Читать книгу The Scandalous Heiress - Kathryn Taylor, Kathryn Taylor - Страница 10

Three

Richard rose as Clayton entered the study. For a man who had suffered a heart attack just one month earlier, Richard looked remarkably well. His face flushed with anticipation, and his eagle eyes were clearly searching for some sign of good news.

“I expected you earlier.”

Clayton felt the tug of a grin. “She’s not a woman to be hurried.”

“Where is she now?” Richard asked.

“I had her shown to a room to do whatever it is that women do when they lock themselves in the bathroom.”

Richard’s hearty chuckle echoed off the solid oak walls. “So, what was your impression of her?”

Clayton lowered himself in a chair across from the mahogany desk. Many of his personal impressions were not of the nature he could share with the man who might be her father. She was sexy, sensual and hypnotically compelling. A man would have to be blind and suffer sense deprivation not to notice her. And despite the impression the family had of him, he was neither blind nor without normal male desires.

Although he knew Richard would expect a full report, discussing Mikki as if she were a business prospectus left Clayton with an odd sensation. Guilt, he presumed, but why? She might be giving an Oscarwinning performance.

“Everything checked out so far,” he said.

Richard perked up with premature excitement. “So, is she little Meg?”

Little Meg. Clayton thought of the dark-eyed beauty. Mikki was not the pesky little brat he remembered from childhood, but a striking, complicated woman. “She might not be.”

“What are you saying, Clay?”

“Be careful. Don’t let your hopes cloud your judgment. This is not the first time.”

Richard waved his hand impatiently. “You can’t prove she’s lying.”

“Because she’s not claiming anything at all. She might be as innocent as she seems, but that doesn’t mean she’s Meg,” Clayton warned. He would be wise to take his own advice, because he had actually started to believe in the possibility himself.

He poured himself a shot of bourbon from the bar and swallowed the warm, amber liquid. To get through dinner, he would probably want a few more, but unfortunately, he needed to remain clearheaded for the night ahead.

Mikki sat on the edge of the sleigh bed. The last time she had seen a room like this, a customer had left a copy of House Beautiful at the diner. Though large and opulent, the room felt like a cage she had been locked in for viewing by the paying public. Restless, she decided to seek out Clayton.

She stepped into the hall. Her shoes clacked against the marble floor as she walked to the staircase. The light fragrance of fresh flowers was a welcome change from the humid smog of the city. At the bottom landing she paused to view a painting. She recognized the name of the artist, but the sterile cubist picture left her cold.

“A little early to be appraising the inventory.”

The deep voice, laced with contempt, gave her a start. She whirled around and met the chilling glare of the stranger. “Excuse me?”

He took a menacing step forward, then staggered. The smell of gin assaulted her. “So, Meg...”

“Mikki. And you are?”

A sneer marred his handsome features. “Don’t you know?”

“Should I?”

“What? No welcoming kiss for your favorite cousin?”

Not even if he was sober, she thought. So, he was one of the beloved cousins Clayton had spoken of earlier. She guessed him to be in his mid-thirties, although his behavior was adolescent. “Joseph?”

He tipped his head. “Right the first time. But then I expect that Clayton has coached you well.”

She laughed in spite of her anger. Clayton had been more guarded with his information than a courier holding national security secrets.

“It’s nice to see you entertaining our guest, Joseph.” Clayton’s timely arrival spared her from having to answer the accusation, but she doubted the grilling was over.

Joseph clenched his fingers into tight fists. “If it isn’t our esteemed president back from the hunt.” His gaze swept over Mikki. “Pick up a little roadkill on the trip?”

She wiped her palms against her linen skirt. “Last time I checked, I was still breathing.”

Clayton cupped his hand around her elbow. “He is better without a half bottle of gin in him. However, he prefers life from the bottom of the bottle.”

She realized that she was about to learn how slowly twenty-four hours could pass. With only Clayton to count on for support, her dreams were crumbling like stale crackers.

Joseph stumbled away and Clayton shrugged an apology. “I should have warned you.”

“Hey, no one will accuse you of failing to show a woman a fun time.”

“I’m sure my last few dates would disagree.”

“Maybe that’s because you didn’t bring them home to meet the family.”

His fingers tightened perceptibly. “They’re not my family.”

“I thought your aunt is married to Mr. Hawthorne.”

“That’s true. But in this family, blood is everything.”

No one knew that better than he did. For twelve years he had worked for Hawthorne Enterprises, the last four as president. A position he would lose if Richard’s condition worsened. Only a blood relative could inherit the company. If Mikki wasn’t the missing heir, William and Joseph would eventually gain control. The thought of those two pampered playboys ruining the business made Clayton ill.

He glanced toward Mikki. Her wide eyes reflected the effects of Joseph’s stinging comments. Just because she didn’t dress in a thousand-dollar suit or have her hair and nails done weekly, this didn’t take away from her natural beauty.

He searched for a compliment that would ease the hurt. “Dinner will be served soon.” He groaned inwardly. That was the extent of his charm and sophistication? How did this woman turn him into a social idiot?

