Читать книгу The Billionaire's Baby Plan / Marrying the Northbridge Nanny: The Billionaire's Baby Plan - Allison Leigh - Страница 11

Rourke watched the limousine bearing Lisa in the rear seat drive away from the house.

A part of him was elated.

An equal part of him was disgusted.

Not with Lisa. She’d done exactly what he’d expected her to do. His personal dealings with her might have been counted on one hand, but he knew she was singularly dedicated in her goals where the institute was concerned. Agreeing to his terms had been her only option.

He wished that the elation could edge out the disgust if only for a moment or two.

“Where’d Lisa go?”

He looked over at Tricia, who’d walked around to the front of the house. “She has to catch a flight back to Boston.”

After she’d agreed, she’d asked him about the rest of his plans.

And even though he had more than a few, he hadn’t been able to heap them on top of her slightly bowed shoulders. So he’d lied. He’d told her that he would contact her later and they could iron out the details.

Her lips had twisted. But when she’d pushed off the bench, she’d stood tall and slender in front of him when she’d told him that she would use his limo then, after all.

Because she had work to get back to.

He knew there was no doubting that.

Even with him throwing money at the institute, it was going to take some real work to recover from the mess that Derek Armstrong had left behind.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, willfully pushing all thoughts of the man out of his head. He looked at Tricia. “What did you think of her?”

His sister—only two years his junior—looked up at him. “What do you think I thought? She looks like Taylor.”

He turned to look back at the curving drive, though the limousine had already passed from sight. That had been his first thought, too, when he’d seen Lisa in Shots. That she looked like his faithless ex-wife. But the next time he’d seen her—when Ted and Sara Beth had eloped—he’d realized how superficial that first, startling resemblance had been. Oh, Lisa was still slender and leggy. A blonde with brown eyes and a face that was arrestingly sculptured with a reserved demeanor that just begged to be smashed.

“She’s not Taylor,” he told his sister. She might be an ice princess, but Lisa had a brain. And dedication, which she’d proved just that afternoon.

The only dedication his ex had was to herself.

“Well, obviously, I know that,” Tricia said, rolling her eyes. “Just make sure you remember it.”

“What else did you think of her?”

She eyed him more closely. With all the suspicion of a sister who’d endured plenty from him throughout their childhood. “She seems nice enough. A little cool, but I think that’s probably because she’s shy.”

“Shy?” He shook his head, dismissing the notion. Lisa had confidence to spare. There was no room for shyness there. “Not a chance.”

His sister huffed. “Why’d you ask if you’re going to ignore what I think, anyway? Trust me. The woman has a shy streak a half mile wide. You just don’t see it ‘cause you’re a guy. All you see are those long legs of hers and those big brown eyes.”

He saw a lot more than that. He saw the means to his future. One that, for a long while, he’d given up on ever having.

He never thought he’d be in the position of hearing his own biological clock ticking, but that was where he was. There was a helluva lot of macabre irony that the situation caused by Derek Armstrong was now providing Rourke with the means to succeed in the one thing he’d ever failed at.

Or maybe, it was simply poetic justice.

Elation edged ahead at last, and Rourke dropped his arm over his sister’s shoulder. “How fast do you think you can put together a wedding?”

Lisa stood on the front porch of her parents’ home and took a deep breath. She’d barely landed in Boston when her cell phone started ringing with messages, but it was the one from her mother that had brought Lisa here this evening.

Nobody ignored Emily when she summoned you to a family dinner.

Not even when one had, just that day, been coerced into agreeing to marry a devil.

Blowing out a breath, she pushed open the door, entering the foyer where the scent of furniture polish and fresh flowers greeted her. Knowing that her mother wouldn’t appreciate her arriving with briefcase in hand—tangible evidence that she was a businesswoman and not a society wife—she left it on the floor next to an antique console table that held the cut-crystal vase filled with flowers and walked through the house that she’d grown up in.

She found everyone already in the drawing room. Her mother was sitting on the settee, her typical glass of sherry in her hand. Surprisingly, Gerald was out of bed and sat in his wheelchair next to the settee, sipping amber liquid from a squat glass of his own. Paul and his fiancée, Ramona, were standing close together near the bay window that overlooked the back of the estate. Her blond head was tilted close to his dark one and they seemed lost in their own world.

Derek was notably absent, for which Lisa was painfully grateful.

She was pretty certain that in her present mood, she would have lost her control altogether if she’d had to see him just then.

It was going to be difficult enough trying to sell the idea of her sudden “romance” with Rourke Devlin as it was.

