder I’m going to marry her. Speaking of which, I had to agree to take her to England this evening.”

“I thought you weren’t going till late next week. Is everything ready?”

“No, not quite. I’ll need to make a few calls while I’m here.” He sat forward. “And as far as she knows, we’re going to Rawley Park to look at some art and work on the museum.”

Finally, Tom grinned. “Man, I wish I could be there when she realizes you’re going to the middle-of-nowhere Scotland.”

“You have no idea how difficult it is to keep secrets from her. But she’ll enjoy Castle Canniebrae, I’m certain.”

“Sure. A big, old, moldy castle ten miles away from anything resembling a city? Nowhere to burgle, no one to grift, none of her cronies around, and your relatives to meet? She’ll love it.” Tom snorted. “The two of you’ll be back here in under a week. Probably separately.”

It was a distinct possibility that Sam would detest that life, and the idea that he’d sprung his aunt and uncle and cousin on her without warning would piss her off so much that she would leave without him. But she enjoyed history, and Canniebrae had that in spades. Aside from that, he hadn’t seen the old castle since he’d been fifteen, and back then it had held a certain kind of...magic for him. A magic he wanted to share with her. But warning her in advance that he meant to spring his relatives on her would ensure that she would, as she put it, freak out. “She doesn’t grift,” he said aloud. “Don’t be lumping more sins on her head. Besides, if she’s listening this’ll come back to bite you.”

“‘Listening’? What, you think she bugged my office?” Tom started to laugh, then choked into silence. “Christ. I’m never going to sleep again, you know.”

“Serves you right for calling her a grifter. Anyway, let’s get to it, shall we? Pull up my calendar so we can take this in order.”

Over the next hour they rescheduled appointments and paper signings, arranged for Tom to be his signing proxy for the new Tokyo deal they’d polished off yesterday, and had two contracts forwarded from London so he could make some revisions on the flight over and email them back. Depending on how long they stayed in Scotland he would have to fly down to London once or twice, but since he’d been working on this surprise for the past two weeks, much of the rest of it was already taken care of.

Finally, Tom sat back. Swirling the remains of his beer lazily in the bottle, he eyed Rick. “So, what are you going to do if she doesn’t like the quiet country life or the relatives? Or if, God forbid, the relatives don’t like her? Sam Jellicoe ain’t precisely old English aristocracy.”

“I’ve done for the past year without their paths crossing, so I imagine I can do it indefinitely if need be.” As for the quiet life, he did like the down time on occasion, but he could live without it. The caged version of Sam hopefully differed from the idle-ish version, but he honestly didn’t know that for certain. She did tend to create her own excitement – for the both of them. “You don’t like her, and I’ve still managed to keep both of you around.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not that I don’t... I mean, she’s good in a pinch, but she seems to get you into trouble at least as often as she gets you out of it. Unpredictability and arrest warrants don’t mix well with power and wealth.”

“Says you. There aren’t any arrest warrants. None with her name written on them, anyway.” No, they were all blank and waiting for someone, somewhere to find that one piece of evidence linking her to some of the most daring and lucrative burglaries in the world. That could not be allowed to happen. Luckily those few law enforcement officials who suspected who she was – Frank Castillo here in Palm Beach and Sam Gorstein in New York – had already been both thoroughly charmed by her and put somewhat in her debt. Still, he didn’t think he would rest easy for another six years, at which time the last of the statutes of limitation would expire. As long as she didn’t pull off any new jobs, that was.

“Okay. I know I’m not going to win this fight.”

“No, you’re not.” Richard finished off his beer and pulled out his iPhone to dial Ben. “I’m heading downstairs,” he told his driver.

“I’ll be waiting for you, boss. Do you want me to hold the door?”

“No, I’ll be diving in.”

As both men stood, Tom shook his head. “Until this past year I never doubted your sanity, Rick. Have a good trip. I hope it goes as well as you hope it will.”

“Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

2

Wednesday, 8:15 a.m.

