The Falcon Dynasty

LUCY GORDON cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Charlton Heston and Sir Roger Moore. She also camped out with lions in Africa and had many other unusual experiences, which have often provided the background for her books. Several years ago, while staying in Venice, she met a Venetian who proposed in two days. They have been married ever since. Naturally this has affected her writing, where romantic Italian men tend to feature strongly.

Two of her books have won a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award.

You can visit her website at www.lucy-gordon.com.

Falling for the Rebel Falcon

Lucy Gordon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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I dedicate this book to Katerina, my friend in Russia, who has told me so much about that lovely country.

PROLOGUE

‘DON’T LEAVE ME. Please, please don’t leave me!’

Varushka’s voice rose to a desperate cry. She reached out frantically, seeking someone who wasn’t there, who hadn’t been there for many years, who would never be there.

‘Where are you? Come back! Don’t leave me!’

She cried out again and again, then gasped as she felt a pair of loving arms enfold her.

‘I’m here, Mamma. I haven’t gone anywhere.’

The young man’s voice was affectionate and comforting, but it hardly seemed to reach the middle-aged woman sitting on the garden seat. Her eyes were closed, seeming to lock her into the prison of her private misery.

‘Don’t go,’ she whispered. ‘Stay with me. I beg you.’

‘Mamma, wake up, please.’ The young man sounded distraught. ‘It’s me, Leonid, your son. I’m not … anyone else. Open your eyes. Look at me.’

He moved closer beside her on the garden seat, touching her face with gentle fingers to brush away the tears.

‘Open your eyes,’ he begged again.

She did so, but stared in bewilderment, as though unable to recognise him. His heart sank, and for a moment he too was on the verge of weeping. Determinedly he controlled the weakness.

‘Mamma,’ he murmured. ‘Please. ’

At last the vacant look died out of her eyes, and she managed a feeble smile as she finally recognised her son.

‘Forgive me,’ she murmured. ‘I fell asleep, and in my dreams he was there with me. I felt his hands taking hold of me—’

‘They were my hands, Mamma,’ Leonid said gently. ‘I came out to find you here in the garden to say goodbye. I’m off to attend Marcel’s wedding in Paris. Didn’t you remember that I said I was leaving today?’

‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘Of course I remembered.’

But they both knew it wasn’t his departure that had made her cry out in terrible anguish, but another departure long ago; and the memory of a man who’d vowed to return, but who had done so only rarely over thirty years, and never for long.

‘Naturally you must go now,’ she said. ‘Your father will be waiting for you in Paris. Oh, how he’ll be longing to see you!’

If he was there at all, Leonid thought. With another man it could be taken for granted that he would attend the wedding of one of his sons, but with Amos Falcon nothing could be taken for granted.

‘You’ve got my letter?’ Varushka urged. ‘You’ll give it to him?’

‘Of course I will, Mamma.’

‘And you’ll bring his letter back to me?’

‘I promise.’

Even if I have to twist his arm to make him write something, he brooded. But she must not be allowed to suspect his thoughts.

‘Perhaps he might even come back with you,’ she murmured. ‘Oh yes, say that you’ll bring him here to see me. Promise me.’

‘I can’t promise, Mamma,’ he said. ‘He has so many demands on his time, and Marcel’s wedding cropped up so suddenly that he couldn’t make any plans.’

‘But you will try? Tell him how much I long to see him, and I know that will make him decide.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ he said, speaking with difficulty. ‘Perhaps you should come into the house now. It’s getting chilly.’

‘Let me stay here. I love looking at this so much.’ She made a gesture towards the lawn that sloped down and away, giving them a splendid view of the Don River. ‘It’s where we were together, where we will one day be together again. I know that. I must simply be patient. Goodbye, my dear boy. I’ll wait to hear from you.’

He drew her close in a hug, kissed her lovingly then walked away with a heavy heart.

As he neared the house he saw an elderly woman watching him through a window. She was Nina, who looked after his mother, and who now came to the door.

‘How is she managing?’

‘Not well,’ he sighed. ‘She’s given me a letter for my father. It’s sad that she still believes he loves her after all these years.’

