Читать книгу The Butler's Daughter - Joyce Sullivan - Страница 13

Cort’s cries tore Juliana from sleep, uprooting her from what felt like a tangle of heavy branches until she realized that the branches flung over her torso were long and muscled—and belonged to a man.

Sunlight peeped through the partially closed drapes allowing her a glimpse of the slumbering man beside her.

He looked just as handsome and dangerous this morning as he had last night. What was Hunter doing in her bed?

A draft of cold air on her bare shoulder brought an even greater worry. How had she ended up naked in bed with him?

His eyes fluttered open, pinning her in the sights of his azure gaze. Juliana stared at him, transfixed, as his pupils narrowed to tiny dots and shifted downward to her breasts. Too late, she scrambled to pull the sheet up to cover herself, conscious of the heat that exploded in her stomach and crept over her body to sear her face.

“The baby’s crying,” she gasped. “Where’s my robe?”

Hunter blinked as if orienting himself, then threw back the covers and leaped out of bed. He was fully dressed. Memories slapped her like physical blows to the heart as she remembered the explosion. The Collingwoods were dead. Her father was in the hospital, clinging to life. And Hunter, the man she’d woken up beside this morning, expected her to hand over her freedom and her dreams and marry him to protect Cort’s identity.

“I’ll get Cort,” Hunter said gruffly, “and bring him in here while you find your robe.”

“He doesn’t know you—” she protested, searching the floor and the bedclothes for the practical toffee-colored velour robe her father had given her last Christmas.

He cut her off abruptly. “Then it’s time we got acquainted. Besides, a new father would be eager to see his son. Marquise and Valentina would expect it.”

He was right, Juliana realized, finally spotting her robe on the carpet on the opposite side of the bed. It looked like a mud puddle on the pale-blue wool—as glaringly out of place as she was in this apartment. Had Hunter climbed into her bed last night because he’d thought the servants would expect that, too?

She snatched up her robe, jamming her arms into the sleeves and hurried to the dresser to find fresh underwear and clothes. She doubted Hunter knew the first thing about diapering a baby.

Cort’s cries had stopped by the time Juliana had changed into a pair of black slacks and a sleeveless black cowl-neck sweater. Her hair was a mess, so she twisted it into a ponytail. Then she hastily brushed her teeth and splashed cold water on her face. She’d call the hospital and get an update on her father’s condition right after she’d checked on Hunter and Cort.

The deep murmur of Hunter’s voice coming from the nursery pulled at her in a curious way. She paused in the doorway, feeling both protective of her charge and uncertain of the man holding him near the window.

Cort’s blond head leaned trustingly on the biceps of Hunter’s arm as the infant cooed and gurgled up at the dark, unshaven face hovering over him. Hunter’s eyes were intent on the infant, but he glanced up as if he’d sensed Juliana’s arrival. Her heart locked solidly in her throat when she noticed moisture glimmering in the clear blue of his eyes.

“He’s beautiful,” he said simply. A muscle flexed rigidly in his jaw as if capping the pain inside him.

Juliana took a hesitant step into the room, torn between conflicting duties. The butler’s daughter would never intrude on his private sorrow. But as Hunter’s bride-to-be she supposed she should say something. Offer some comfort.

She stood there awkwardly, feeling completely out of her element, yet drawn to this dangerous-looking man who could be abrupt and cynical one moment and deeply compassionate the next. Words whispered from her, razor-edged with grief for Cort’s parents who would never know their son’s delightful nature. “He’s a bundle of joy. How did you do with his diaper?”

“No sweat. Just peel and stick. I’ve changed diapers before.”

“You have?” Why did her heart beat so fast when he looked at her like that—as if he could intuit every thought, every secret she’d ever harbored? She crossed her arms over her chest and resisted the urge to reach for Cort. Somehow seeing him so secure in Hunter’s arms seemed threatening, a reminder that Hunter had all the power to make decisions for Cort’s care.

Hunter shrugged his massive shoulders, Cort’s eyes widening at the sudden movement. “My sister, Brook, has two sons resulting from two of her three failed marriages. Both boys’ fathers work in New York and she brings them for visitation.” Juliana didn’t miss the wry curl to his tone.

“That explains the nursery. How old are they?”

