One-Night Heirs

CHAPTER TEN

“THEBELTON-WEBSTERSARE some of my parents’ oldest friends,” Saint told Fliss two days later, when an older man sent a friendly salute of his rolled program from another box at the track. Saint tipped his straw boater hat in reply. “Walter is on the board at Grayscale. They have a home in Water Mill. I was at Harvard with their eldest son, Kyle. If we don’t see them at lunch, we’ll meet them tonight at their party.”

They were in the shade, but it was hot enough that Saint wanted to unbutton the cream-colored vest he wore with matching trousers over a pale blue shirt and a navy bowtie.

The clubhouse lounge, which his mother bought out every year as a giant flex, was air-conditioned and had an open bar along with the buffet she provided to her carefully curated guest list. It wasn’t enough to have an owner’s box, where a server brought them drinks and snacks on demand and they had a front-row seat to the finish line along with the entertainment between races. He and Fliss also had it to themselves. Norma was currently down at the paddock. Saint’s father wouldn’t turn up until the big race tomorrow.

“That will be nice,” Fliss said with a blank smile, feigning enthusiasm.

He’d been introducing her to people nonstop, first at dinner, then a cocktail party appearance, brunch yesterday, an afternoon garden party and another soiree last night. This was all very rote to him, the faces all slotted into their pigeonholes of usefulness.

Fliss was holding up well. Today she wore yet another perfectly on-point outfit that was sufficiently demure to meet the expected dress code but was also flattering enough to stop traffic. Her pink-and-green floral lace dress hugged her figure and fell to her knees in front, draping longer in the back. The sleeves flared at her elbow, and the neckline plunged enough to make the most of her spectacular chest, which Saint had adorned with a vintage gold necklace he’d chosen for its horseshoe charm. Rather than a hat, she wore her hair in a tight bun wrapped in a pink band. A pair of cats-eye sunglasses and bold fuchsia lipstick completed the look.

Despite the sophistication she projected, she was tense, struggling to smile at each new face. Sometimes he caught her stifling a yawn.

“Dad had an affair with Mrs. Belton-Webster,” he said, leaning closer to confide.

Fliss swung her head around and tipped her sunglasses down to look over them, eyes glimmering with shock.

That woke her up. Saint shrugged.

“They don’t know I know. I figured out that Mom knew about it when they didn’t show up to their daughter’s wedding. It’s all water under the bridge now. I think one of the reasons Mom stayed with Dad was because she was more afraid of losing that friendship than him. Or her place in all of this.” He used his chin to gesture to the racetrack. “You’ll keep all of that to yourself.”

“Of course.” She sipped the straw of her mint-julep mocktail. “Why did you tell me if you thought I would repeat it?”

“You seemed bored.” And he’d never had a confidante to tell. He’d had to let things like that fester inside himself, trying to work out what to do, how to react and when to let it go because his parents had.

“I’m not bored. I’ve just given up on trying to keep it all straight. I mean, I can’t get to know every person and every horse. You seem to have friends everywhere, though. You came here often growing up? I don’t mean the track. The beach house.”

“We came here in the summer if we were living in the city, but we lived in Texas and California at different times. I felt like a military brat, making friends, then leaving for a few years, adjusting to a new situation, then coming back and trying to fit in with the old crowd.” Eventually, he’d grown tired of trying. “I do know a lot of people. I don’t consider any of them friends.”

Her liquid-honey gaze searched his, making his chest itch.

The bell rang.

“Oh!” Fliss swung her attention to the track. “They’re off.”

At least she was having fun with the betting. She’d been appalled when he had told her he would stake her ten grand. He had threatened to pick her horses himself if she didn’t spend it, so she had sat down with the program and her tarot cards, making her selections before they’d even arrived to glimpse the horses.

She’d won the first race, but her bet had been so small, she’d only come away with eight hundred dollars, which she’d tried to give to him.

“Double down,” he had insisted, so he knew she had at least that much riding on this race. He’d dropped five grand, and things were not looking good.

“Which one is yours?” he asked.

