Читать книгу The Butler's Daughter - Joyce Sullivan - Страница 12

Juliana stared at Hunter in mute shock. Then she got angry and said the first thing that came to mind, the wrong thing, “You are absolutely insane.”

She regretted it instantly as his eyes narrowed on her like rapier blades and his mouth flattened into a deadly line. “Given my family history, I’d say that’s a foregone conclusion. What’s the matter, Cinderella, you never wanted to marry a prince?”

“That remark was completely inappropriate, Mr. Sinclair, but excusable considering my own poor choice of words,” Juliana retorted sharply, feeling heat blister her cheeks. She was half out of her mind with worry about her father’s condition and this man expected her to take his marriage of convenience proposal seriously. Still, caution honed from years of domestic service whispered a gentle warning in her ears. Whether she liked it or not, Ross had appointed Hunter Sinclair as Cort’s guardian. If memory and gossip served her correctly, the Sinclair family owned luxury hotels. Lots of them. She was at this man’s mercy and his whims if she wished to remain in Cort’s life and uphold her promise to her father.

She took a deep breath. “I assure you, I intended no disrespect toward you or your family. You simply caught me off guard. Are you sure someone will call about my father?”

“Yes. I’ve dispatched two operatives to ensure he receives the best medical care and personal protection. Someone will call as soon as there’s news.”

“Thank you.”

One of Hunter’s dark eyebrows rose. “You haven’t answered my other question. Had you planned on marrying a prince?”

He was baiting her. Intentionally. Maybe even testing her. Juliana had no intention of sharing her private dreams with this intimidating man. Nor did she want to offend him. She held Cort’s warm bundled body against her heart, knowing her father would urge her to do whatever duty necessitated.

After all, her father hadn’t thought twice about asking her to give up her career and branding her an unwed mother to protect Ross and Lexi’s son. She doubted her father would object to her skyrocketing up the social ladder by marrying a multimillionaire.

But as far as Juliana was concerned, it was a leap in the wrong direction.

Her insides trembled at the prospect of playing the mistress of Hunter Sinclair’s home—and the mistress of his bed, where, in the shadowed folds of the night, he’d surely look just as intimidating as he did towering over her now.

Lexi had been the daughter of a middle-class family. She’d boldly and elegantly leaped into Ross’s elite world with her grace and charm, blissfully ignorant of the rules. Juliana, by contrast, had been schooled in the rules of behavior long before she entered kindergarten. The butler’s daughter did not play with the children of the Collingwoods’ guests. She did not speak until spoken to. And she did not once ever let herself think that any of Ross’s fancy friends would look at her as anything more than a diversion.

She rather doubted Hunter even considered her a diversion. From his perspective he was negotiating a business merger with all the rules to be spelled out on paper in legalese. “My personal desires are none of your business, Mr. Sinclair,” she said coolly. “But allow me to allay your fears. I’m not the least bit interested in the number of zeroes in your trust fund. All I care about is this darling little boy’s safety. If marrying you will achieve that, then so be it. But I want a prenup with your agreement that I shall be appointed Cort’s guardian in your will. And should the marriage end in divorce, I want joint custody.”

“That’s all? No zeroes from my trust fund?”

She held his mocking gaze for a long moment, convinced that behind his tight mask and the sarcasm was a man who truly cared about protecting Cort. No doubt he was as reluctant as she to enter into this absurd agreement. “Not a one. You may keep them all to yourself. I have employable skills—it’s so hard to find good domestic help these days. Do we have a deal?”

Those azure eyes transformed, thawing with sudden warmth. “Deal. The helicopter is waiting. The performance begins now. We can’t have anyone suspecting we aren’t in love—especially the hired help. You know how they gossip below stairs.”

Before she could stop him or think to protest, he brushed a kiss along her cheek, then nuzzled her jaw as if she were a delectable offering. Juliana stood paralyzed inhaling the scent of him, mesmerized by the seductive play of his lips over her skin and the moist heat of his breath. He was so big, so hard, so utterly dangerous her pulse fluttered on tiny wings. What on earth had she gotten herself into?

Shyly, tentatively, she let her lips touch the corner of his mouth. Felt the firmness of those lips and the prickle of stubble on his cheek.