“Mackensie is eight and Parrish is three. They’re rascals.” Hunter frowned, thinking of his nephews’ dubious futures and the way Juliana had her arms drawn over her breasts as if she thought he might pounce on her. Of course, she’d been somewhat underdressed when they’d awoken this morning. And the glimpse he’d had of one sleep-warmed, pearly breast and its rosebud tip had been so disconcerting he’d practically pole-vaulted out of the room to attend to Cort.

Even now, in that typical chic black New York getup, her wild tangled hair and the circles under her eyes, there was a freshness in her clear skin. An honesty dwelling in those rich brown eyes and a sweet sensuality to her curves that made the prospect of marrying her doubly alarming.

He’d never once considered taking a wife. His sister’s three disastrous marriages had cemented that resolve. And thankfully, had produced the requisite heir and a spare to the Sinclair family coffers.

Hunter had no illusions that he’d be any better than his sister or his father in choosing a soul mate.

How many times had he cautioned his clients about marrying in haste? Rushing into a relationship based on physical desire or—especially among the wealthy—an attraction to an individual’s net worth. He’d been worried when Ross had told him Lexi was pregnant and they were getting married.

But Ross had assured him he’d learned his lesson from their Harvard days when women were eager to fall into his bed, and more than one had tried to trap him into marriage. Lexi was different.

And Hunter acknowledged the truth of that. Even though her parents had been pushy and middle-class with aspirations of grandeur for their daughter, Lexi had been Ross’s soul mate in every way. Even after Riana’s abduction, a tragedy that would have destroyed many relationships, the core of love between them had remained rock solid. The looks they exchanged excluded everyone else around them because Ross and Lexi had a private world unto themselves. Ross would have moved heaven and earth for his wife’s happiness, even asking the butler’s daughter to raise their precious son.

And Hunter could understand Ross’s reasoning. He’d met Juliana’s father and knew how highly Ross had regarded Goodhew, who’d looked after Ross like a second father after J. Ross Collingwood had died of a massive heart attack when Ross was barely out of college.

Goodhew knew how J. Ross had run the Collingwood empire, knew which senior executives and which board members could be trusted and which were sharks circling for a meal. While he’d brushed suits and laid out Ross’s Oxford button-down shirts and silk ties, he’d dispensed advice. And Ross had taken the Collingwood empire further than his father had ever dreamed.

Cort playfully drummed his heels against Hunter’s forearm, vocalizing his little heart out with chirps and coos. Hunter smiled down at his godson, feeling a laugh trying to burst its way to the surface.

The tender look he caught on Juliana’s face as he stole a glance at her told him they were at least on the same page when it came to Cort’s care. Her fierce loyalty to the baby was obvious.

Hunter had no intention of dishonoring Goodhew’s daughter, or ruining a perfectly good business arrangement by letting lust creep into his marriage and muddy the waters. A man in his position had the means to discreetly deal with his physical needs.

Since Juliana’s arms were still folded like bars across her body, he decided there was no time like the present to clarify their arrangement. “About my being in your bed this morning,” he began, finding it more difficult than he expected to broach the subject with her. “It was only for show…. You shouldn’t expect a physical side to our marriage. Or children.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. “Oh.”

Hunter wished he could interpret the thoughts flickering behind her dark polished eyes. She was relieved. He was sure of it. “I wanted that to be clear before we proceeded with the ceremony,” he continued, “in case it altered your decision.”

“Hardly.”

Hunter looked with renewed interest at his self-sacrificing Cinderella. Judging from the way she lovingly cared for Cort, he’d assumed that she was the type of woman who would want children of her own. She probably did, but she wasn’t going to admit it. His admiration for her went up another notch. “Do you feel up to coping with the world? I’ll have Valentina prepare breakfast.”

“I’d like to call the hospital again. Check on my father.”

“Of course. I have the number in my study.”

“I’m going to call the Collingwoods’ household manager, too. Let him know of my father’s condition and that he’ll need to supervise the preparations for the funeral. Annette won’t know what to do or the protocol involved—” Juliana broke off suddenly. Her palm tapped her forehead. “Annette. I completely forgot about telling Lexi’s sister! She’ll be devastated. Lexi was her only family. I don’t think Annette is seeing anyone whom she could lean on to help her get through this. She was engaged when Lexi was planning her wedding to Ross, but the engagement was called off for some reason.”