Fliss’s hand came out to grasp his arm. Otherwise, she wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing. She was transfixed by the sprinting horses.

“The one in front?” he guessed, starting to grin as her expression began to glow.

“Shh.” Her grip crushed his sleeve.

It was like watching her as she approached climax. Her breath was uneven. Her breasts trembled. Anticipation radiated off her, tightening his own nerves.

It was titillating enough to set hooks into Saint’s libido, but he was also amused in a completely non-carnal way. She was mesmerizing, looking so sexy and cutely rapt at the same time. He was twitching into arousal and wanting this win for her in a way he’d never wanted anything, just so he could see her reaction.

If the race had gone one second longer, he would have been fully hard, but there was a collective roar. Fliss screamed in triumph and leapt into his arms, crashing her curves against him, filling his senses with floral and citrus notes that he was learning were innately her. She was warm and soft beneath the thin layer of crepe, light and lovely. Her wild excitement provoked a rusty scrape of laughter in his throat, one that stalled when he noticed his father had turned up after all. He was watching them.

Saint’s first, most primal instinct was to draw her protectively closer, but another more harshly learned response recognized that he had revealed a weakness.

He set her back a step. “How much did you win?”

“Enough to pay you back your stake.” She was jubilant, smile wide and eyes bright as she straightened the sunglasses that had been knocked askew.

“I don’t want it back. It’s for you to play all weekend,” he reminded.

She did pay him back, though, since she had doubled her money by the end of the day.

“Beginner’s luck,” she claimed that evening when they were on the terrace at the Belton-Websters’. Word had got around that Fliss had been on a hot streak today. Everyone wanted to know her secret. “Also my lucky horseshoe.” She picked up the pendant she wore.

“Have you looked at tomorrow’s races?” a middle-aged man asked her.

“I’m saving most of my money for Paprika’s Tuft,” she said, mentioning Norma’s thoroughbred. “But there are a couple others that look promising.”

“Show me.” The man had his program and a pencil in hand.

Saint excused himself to the bar and was returning with a fresh drink when he ran into Kyle, the son of their host that he’d told Fliss about. Kyle was newly divorced and a little drunker than was wise.

“So that’s her, the one who got you in trouble with Dad and the rest of the board?” Kyle snickered, his attention twisted to where Fliss still had her head together with the older man. “I see the attraction. Nice.” His hand came up to his chest, cupping imaginary breasts.

“That’s your one shot, Kyle. Leave it there, and I’ll forget we had this conversation.” It was a lie. Saint would never forget. He wanted to blacken both his eyes.

“She’s a housemaid. You’re not serious about her,” Kyle scoffed. “Let me know when you’re done with her, though.”

“We’re getting married.” Saint squared himself against the man, planting his feet. “She’s going to be the mother of my child.” He blindly reached to the table beside him to set down his drink.

He missed. The smash of glass on the stones silenced the din of conversation, but Saint didn’t look anywhere but at Kyle’s disbelieving smirk.

“Swallow what you just said, or I’ll shove those words back down your throat for you,” Saint warned.

“She’s pregnant?” Kyle guffawed into the silence. “Man, I gave you a lot more credit than you deserved.”

The heel of Saint’s palm hit the middle of Kyle’s chest before he realized that he was reacting. It was a shove, not a strike, but it was strong enough to send Kyle stumbling backward. His arms flailed as he hit the edge of the pool, then he was plummeting backward into it. The splash washed across nearby shoes, making everyone gasp and step back.

“Saint!” His mother’s voice cut through the murmur of shock.

Kyle was slapping at the water, clumsily swimming to the edge, swearing a blue streak.

Saint resisted the urge to stand on the man’s head. He looked for Fliss and found her staring at him with the same appalled shock as everyone else.

All heads turned to her now, making her the center of attention as everyone reevaluated her dress, which was three long layers of pleated ruffles from a single shoulder strap, disguising her thickening waistline.

“She does bet on the right horse, doesn’t she?” an amused voice gurgled.

“Shut up,” Saint said in the direction of the voice.

Fliss pivoted on one sandal and walked into the house.