Oh, my. Her stomach did a free fall to her toes as his lips settled, coaxing and demanding, over hers. Juliana clutched Cort to her, aware of his precious slumbering body between them as Hunter skillfully swept his tongue into her mouth and kissed her as she imagined all rich boys kissed. Thoroughly. Powerfully. As if the world and her body were his for the taking.

And they were. Her bones threatened to disintegrate beneath the onslaught of sensation.

It was only when she felt the cold imprint of the night air on her face did she realize Hunter had pulled back and was gazing down at her beneath half-lowered lids. The intensity gleaming in his eyes sent a tremor rippling through her. “We’ll tell everyone I met you in Europe. That you only told me recently I’d fathered your baby,” he said.

Juliana told herself that if he kept looking at her as he was looking at her now, as if he’d been interrupted during a favorite meal, no one could possibly doubt that he’d fathered Cort. This crazy scheme might work. “Where in Europe?” she said breathlessly. “People will ask.”

“Germany. The Black Forest. They’ll believe that. We camped at adjoining campsites. Everyone knows I never stay in hotels, especially my own hotels.”

“I know absolutely nothing about camping.”

“Which is why I came to your rescue, Cinderella, out of fear that you’d light your clothes on fire.”

She ground her teeth behind clamped lips, subduing the urge to insist he stop calling her Cinderella. She forced her lips into a smile. “How complimentary.”

“I’m glad you approve.” He gripped her elbow again and hurried her across the parking lot toward the chopper. Juliana felt as if she were leaving one world and entering another.

TO HIS CREDIT, THE MAN she’d just agreed to marry was solicitous to a fault during the chopper ride to New York City. For the limousine ride to the penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park, Hunter thoughtfully closed the privacy window between them and the driver. Juliana tried not to let her grief over the Collingwoods’ deaths or her fears over her father’s condition show in her face. What was happening with her father? Why didn’t the doctor call?

The apartment was as enigmatic and masculine as Hunter himself. An oasis of muted earth colors on the walls, comfortable leather furnishings, and artwork that probed to the soul.

Juliana restrained herself from offering an apologetic smile to the middle-aged butler and housekeeper who’d obviously been roused from their beds and awaited them in the foyer, with appropriate smiles of welcome.

“Juliana, darling, this is Marquise and his wife Valentina, who make life much simpler in the Big Apple,” Hunter said warmly, slipping the stiff band of his arm around Juliana’s shoulder and dropping a kiss on Cort’s downy head. “Marquise, Valentina, this handsome young man is my son, Cort. And his beautiful mother is going to be my wife as soon as we can arrange a quiet wedding. Please make them comfortable. They’re both exhausted from their trip.”

Juliana blushed as Marquise, a short man with a precisely trimmed goatee and velvety black eyes, bowed slightly. “Very good, sir. And congratulations. A crib has been set up in the nursery for the little one.”

Cort let out a grumpy wail. Gratitude and awkwardness spilled through Juliana. It felt alien to have someone anticipate her needs before she’d thought of them herself; she was used to the shoe being on the other foot. “Thank you, Marquise. The baby’s not feeling well. I’m sure he’ll rest better in a comfy bed.”

“You follow me, please, madam,” Valentina said in heavily accented English. Hunter excused himself to take care of some phone calls. Neither Marquise nor Valentina seemed to think it odd that he would be making phone calls at 4:00 a.m. Juliana prayed that one of those phone calls would bring news about her father’s condition. Please, let him be all right.

Unpretentious and quiet, Valentina led the way down a thickly carpeted hallway to the nursery. Even though the lights were turned low, Juliana could see this was a room used by children. Boys, she presumed from the twin set of race car beds and the buckets of blocks, trucks and action figures neatly arranged on the shelves near the window.

She didn’t ask Valentina what boys used this room. As Hunter’s fiancée, it would be expected that she know this. Did Hunter have children from a previous marriage? Was that why he’d seemed so sarcastic about the subject of matrimony? Had his first wife relieved him of some of his much prized zeroes?

Although she’d successfully hidden Cort’s existence from the world for the last five months, Juliana was overwhelmed by the enormity of what the task now entailed. It was one thing to pretend to be a single mother living on her own. Quite another to find herself suddenly married, pretending to be in love with a stranger. A large, intimidating stranger.