She went to her father first, bending over him to kiss his cheek. “Daddy. It’s good to see you up. You’re looking well.” And he did. His shoulders weren’t as broad and strong as they’d been before he’d become confined to his wheelchair and his face wasn’t as fiercely handsome as it had once been, but he was still an impressive, dauntingly intelligent man.

And right now, that intelligence was peering out at her from her father’s eyes. “You don’t,” he said bluntly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” She straightened and managed a laugh. “Just too much to do and not enough hours in the day. That’s what you always used to say,” she reminded.

He lifted his glass, watching her over the rim. He didn’t look convinced, but she turned quickly for her customary air-kiss with her mother.

“You’re late,” was the only observation her mother had for her.

“I’m sorry.” She looked over the back of the settee to find her brother watching her, his eyebrows lifted a little.

She could well imagine he was curious about the results of her New York trip. She shook her head ever so slightly, glancing back at her mother. “You know I was in New York for most of the day. I had to stop at the institute when I got back.”

Emily’s lips pursed. “I suppose that’s why you didn’t have time to dress more appropriately for dinner.”

She was long used to her mother’s disapproval and ignored it in favor of going to the gleaming wooden bar on the far side of the room. “I thought Olivia and her clan would be here, too,” she said to no one in particular.

“She and Jamison had another function tonight.”

And of course those functions would be important enough not to earn Emily’s trademarked sniff of displeasure. “Too bad,” Lisa said. “I was looking forward to seeing Kevin and Danny again.” Since they’d joined the family, Lisa had been unfailingly charmed by the two sweet little boys her sister and brother-in-law had adopted. And right now, the three-and seven-year-olds would have provided a welcome distraction. “How long until dinner?”

She could hear her mother’s sigh from across the room. “Long enough for you to have an aperitif.”

As if to not have a pre-dinner drink was the height of crassness.

Paul appeared beside her and pulled a wineglass from beneath the bar. “White?”

She stifled her own sigh and nodded.

He poured her a glass. “I’m sorry I was tied up with patients this afternoon and missed you when you got back.” His voice was low. “How’d it go?”

Her fingers tightened nervously around the delicate crystal stemware. Her mother had switched her attention to fussing over Gerald, though Ramona was watching them. Lisa pulled her lips into a smile for her brother and his fiancée, lifting her glass a little as if in a toast. “We…um…we’re not going to have to worry about that…small problem anymore. It’s completely taken care of.” Or it would be soon enough.

She took a hasty gulp, drowning her anxiety in wine.

“He went for it, then?”

He, of course, meant Rourke. “Mmm-hmm.”

Her brother smiled. “I knew you could pull it off, Lis.”

“There is one thing I need to tell you—” She broke off when they heard the chimes ringing from the front doorbell. Her first thought was that Derek was showing up, after all, but she quickly dismissed it. This was his childhood home, too. He wouldn’t have stood on ceremony any more than she had. He’d have walked right on in.

“Go see who it is, Lisa,” her mother ordered. “Anna is off today.” Anna was her parents’ housekeeper.

She didn’t mind. It gave her an escape for at least a few minutes. She left her wineglass sitting on the bar and walked through the house back to the front door, pulling it open without so much as a glance through the heavily leaded sidelights.

Rourke stood on the porch. He was wearing a dark overcoat that made his shoulders look even wider than usual, and the golden light from the sconces positioned beside the massive door made his black hair glint.

She resolutely ignored the way her heart practically stood still and pulled the door shut a little behind her, lest anyone else’s curiosity led them to the foyer. “What are you doing here?”

“Is that any way to greet your fiancé?”

The term jarred her. “What would you like me to do? Throw myself into your arms?”

“That’d be more natural, wouldn’t it?”

“There’s nothing natural about any of this.” The magnitude of what she’d agreed to overwhelmed her all over again. As did the needlessness of it all. She stepped farther outside, nearly pulling the door closed entirely. “Why me?” she asked. “If you want a child—within the bounds of wedlock,” she added quickly before he could interrupt, “why not just marry one of your other women?”

He smiled a little. “And what women would those be?”

The evening air was decidedly cool, but her limbs felt decidedly not. “The women you date. Obviously.” He was a seriously eligible bachelor. There was no question that the man had women in his life.

“Dating gets…messy.”

Wasn’t that what she believed, herself?

“This feels pretty messy to me,” she countered.

“This is business. The terms are already outlined.”

“A child is not a business.”

“So says the woman whose entire life revolves around an institute that creates them.”

“We’re not cloning people, for heaven’s sake! We’re helping infertile couples achieve fertility.” She went stock-still when his hand suddenly lifted toward her.

“This strand of hair keeps working loose of that knot you keep it in.” His knuckles brushed the underside of her jaw as he ran his thumb and forefinger down the long, wavy lock.