“Fliss!” Saint caught up to her in the music room.

Fliss was so furious she couldn’t even look at him. “I need the ladies’ room.”

“You’re not locking yourself in a bathroom,” he said through his teeth, looming closer.

“I will use the loo when I need one!” She paused long enough to glare a warning at him. “Take away every other bloody right I have, but not that one.”

Heads swiveled in their direction, the level of acute curiosity sizzling on the air like electricity building for a lightning strike.

“It’s this way,” he said tightly and directed her through an archway and into a short corridor.

Tempted as she was to crawl out the window, she flushed and washed her hands and came out a few minutes later.

Saint was leaning on the wall, arms folded, expression grim. He straightened. “The car is waiting outside.”

“Oh, are we leaving?” she asked with facetious surprise.

“You want to stay?” He held her simmering gaze without flinching.

“Does it matter what I want?” She stalked ahead of him to the door.

He waited until they were in the back of the car to say belligerently, “I didn’t like what he said.”

“I didn’t like what you said. Can I push you in the pool?”

“Will it get us over this spat as quickly as possible?”

“Is that what this is? Tell me I’m overreacting, Saint. I dare you.”

He waited a beat, then spoke in an ultra-calm voice that was so condescending, she wanted to hit him. “The news was going to come out eventually.”

“I asked you for one thing.” Fliss’s voice shook despite her best efforts to keep it level. She removed her necklace and earrings and dropped them into the cup holder that was closest to him in the console between them. For good measure, she toed off her shoes and pushed them toward him with her foot.

“Really? You’re going to go barefoot to prove a point? It was his disrespect toward you that got under my skin.” Saint was speaking through his teeth again. “Now they know where you stand in my estimation.”

“Do they?” she cried. “You have no idea how hard this is for me, do you? That I have to use your money to pretend I belong here when I absolutely do not and everyone knows it? They see straight through me, but I soldier on, pretending for your sake that I can’t tell they can barely bring themselves to speak to me. I’m trying not to embarrass you. And I keep telling myself that it’s okay that you don’t know how hard this all is because you can’t know. You’ve never been in this situation. So I accept your ignorance.”

He opened his mouth, and she held up a finger.

“It’s the part where you don’t care how hard this is for me—and just went ahead and made it harder—that I can’t forgive. Yes, I know exactly where I stand in your estimation, Saint. Guess where you stand in mine?”

They didn’t speak again until they were back in their suite, but all Fliss said was, “I’m going to bed.” She removed her makeup and did just that.

She was so tired she fell into a deep sleep immediately, but after a few hours, her turmoil of emotions conjured an old dream that was nightmare and memory combined. Granny was gathering her into her arms, speaking before she’d fully awaked.

I’m sorry, pet. I’m so sorry. At least you were safe here with me and not in the car with them.

“Fliss, wake up.” Saint’s voice was a hard snap that had her gasping and fighting the blankets and his arms, trying to sit up. “Are you okay?” His hand slid across her back as he gathered her closer, but she pushed away from him, heart pounding, skin clammy.

“Don’t.” She realized her cheeks were wet and reached to the nightstand for a tissue.

“Was it just a nightmare or...?”

Just?All of this was a nightmare!

She grabbed her pillow and swung it around, managing to catch him by surprise enough that he took a face full of silk and feathers before he cursed and grabbed the pillow, throwing it off the bed.

“You sounded like you were in pain,” he said with fresh frustration. “Tell me you’re okay. Is the baby okay?”

“The baby is fine. I am not okay. I thought I could count on you a little. But all you did was tell everyone the only reason you’re keeping me around is because your previous lover sabotaged your birth control.”

“I did not say that. No one knows that part of it.”

“I know it!” And recalling that particular detail provoked a fresh sense of abandonment that was so acute she could hardly bear it.

Fliss rose and went into the bathroom for a robe, tying it over the pajamas she wore.

“Where are you going?” he asked as she ghosted through the dim room toward the sitting area.

“I want some tea.”

“I’ll phone for some.”