“I already called her. One of my operatives was dispatched to collect her and put her up in a nearby hotel as a safety precaution.”

“A safety precaution? You think she’s in danger?”

“If someone knows of Cort’s existence, it’s logical for them to suspect that Lexi’s sister would know where the baby is.”

Juliana ran her fingers through her tangled hair. “Yes, of course, you’re right. Annette must be terrified.”

“She’s being well guarded.”

Her pointed gaze threw his words of reassurance back in his face. He knew she was thinking he hadn’t protected Ross and Lexi. He couldn’t blame her, not when he was thinking it himself. Why hadn’t he considered that Riana’s abduction might have had deeper, darker roots, especially after the abandoned ransom demand? He set his jaw. He couldn’t second-guess himself. There was no way to be certain that first ransom demand had been genuine.

He had to focus on the situation as he knew it now. On keeping Cort safe and hidden. On playing this role with Juliana of a man eager to wed the mother of his child.

He held Cort out to Juliana. “Take him. I need to shower and change. I’ll meet you at the table for breakfast. I talked to my lawyer last night, he’s preparing the prenup. We’ll need to apply for the marriage license Monday. There’s probably a waiting period. We’ll need rings, and you’ll need clothes—”

“The waiting period is one day in New York. I know because I helped Lexi plan her wedding, remember? And I worked as a wedding planner before I got drafted as the nanny. How about I handle the details for the wedding, and you concentrate on finding out who did this horrible thing so Cort will be safe?”

Hunter looked at her, surprised, remembering how magical Ross and Lexi’s winter wedding had appeared in the video. She’d had her hand in that? He felt a prickle of guilt. A civil ceremony in the Manhattan city clerk’s office would be a far cry from whatever dreams she’d spun of her own romantic wedding. Well, they were both making sacrifices.

He’d suddenly had enough of the conversation and the cacophony of thoughts and emotions driving him in cross directions. “Consider yourself hired,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, grateful for her offer and already turning his mind to the tasks demanding his concentration as he headed back to his room.

“Hunter?” Juliana called after him. “One more thing.”

He paused in the doorway and looked back at her; Cort was tucked in her arms, hungrily gnawing on a tiny fist shoved in his mouth. “Yes?”

Her pink lips parted in a faint smile that seemed apologetic, contrite, and made him wonder how she would taste if he kissed her. Really kissed her. Sweet, like a perfectly ripe peach? Or tangy like dry white wine?

His blood pounded in waves to his brain.

Color dusted her cheekbones. “I’ll need a credit card,” she said. “I suspect Hunter Sinclair’s wife has a higher credit limit than the butler’s daughter. It would probably be safer if I weren’t flashing my own credit card around, too. Credit cards can be traced, can’t they?”

He let his gaze twine with hers, felt his body’s stiffening response to her simple beauty and the intelligence embedded in her eyes. What the hell was the matter with him?

Shock. Loss. And the fact that Juliana was more intriguing than his ego was willing to admit. “Yes, they can be traced. And, in this case, your paranoia is good. Brook has a personal shopper for each of her major haunts. Marquise will make the necessary arrangements with each store for your purchases to be put on my account if you feel up to venturing out today. I’ll see that you receive your own cards as soon as possible.”

“Thank you. Since visiting my father isn’t an option for the time being, I might as well do something useful or I’ll go absolutely crazy. I’ll bring my cell phone with me so I can keep in touch with the hospital. Cort will need clothes and a new car seat. Do you have a crib for him on this island of yours?”

“Yes, there’s a nursery. You’ll both need warm, comfortable clothes for the island. And plan to pick up something for the funeral while you’re at it. The butler’s daughter will be attending it…under close surveillance.”

“I am?”

“Yes, and you’re going to keep your eyes and your ears open, especially to what’s being said in the servant’s quarters.”

Her eyes narrowed on him, glassy as marbles. “The servant’s quarters? Are you suggesting that someone on the Collingwood staff was involved in this?”

He shrugged and glanced down the hallway to ensure their conversation was not being overheard by the servants. “It’s a possibility we can’t afford to overlook. Think about it. How did someone find out the details of the reunion in Severance? You said your father made the arrangements himself. So someone either overheard him make the booking by phone or searched his quarters and found the information. Reason suggests someone in the house may have been involved.”