Samantha sent a sideways glance at Rick. He sat in one of the comfy leather chairs by a window, the slide half closed to keep the glare of the sun off the paper he was marking up. Another contract, from the look of it. Probably that timber reclamation thing she’d been bugging him about, though he wouldn’t admit that he’d taken up the cause. Evidently, he found it amusing that she cared about the environment – as if a cat burglar couldn’t watch Blue Planet or Cosmos or something.

When he didn’t do more than flip to the next page and continue jotting notes, she slid her phone out of her pocket and checked her GPS. It kept fritzing out, but it at least confirmed what she’d been suspicious about for the past ninety minutes or so: They weren’t on their way to Devonshire. Or to London. They were too far north for that.

“GPS doesn’t work in the air,” he muttered in his heart-thudding British accent, though he didn’t lift his head or pause in his writing.

“Why are we going to Scotland?” Counter attacking seemed a better tactic than admitting that she’d been checking up on him. Not that she had a reason to do so, except it seemed like they’d been flying for an hour or two too long.

“Fuel,” he answered, and turned another page.

“Liar.”

At that, he looked up at her. Caribbean blue, she always thought, gazing at those pretty eyes of his. Hot, sweaty, awesome sex and cool boat drinks. That was Rick Addison. Or the part she had hold of, anyway. There was also the son-of-a-bitch business shark that had made his family’s millions into billions, and she liked that aspect of him, too. She could understand the idea of doing whatever it took to attain a goal or a prize, whether it was a company or a Matisse painting.

“What makes you so certain I’m lying?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Because we could have been in London already, and we’re still flying. And because we’ve never stopped in Scotland for fuel before. And because you answered right away, like you had the answer ready for me.”

“I’m always ready for you,” he murmured, a half-smile touching his lean face. He slanted an annoyed glance toward the flight attendant currently brewing him another pot of tea at the front of the cabin. “But you’re correct.”

“I know I’m correct. But why are we going to Scotland? And why didn’t you mention that to me when you said we were, hmm, what was it, oh yeah – ‘going to Devonshire’?” She took up his Oxford-educated accent for that last part, mimicking him.

“It’s a surprise.”

“Don’t think for a second that I won’t jump out of this plane, Brit. I know where the parachutes are.”

Sighing, he stacked the papers in front of him and set them and his pen aside. “Very well. We’re going to a place along the River Dee, about midway between Inver and Keiloch. It’s a place that’s been in my family for a time.”

Samantha did some swift calculations. Aside from the fact that for English aristocrats the idea of “a time” could be anywhere between a hundred and a thousand years, she’d heard the River Dee mentioned before. Not by him, but on the news. “Isn’t that where Balmoral Castle is? You know, the Queen of England’s place?”

“Yes, I know what Balmoral is. Canniebrae is approximately four miles southwest of it.”

“Ah.” She folded her arms, trying to decide if she was annoyed or grudgingly interested. “And why are we going to an estate in the Scottish Highlands?”

“Because I haven’t been there in eighteen years, which makes me think the press won’t expect to find us there.”

She continued to eye him, looking for any of his rare tells. "Okay, that makes sense,” she said grudgingly. “Which makes me ask why you bothered to keep it a secret, Brit."

Rick stood up. "Amber, that will be all," he said, not bothering to look at the flight attendant. Which was good, because Amber -- or whatever her name really was – had rolled up the waist of her skirt until her ass showed every time she bent over. It was amazing how many vital snacks seemed to have been stored in bottom drawers for this flight.

"Of course, Mr. Addison." With a quick flutter of her eyelashes she went into the forward cabin and closed the door behind her.

"Who hired her?" Samantha asked, as Rick walked up to hold either arm of her chair and lean over her.

"What?"

"The girl with the balloons stuffed down the front of her blouse." When he continued to frown at her, she gave up and grinned. "Okay. Point taken. You only have eyes for me."

Rick smiled back at her, which had the effect of making her insides feel all mushy. "Precisely. Aside from that, anyone who shows her arse that readily must not have much else to offer."