While Juliana changed Cort’s diaper, Valentina helpfully warmed a bottle for him, then unpacked the diaper bag. Juliana experienced a flicker of alarm, wondering if the housekeeper found it odd that there was only a few days’ worth of clothes in the bag.

Hunter had been right, they couldn’t have the servants talking, thinking there was anything remotely suspicious about their wedding or Cort’s parentage. “I had most of the baby’s clothes sent to the island,” she extemporized. “And I planned to do some shopping—for the wedding and for him while we’re here in New York. He’s growing so fast.”

Valentina laughed. “Marquise will drive you to find what you need. He knows all Brook’s favorite stores. She comes many times with the boys to visit their fathers and to shop.”

Fathers? Juliana distractedly absorbed this information, wondering if it was a grammatical error on Valentina’s part and still uncertain as to who Brook could be. Cort whimpered and snuffled as Juliana changed his diaper, her fingers fumbling with the snaps of his sleeper. Had the news of the explosion reached the media yet? “There, there, everything’s going to be fine,” she whispered to Cort, rubbing his back until he quieted. Then she lowered him into the crib and covered him with his favorite blanket.

With any luck, he’d sleep for a few hours.

Valentina waited outside in the hall, her dark-ginger eyes eager to please as she led Juliana to a room across the hall that was distinctly feminine in tones of ivory and powder-blue. A bedroom fit for a princess, with dainty upholstered furniture and a bed draped with yards of powder-blue velvet, ivory satin and gold-tasseled cords. Not a bed fit for the butler’s daughter.

Resentment and anger teemed inside her. This pampered luxury was not her life. It rightfully belonged to Lexi and Ross. She wanted to scream.

Valentina was gazing at her in concern. “Hunter say to prepare this room. His room is adjoining, yes? He gets lots of phone calls in the night. No good for a new mother who needs her sleep.”

Juliana reminded herself to play her role. “How thoughtful of him, although I doubt anyone’s going to get much sleep with Cort in the house,” she murmured ruefully. With a practiced eye she sought out the details she’d been trained to note: the bed neatly turned down, the fresh flowers, the spotless tabletops that would pass a white glove test. “The room is very comfortable, Valentina. Thank you.”

The housekeeper bobbed her head and beamed. “Hunter not bothered by crying babies. He love babies—very good with babies. I unpack your bag for you, yes?”

Juliana felt woozy, as if she couldn’t hold herself together a moment longer. “Please. I’m so exhausted I can’t think straight. Our flight was delayed for hours. Leave my robe out. I’ll have a shower before I turn in.”

Escaping into the bathroom, she removed her jacket, wondering what to do with the gun in the front pocket. Where could she hide it from Valentina’s prying eyes? She tucked it between the folds of a plush towel stacked in a basket on the handsome wood vanity until she could return it to her purse. Violet smudges cut beneath her eyes as she stared at herself in the gilt-framed mirror. The situation was absurd. She didn’t look anything like a happy bride-to-be. Just the thought of pretending to be in love with Hunter Sinclair made her shiver.

Shedding her clothes, she turned on the water in the large marble-tiled shower. Here, at last, was privacy beneath the veil of steam and the pulsing drum of the water. Juliana sagged against the cool marble wall and let the sobs come.

“THANKS, KEEP ME POSTED.” Hunter hung up the phone and massaged his temples, holding his grief at bay through sheer force of will. From his study window, Central Park was a dark abyss with a halo of fire rising along the horizon, the sun dawning on a terrible day. The fire department had recovered two bodies from the house in the Adirondacks. Autopsies would be done later today or tomorrow to identify the remains. Hunter had contacted the Collingwood lawyers, then alerted the senior vice president of the Collingwood Corporation. Coverage of the explosion was already hitting CNN on one of the TVs on the opposite wall.

Hunter dialed Lexi’s sister’s number again, wishing he could deliver this news personally. But Cort’s safety was his top priority.

“Hello?” Annette York’s voice had the breathless, disoriented quality of someone roused from a deep sleep.

Hunter introduced himself as The Guardian.

Lexi’s sister woke instantly, wariness rippling into her voice. “Why are you calling?”

“I’m afraid I have some difficult news.”

“Is it Riana? Have you found her?”

Hunter’s stomach tightened into a lead ball. “No. It’s Ross and Lexi. There’s been an explosion. I wanted you to know before it hit the news. They were both killed. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, my God! Are you sure? There’s no chance you’re mistaken?” The shred of hope clinging to her voice nearly obliterated his self-control.