‘Whereas Amos Falcon used her, abandoned her, broke every promise he ever made to her,’ Nina said scathingly. Although, strictly speaking, she was Leonid’s employee, she knew she could risk talking like this of his father. He treasured her for his mother’s sake, and it was only because he trusted Nina to care for her that he was able to leave this country house and return to Moscow, where he had to live for the sake of his extensive business interests.

‘He didn’t break every promise,’ he reminded her. ‘He’s supported Mamma financially—’

‘From a distance. That was easy for him. Where was he when her husband learned he wasn’t your father? Did he offer to help, except with cash?’

‘I suffer for her as much as you do, Nina. When I see him in Paris I’m going to do my best.’

‘Can you get him to come here for a visit? You know she’s set her heart on that?’

‘Yes. I’ll try.’ He gave a soft groan. ‘What can I do? She lives in a fantasy world in which he loves her and will one day return. Is it better for her to believe those dreams than face the truth?’

‘Let her believe them if it helps her endure life,’ Nina advised.

‘You’re right. I must go now.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘What would I do without you?’

‘You don’t have to. I’m going into the garden now so that she won’t be alone as you go. Be off now or you’ll miss your plane.’

He went down to where a man was waiting with the car. At the last minute he turned to look up the sloping lawn to where his mother was waving. He blew kisses, giving her his brightest smile so that she wouldn’t suspect the sadness that overtook him at the thought of her bleak life.

It would never improve, he knew. He could only do his best to make her remaining time as contented as possible. But it wasn’t in his power to give her the happiness she craved.

Varushka watched the car as it vanished into the distance.

‘Oh Nina, it’s so wonderful,’ she said. ‘He’s going to see his father in Paris, and bring Amos back to see me.’

‘If he can,’ Nina said carefully.

‘Oh yes, he will. He said Amos would definitely return to see me in a few days.’ She sighed ecstatically. ‘He gave me his promise.’

CHAPTER ONE

PERDITA GUESSED WHO was here as soon as she heard the frenzied knock on her door. Sure enough, it was Jim, a nice young man who considered himself her boyfriend, standing there, agitated.

‘Perdita, you can’t do this to me. It’s not fair.’

‘Hush, don’t shout. Come inside.’

He came rushing in and threw himself onto the sofa, growling, ‘How do you expect me to feel when I’ve been looking forward to our time together and you dump me?’ He held up his cellphone. ‘By text, for Pete’s sake!’

‘I didn’t dump you, I just said I can’t get away for our little trip next week. Something’s come up. I’m sorry, Jim. I’ll make it up to you another time.’

She spoke sweetly but Jim wasn’t placated. Perdita Davis was a little too good at this, winning a man’s heart, backing off then soothing him with a beguiling smile.

She could get away with it because she was gorgeous, with long blonde hair, devastating blue eyes, a figure slender enough for the most demanding clothes and a lot of impish charm. That was the trouble, he thought crossly. She knew exactly how far she could go.

‘I have to dash off soon,’ she said. ‘There’s a story coming up that I just can’t miss.’

Perdita was a freelance journalist with a talent for discovering scoops and exploiting them to the full.

‘So where is this earth-shattering story?’ Jim seethed.

‘Paris. I’ve just booked my room at La Couronne.’

‘That’s the most expensive hotel in Paris.’

‘I know. I managed to get the very last room. It’s been filling up fast since the rumours started.’

‘What rumours?’

‘The wedding. Marcel Falcon is getting married in a few days.’

‘And who the blazes is Marcel Falcon?’

‘He’s the owner of La Couronne, but that’s not the point. His half-brother is Travis Falcon. You must have heard of him, surely?’

‘Sure. Big TV star.’

‘He’s been in the news a lot recently because of this new woman in his life. Apparently she’s not like the slinky, sexy “bits of fun” he’s usually seen with. She’s actually respectable, and everyone’s dying to see how it will turn out. My contact in Paris says Travis will be at the wedding, and she’ll be with him. I’ve simply got to be there and get close enough to see them together. Plus, of course, all the others.’

‘What others?’