Of course he'd noticed; the flight attendant’s ass had been pretty hard to miss. But being gorgeous, rich, and divorced he'd no doubt had more than his share of asses and boobs flashed at him. "Back to Scotland, then," she said aloud. "What's the secret? Or rather, why the secret?"

He leaned closer, touching his mouth to hers. Goose bumps lifted on her arms. They'd joined the mile-high club a year ago, but hell, if he wanted to re-up their membership, she wasn't about to complain. Unless he was just trying to keep her from asking questions. That wasn't allowed.

When he pulled the pony tail holder from her hair and drew his fingers through her shoulder-length mess, she took a deep breath and then shoved at him. "Not so fast, Prince Charming. What's going on?"

"I’ll tell you once we land. I'd rather be doing something else right now."

Samantha stood, having to maneuver around his tall, rock-solid form to do so, and headed for the rear of the plane. "I'm getting a parachute."

Rick made a motion like he wanted to grab her arm, but she had to give him props when he settled for making a fist instead. "We both know you're not going to jump, so sit down and I'll attempt to explain how difficult it is to surprise you with anything, and why I wanted to do so this time."

He didn't look happy, but neither would she if some big secret she'd tried to keep had thrown up all over her. As she gazed at him, though, part of her wanted to give in, have some awesome airborne sex, and let him play out his secret surprise however he wanted to. Most people liked to be surprised, after all. Most people appreciated when their significant other went to lots of trouble to arrange something special. But she wasn't most people.

She didn't exactly want to jump out of an airplane, either. Not when she'd never done it before, and not when she was in a jet. Another time, in a plane made for jumping out of, sure. In fact, it sounded fun. Keeping a wary eye on him, she sat down again. "Talk."

“I wanted to see your genuine reaction to Canniebrae,” he said after a moment, sinking into the seat directly beside hers. “I didn’t want you to look it up online or call any of your nefarious business contacts to see whether anyone had cased the joint or anything.”

Samantha grinned. “‘Cased the joint’? Who are you, Dick Tracy?”

“You know what I mean.”

“So, you think something about Canniebrae will be unexpected,” she mused, half to herself, and caught the swift narrowing of his blue eyes. “Is it haunted?”

Rick snorted. “I thought so eighteen years ago. There were certainly tales told ‘round the dining room table. It was built in 1291, after all.”

Wow. Anything that old was automatically interesting to her, and he would know that. Which begged a couple of questions. “Why have you never mentioned it before?”

“I’ve been saving it, I suppose. As I said, I haven’t been there in quite a while. I don’t spend a great deal of time thinking about it.”

“Just how oldy moldy is this place?”

He stretched, slipping one arm around her shoulder as he settled again. “I suppose we’ll find out.”

Leaning in, he nibbled at her ear, and her eyes rolled back in her head. It might be that he was attempting to distract her from asking any more questions, or it could be that they hadn’t had sex in nearly forty-eight hours. Whatever it was, he was good at the kissing thing. And the sex thing. She settled into the curve of his arm, kissing him back, sliding a palm beneath his T-shirt and up his warm, flat abdomen.

“Mr. Addison,” the overhead speaker burped into life with Amber’s perky voice, “we’ll be landing in ten minutes. May I come in and clean away the drinks?”

“Fuck,” he muttered, then leaned across Samantha to tap the intercom button. “Come in, Amber.”

“Non-fuck,” Samantha whispered into his ear, chuckling despite the fact that she was a little annoyed, herself.

While Amber wiggled her ass around the cabin, clearing away the remains of their breakfast and a tea cup and two sodas, Samantha buckled herself into her seat. Rick did likewise beside her, curling his fingers around hers. Even after a year he still looked for opportunities to hold her hand, and she’d gotten well past the suspicion that he was holding her to keep her from escaping. He liked touching her. She liked when he touched her. It didn’t have to mean anything more than that.

