Legends (16 page)

“Jonathan never complained about the inheritance, but after he was killed at sea his family made your life miserable. They said that he hadn’t cared whether he lived or died—that all the years of a poor, childless marriage had depressed him. They said you married him just to have a home. Finally you gave up your married name out of guilt because you began to believe that they were right, that you
had
ruined him.”

Elgiva suddenly understood why Douglas was reciting her history to her. She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it. “So you think I’m a deceptive creature by nature,” she said in a tight, vibrating
voice, “who’ll do anything to get her own way in the world?”

He trailed his fingers down the side of her face. Slowly he cupped her chin. Holding her in that tender grip, he whispered, “No. I also know that you gave up a scholarship at the university in Edinburgh to marry Jonathan. You could have studied art. That was what you’d always wanted to do. But you honored your mother’s wishes and married the boy she’d picked for you when you were a child. A boy who’d become a quiet, shy man who loved you regardless of what your uncle would or wouldn’t give you someday. You paid a debt of honor.”

Elgiva’s breath shattered the silence between them. “Mr. Audubon must be very good at investigating people,” she said blankly. “I didn’t think anyone could find out that much about me. Why are you interested in my history, Douglas?”

He gave her an inscrutable smile. “I want to know what you hold dear. I believe you said the same thing to me, a week or so ago.”

“And then?”

He gave her a wicked, though rather shaky, leer. “It’s a surprise.”

“Where are we going tonight? Where will we end up?”

He rose from the bed. His hand trailed over her lips. “Paradise,” he murmured. “Now get some sleep, El.”

As he left the room he paused at the ornate double doors to look back at her. She was shocked to see tears in his eyes. They haunted her like a dark promise.

Paradise certainly had a nice airport.

Elgiva gazed out the jet’s window at modern buildings, tall palm trees, and blue sky. When Douglas went to shave, Audubon sat down in a chair beside her. “Would you like some advice before I leave you
and Douglas alone to do battle?” he asked solemnly. Audubon was returning to his home in America.

“I’d appreciate any words of wisdom.”

“Be patient with him. He’s not accustomed to making decisions based on sentiment. He doesn’t want to look like a fool.”

“He’d rather be thought of as heartless?”

“In a way, yes. It’s a power position. But I think you understand that it’s just an act.”

“Sometimes I’m not certain. But I’ll keep your advice in mind.”

“Good. Because I’d love to see you raise hell with his attitude.”

Elgiva smiled dryly. “Rest easy, because I’m very good at
that
.”

A few minutes later she and Douglas left the jet and descended its stairs to the runway. Sam galloped ahead of them, barking his welcome to a tall young man who crossed the tarmac with pantherlike grace.

Douglas stroked the small of her back, startling her even through her heavy sweater. “You’re in my prison now,” he said. “I hope you have more fun than I had in
your
prison.”

Elgiva stared dully at the tropical scenery. “I’ll be as troublesome as you were to me.”

“Then I’ll have to seduce you all over again.”

“You won’t seduce me as long as you intend to take the MacRoth land.”

“Oh, I think I can make you appreciate my point of view.”

“You’re a cocky devil, I’ll give you that.”

The air was balmy enough without Douglas’s talk about seduction. She felt too warm in her wool clothes. Above her a large commercial jet soared toward the sun, its engines very loud. Elgiva covered her ears and gazed at the man who’d come to greet them.

A glossy black braid hung down his back, somehow looking elegant rather than odd with his crisp
dress shirt and tailored white slacks. He clasped Douglas’s outstetched hand with apparent warmth and flashed a reserved but genuine smile. When the jet noise died down, Douglas introduced him to her.

His name was Kash Santelli. He spoke English with an odd, pretty accent. Douglas explained that Santelli managed several Kincaid enterprises and also supervised the staff at his private island.

Douglas’s island—so that was where they were headed. At least she had a clue now. She searched her memory for things Douglas had said about it. Ah. He’d mentioned his island in the Caribbean. But where in the Caribbean? She recalled the area from her school history lessons only as a tropical place where pirates had once stored their slaves and booty.

Elgiva nodded ruefully to herself. Well, it suited Douglas, then.