It didn’t seem to matter that he was wreaking havoc on her life. Just that faint touch made her bones feel like gel. “Wh-what are you doing here? For that matter, how’d you even know where I was?”

He wound the strands of hair around his finger. “Your assistant told me.”

She jerked back, and he let her hair loose though he still left her feeling crowded on what was supposed to be a very spacious porticoed entrance. “What were you doing calling Ella?”

“Finding out your schedule, obviously.”

“You should have contacted me.”

He smiled faintly. “Somehow, I think Ella was more forthcoming than you would have been.”

The truth of that stuck in her throat. “You said we…we would work out the details of our—” She couldn’t even manage an appropriate word and just waved her hand instead. “Later.”

“And now it’s later. You’re meeting with your family this evening. I figured it’d be logical for me to be here when you tell them we’re getting married.”

“Maybe I didn’t plan to tell them this evening,” she bluffed. Badly.

“I’d think you’d rather they hear it from you than from somewhere else.”

“What’d you do? Issue a press release?” She hadn’t really taken him seriously on that score.

“I’ve arranged for the ceremony to be held in New York at St. Patrick’s Cathedral.”

“What?” The cathedral was famous. It was Catholic. “I’m not Catholic.” She hadn’t even been to church in years. And he was a divorced man.

“I am.”

She folded her arms tightly. “Aren’t there…requirements to be met there? Marriage classes or something?”

“Ordinarily.”

How simply he glossed over what she knew had to be an encyclopedia of protocols, and it was just another example that he wasn’t any ordinary man. Not even an ordinary, wealthy man.

So she squashed the multitude of questions that her detail-oriented mind wanted answers for, and settled for just one. “Why do you want a church ceremony when you’ve already promised that our…union…has an expiration date?”

“That’s a promise known only between you and me, remember? As far as anyone else is concerned, this is the real deal. Unless you’re already chickening out.”

She made a face. “I’m not chickening out.” Not because she didn’t want to back out. She did. But she wanted to ensure the institute’s security even more.

“Good.” He slid his hand inside the pocket of his coat and he pulled out a small, square jeweler’s box. Without ceremony, he thumbed it open and pulled out a diamond ring. “Put this on.”

She eyed the simple, emerald-cut solitaire. If this were a real engagement—if she were head over heels in love with the man—she would have been bowled over by its exquisite beauty. Something she would have chosen for herself—albeit a more modest-size stone—if she were given the opportunity.

But in that sense, there was nothing real about any of this.

She took the ring and slid it onto her left ring finger. The narrow band fit a little loosely and she nudged it with her thumb, pushing the weighty diamond to the center.

Beautiful or not, the ring felt more like a noose around her neck.

“I suppose you’ve already decided what date, too?”

“Next week.”

She nearly reeled. “So soon?”

“I can fit it into my schedule now. And yours, as it happens, since you’ll be able to cancel all of those meetings you have lined up next week with potential investors.”

“H-how did you arrange the cathedral on such short notice?”

“I asked.”

Panic bloomed inside her head. How could she ever be a match against him?

“Everything is already arranged,” he continued. “The ceremony will be at four. We’ll have a small reception afterward at my penthouse. It’s easier than finding another suitable venue, and Raoul will provide the catering. All you have to do is find a gown. We’ll issue a few official photographs for the press, so keep that in mind.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t take care of the gown, then, too.”

“Your taste is excellent. But if you prefer, I can make a few calls to some designers I know.”

“Gosh. Thanks.” She shivered and her sarcasm was shaky.

“You’re cold.” He suddenly pulled her close to him, wrapping his overcoat around her.

It was like being engulfed by a blast furnace. And for the life of her, she couldn’t pull away.

“Better?” His voice dropped, whispering against her temple.

Her fingers curled against his shoulders, easily discerning the hard feel of him beneath the soft wool. No extra padding in that coat, at all. “Not really,” she admitted.

“It won’t all be bad. Have you seen the Mediterranean?”

She shook her head. She had to fight against the urge to lean against him. To just let him take her weight, and everything else on her plate…

But wasn’t that what he was doing, anyway?

“I’ve arranged a private villa in the French Riviera for the honeymoon.”

Honeymoon. She almost laughed. Or cried. Because he was covering all of his bases as far as appearances went. “I don’t want to be away from the office for even a week.”

“You will be, and it’ll be three weeks.”

Her gaze flew to his. “That’s impossible. I can’t just flit off for—” She broke off when the door behind them opened again.

“What on earth is taking so.” Emily’s voice trailed off at the sight that met her. “Long?” Her eyebrows lifted in silent demand.