“My head on a silver platter, no doubt,” she muttered.

“No. Rack of lamb, string beans almandine and new potatoes sauteed in sweet butter.” Mikki was strictly dessert. Luckily, he had sworn off sweets. Before his wandering thoughts gave him more than a toothache, he led her to the salon. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet first.”

She paused at the doorway and took a deep breath. After her confrontation with Joseph, he understood her reluctance.

His aunt rose as they entered the room. Her warm smile greeted them. “Clay. And you must be Meg.”

“Mikki,” he said, with deliberate emphasis, “I’d like you to meet my aunt Alicia.”

“No, no. She’s Meg. I can tell.” Alicia shook her head. His aunt wanted Michelle to be Megan Hawthorne almost as much as Richard. Alicia had never forgiven herself for failing to stop the kidnapping, and the family had never allowed her to forget. As if she could have overtaken two burly men with the help of one scrawny eleven-year-old. “Look at her, Clay. She’s only gotten prettier.”

Mikki looked to him for a response.

“Yes, she’s pretty, I suppose.”

“Well, don’t choke on the words,” she said for Clay’s benefit and offered her hand to Alicia. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Hawthorne.”

“Please call me Alicia. Your father will be down any moment. The doctor told him to slow down, but he wouldn’t allow you to greet him in his bedroom like some invalid.”

“He hasn’t been well?” Mikki asked.

Alicia shot a stern glare at her nephew. “You didn’t tell her about her father?”

Clayton shook his head. “The subject never came up. Mikki shows a remarkable lack of curiosity about the Hawthorne family tree.”

“You flatter me,” Mikki said. “There’s nothing remarkable about it. You’re not convinced that I belong here. Why should I dare to assume I do?”

Alicia smiled sadly. “My Clayton is far too conservative and serious. He thinks everyone has an ulterior motive.”

Mikki blew a puff of air, lifting the wisp of bangs on her forehead. “That’s not conservatism. It’s paranoia.”

“Only if I’m wrong,” he said.

A moment later Clayton watched in astonishment as Richard made his grand entrance. His slow, shuffling steps implied a frailness that hadn’t been evident earlier. For some reason, he seemed to want to appear more weak and helpless than he actually was. Who was this charade for? Mikki, or the rest of the family?

“Hello, Michelle. I’m glad you accepted my invitation.” Richard extended his hand in a greeting.

Mikki touched him lightly, as if afraid of hurting him. “Thank you.”

“I trust the plane ride was uneventful.”

Clayton couldn’t stop the grin twitching at the corner of his mouth. From liftoff to landing, the trip had been an ordeal for her.

She glowered at him, then returned her attention to Richard. “It was fine, thank you, sir.”

“Please, call me Richard.”

A lull in conversation followed. Both Mikki and Richard seemed at a loss for words. They looked relieved when dinner was announced.

A relief that was shortlived once the rest of the Hawthorne clan descended on the dining room.

Mikki nervously twisted the napkin in her lap. A cold supper took on a whole new meaning. The verbal barbs moved around the table faster than the main course. Most were directed at her, coated in syrupy sweetness meant to sound like polite conversation. William and Joseph, flanking her like a pair of granite book ends, launched a subtle attack of patronizing questions apparently trying to trap her into revealing something incriminating.

Through all the carryings on, her glance kept returning to the patriarch at the head of the table. She searched for similarities between them, and she suspected he was doing the same. He hadn’t stopped staring at her since their introduction. His drawn face lifted in a smile from time to time. She wondered how Richard Hawthorne would be affected if this did turn out to be some elaborate hoax perpetrated by her stepfather.

“So, Mikki... May I call you Mikki?” Joseph’s arrogant grin mocked her.

“Sure, Joey. May I call you Joey?”

William snickered. “Charming, Clayton. Wherever did you find her?”

“In New York,” Clayton replied drily.

“The least you could have done is dressed her up a little better before you passed her off on Uncle Richard.”

“That’s enough, William!” Richard’s rigid tone silenced the room.

Conscious of her simple clothing in the presence of all the designer suits surrounding her, Mikki squirmed in her seat.

“Forgive me, Uncle. I just can’t stand to see another hustler building up your hopes. After all this family has given him, I’m surprised that Clayton would be a party to it,” William said.

Mikki shot a sideways glance toward Clayton. Despite an almost surreal control, his gray eyes sparked with fury. The undercurrent of tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

“Michelle is our guest,” Richard said. “Show her respect.”

Mikki checked her watch. How much longer would this dinner take? Certainly Clayton didn’t expect her to spend the night in this house. She’d never thought to ask.

The conversation changed to business, giving her a moment of reprieve and putting Clayton on the receiving end for a while. William and Joseph wore their resentment of Clayton like a banner. The only ray of light was Alicia.

Clayton staunchly defended any hint of a nasty comment directed toward his aunt. Despite their bitterness, the brothers seemed to fear their stepcousin. Unfortunately, that left her as the target for their mudslinging once again.