He took her arm and guided her toward a helicopter. As he strode along between her and Kash Santelli he reminded Elgiva of a general returning home in victory. A Wall Street general. He and Santelli discussed stock prices and retail indexes in complicated language that made her feel very defensive.

Douglas’s ideal woman would be contributing to this conversation instead of stomping along in dumb silence. But then, Elgiva wasn’t expected to be ideal. Douglas thought of her as a prisoner, and that only for a short while.

To distract her depressed thoughts she studied Kash Santelli. His features were an exotic mixture—a hooked nose, graceful cheekbones, and large, slanted eyes that hinted at an Oriental influence. Those eyes were black, and his skin was the light umber of Terkleshire honey. He and Douglas called each other by first names. Douglas seemed to like and trust him.

Douglas helped her into the large helicopter emblazoned with “Kincaid” on its side in gold scroll. He steered her to one of a dozen richly upholstered
seats, then went forward to greet the pilots. Sam flopped on the floor, panting in the warm weather.

Elgiva watched the pilots talk animatedly with Douglas. His employees seemed to be on very familiar terms with him, though they were also very respectful.

Kash Santelli sat down near her, his face carefully composed but not unfriendly. Elgiva leaned close and whispered, “Could you tell me where we are, lad?”

His black eyes studied her with surprise. In a deep, accented voice he answered solemnly, “St. Thomas. The Virgin Islands.”

“And where are we headed?”

“To Douglas’s island, about an hour’s flight from here.”

When Santelli gazed at her with grave speculation, she explained, “I’m here to repay a debt to Mr. Kincaid, you might say. I’m a wee bit in the dark about his plans. Can you tell me what to expect of this island?”

Santelli’s eyes flickered with increasing bewilderment. “Well, Ms. MacRoth—”

“Call me Elgiva, lad.”

“Elgiva. I don’t quite understand this situation. Douglas usually comes here alone or with his immediate family. Occasionally he holds business meetings at the island, but this is the first time he’s brought a personal friend.”

“You mean he doesn’t ferry any little blond women over to keep him company?”

Now somberly amused, Santelli shook his head. Before he could say more, Douglas returned. He gripped Elgiva’s shoulder and sat down beside her. “Watch out, Kash. This woman will have you believing that Scottish fairies dance on your ancestors’ tombstones.”

“Your ancestors had no tombstones,” Elgiva retorted lightly.

“That’s because I have no Scottish ancestors.”

“The reivers tossed themselves into Loch Talrigh rather than burn in their own beseiged castle. They fed the fishes.”

“Oh. Hatchery workers, hmmm?”

“Phew. The loch must have stunk for years afterward.”

In reply to Douglas’s exasperated, slit-eyed look she smiled patiently. Over Douglas’s shoulder she saw Santelli’s startled black eyes. He nodded to her, looking impressed.

Hmmm, perhaps he was like Audubon, and felt that Douglas needed an attitude adjustment. She might have allies here that she’d never expected. And no blondes had preceded her, eh? Elgiva chuckled, earning wary looks from Douglas, as the helicopter left St. Thomas and headed across the vast, blue-green Caribbean sea. No blondes. It was a good sign.

Dammit, how could she look so unimpressed by a forty-room villa filled with antique wicker, an army of servants, and glorious tropical plants in full bloom? Douglas admired her stone-faced nonchalance at the same time that he cursed it.

She strolled around, nodding as if he were an idiot in need of pacifying as he showed her the magnificent tiled balconies and terraces, all with glorious views of the sea. Her cool amber eyes mocked him by not registering even the slightest bit of awe. He stood among a long wall of French doors in the main salon, his arms spread to the warm, fragrant breeze as he described how the island had once belonged to a pirate.

“Yo ho ho,” she intoned dryly.

He felt like a fool.

In the library he showed her a ten-million-dollar painting by a leading Impressionist, an artist his investment brokers had urged him to collect. “Very nice,” she commented. “But couldn’t you afford a Monet?”

Then she went to his bookcases and scruntinized a few of the titles. “Now here are the
real
interests of Douglas Kincaid,” she announced, tapping the books
with a fingertip. “Biographies of ruthless men who made a great deal of money.”

“Yeah, I’m a real monster,” he growled. “Check the psychology books on the other wall. My favorite is
I’m Okay—You’re Poor
.”

