“Then you know I’m Julia Nash.”

He was obviously messing with her head for some obscure reason of his own. He had to have every intention of letting her go this morning. Hunger contracting her stomach, she reached for an almond-glazed Danish. If memory served, it was a long drive back to Dubai.

“Tell me again why you broke into Cadair Racing?” he asked.

Julia chewed then swallowed the first bite of the pastry, dabbing her lips with the white linen napkin. “As you’ve discovered for yourself, I’m a reporter for Equine Earth Magazine. I wanted to do a story on you and your horse.”

“Which horse?”

“Millions to Spare.”

“And what’s your story angle?”

“His recent victories.” That seemed generic enough.

“Why Millions to Spare? Ilithyia won more races this year.”

Julia hesitated. This one was a little tougher.

Harrison raised his eyebrows.

She tried not to panic. She had to say something, anything. “Because of his…” No good. She drew a blank.

He gave her an extra few seconds, but then he shook his head.

“I was this close.” He made a centimeter-size gap between his thumb and forefinger. “This close to believing you are who you say you are. But then you had to go and lie again.”

“I’m not lying.” She could easily do a story on him and Millions to Spare. Therefore, technically, she was telling the truth.

He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. “I brought you your purse.” He pushed it across the table.

Relief flooded through her. He was letting her go. She scooped up the ivory leather bag, snapped open the clasp and instantly noticed the deficiency. “My phone’s not here.” And neither was her passport, dashing her hopes that he might be setting her free.

Harrison stood. “Why would I give you back your phone?”

“So I can call a taxi.”

He shook his head. “You’re a criminal in my custody. You’re not going anywhere until you tell me the truth.”

Julia quickly looked through the purse, searching for the other important item. Where was the cotton swab? Her heart beat deeply in her chest. Where was her DNA evidence?

Harrison started for the door. “We’ll chat again after lunch.”

“But-”

“Do enjoy your breakfast. Can I have Leila bring you anything else? A magazine perhaps.”

Julia didn’t want a magazine. She wanted a cell phone, a PDA, a walkie-talkie, anything with which to communicate with the outside world.

“Can I use a computer?” she tried.

He chuckled. “Right. That’s likely.”

“Well, can I at least get out of this room?” Communication devices were obviously not coming in, so she’d have to get out and find one.

He frowned as he considered her request.

She gestured to the fenced grounds below the balcony. There were also guards at the gate. Come to think of it, the place had an awful lot of security for a horse stable. Maybe horse thieves were common. Maybe Harrison had a legitimate reason to suspect she was trying to steal Millions to Spare.

“Where am I going to go?” she challenged him.

After another silent moment, he relented. “I’ll have Leila show you to the main terrace. There’s a pool there, and the staff will bring you anything you need.”

Julia came to her feet, determined to push her luck as far as it could be pushed. “How about a tour?”

He raised one of his aristocratic brows. “A tour of what?”

“The palace, the gardens, the stable. If I’m going to do a story-”

He snorted his disbelief.

“-it’ll be helpful to slot in some background.”

He stared at her in silence.

“I do want to interview you.”

He took a step toward her. “I’ll give you a tour myself.”

Okay, that wasn’t exactly the perfect solution. She’d been hoping for Leila, or perhaps someone elderly, with hearing and sight challenges.

“Problem with that?” he asked.

“Not at all. I can interview you while we tour.” At least it was a step in the right direction. She could always hope Harrison got called away or distracted while they were out, and then she’d seize the opportunity.

He opened the bedroom door and gestured for her to precede him. They followed the same route back to the great hall. From there, Harrison led her through the glass doors and onto a huge, concrete veranda. It overlooked a picturesque, tiled pool surrounded by palm trees and deck loungers, with a few umbrella tables in the distance.

As they stood side by side at the rail, Julia was struck again by the excesses of Harrison’s lifestyle. Did he honestly feel the need to live like a king?

“What’s your first question?” he asked.

“What on earth do you do for a living?” she asked without thinking.

He glanced quizzically down at her.

“You have a very, uh, nice place here,” she elaborated.

“I own Cadair Racing,” he told her.

“Right.”