“There’s no mistake.” He gently told her about the rented house in the Adirondacks and the suspicion that the explosion was caused by a bomb.

“But I talked to Lexi two days ago. She didn’t mention they were going,” Annette protested in numb disbelief.

Hunter selectively chose what information he could share with her. He saw no point in informing Annette of the purpose of the trip. Or that Juliana and Cort had narrowly missed being caught in the explosion.

“Perhaps the decision to go away was made last minute,” he said tactfully. “Ms. York, I realize this is a terrible shock, but you must listen to me carefully. Ross gave me instructions to protect Cort in the event something like this should occur. Someone killed your sister and her husband—quite possibly the same person who abducted Riana. You and Cort could be next on the list.”

Dead silence greeted his explanation.

He forged ahead. “It would be prudent to act with extreme caution. We must be very careful not to let slip any information about Cort. I want you to pack your bags. I’ve sent a car for you. You’ll be brought to a hotel here in New York where I’ve registered you under another name. I don’t want any reporters finding you. You can issue a family statement to the press via Ross’s lawyers.”

“What about Juliana and the baby? Where are they?”

“They’re safe. For your nephew’s protection, I’d rather not tell you any more than that until we have a chance to speak privately. I’m sure you understand.”

“No, I don’t understand. My sister and her husband are dead. I want to know where my nephew is now.” Her shrill voice scraped his ears like a blade cutting glass. “I’m his aunt—his only living relative. You have no right to keep him from me.”

“On the contrary, Ms. York. I’m acting on Ross’s wishes and at the specific request of the infant’s legal guardian, whom Ross and Lexi appointed in their wills. You’ll be informed of Cort’s whereabouts and a visit will be arranged when his guardian feels it’s safe to do so.”

“Just who did Ross and Lexi think was fit to raise their son—the butler’s daughter? Or someone in that damned company?”

Hunter genuinely felt sorry for her. He knew what it felt like to have your family shattered and suddenly be set adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Her hurt and disappointment that her sister hadn’t chosen her to rear Cort were obvious. Anger was only one of the emotions she would be experiencing in the painful days ahead. “I regret that I’m not at liberty to reveal that information.”

“I’ll go to the media,” she threatened.

Hunter felt the beginning pound of a headache. “Ms. York, take a deep breath. You’re upset. You’re not thinking clearly. Going to the media could endanger your life, as well as Cort’s. I’ll contact you at the hotel and we’ll discuss this privately. Is there anyone you’d like to stay with you? The next few days are going to be very rough.”

“No,” Annette said very softly. Quietly. “Our parents died just after Riana’s abduction. And Lexi was my best friend.”

Hunter’s chest tightened with the dull ache of his own heavy heart. “I’m very sorry for your loss.” Somehow the words seemed inadequate.

He hung up the phone, promising himself that he’d find out who had done this. Make them pay for destroying a family. And he’d do his best to be the kind of father Ross had wanted for his son.

Hunter made a couple more quick phone calls, checking on the increased security measures he’d put in place on the Collingwood estate. Apparently, the press was already gathering at the gates. One of the operatives he’d dispatched to the hospital called with Goodhew’s doctor on the line. Hunter convinced the doctor he was Goodhew’s son-in-law and listened grimly to the doctor’s report on the extent of the elderly man’s injuries. At least he was expected to recover.

Feeling much older than his thirty-three years, Hunter made his way down the hall to Juliana’s room.

If she was sleeping, he’d let her rest.

His knock went unanswered, but the sound of the shower running in the bathroom told him she wasn’t sleeping. He entered the room. The bed hadn’t been touched.

The door to the ensuite bathroom was closed, steam escaping the crack at the bottom of the door. Hunter frowned. How long had she been in there? Concerned, he rapped briskly on the door. “Juliana?”

There was no answer. Beneath the rhythmic drum of the water, he thought he heard a sob. Was she crying?

He knocked once more on the door. “I’m coming in.”

Mist surrounded him, ghostly fingers of it swirled around him as he stepped into the bathroom. He couldn’t make out Juliana’s shape through the mist-cloaked glass doors of the shower, but the water was running.

What on earth? Where was she?

“Juliana? Are you here? Are you all right?”