Cort let out a discontented squawk, reminding them he was hungry. Juliana rocked him against her hip, her body swaying with gentle motion. “Maybe the house was bugged,” she argued. “An estate that size requires constant upkeep. Maintenance people coming and going fairly frequently, deliveries being made. My father would know if—” She broke off, biting her lip. Tears swam in her eyes. “I really should call the hospital. See if he’s regained consciousness. Maybe he saw or heard something that will help.”

The determination that seemed to glow from her skin with translucent fire melted one more barrier in Hunter’s resistance. She’d had a lot to deal with in the last ten hours and he wasn’t making it easier. If she gave him the same loyalty she devoted to Cort, he’d at least have a wife who was more loyal to him than his mother had ever been to his father. “Give me this little man,” he said more gently. “He’s about ready to swallow his hand. I’ll have Valentina prepare him a bottle while you call the hospital. You can use the telephone in your bedroom. Marquise will bring you the number.”

The scent of her hair and the delicate softness of her hands impacted his senses as she transferred the baby back into his arms.

“You’re in good hands, pumpkin.” The soft wool of her sweater grazed Hunter’s side as she rose on tiptoes to kiss Cort’s cheek, reminding Hunter of visits his mother had made to the nursery when he was a boy. He remembered his mother’s fragrance—as exotic and elusive as the flowers she’d tended in her private greenhouse—and her light kisses that felt like a feather against his cheek.

He remembered the sting of her betrayal.

His throat tightened. “Juliana, if you do manage to get through to your father, be careful what you say. His life and our lives may depend on it.”

“PLEASE, LET HIM BE OKAY.” Juliana’s stomach bunched in a tight lump as her call was transferred to the ICU. A nurse told her that her father was heavily sedated and hadn’t regained consciousness from the surgery. But he was breathing on his own.

Helplessness and fear welled in Juliana, torn by divided loyalties to her father and Cort.

“Could you hold the phone up to his ear, please?”

“Hold on.” There was a brief pause. Then a distant, “Go ahead, ma’am.”

Juliana heard the steady beep-beep of a heart monitor and her throat swelled with gratitude. He was alive. “Papa, please get better. I wish I could be with you. I love you.”

She hung up the phone, her body trembling. She hadn’t told her father she loved him in over two years—not since the day he’d hugged her when she’d returned home to the estate to help after Riana’s abduction.

The direct line to the administrative household manager’s office as well as the main line to the Collingwood estate were constantly busy. Lexi’s private line was picked up by her voice mail. The sound of her vibrant voice moved Juliana to more tears. She kept speed-dialing the manager’s office as she applied her makeup and pulled a hairbrush through her hair.

Finally the line rang through, but it was Stacey Kerr, Lexi’s personal secretary who answered, rather than Gord Nevins, who examined and supervised all expenditures on the estate.

Stacey’s genteel Southern composure broke as soon as she recognized Juliana’s voice. “I can’t believe they’re gone!” she said, bursting into tears. “Those two beautiful people—and after what they went through with their poor baby’s abduction. Then Lexi losing her mother and her father. Tell me, how is your father doing? Gord told us that he’d been seriously injured, but we didn’t know which hospital to call to check on him.”

“He’s doing as well as can be expected,” Juliana said, reaching for a tissue and struggling to keep her voice steady as she updated Stacey on her father’s condition.

“We’ll be praying for him. It’s terrible what they’re saying on the news. The police are here asking questions of the staff. Is it true it was a bomb?”

“I’m not sure,” Juliana hedged, remembering Hunter’s warning that someone on the staff might be a mole. “I’ve been so worried about my father that I haven’t spoken to them directly.”

“Well, you stay with your father. He needs you. We’re managing here, though it is difficult. Cook is missing—she took the week off when the Collingwoods told her she wouldn’t be needed on their getaway and we haven’t been able to reach her. She hasn’t called in either. The sous-chef is helping Gord plan the menu for the reception after the funeral.”

Juliana frowned. Should she mention the cook’s disappearance to Hunter? It was probably nothing. Maybe Cook hadn’t turned on a TV or seen the morning paper yet. “Do you know when the funeral is scheduled?”