He hauled her to the fifty-person movie theater and pointed out the concession stand outfitted with a wine rack. He took her to the largest of the formal dining rooms so that she could admire a table of glass and burnished wicker that would seat a hundred. He led her down the large hallway that ran the width of the house, hoping to impress her with the rare parrots who squawked hello from their 14-karat gold perches and preened in the sunlight from arched windows set in whitewashed stone.

“Such a pleasant home,” Elgiva observed quaintly. “For a man who has no wife or children to keep him good company in it.”

“To hell with good company,” he shot back. “I have you.”

He took her outdoors and drove her around the island in one of the shiny white Jeeps, pointing out the man-made lagoon with its waterfall, the gardens ablaze in tropical color, the clusters of coconuts in the palms along the beach, the guest homes, and assorted private pools.

She expressed enthusiasm only when she saw the goats and cows grazing in pretty pastures on the hillsides. “You need some nice sheep here, Douglas,” she noted. “To keep all these jungle plants nibbled down.”

Annoyed but amused, he continued on. Douglas guided the Jeep around the base of terraced hills planted in fruit trees. A minute later he parked at the island’s tiny bay, where a three-masted sailing yacht and various smaller vessels were anchored at a long dock.

She read aloud the names on their bows.
Kincaid’s Prize, Kincaid’s Winner, Kincaid’s Big Deal, Kincaid’s Ace
. Then she turned toward him, squinting innocently
in the afternoon sunshine. “Do you intend to stencil your name somewhere on
my
bow?”

“Yes,” he retorted. “
Kincaid’s Big Mistake
.” She chuckled at that.

By the time they returned to the villa he was ready to chew his tongue. “Hot?” he asked with devilish pleasure, watching her tug at the neck of her black wool sweater. Wisps of damp chestnut hair had escaped from her braid and clung to her forehead. She looked flushed and sexy as hell, but he knew she was miserable. He was roasting in his own cold-weather clothes, but he wouldn’t admit it.

“A wee bit warm, yes,” she acknowledged. She arched a brow. “You didn’t let me bring along any clothes. What can I wear now?”

“You’ll be naked most of the time, so it won’t matter.”

She stiffened proudly but her eyes revealed abject concern. “You’re not going to make a mockery of the wonderful feelings that happened between us, are you?”

“How would I do that?”

Her gaze held his without teasing or challenge. “By taking me to bed just to be spiteful. Just to prove that I have to do anything you want.”

He resisted an urge to draw her into his arms and erase the devastated look from her eyes. Trying hard to remain impassive, he said gruffly, “Whatever happens will be something you want too.” With growing dismay he added, “Did you think I was going to lock you in my bedroom and give you orders? Do you think I’m capable of doing that?”

She shook her head. “But you have more subtle ways of getting what you want. A man doesn’t have to squeeze the bagpipes hard if he knows how to coax the music from them gently.”

Douglas stared at her in droll consternation. “I haven’t had much luck up to now. I’ve gotten a lot of horrible squawks.”

She curled her hands around his forearm and
gazed intently into his eyes. “What do you want of me here, Douglas? What am I supposed to do?”

“Stop pretending that you’re unfazed by luxury. Relax. Let yourself be pampered. Give
my
life a chance.”

She looked shocked. “And then?”

“After I settle the purchase of the MacRoth estate, we’ll talk about ‘And then.’ ”

“But you could buy the estate right away, if you wanted. You’ve only got two weeks left on the option.”

“Be pleasant and stop asking questions! That’s all I want! No more questions!”

“But—”

“Woman, you’d drive a dog to bite his own tail!”

“You sound very Scottish when you yell like that.”

“And not one more damned word about me having Scot ancestors!”

She put her hands on her hips. “Do you always yell at your houseguests? I suppose all your women come here to let you yell at them nonstop.”

“Yes. Dozens of women. All blonde. All—”

“Petite. Aye.” She smiled crookedly, almost as if she knew something that she wasn’t telling.

Douglas groaned in disgust and grabbed her hand again. “Move it, doll. We’ve got a fashion show to attend.”

“A fashion show?” she inquired, as he tugged her down the hall. “But why—”

“No more questions!”

He was going to keep the upper hand in this situation. Somehow. But his control was definitely slipping.