‘The rest of the Falcon family. The father is Amos Falcon, a big noise in financial circles. He’ll almost certainly be in Paris. And so will his other sons.’

‘How many has he got?’

‘Five. By four different mothers. There’s Darius, who’s English and also a big noise financially. His brother Jackson, who does those television documentaries. Marcel, who’s French, Travis, who’s American, and Leonid, Russian.’

‘All those nationalities? Amos Falcon gets around, doesn’t he?’

‘He did once. He’s in his seventies now and he lives in Monaco with his most recent wife. He seems respectable but I’ll bet he isn’t really. The leopard doesn’t change its spots.’

‘But the place will be bulging with press. Why bother when you’ll just be one of a crowd?’

She gave him an ironic glance which told him exactly what he could do with that idea. Perdita was never simply one of a crowd.

‘They’re not marrying in a public church,’ she said. ‘La Couronne has its own chapel, so they can control who gets in. The press will be kept at a distance. That’s why I need to be in the hotel as a guest. If I play my cards right I might even get invited to the wedding.’

Jim gave a hoot of laughter. ‘In your dreams! You might contrive to sneak in, but even you couldn’t manage to get invited.’

‘Wanna bet?’

‘No, I guess you could do it if anyone could. You know, one day you’ll meet a guy who’ll play you at your own game.’

‘Nobody knows what my game is,’ she pointed out, all wide-eyed innocence.

‘He will. Then you’ll be sorry.’

‘Maybe. Or maybe I’ll end up enjoying it. The more of a battle there is, the more fun it is to win.’

She’d said everything, Jim realised. Whoever could beat her at her own game, it wouldn’t be himself. She’d told him that, kindly but finally.

‘What time’s your flight?’ he asked.

‘Three hours. I was just about to call a taxi.’

‘No need. I’ll take you to the airport.’

‘Oh Jim, that’s so nice of you. How can any man be so sweet and forgiving?’

Good question, he thought wryly. Despite being aggrieved at how little he mattered to her, he still found himself eager to serve her.

But that was Perdita, he sighed. She could have that effect on a man.

He carried her bags down to the car, made sure she was comfortable, and headed for the airport.

‘If this wedding’s being kept under wraps, how come you found out?’ he asked when they were halfway there.

‘I got a tip-off from someone who owed me a favour.’

He should have known. That too was Perdita’s way. There was always someone who owed her a favour.

At the airport he saw her to Check-In and was rewarded by a peck on the cheek.

‘Thank you, Jim dear. I’ll be in touch.’

But she didn’t say when, he noticed. She would have forgotten him by the time she was in her seat.

Here he did Perdita an injustice. She was sorry to have hurt Jim, however unintentionally, and thought about him until the plane was in the air. Only then did she turn her mind to the job she was about to do.

It was nearly midnight when they reached Charles de Gaulle Airport, and she emerged from Customs to find a middle-aged woman waiting for her. This was Hortense, a French businesswoman with extensive contacts. She and Perdita liked each other, and also had a flourishing business relationship based on the exchange of favours. After enthusiastic greetings they headed for the car.

‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ Perdita said as they made their way towards Paris.

‘No need. I owed you. It was just a lucky chance. The company I work for is organising the wedding.’

‘Why is it all being done so hurriedly?’

‘Rumour says Marcel is afraid of losing Cassie. When she agreed to marry him he moved fast before she could change her mind.’

‘What about the family?’

‘They should be here tomorrow. Travis from Los Angeles, Darius and Jackson from England. Perhaps even Leonid from Russia. He’s got a room booked but nobody’s sure if he’ll actually come. People who know him say he’s hard as nails. You cross him at your peril.’

‘Hmm. He sounds interesting.’

‘Dangerous. If you meet him, be careful.’

‘But why? Where’s the fun in being careful?’

‘Must everything in life be fun?’

‘Of course. Fun is good. Fun is creative. Fun puts you in control and catches him on the wrong foot.’

‘Him? Who him?’

‘Any him.’

‘And that’s important?’

‘Oh yes,’ Perdita said with a little smile. ‘That’s very important.’

Hortense made no reply. It could be hard to know just how much of Perdita’s lively speech she actually meant.