“Wednesday or Thursday, we’re told. Gord received a fax with instructions for the funeral from Mr. Collingwood’s lawyer. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of Lexi’s sister. Apparently, as a security precaution, she’s under guard. Poor thing. We’ve had too many funerals in this family in the last few years. With the Collingwoods gone, I imagine the staff will soon be looking for employment elsewhere.”

Including her father, Juliana thought despondently. The household staff was a gregarious family with a hierarchy all its own. They had their conflicts and their slights, but they also pulled together when the need arose. She couldn’t imagine one of them voluntarily being involved in a murder plot. “I’ll keep you posted on my father. He’ll appreciate your good wishes.”

Juliana brooded over the phone call as she transferred the gun from its hiding place in the bathroom to her purse, then hurried downstairs to give Cort his morning dose of antibiotics.

The kitchen smelled deliciously of sausages and French-roast coffee. Valentina reluctantly surrendered Cort to Juliana, reassuring Juliana that he’d drunk a full bottle. Valentina returned her attention to slicing fresh fruit into crystal bowls, but Juliana felt the housekeeper’s attentive eye on her as she squeezed a syringeful of bubble-gum-flavored medicine into Cort’s mouth. Cort fussed, his lips scrunched into a cupid’s bow of distaste.

She gave him an indulgent smile as she stored his medicine in the refrigerator. “The coffee smells divine. Where is breakfast usually served, Valentina?”

“In the breakfast room, madam. Straight through that door.” She gestured with her paring knife. “Marquise found a high chair for the little one.”

Juliana carried Cort into the breakfast room, which looked out onto a terrace garden. The walls were a burnished gold that reminded her of the summer days she’d spent in Provence visiting her mother’s family when she was a girl. Her mother, Juliette, had been the social secretary to the wife of the American ambassador to France. Her father had met her mother below stairs when Ross’s parents were guests of the American embassy in Paris.

Juliana was settling Cort in the soft high chair clipped onto the table when Hunter joined them, his hair still damp from the shower. He was wearing black slacks and a charcoal sweater. The scents of soap and money still clung tantalizingly to his skin as he nuzzled her neck in greeting, his fingers dropping lightly onto her shoulders.

She froze for a fraction of a second, goose bumps tingling her skin despite the fact she knew this was all for the servants’ benefit. She slid her hand up to his smooth-shaven cheek. How could a man’s face feel so incredibly appealing? She tilted her head back, awareness rising in her as she bravely dipped her gaze into the azure ocean of his eyes. “Can I expect that every morning?”

“That, and then some,” he retorted with a teasing grin.

They broke apart as Marquise entered, carrying the coffeepot.

Juliana gratefully accepted the steaming cup of fragrant coffee and tried to get her mind to settle on the notion that this would be her everyday life. Having breakfast with her husband and son, though she noticed Hunter’s appetite was as meager as her own. Fortunately, Cort’s babbling eliminated the need for meaningful conversation. After picking at his meal for a few minutes, Hunter excused himself and leaned over to whisper in her ear, “Duty calls. Annette is expecting me, and I have a private meeting with the senior management of Ross’s company. Will you be all right here with Cort? The building is secure.”

“Of course.” She was armed. Without thinking, she smoothed the deep lines bracketing his mouth with her fingers. Her heartbeat stumbled as his eyes met hers. His eyes glowed with pure amusement. Knowing that he was amused by her feeble attempts at playing his loving wife made her fingers tremble. “I have a wedding to plan, remember? And shopping arrangements to make. We’ll be fine.”

His firm lips formed a sardonic smile beneath her fingertips. “Ah, yes, the shopping. Don’t let it be said that the Sinclair family hasn’t made a meaningful contribution to the economy.”

Her voice lowered as she placed a lover’s kiss on his cheek. “Be careful. We need you.”

He drew back. The amusement was gone from his eyes, replaced by an intensity that awakened a slow warmth curling through her belly. “You can reach me on my cell phone.” He grabbed one of Cort’s hands and blew a raspberry into his tiny palm. Cort chortled.

As Hunter left the room, Juliana’s smile faded, chased away by misgivings. If someone knew she’d been caring for Cort, did that person also know The Guardian’s identity?