Samantha sent him a sideways look, to find a slight grin on his face. Okay, she’d missed something. “Did you tell Donner where we were going, or did he suggest we might try getting away to Scotland?”

Damnation, she was clever. That was what Richard loved about her, of course, but sometimes he wondered what sort of business tycoon she would have become all on her own if her proclivities and upbringing hadn’t led her to a life of high-end crime. “I mentioned that I wanted to take you somewhere with a guarantee of some privacy, but where you wouldn’t feel trapped. He might have mentioned Canniebrae first, or I might have. I don’t remember.”

Samantha shifted to face him more directly. “So, he suggested an seven-hundred-year-old castle in the middle of the Scottish Highlands, a place you haven’t been for eighteen years, one that you didn’t even remember you owned. He thinks I’ll be bored to tears, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t care what he thinks. I think–“

”Does it have electricity?”

“They answered the telephone when I called, so I assume so.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So, what, you guys think that just because I like city life that I can’t hack it in the boonies?”

Richard stilled his responding smile. “Boonies” didn’t even begin to describe Canniebrae. “I never said that.”

“He did though, didn’t he? Donner?”

“You are paranoid.”

“Damn straight. That’s what he said, wasn’t it? That I’d hate it here. That manly man Rick would go for hikes and shoot elk with a bow and arrow and live off the land, and I would be stealing a car within an hour when I couldn’t find a hair dryer.”

“He didn’t call me ‘manly man Rick’.” Richard didn’t bother trying to hide his amusement this time; she would see it anyway. Aside from that, the lady loved a challenge. If climbing the walls kept her from climbing the walls, so to speak, then so much the better. If that had been the end of it, he would have counted the conversation as a victory. But she’d made it plainer than ever that she didn’t appreciate surprises. And he had another one.

“Well, you can call Lawyer Man right now and tell him that I’m loving Scotland,” she announced, settling back into her seat again. “Nessie could chew off my leg and I’d still be loving Scotland.”

“I’ll pass that along,” he said, trying to decide whether now would be better than after they landed. Now made more sense, because the plane was too low for parachuting. “There’s one more thing.”

She turned her head to look at him, clever green eyes searching his expression. “What?” she asked dubiously.

“Since you’re joining the Addison family, it’s time you met them. The rest of them.”

For a long moment she stared at him, a hundred different emotions flitting across her face. Samantha Jellicoe had been raised by her father – if one could call it being raised as opposed to being unleashed. These days Walter Barstone, the towering, male version of Diana Ross, was as close to family as she had. Except for him, of course, and an assortment of other nefarious characters she seemed to charm and collect. He, on the other hand, was not a hanger-on; he was the one riding the whirlwind.

“You have an uncle.” She narrowed her eyes. “Rowland, isn’t it?”

Richard blinked himself free from wayward metaphors. “Yes. My father’s younger brother. And his wife, Mercia. And their son, Reginald.”

“They live at Canniebrae?”

“No. They’re coming to visit. To meet you.”

He waited silently, the muscles down his back tense as he readied himself to react to whatever she might do. Punching him in the head seemed the most likely, closely followed by silence and then an attempt to flee once they touched down. She didn’t move either, her gaze blank as she no doubt ran a dozen or so possible scenarios through her agile mind.

“Well, you met my so-called dad,” she finally said, furrowing her brow. “I suppose it’s only fair.”

That had not been what he expected. “You’re all right with it, then?”

“Depends. What are you going to tell them about me? Or do they already know something?”

“I’m in occasional contact with Reginald. When the photos of our first outing came out he emailed me. You were ‘hot’, as I recall, and he wanted to know if you had a sister. I called my uncle after our engagement news leaked, an—”

“You mean, after you blabbed about it,” she broke in.

“Yes, after I unintentionally cooperated with the police department after impaling a man in my library.” He frowned at her; reminding her that Gabriel Toombs had been in the Solana Dorado library because of the lunatic’s obsession with her would only gain him more barbs. “Anyway, Reg suggested that the family be introduced to you. The rest was my idea.” Richard took a breath. “As to what I’ll tell them about you, you are a retrieval expert hired by some of the most prestigious institutions and collectors in the world.”

