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As she walked toward the gate where the carriage awaited, Emerson couldn’t help but think this was all just a bit over-the-top, even for a billionaire. The coachman hopped off the driver’s seat and extended his hand to help her aboard.
“Ms. Ravenel? Mr. Romanov is running a few minutes behind and thought you might enjoy a carriage ride through the gardens before taking you to lunch.”
“The restaurant is closed.”
“Not to worry. Mr. Romanov has had lunch catered in for the two of you. The table has been set up in one of my favorite spots overlooking the mute swans’ estuary.”
Ignoring his outstretched hand, Emerson climbed aboard the beautiful coach. “I don’t think I’ve seen you, your horse or this coach parked along the streets for the tourists. Do you hire out privately?”
“No, ma’am. I work for Mr. Romanov personally. He’s been known to offer my services as a wedding gift to members of the club, but other than that, I stay out at the plantation looking after his horses and the carriages.”
“Carriages? He has more than one?”
“Yes, ma’am. He has a number of fully restored carriages, including one that was said to have once belonged to the Russian imperial family.”
“Of course he does,” said Emerson laughing. She settled back into the comfortable seat, noting it was covered in butter-soft leather as opposed to velvet. Given Romanov’s reputation and the fact that it was loaned out to a BDSM club, she figured the leather would be easier to keep clean. “You do wipe this thing down after each use, don’t you?”
Instead of being insulted, the driver chuckled. “Yes, ma’am—clean and sanitized.”
“Well then, drive on.”
The man clucked to the copper bay horse hitched to the carriage, and they began to roll forward smoothly. The driver took her through wide trails traversing the gardens, pointing out various and sundry plants, flowers, and other things of interest. As they approached the pond in the middle of the gardens with its lovely fountain, she could see Romanov standing on a small dock, overlooking the pond. Even with his back turned, he was a sight to behold. Tall, dark, and she knew from the night before, devastatingly handsome. Set on the jetty was a beautiful table and chairs for two.
Upon hearing them approach, Romanov turned, his breathtaking smile splitting his face and lightening his normally dark visage. “Emerson, my apologies for being late. May I assume you enjoyed your ride?” He waved the driver off and helped her from the carriage himself. “How very beautiful you look. You most definitely have your own style.”
“Actually, the stylist my sisters hired has great taste, but I would have thought you’d find me way overdressed for this little tete-a-tete. I’m not sure what you’re expecting, but I’m pretty sure you’ll be disappointed.”
“Never. A woman of your intelligence and beauty could never disappoint me.”
Emerson found herself rolling her eyes. “Could you dial it back just a smidge? I’m happy to have lunch with you, and as I said, I appreciate you returning my shoes, but all of this…” she said indicating the table, the carriage, the service cart laden with food, “…is a bit over-the-top. After all, this is just lunch.”
“Nonsense,” Viktor said, taking her hand and looping it through his arm. “I find nothing is ever just anything. Any success I have had has been because I saw what I wanted, plotted how to get it, and then did.”
She pulled her hand away. “I’m afraid you will fail with me.”
He shook his head. “I never fail. Failure is not an option I allow myself.” He retrieved her hand. “Come now, let’s not quarrel. We’ll have lunch and then discuss what—if any—plans you have for the afternoon.”
Trying to tell herself it was a mistake, but finding it difficult to protest, Emerson allowed him to help her into her chair, shaking out the napkin and placing it in her lap. Once he was seated, a small staff that seemed to work directly for him attended to their every need and provided a unique and captivating meal. As much as she wanted to resist him, Emerson found herself being swept away by his romantic and dominant nature. He seemed to take command but did so in a way that made it almost impossible not to simply follow along.
Over the next several hours, she found herself answering a myriad of questions, but being given mostly evasive answers to the ones she asked of him.
“Tell me, Viktor, what is it exactly that Romanov Imperial does?”
“We are an alternative—for lack of a better term—investment and wealth management firm with offices in London, Paris, and here in Charleston. We specialize in hedge fund investment strategies and hostile takeovers—both defense and offense. We apply a disciplined investment and risk management process to construct diversified fund portfolios in order to achieve risk-adjusted returns of investment.”
“In other words, you do high stakes gambling with other people’s money.”
“As well as my own,” he chuckled.
“Are you aware that there are a lot of rumors—some of them unsavory—regarding you, your business, and your club?” she asked.
“I am aware of that, but I cannot be bothered with what other people think of me. I am a successful and wealthy man…”
“Who, if rumors are to be believed, is in bed with the Russian mob, the CIA, MI6, Interpol, and others.”
Romanov held his hands out and shrugged. “As I say, people say a lot of things about me. Some are true and some are not.”
“How about what they say about you and your club?”