A muted sound like an animal in pain echoed from out of the shower stall. Hunter opened the door to the stall and saw her huddled on the marble floor, a sodden trembling ball of white flesh. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her knees and damp ribbons of hair were plastered to her shoulders and back.

Sympathy pierced his body like a sword from his groin to his heart. Hunter quickly shut the water off and reached for the thick white towels she’d set out.

He snapped one open and stepped into the shower, crouching down to gingerly wrap it around her. Somehow he hadn’t associated a marriage of convenience with the inconvenience of having a sodden naked young woman in his life.

“Juliana, we have to get you out of here,” he said gently, worried she was in shock.

She lifted her head, looking at him with red-rimmed eyes. Fear, dark and turgid, shadowed her gaze. Hunter fervently wished that he were anywhere else in the world but here. Her eyes were a mirror into his own soul. “My father?”

“I just spoke to his doctor.” Fighting a reluctance to touch her in this vulnerable state, he massaged her back through the thickness of the towel, careful to keep his gaze from drifting onto the gleaming damp softness of her limbs or the delicate shape of her feet peeking out beneath the towel. She looked like a frightened swan, ready to take flight. “It’s good news. Your father’s made it through surgery—he’d been struck by some flying debris. He broke a few ribs and shattered his shoulder blade, but the surgeon has repaired the damage. Apparently your father’s suffered some burns on his face and hands, but the doctor expects him to make a full recovery. They’re moving him into ICU to keep a careful eye on him. He’s heavily sedated.”

Her eyes shuttered closed. “Thank God. I should be there with him, but if I went he’d only be angry. He told me to stay with Cort.”

Hunter didn’t contradict her. A tremor was shuddering through her body. He wasn’t letting her or Cort anywhere near that hospital. If the killer was intent on finding Juliana, that would be the first spot the killer would look. “You’re exhausted,” he said. “And you’re shivering. You need to be in bed.” He lifted her effortlessly against his chest, his senses reacting simultaneously to the feel of her buttocks molding sweetly to his abs and the scent of apple blossoms clinging to her damp hair.

She didn’t protest.

The shock of what had happened was setting in.

Carrying her into the bedroom, he yanked the covers back from the bed and laid her gently on the crisply ironed powder-blue sheets. Stopping long enough to extinguish the bedside lamp and curse his predicament under his breath, he removed his shoes and climbed in bed beside her.

Every self-protective instinct in his body rebelled, his legs and arms moving as if hindered by rusting armor as he wrapped his arms around Juliana, awkwardly spooning his body to hers. Despite the steaming heat of the shower, her limbs were ice cold.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered.

Hunter closed his eyes, not caring that the dampness from her hair seeped into his pillow. He grudgingly allowed the exquisite softness of this woman he’d committed himself to marrying to register on his senses, to distract him from the headache grinding at his temples.

The faint shallow sound of her breathing gradually deepened and became regular.

She’d fallen asleep.

Hunter told himself he could leave her now, strip himself away from the forced intimacy of their joined bodies. Take some pain reliever for his headache. It would be light soon. There were numerous tasks still requiring his attention. But he didn’t move. Ross and Lexi were dead, their lives extinguished far too soon. Though Hunter never would have thought it possible, somehow, holding Juliana close to him like this made his own grief more bearable.

A MONTAGE OF PHOTOGRAPHS of Ross and Lexi Collingwood flashed on the TV screen, each looking as if it had been lifted straight out of the pages of a storybook fairy-tale romance—white teeth, stylish clothes, not a pimple to be seen or a hair out of place. There was no mention of the butler’s daughter or the baby.

A curled fist hit the desktop. Damn!

After all that careful planning, the baby had escaped his fate.

Not for long, though. Not for long.

Ross and Lexi’s killer smiled smugly and rose to thumb through the clothes hanging precisely one inch apart on the row of expensive wooden hangers. The specially chosen attire purchased for the funeral waited expectantly at the back of the closet like a gift to be unwrapped and savored on Christmas morning. The brand-new black leather shoes lined up beneath it, toes and heels aligned as if at attention. Half of the plan had been achieved. The baron of Wall Street and his oh-so-perfect wife were dead. How hard could it be to find the butler’s daughter?

The baby would be with her.

Soon, very soon, all the Collingwoods would be dead.