Her scowl flipped into a grin. “Ooh, I sound awesome. Just don’t mention how I’ve also stolen from most of those same places.”

“I won’t. Neither will you.”

Thank God. The weight on his shoulders for the past few weeks, the worry over how she would react to all this, melted away. It had made his typical tensions over business dealings feel like so much fiddle-faddle. This mattered. She mattered. Nothing else came close.

The jet bumped, followed by the unmistakable sensation of deceleration. Samantha gripped his fingers. He knew quite well that she wasn’t frightened. She liked the feeling of going too fast, of being not quite in control of circumstances. Of course she would have preferred it if the jet had been a convertible, so her hair could blow in the wind. Whatever he was getting himself into with her, however mad she drove him, he was never letting her go. No matter what.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she said, squeezing his hand and then with swift fingers unfastening the seatbelt and standing. “But duh, I’m not going to tell anybody how I make a living.”

“How you used to make a living.”

She used the present tense just because she knew it would provoke a response from him, but reminding her on occasion that she’d elected to travel the relatively straight and narrow couldn’t hurt. Standing, he watched as she collected her handbag, which she’d likely chosen because she could sling it across one shoulder to leave both hands and arms free. It wasn’t an escape back pack, but she would consider it the next best thing.

“We’ll take the helicopter to Canniebrae,” he announced. “That’ll get us there by midmorning.”

“Awesome. Is there a landing pad, or do we rappel to the ground?”

“There’s a clearing. By the loch. And Canniebrae is accessible by car, or at least four-wheel drive vehicle.”

He couldn’t quite shake the suspicion that she was being too agreeable. Yes, it would be amusing to see a consummate suburbanite like Samantha Jellicoe dealing with the relatively few amenities and amusements of country life, but he also wanted her to enjoy herself. He also wanted her to like his relatives, as little as he generally had to do with them. As to whether they would like her... If they didn’t, they were simply foolish. Her zest for life and everything in it had torn into his heart months ago, and if Reg and his aunt and uncle couldn’t see her the same way, he could only pity them.

British customs and half a dozen airport workers hurried up to the plane as he descended the stairs to the tarmac, and the helicopter next to the nearest hangar started its engine. He flashed passports and identifications at the customs agent while he gave instructions for their luggage to be loaded on the helicopter, with anything that wouldn’t fit to be trucked up after them. His jet needed to leave again for London as soon as possible, before anyone could confirm where he and Sam had actually gone.

Her shoulder-length auburn hair kicked up in the downdraft, and she grinned over at him. “Do you think they’ll let me pilot the copter?” she asked, leaning up to shout in his ear.

“Good God, I hope not.”

They clambered aboard, and the moment they were both belted in, the helicopter rose into the cloudy sky above Inverness. Sam was already wearing a headset and deep in conversation with the pilot. She’d temporarily taken over the controls of a helicopter once in Florida, but there they’d at least been over water. Now she had a taste for it.

“So, what do you think, Blakely?” she was asking, as he donned his own headset. “Just once around Loch Ness?”

“I could lose my license, ye ken. And if we crash, I—”

“If we crash, I’m sure we can make it look like Samantha’s fault,” Rick broke in. “Otherwise, no one’s going to say anything. You have my word.”

“And mine,” Samantha seconded.

“We’ll be passin’ over a few hills where ye couldn’t do much damage, then. If ye’re certain, Mr. Addison.”

No, Mr. Addison wasn’t certain, but he didn’t want to look like he had a stick up his arse. “Just try not to do the crash thing.”

“I make no promises,” she returned, and climbed into the front co-pilot’s seat.

