Chapter 4 #2
"Nasty business. She's quite cut up about it.
" Walking over to the sideboard, he poured coffee and took it with him to sit on her delicate silk sofa.
Mindful of her disapproving glance, he made certain the cup was placed on the saucer so that there would be no water rings on the cherry wood table.
His wife was a stickler for keeping everything in its place.
"As she should be." Jacquline's lips curled in distaste. "I told her that I do not appreciate her making a scene. She was blubbering all over herself. It was quite unattractive."
Harry had to quell the urge to light into her and find out if she had a heart. Getting upset would only make things worse. Their daughter was suffering, going through hell and all she was concerned about was decorum.
"She just had a miscarriage," he reminded her tightly. "We're not talking about chipping a nail here."
Jacqline sent him an icy amused look. She supposed that at one time or the other during their long courtship and subsequent marriage, she had felt something for him, but that was all gone now.
They had respect for each other, and she was secure in her position as his wife.
She knew of his affairs and never asked for details or wanted to know the names or where he was seeing them as long as he was discreet.
"You spoil her."
He gave her a disgusted look as he finished his coffee and rose.
"It's human to feel empathy. You should try it."
With that, he marched from the room and slammed the door behind him. His flare of temper had no effect on her, it only surprised her that he had allowed it to surface.
With a flick of one delicate wrist, she dismissed him instantly and went back to her writing.
*****
"I hope I did not wake you."
All of a sudden, she was nervous. After resolving to go through with the crazy idea, she felt as if her heart was bursting out of her chest.
"I was already up," he said. He did not add that he had barely slept a wink last night, anticipating her call. She had suggested they stay out on the porch and brought a pot of coffee and two cups. The spring morning was brisk with the scent of her aunt's begonias heavy on the air.
"Of course." She fussed with the potholder after pouring the coffee and handing him the cup. "I don't know if you would like some breakfast. I have a few scones--"
"Please sit," he ordered her quietly. "I'm fine.
" He took a sip of coffee and eyed her over the rim of the cup, appreciating and admiring the flawless skin and her youthful appearance.
He knew he was probably three or more years older than she was, but she did not look anything like a woman in her thirties.
Far from it. Her hair was scraped back into a simple ponytail, and she wasn't wearing makeup.
The black sweat suit was zipped all the way to her throat and the bagginess hid her curves very well.
"I read your books."
She looked at him in surprise.
"And?"
A smile curved his lips and brought her gaze to the shape of them.
"You have talent. But you don't need me to tell you that. The movie does little justice to the book."
"It rarely does." She could not explain the warm glow inside her at his compliment.
"What's next?"
"I am currently working on something else."
"Care to share?" he asked lightly. Getting her to talk about her work was doing the trick of making her relax.
"Nope. You're going to have to wait and see just like everybody else."
"Not even a hint?"
Her laughter sounded clear as a bell in the silence of the air around them and showed her dimples, very attractive ones, sinking in her cheeks and giving her the look of a mischievous flirt. To his surprise, he felt his interest kindling and his body paying attention.
"Not even a hint." She cupped her hands around the cup, absorbing the warmth and felt herself relaxing.
Being with him like this brought back the memories of how he had tried to be her friend when she had been banished from the manor by his mother.
Pushing aside the insidious hurt she had felt afterwards by his rejection; she concentrated on the fact that he had some decency in him.
"I've been thinking about your offer."
"And?"
Carefully putting the cup on the table in front of her, she turned to face him. "You said in name only."
"Unless you want it to be more," he murmured, amber eyes watching her.
"No." Clasping her hands in front of her, she slid her gaze from his and shifted slightly. "That's exactly what I want. How do we go about it?"
Squelching the dart of pleasure, he gave her a sober look.
"What changed your mind?"
"That's not important." She certainly had no intention of revealing what was written in her mother's diary.
That was very personal. She wasn't sure she could even show it to Caleb.
Caleb! Stifling a groan, she realized she was going to have to sell this to her brother and get him to come on board.
He hated the Wainwrights even more than she did.
"What's the matter?" Because his eyes were on her face, he detected the change of expression and the note of distress.
"Nothing."
"I think if we're going to do this, we should come to some sort of agreement."