“So, Mikki. I understand you’re a waitress in a diner. That can’t pay very much.” Joseph’s cool politeness masked an accusation.

“It pays the bills.”

“But not on a house like this, I’d wager,” William chimed in.

“I wouldn’t know. Would you?”

Apparently she’d struck a nerve. William’s face darkened. He finished his glass of wine and rose unsteadily. “I’ve had enough of this penniless street urchin.”

“Shut up,” Clayton growled through clenched teeth.

“No. If she’s Meg, I’m the king of England.”

“There is no king of England,” Mikki said.

“And Megan Hawthorne is dead. Why won’t you all just accept that?” William yelled.

Richard, shaking slightly, dropped his fork on his plate. “No. I won’t accept that.”

“If you’re so sure, Uncle, then she shouldn’t object to a blood test.”

Mikki swallowed hard. “Excuse me?”

“A DNA test.” William cocked his eyebrow. “Is there some reason you wouldn’t consent to one?”

Although the request shouldn’t have been unexpected, a wave of anger washed over her. She tossed her napkin on the table and sprung to her feet. “With all due respect to you and your wife, Mr. Hawthorne, I don’t care to know if I am related to this family.”

She turned and walked from the table with all the dignity she could muster. Behind her, the raised voices jumbled together, fading into oblivion as she sprinted out the front door.

Clayton pushed back his chair from the table. “Nice going. Now we’ll have to drag this out even longer.”

“Oh, what’s the difference?” Joseph snapped. “It’s not as if she could actually be Meg.”

“Do you know something the rest of us don’t?”

Joseph looked as if he was about to say something, then shrugged instead. “No.”

“I thought not.” Clayton nodded an apology to his aunt and Richard, then went after Mikki.

By the time he stepped outside, Mikki was halfway to the main road. He thought she had left the table to make a point, but apparently she had no intention of returning. The crazy woman. She didn’t even have her purse. Where did she plan to go?

He started on foot, then decided to take the car. She had removed her shoes to run at a steady pace. His luck with women had been consistent lately, he thought humorlessly. It seemed they couldn’t get away fast enough. Although, Mikki was the first to run out in the middle of dinner.

As he pulled the Lexus onto the road, he saw her turn the corner. Great! Old Mrs. Westbrook was getting the show of her life. He ignored the nosy woman and pulled alongside Mikki.

“Get in,” he called out the window.

“Get lost,” she snapped, and continued to walk at a brisk pace.

“Don’t make me put you in the car by force.”

“You and what army?”

“Please, Mikki. The neighbors are watching.”

She stopped and folded her arms across her chest. “I want my return ticket, and I want to go to the airport.”

“The flight isn’t until tomorrow.”

“I’ll sleep in an airport chair.” She didn’t appear to be open to negotiation.

“All right. Get in.”

She opened the door and flopped into the seat with a deep sigh. He pushed the electronic lock and proceeded down the road. After ten minutes of stony silence, she turned toward him. “This isn’t the way to the airport.”

“I know.”

“Stop this car. Now!”

He clasped his hand around her wrist to keep her from grabbing the wheel. “Just relax.”

Eyes as dark as midnight glared murderously at him. “You lied.”

“I said I would take you to the airport, and I will. Tomorrow.”

“This is kidnapping.”

“There’s a phone in the glove compartment. Call the police.”

“I can’t. You’re holding my hand.”

He released his grip. What was he doing? He had never taken a woman to his house before, let alone lie, threaten and kidnap one to get her there. Was he having his midlife crisis early? She inspired him to do things so out of character, he didn’t recognize himself.

With a moan of displeasure, she settled into the bucket seat and rested her head against the window. Her fingers clenched into tight fists. Could he blame her for being furious?

The Hawthorne brothers had behaved true to form throughout dinner. Only Mikki failed to react as expected. How could he bring up the subject of a blood test now? He would consider himself lucky if she consented to meet with Richard again before returning to New York.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

Silence.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner.”

Silence and a vicious scowl.

“Was it the food or the company?”

Her answer was a most unladylike gesture and one he probably deserved.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You knew that would happen.” Her gaze held his in accusation.

He looked away and shrugged ruefully. “I had an idea it might.”

“But my feelings didn’t matter, did they?”

“That’s not true. I didn’t think you would care.” She recoiled. He was sinking deeper with each word. “I mean...”

“I know what you mean, Clayton.” She uttered his name with distaste. “A penniless street urchin like me would put up with anything to get her hands on a chunk of the Hawthorne fortune.”

He shook his head in adamant denial. “No! I meant that I’ve been ignoring their bad manners for so long, I just assumed you would, too.”

She arched her eyebrow skeptically. “I must be getting soft. You almost sounded sincere that time.”

Clayton gave his full attention to the road ahead. She was soft, all right, and in all the right places. The thought made him anything but soft. He wasn’t having a midlife crisis. He was reverting to the adolescent days of raging hormones, a realization that chipped at his control and made him anything but happy.