By the time the River Dee came into sight, Richard was regretting the omelet he’d eaten on the plane. He wasn’t certain whether Blakely had invented the rule that a helicopter couldn’t fly below a thousand feet except during landing and take-off, but if the pilot was lying, Richard was giving him a generous Christmas bonus. Generally he liked flying, and he specifically enjoyed flying by helicopter, but he had the suspicion that the light-fingered Samantha was being intentionally ham-fisted. Her revenge for him keeping a secret from her, most likely. That was why he gripped the handhold and kept his mouth shut as they lurched across the Highland skies.

“We’re coming close to Balmoral air space,” Blakely finally said, and took the controls back. “Don’t want the Royal Air Force shooting us down, now.”

“No, that would be bad,” Sam agreed, climbing out of the co-pilot’s seat and dropping down next to Richard again. “How was it?”

“Lovely.”

She grinned at him. “Did you barf?”

“Nearly.” If the pilot hadn’t also been on the intercom he would have said more, but any revenge he had in mind for Samantha could wait until they were somewhere more private. From the way she looked back at him she knew it, so he glanced out the window. “Look over there. That’s Balmoral.”

She leaned across his legs to look down the valley. “Man, that place is huge! It would be awesome to...visit after dark.”

“It’s haunted, ye know,” Blakely put in, following the River Dee around the bend, continuing deeper into the Highlands. “Every old castle in the Highlands is haunted.”

They were right up against the Cairngorm Mountains, where the low grasses and windswept hills made way for deep ravines and old pine and elm forests, and endless, sweeping moors. It might well have been the most beautiful country in the world. Of course, those poetical thoughts paled when compared to the sensation of Sam doing more intentional wriggling across his thighs.

“Stop that,” he muttered, his jaw clenched, as he resolutely kept his gaze up and away from her squirming arse. He was damned Richard Addison, and he was not going to exit his private helicopter with a stiffy in his jeans.

With a chuckle he could feel, she sat up again. “Every castle?” she repeated, facing Richard. “Who’s Canniebrae’s specter, then?”

Curiosity might kill cats, but she was one former cat burglar who’d found her life saved more than once simply because of her curiosity. Well, that and her exceptional skill and intelligence. Shrugging, he took her hand and twined his fingers around hers. The fact that she’d allowed herself to be captured still stunned him, sometimes. “I don’t know, specifically. I heard noises once or twice that I couldn’t explain, but I was very young, then. It’s generally some ancestor or other, if you believe that sort of thing.”

“Mm hm.”

Richard looked out the window again. “Just over the rise ahead. Your holiday from civilization and the paparazzi.”

Immediately she leaned forward, her hands on the back of the seats in front of them. A moment later it came into view through the mist – a gray, sprawling behemoth of centuries-old stone and wrought iron, ivy climbing the north-facing walls all the way up to the pitched roof of the third floor.

“It’s Dracula’s castle,” she announced, lifting both eyebrows. “You’re going to murder me here.”

“If I were Dracula, we would have flown up here at night,” he countered smoothly. “And I wouldn’t spend most of my time in – what do you Yanks call it? – the Sunshine State.”

She snorted. “Sounds like a perfect disguise to me.” Leaning over, she kissed his temple. “Except you’re James Bond, not Dracula,” she murmured, then straightened to look forward again. “Well, part of it’s still standing,” she commented after a moment. “Blakely, how close is the nearest inn?”

“Orrisey is down the hill about a mile. It was voted the second bonniest village in the Highlands last year. It’s on Canniebrae land, actual—”

“We’re not staying at an inn, Samantha. We’re staying at Canniebrae,” Richard interrupted. “It has very gothic turrets. And a widow’s walk.”

“You’re serious. You didn’t just rent this place to scare the shit out of me or something.”

In truth she looked more baffled than alarmed, as if she thought him too…well-pressed to own anything remotely ramshackle. Richard gazed down at Canniebrae as they circled it a second time. Broken windows and holes in the roof of the west wing, which actually sagged now in the middle, at least one tumbled wall around the remains of the garden – yes, it was definitely ramshackle. It was also his. While he’d expected her to be surprised and out of her element, unlike Tom he hadn’t thought she would hate it. “That bad, is it?” he commented aloud.