"What agreement?"
"Honesty," he said simply. "With each other at least."
Putting down the cup, she rose and wandered over to the peeling handrail, unseeing eyes taking in the squirrels scampering up the oak tree.
"I was a tomboy," she said it almost absently, fingers digging into the wood.
"Or I wanted to be." She was so absorbed in her thoughts, she barely felt when he came to join her.
"I followed Caleb everywhere. He was annoyed of course," a smile touched her lips.
"But he would put up with me." She turned her head to face him, slightly flustered to realize that he was so close.
Close enough for her to see the stubble on his cheeks and noticed the dent in his strong chin.
As well as the fact that he had long silky lashes.
Tearing her eyes from his face, she concentrated on the strong column of tanned throat exposed by the open collar of his baby blue shirt. "My brother and I are close."
"That's admirable." He remembered the guy and was aware that he was a cop. "You're worried he's going to cause problems."
Lifting her chin, she met his gaze. "What about your parents?" she challenged.
A slow smile touched his lips, but did not meet his amber eyes. "I think we should announce our engagement. At dinner."
Fear was alive and well inside her chest. "When?"
"Tonight. The sooner the better. I could get a ring." Picking up her hand, he spread her fingers out, admiring the elegance. "A square cut diamond, with cut emeralds. Mother will appreciate the quality." A sardonic tone entered his deep voice.
"What if they decide to disinherit you?" the thought had occurred to her earlier.
He actually grinned at that. "That's not possible." He shrugged carelessly. "It might have been, except for the fact that I have my own money. And the condition to the will is that the eldest son inherits the bulk of the property. No question asked, no conditions. They cannot hurt me financially."
"But they can hurt you in other ways," she observed. He wondered if she remembered that he was still holding her hand. Her skin was soft and felt right touching his. Mentally shaking his head, he pushed the troubling thoughts aside. And reminded himself that it was strictly business.
He shrugged carelessly. Standing here next to her, he realized that something was happening.
He had spent the couple of nights thinking about his proposal or proposition, would be more appropriate.
A loveless union, one where he had promised not to touch her.
But here he was doing exactly that. The subtle scent of her perfume, the feel of her skin, the vulnerability he sensed in her was doing strange things to his mind.
He knew of her past--had seen the way his parents treated her and her mother, and it had pissed him off.
But as a child growing up in an environment like that, he had had his own problems.
"Not where it matters," he murmured and it was the truth.
His sister had cried in his arms, making him even more determined to do this.
To defy them and make them angry enough to retaliate.
Oh, he was looking forward to seeing the horror on their faces when he turns up with a black woman as his fiancée.
He had little doubt that they would try and bully him out of it. When they would not get to him, they would try to intimidate Julesa. Thinking of that, he turned her to face him, hands sliding up to her shoulders, expression sober.
"There's something you should know."
Tilting her head, she gazed at him and thought fleetingly that he must be over six feet tall. She barely came to his chest.
"What?"
"They're going to try and get you to back away."
She smiled at that, her eyes glowing with an inner light he would not understand.
"How do you think they will go about it?"
"By offering you money."
He lifted a brow when she laughed.
"Did I say something funny?"
"I don't need money. I have enough."
"Everyone has a price," he muttered. His hands were unconsciously sliding up and down her arms, lulling her. "Or so my parents think."
"If that doesn't work what then?" She was trying not to be affected by his touch, but he was infusing a warmth inside her that was making her dizzy and acutely aware of him. His cologne was spicy and completely masculine. His hair was windblown, making him look like a sexy pirate.
"They will try and intimidate you." His hands tightened on her arms, his face going to stone.
He would protect her, he swore to that. He would not allow them to hurt her any more than they already had.
"But I'll be there." His hands moved to curve at her throat.
His thumbs tilted her chin up, his eyes deep and intense.
"I swear I will never allow them to treat you the way they did when you were a child. "
Her eyes kindled as memories came crashing back. She almost blurted out about the diary and what had made her decide to go through with the arrangement. But he was still a Wainwright--still someone she did not trust.
"I can take care of myself," she had to clear the huskiness from her throat.
His grin flashed suddenly. "I have no doubt, you can. Let's get this party started."