Lisa tried to untangle herself from Rourke’s arms, but he wasn’t cooperating. Which left her to peer over his shoulder at her mother. But when she opened her mouth to explain, nothing came. “I…I—”

“Blame it on me, Mrs. Armstrong,” Rourke said smoothly. Without releasing Lisa, he tucked her against his side and turned to face Emily, his hand extended. “It’s good to meet you again.”

Again? Startled, Lisa looked from his face to her mother’s.

The insistent inquiry on Emily’s face was replaced by surprise. And no small amount of confusion. “Mr. Devlin. How nice to see you.”

“Your mother and I were on the same charitable board a few years ago,” he told Lisa. The smile he directed at Emily was both rueful and charming. “I’m afraid I forgot to mention it before.” He looked at Lisa, the very picture of devoted man. “We’ve been busy with…other matters.”

Her cheeks burned. She wondered if he’d studied the way Ted Bonner was always looking at Sara Beth, because he had the whole besotted thing down to an art. She glanced at her mother, who was now eyeing her with even more surprise.

“You are…seeing…Rourke Devlin?”

She would have had to have been a stone to miss her mother’s implication.

Her chin lifted. She smiled a little and let her left hand slide down to the center of Rourke’s chest. There was no way that her mother could miss the diamond on her finger. “Yes.”

Emily’s lips parted. She blinked a little. And Lisa knew that she probably should be ashamed of enjoying, just a little, the sight of her mother so obviously at a loss for words.

“I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t speak to you and Dr. Armstrong before now,” Rourke smoothly stepped into the verbal void. “But your daughter has a way of making me forget all convention.”

Lisa nearly choked over that.

But Emily was recovering quickly. Her smile was still more than a little puzzled. Proof that she couldn’t understand what appeal Lisa might have for a man like him. But she stepped back in the doorway, extending her hand. “Of course we don’t mind,” she was saying. “Lisa is an adult. She makes her own decisions. Now come in out of the chill. We’ve got most of the family here,” she continued when Rourke let go of Lisa and nudged her back inside the house. “Though it would have been perfect if Derek and Olivia could have been here for such an announcement.” She gave Lisa a censorious look, as if Lisa had deliberately chosen the timing to annoy her.

But there was nothing but delighted pleasure again in Emily’s face when she pushed the door closed and tucked her arm through Rourke’s to lead him through her graciously decorated home.

Following behind them, Lisa blew out a silent breath.

At least now she didn’t have to figure out a way to break the unlikely news that she was going to marry the man.

In that, she supposed she ought to be grateful.

“Everyone, look who’s here.” Emily’s voice had taken on a cheerful slant by the time they entered the drawing room. “Darling.” She went first to Gerald. “You remember Rourke Devlin, don’t you?”

Rourke shook the older man’s hand. “It’s good to see you, Dr. Armstrong.”

Gerald waved that off. “Gerald,” he insisted. “And of course I remember the last time.” He sounded irritated that Emily might suggest he wouldn’t. “He was at the Founder’s Ball. Lisa, get the man a drink.” He gestured to the leather chair that until a few years ago, had been his own preferred perch. “You’ve met my eldest son, Paul, and his fiancée?”

Aware of the surprised looks that were passing between her brother and Ramona as the two greeted Rourke, Lisa went to the bar. She couldn’t very well ask Rourke what he preferred to drink—presumably that would be something a “normal” fiancée would know—so she poured him a glass of the same wine she was drinking.

Though, as she carried it over to him and he tugged her down onto the arm of the chair and held her there with his implacable hand around her hips, she was rather wishing that she’d chosen a much stronger drink for herself. Instead, she held her own glass with tight fingers and it was then—seemingly all at once—that the rest of them noticed the ring on her finger.

Ramona gasped.

Paul muttered an uncharacteristic oath.

And Gerald just slapped his hand on his thigh. “Well, my God, Lisa-girl. Aren’t you full of surprises!”

She smiled, hoping it didn’t look as weak as it felt, and avoided her brother’s eyes. Of all those present, he was the one least likely to be convinced about her and Rourke’s sudden match. “Wait until you hear Rourke’s plans for the wedding,” she said and smiled down at her intended bridegroom with a sudden hint of sadistic relish.

Let him be the one to tell Emily Stanton Armstrong that the wedding was already in the works.

And she’d have no say in the details, whatsoever.

“My pleasure,” he said smoothly. But instead of launching into the litany of wedding arrangements that he’d already, arrogantly made, he lifted her free hand and pressed his thumb unerringly against her erratic pulse.

Then he smiled a little and sent her brief little spurt of satisfaction packing when he pressed his mouth slowly, intentionally, against her palm.

She forgot about her mother and everyone else. Except Rourke. And the fact that he’d plucked all control right out of the hand he was kissing.