They had reached the most expensive part of Paris, and soon a magnificent building reared up before them.

‘There’s La Couronne,’ Hortense said.

‘Wow! It looks a fabulous place.’

‘It was once the home of aristocrats, but the family was wiped out in the French Revolution, and the building went into decline until Marcel bought it. He specialises in grandiose hotels in big cities all over the world, and La Couronne is the best.’

When she’d checked in Hortense accompanied her upstairs to her room, whose luxury made Perdita nod appreciatively.

‘It may strain your budget,’ Hortense said, ‘but it was the last one available, and it’s on the same corridor as the Falcons.’

‘That’s the bit that matters,’ Perdita agreed.

They ordered a meal from Room Service and sat munching contentedly.

‘Was it difficult to dash off at a moment’s notice?’ Hortense asked.

‘Well, one person wasn’t too happy,’ Perdita admitted, and told her about Jim.

‘But in another way it was handy,’ she added. ‘I was due to go to my parents tomorrow, for a party to celebrate my cousin Sally’s engagement, and it’s probably better that I won’t be there.’

‘Your parents are academics, aren’t they? Big names in the world of learning, so I’ve heard.’

It was true that Professor Angus Hanson was an imposing man whose learning and reputation struck awe into the hearts of those who knew him. His family were equally erudite, occupying high positions in research and education. All except Perdita, his youngest child.

‘They’ve always seen me as the black sheep,’ she told Hortense. ‘Frivolous, foolish, not caring about serious matters.’

‘Why is it better that you’re not there?’

‘Sally’s fiancé is a man I used to know, about three years ago. It seemed to be going well for us, but then I got the chance of a big scoop. Someone let slip something. I followed it up and … well, it did me a lot of good professionally.’

‘Ah yes, I remember hearing about that. It made your reputation as a journalist.’

‘But Thomas was horrified. He thought it was all terribly vulgar, and wanted me to abandon my career. When I wouldn’t … well …’ She shrugged.

‘If he’d loved you he wouldn’t have broken your heart for a reason like that,’ Hortense said, shocked.

‘Who said my heart was broken?’ Perdita demanded indignantly. ‘With all the chances that were opening up for me, I had other things to think of. Besides, I realised that he didn’t love me. He’s an academic, and he wanted to join my family for the sake of their standing.’

‘So he courted your cousin instead. Yes, it’s better you’re not at their engagement party.’

Perdita gave a wry smile. ‘The only thing academic about me is my name. Apparently when my father discovered that my mother was pregnant yet again he groaned, “Well, I’ll go to perdition!”’

‘And perdition means hell, doesn’t it?’ Hortense chuckled.

‘That’s right. He really wasn’t keen on another child. After that, Perdita became the family nickname for me.’

‘But it’s not really your name, is it?’ Hortense said. ‘You write your features as Perdita Davis, but I noticed you checked in as Erica Hanson.’

‘Yes, that’s my real name, but I only use it for official stuff. Erica Hanson keeps her bank account in order, pays her taxes on time and generally behaves properly. Perdita Davis is as foolish and frivolous as a scholarly family ever produced.’

She said this with an air of pleasure, even pride.

‘Where does the Davis name come from?’

‘The family more or less ordered me not to use Hanson in case people connected me with them and they died of shame,’ Perdita said ironically. ‘I just plucked Davis out of the air.’

‘So they can deny all knowledge of you,’ Hortense said, outraged. ‘That’s pretty nasty of them.’

‘They have a serious reputation to keep up,’ Perdita said, shrugging. ‘You can’t really blame them.’

‘I can. Reputation nothing! You’re a big success but they treat you like an outcast.’

‘Oh, I’m not melodramatic about it,’ Perdita said. ‘It’s not really important.’

She spoke lightly to hide the fact that Hortense had hit a nerve. In truth she cared more for her family’s attitude than she would admit, and her friend’s indignation on her behalf warmed her heart.

‘They’re probably jealous that you’re making your fortune out of it,’ Hortense observed. ‘Your scoops are fast taking you to the top. Though, let’s face it, you do sometimes sail a bit close to the edge.’

