Cold Gold by Victoria Chatham

split his skull had waited in there and attacked him. From sitting at his desk at the mine head office until waking up on the floor of this hell hole, he had no memories at all.
    Deep in thought, Randolph ran his fingers through his beard. He had only ever once worn one and guessed from the length of it he must have been here now for at least ten days. And was fully aware of the reason for it.
    He’d asked one question too many and gotten too close to the truth.
    He shifted on the cot and sighed heavily. His father’s overseas gold interests had cost him dearly one way or another. Mostly they had taken him away from Buxton Hall and Serena. He thought of the last time he’d seen her, with her eyes blazing and her cheeks red with anger, her voice ringing with accusation.
    “I don’t think you love me,” she’d said . He’d watched as her lower lip quivered and her eyes filled with tears. “I think you’re using Cold Creek as an excuse to run away from what is or is not between us.”
    Running his hand over his face, he sat up. He couldn’t tell her what he suspected was happening at the mine, couldn’t hint at how dangerous it might be. She would have insisted on coming with him and how much of a liability would that have been? If his own safety was questionable, how could he guarantee hers? He hadn’t wanted to argue with her and had simply left.
    He got up and paced the floor, comfortable now in the parameters of his underground prison . It suited his purpose better to stay dead. It would lull the perpetrators into a false sense of security. Restless and ready to leave, he respected John Woo’s concern for him and tried to be patient. One or two more days wouldn’t hurt in the scheme of things and would give him time to plan a strategy to unmask Douglas King and possibly George Stiles with him.
    And then he would sell his holdings in the Cold Creek mine and go home to Buxton Hall and Serena.
    Serena. He couldn’t shut out the sight of her lovely face and graceful form, the high firm breasts he loved to caress, the delight they both took in her response. He wanted nothing more than to hold her again, to feel the warmth of her body against his, a warmth that meant so much more to him than any of the cold gold this mine might produce. Their argument before he left had been vicious and it cut him to the core that she thought he didn’t love her. He sat back down on the edge of the cot and held his head in his hands.
    He had started to tell her so many times why he couldn’t love her as completely as she wanted, wouldn’t give her the child she yearned for but, each time he tried, the words stuck in his throat. He couldn’t explain to her how his mother cried and shrieked in pain while giving birth to his brother.
    No, he would never put Serena through that.
     
     
    Chapter Seven
     
    Douglas King tipped his chair back and put his heels on the edge of Randolph Buxton’s desk. He took a cigarillo from his pocket, lit it then watched the first satisfying curl of smoke spiral upwards. Oh, but this was good.
    Very good.
    He’d learned a long time ago that patience was a virtue and now all his pigeons were coming home to roost. There was only one pigeon left to deal with and how fortunate that she came to him. Her being so far away from home made everything so much easier.
    Yes, Lady Serena was lovely on the eye and would look even better on his arm, for to whom else could she turn?
    Frank Harris had been an easy mark. Suggesting that security and integrity counted more for his bank than profit, and then questioning if Serena really was Randolph’s wife was a master stroke of subterfuge. Once the seed was planted in Harris’ ear it practically grew on its own, and he was perfectly sure that Harris would not remember how he had come to think of it. The banker’s due diligence was a fortuitous piece of luck.
    A knock on the door preceded Deputy Stiles ’ entrance.
    “Isn’t it a little early to be trying that