“Oh, my gawd. This maid is already up.” She slid the belt of the robe higher on her waist so it was more comfortable. “There’s no use waking another to boil a kettle.” She resisted the urge to slam the door on her way out.

By the time she was filling the kettle in the kitchen—which was such a beautiful space of cornflower blue and daffodil yellow it shouldn’t even be cooked in—Saint was arriving.

She pretended to ignore him, but how could she when his white T-shirt hugged his shoulders and chest and his pajama bottoms lovingly draped the firm muscles of his buttocks? How dare he be so mouthwatering and such a complete toad at the same time?

Since she’d already had her daily allotment of black tea, she searched out the peppermint and dropped a bag into a cup while she waited for the kettle.

He clicked the button to warm the griddle, then opened the fridge to take out cheddar cheese. He buttered two slices of sour dough, then set them face down on the griddle, topped them with cheese, then topped each with another slice of bread, butter side up.

“I didn’t know you were a chef,” she said with only a hint of sarcasm.

“Grilled cheese, eggs and I can stick a banana in a bowl of ice cream and call it a sundae.”

“If you plan to cook that sundae, I have notes. Do you want tea?” she asked as the kettle started to whistle.

He shook his head and stayed at the stove while she sat down at the island with her cup. She wasn’t hungry—or any less mad at him—but she was fascinated enough by his economical movements to watch him fry a sandwich. He plated them, cut them in half, then added a blob of ketchup to each plate before sliding one toward her.

“I am on your side, Fliss,” he said as he took the chair next to her. “You can count on me.”

She winced, pained at how much she wanted to believe that but just couldn’t.

“You can,” he insisted.

“Don’t sound so insulted,” she mumbled, blowing across the cup she cradled in her cold hands. “Life happens. I should have been able to rely on my parents, but they were struck by a drunk driver on a blind corner.”

And were gone. Just gone. Then she’d moved in with Granny, which meant the friends she’d had at school were also gone. Making new ones had felt impossible when she’d been so sad. As a teen, she’d finally gotten in with an in-crowd—who had turned her out after her breakup with her puerile knob of a boyfriend. Then Granny had gotten so sick and died on her, and even her loose friendships in London had evaporated after her scandal.

Counting on people had been stamped out of her DNA. She had herself. That was the only person she really believed in and, honestly, she made some pretty stupid decisions sometimes, too.

“I’ve already started the paperwork to ensure you’ll be taken care of, should anything happen to me,” Saint said gravely. “Dad has accepted that the baby is mine. Our child will inherit everything that is coming to me. You’ll always have access to whatever you need, Fliss.”

“This is not about money, Saint.” She set down her cup. “Granny was right there, holding me when she told me my parents were dead. I still felt abandoned. That’s why I wanted to do this on my own. So I wouldn’t count on you, then wind up disappointed.”

His cough-curse sounded as though it had been punched out of him.

“You’re self-sufficient,” she pointed you. “Why do you begrudge me wanting that for myself? Instead you want me to rely on you. You made me come live with you and become dependent on you, then you threw away my trust like it doesn’t even matter.”

“I brought you here because I want you here,” he insisted.

“For the baby, I know,” she said on a sigh that was more a sob of anguish. “I can see how important it is that our baby grows up like this so they don’t feel like I do—as though they’re visiting another planet. I’m trying to adapt, Saint, I really am. And I’m trying to keep my expectations low where you’re concerned. I don’t expect you to love me. I don’t expect anything from you except—” She cut herself off.

“What?” he prompted.

“Nothing,” she decided, pushing her plate away. “I thought I could expect...kindness? Regard? But I have to find those things in myself. I know that.” Why was life so bloody lonely? “I’m going back to bed.”

“Did you hear what I just said?” His gritted voice stopped her. “I brought you here because I want you here.”

“For sex, yes. I know.” She turned and put out a pleading hand. “Don’t make it sound like more than it is. That’s not fair to me.”