‘I did at one time,’ Perdita agreed. ‘But recently I’ve been a bit less “adventurous”. I don’t break quite so many rules now. I’m even getting a bit respectable.’

‘You?’

Perdita shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s my academic background coming out at last. Serious, respectable, upright. How about that?’

‘What brought this about?’

‘There was a big commotion recently. Have you ever heard of—?’ She named a journalist so notorious that his name was known over many countries.

‘Yes, wasn’t he the one who tricked that woman into talking to him, and it all ended in tragedy?’

‘That’s right.’

‘But surely it had nothing to do with you?’

‘No, I wasn’t involved in any way. But I met him once a few years back, and vaguely admired his tricksy methods. Not now, though. Let’s say I’ve grown up a bit, and it made me think about the road I was travelling.’

‘Does that mean strait-laced Erica has taken over completely, and cheeky Perdita no longer exists?’

‘Not at all. Perdita’s still there, still maddening, still taking chances. But these days she’s a bit more careful about how she might affect other people.’

Hortense chuckled. ‘Serve you right if you met the man of your dreams and had to choose between your two selves. That would teach you a lesson.’

‘I don’t have any dreams,’ Perdita said cheekily. ‘My heart’s never been broken and it’s never going to be. I’ve got too many other things to do.’

‘Have you no sense of romance?’ Hortense demanded indignantly. ‘Here you are in Paris, the most romantic city in the world, and you’re not entranced the way any other woman would be.’

‘When I get my scoop I’ll be entranced.’

‘I know better than to argue with that. I’ll be off to my own room, we have a busy day tomorrow. Goodnight. See you at breakfast.’

When she was alone Perdita went to the window, looking out to where the Eiffel Tower glowed in the distance. Everything in her surroundings was glamorous, and that was just how she liked it. It emphasised the life she wanted and the way she liked to see herself.

She’d told Hortense that her heart had never been broken and it was almost true.

After the riotous success that had made Thomas run from her she’d gone from strength to strength. The life of a freelancer suited her perfectly because it made her the one in charge, choosing her own targets.

Then she’d met Frank, a photographer. They’d worked as a team and she’d fallen in love with him, although these days she denied, it even to herself. But he’d betrayed her, using her talents to get close to a notorious story, then selling his pictures to another journalist who could do more for his career.

After that she’d decided to work alone, taking her own pictures. She’d learned a lot of technique from Frank, so who needed photographers? If it came to that, who needed men?

‘Maybe there’s something wrong with me, always putting the job first,’ she mused. ‘But that’s the way I am. It’s not my fault if I like fun. And fun likes me. Ah well! Time for bed.’

Next morning Hortense dropped in to Perdita’s room just as she was getting up.

‘Sorry to arrive so early,’ she said, ‘but I’ve got a busy day ahead preparing for this wedding.’

‘No problem.’ Perdita lifted the phone. ‘Let’s have some breakfast.’

While they waited for the food to arrive she took a shower, then sat in a bathrobe to eat, seizing the chance to ask more about the Falcon family.

‘I don’t really know anything about Leonid,’ she said. ‘He isn’t as easy to research as the others.’

‘True. His real name isn’t even Falcon. He’s actually Leonid Tsarev. It’s only when he’s over here with his brothers that he’s called Falcon as a courtesy. All anyone really knows about him is that he’s an incredibly successful business magnate—they call them oligarchs in Russia, don’t they? I’ve got friends in Moscow who say he doesn’t seem to have a very interesting private life. All work and money, no time for pleasure. At least, not the kind of pleasure the world hears about, if you know what I mean. Grim and gruff.’

‘They can be interesting too,’ Perdita mused. ‘Now, what am I going to wear today?’

‘Let’s look,’ Hortense said, opening the wardrobe. ‘Hey, what lovely clothes you’ve got. You must have a very rich boyfriend.’

‘Well, I don’t. I pay for my own clothes.’

‘You must be making a fortune.’

‘I do all right, but I don’t usually buy such expensive things. I splashed out a bit to come to this hotel. I wanted to look as if I fit in with the millionaires.’