“Do you need a notebook for this?”

“No.”

Again, that skeptical glance that told her he was onto her.

“I have a very good memory,” she supplied, checking out the perimeter of the yard. The fence stretched into the ocean, but there was a chance she could wade around it.

“You rely on your memory?”

“Yes, I do.”

He nodded. “Please proceed.”

She wondered if the guards were armed. She hadn’t thought about the possibility of getting shot.

“Julia?” Harrison prompted.

She blurted out the first question that came to her mind. “Your full name.”

“The Right Honorable Lord Harrison William Arthur Beaumont-Rochester, Baron Welsmeire.”

That got her attention. She squinted up at him. “You’re joking.”

“I’m quite serious.”

So that’s where he got all the money. “Are you in line for the British throne or something?”

“Number two hundred and forty-seven.”

“You know the exact number?”

“Of course I know the exact number.” His mouth twitched for a second in what had to be an aborted smile. “Two hundred and forty-six untimely deaths, and I’m in.”

Julia struggled not to grin in return. “Will you kill them off yourself?”

His eyes squinted ever so suspiciously, reminding her that they were adversaries not friends. “Why? Is that what you’d do?”

The questions took her by surprise. “Hey, I might be willing to steal-” She cut herself off, astonished to realize she had been about to confess to stealing a swab of horse DNA.

“What?” he asked softly.

She frantically struggled to regroup.

“What is it you’re willing to steal, Julia?”

Her brain scrambling, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Toilet paper.”

His brows went up.

“Back at the jail,” she improvised. “I was getting pretty desperate.”

He propped a hand against the concrete rail, his gray eyes narrowing. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because you have trust issues.”

He gave a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Never had them before.” Then he shook his head. “You are definitely a problem for me, Julia Nash.”

She shrugged. “Then let me leave.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

He stared levelly at her for a few silent heartbeats, while the air all but crackled between them.

“If you know,” he finally said, “then I don’t need to tell you. And if you don’t know, then I definitely can’t tell you.”

“That was more convoluted than your full name.”

He gestured to a wide concrete staircase that led down to the pool and began walking. “Care for a swim?”

She kept pace with him. “I thought we were having a tour.”

“It’s getting warm.”

“I’m fine.”

He nodded, but he led her to one of the umbrella-covered tables and pulled out a chair.

Julia sighed. Getting a tour of the stables wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d hoped.

They’d no sooner sat down than three servants arrived. One spread a tablecloth in front of them. One added silver, china and crystal place settings. While the third placed a floral arrangement, a plate of scones and jam, and a pitcher of peach-colored juice.

“Roughing it?” she asked him.

“Is that an interview question?” Harrison dismissed the servants and poured the juice himself.

“No.” She sat back in her chair. “More of an editorial comment on your life.”

“Am I about to get a lecture on privilege and excess?”

“You’re number two hundred and forty-seven in line for the British throne. I’m guessing this isn’t the worst of your excesses.”

He put down the pitcher. “I see you remember the exact number.”

“I told you I had a good memory.”

“And here I thought your lack of a notebook meant you were lying through your teeth, and you never really intended to interview me at all.”

Julia experienced a twinge of guilt. “Shows you how wrong you can be, doesn’t it?”

“Say my name?”

“Harrison Rochester.”

“You know what I mean.”

Julia smiled to herself. “The Right Honorable Lord Harrison William Arthur Beaumont-Rochester.” Then she paused for a beat. “Baron Welsmeire.”

“Damn,” he muttered, obviously surprised.

She pressed her advantage. “Has it occurred to you that I might not be lying?”

“Not even for a second.”

Their gazes caught and smoldered, while some sort of arousal rose unwanted within her.

“Where were you born?” she finally asked him.

“This is going to be a bloody long interview.”

She waited.

“I was born in Welsmeire Castle, south of Windermere-”

“You were born in a castle?”

“Yes.”

“Why not a hospital?”

“Tradition. Bragging rights. I don’t know.”

“So your poor mother had you in a castle so you could brag about it in later life?”

He threw up his hands. “There was a doctor in attendance.”

“Well, wasn’t that good of you.”