“It’s the truth, Fliss. Yes, I brought you here because of the baby, but the baby isn’t even real to me yet. It’s a concept. I feel...protective, I guess? I’m anxious for a positive outcome and bothered that I have so little control over that. Mostly it’s a gray fog that I don’t know how to navigate, so I’m not even thinking about it. I had options, though. I could have arranged protection for you or did as you asked and claimed the baby wasn’t mine. I could have worked out a custody arrangement and hired a nanny to cover my side of it. God knows I know what constitutes a good one of those, having been raised by them myself. I didn’t want to do any of those things. I wanted you here.”

“For se—”

“For more than sex,” he near-shouted, rising off his stool.

“Keep your voice down,” she hissed, hugging herself and looking to the ceiling.

“Yes, I want to have sex with you. You’re in the same bed with me. You know it’s amazing. That’s why you want it, too. But it’s more than that, Fliss.” He pushed his hair off his forehead and left his hand on his head as though trying to keep the top of his skull from popping off. “You’re damned right I want you to rely on me. I don’t know what else to give you. And I don’t know how to deal with someone who doesn’t want things. Who only cares if she’s under a dry roof, not how big it is or which neighborhood it’s located in.”

Fliss bit her lips because they felt so unsteady and searched his tortured expression, wary of believing him because she really, really didn’t want to be disappointed in him again, but she could tell how much this was costing him to admit.

“You got under my skin from the second I saw you. I call it lust because if I call it something else, it feels dangerous,” he admitted gruffly. “It means that a drunk I see once every three years can say something about you that makes me act like a Neanderthal. You think I behave that way every day?” He waved his hand in a vague direction. “Never. When I say people know how I feel about you now, I mean they know they can get to me through you. It’s terrifying.”

She didn’t want to be moved in any way by that, but she was. A little. She crushed the sleeve of her robe in her fist, emotions crashing around in her chest like storm waves.

“Do you see how insulting that is, though?” she asked. “That you don’t want to care about me? That you resent that you do?”

“You don’t want to care about me,” Saint shot back, stabbing the air between them with his finger. “You don’t trust me. You don’t want to rely on me. You’re only here for the baby. You think I don’t know you have an exit strategy? If you search for train tickets to Toronto, where Mrs. Bhamra’s sister lives, I’m going to get ads for them in my feed. How the hell am I supposed to trust you when you keep one foot out the door?”

“She’s talking about visiting,” Fliss mumbled, looking down at the elegant arcs of gold painted against her cuticles on her otherwise pink nails.

“I shouldn’t have blurted out that you’re pregnant. I know that,” he said begrudgingly. “You’re right that people haven’t been taking you seriously. That’s on me. I have a history of not taking any of my relationships seriously. But I said it so Kyle would know this is different. Now everyone knows this is different. And yes, maybe it was also a move to lock you in. Not consciously, but... I don’t know.” He ran his hand over his face. “I want you here, Fliss. You. And I hate myself for hurting you. I’m sorry.”

Oh, what was she supposed to do now? Her anger was washing away like footprints in sand, leaving her feeling more vulnerable than ever.

“Can we at least not be angry anymore?” He held out a hand.

“What do you have to be angry about?” she grumbled as she stepped close enough to let him draw her into his arms.

“You clocked me with a pillow, for starters.” He hugged her securely. “Disparaged my cooking skills. Accused me of human rights violations.”

“Pregnant women need the loo. And I was moving the pillow. It’s not my fault your face got in the way.”

“My mistake. See? I’m getting the hang of relationships.”

She hummed a small laugh as she tucked her face against his chest, wanting to stay in this moment of reconciliation forever. But.

“We have to go to the track tomorrow, don’t we?” she said with dread.

“No,” he said firmly, dropping his arms away from her. “I’ve already told my pilot we’re flying back to the city first thing.”

“Saint. Your mom will be devastated if we don’t watch the race. If her horse doesn’t win, who will console her? Your dad? It will be awkward for me, I know, but it won’t get less awkward if I put it off, so let’s get it over with.”

“You think Paprika’s Tuft won’t win?” he asked with a frown. “What did your cards say?”

“I don’t ask questions I don’t want the answer to.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What do your cards say about us?”

“I haven’t asked.”