Narrowing her light green eyes, she continued studying his ancestral pile. “How much did Donner bet that I’d run?”

“A hundred dollars.” That wasn’t true, but if he’d mentioned it, Tom would certainly have put a sawbuck on Sam running away to civilization.

She took another long look before she turned away from the window to face him again. “Okay, then. I’ll play along. Why does it have a widow’s walk? You can’t see the ocean from here.”

“No, but from the roof you can see across the loch and all the way down the length of the valley. A lady would want to know if her laird was returning from battle.”

“Or if she needed to gather her wee bairns and flee because the Sassenach lobster backs were coming,” she countered in a pitch-perfect Inverness accent. Even Blakely turned his head to glance back at her.

“Nicely done,” Richard said, taking hold of her hips to pull her back down to her seat.

She shrugged. “What? I saw Braveheart and Outlander.”

He kept his mouth shut. Whatever he wished to say to her could wait until they were alone. In fact, he now had several reasons to want to be alone with her. “What do you think, then?” he asked again, mostly to distract himself.

“Too early to tell.” Samantha spoke almost absently, her gaze still on the castle as they crossed over the loch and set down on the large, sloping lawn to the east side of the main building. “You’re sure there aren’t any vampires?”

“Reasonably sure.”

“And the roof isn’t going to fall in and smash us into pancakes?”

“I put our odds at fifty-fifty. The west wing’s been closed for years, so the being pancaked odds increase there.”

By this time, he had no idea whether she was looking for ways to gain illegal entry or if she’d already moved on to categorizing the various time periods when his ancestors had added rooms or done renovations over the years. He certainly hadn’t done anything to the place. Eighteen years. Had it truly been that long since he’d last set eyes on Canniebrae? Growing up, this had been where he spent a good part of nearly every summer, at least until his fifteenth year. Richard shook himself. This was about Samantha and him and their future. Not about the past.

“Thanks, Blakely,” Samantha said, shedding the headphones and unlatching the door to hop out of the helicopter.

Richard joined her on the lawn, the stirred-up chill digging through his light jacket and reminding him that autumn in the Highlands was far different than autumn in southern Florida. A pair of men in matching black waistcoats and black and green kilts emerged from the house to unload their luggage. With some bobbing and greetings that he couldn’t quite hear over the rotor noise, they moved well away from the copter.

The helicopter lifted off again, and in less than a minute was out of sight behind the hills and trees. The sound lasted for another handful of seconds, then faded into silence.

“Wow,” Samantha whispered, stepping sideways to take his hand and lean into his shoulder. “It’s really creepy now that I see it from ground level.”

“Samantha, y—“

“Easy, Brit. Nobody’s asking me if we’ve set a date, where I get my hair cut, who my favorite designer is. It’ll do.”

Kissing her pretty, autumn-colored hair and more relieved than he cared to admit, Richard smiled. “Then we can go in the front door, I assume, rather than scaling the walls?”

“Sure. This time.”

3

Wednesday, 10:31 a.m.

Rick owned a lot of antiques, but he was careful with them. He appreciated their rarity and their beauty. Even if the west wing of Canniebrae had started falling apart a long time ago, it wasn’t like him not to have repaired it. That left Samantha with the hanging question of “why”. Before she asked that out loud, though, she needed to look around a little. She was one mostly former cat burglar who preferred to know where the alarms were before she started stomping around willy-nilly.

She kept an eye on Rick as the butler, Yule, welcomed them and showed them up the mahogany-railed grand staircase, down a long, high-ceilinged hallway right out of Beauty and the Beast, and out to the end of the castle’s east wing where the master bedchamber had been aired out and made ready for them. There were no cobwebs in the corners here, but Canniebrae didn’t feel at all like any other place he owned.

Even with the broken windows and the holes she’d seen in the roof, the place did ooze with power. The old, inherited kind of power. The stone walls practically hummed with it. For a few minutes she felt like Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice