Rexanne Becnel (27 page)

Her heart was thumping painfully by the time she dragged her. eyes away from him. She would sit down, she decided. There was no one she knew here, so she would simply take a seat at the long mahogany table and wait for the meeting to begin. She moved to a chair, but then she noticed the name cards:
M. FERGUSON
. Next to it was
R. ANDREWS
.

Where had he decided to put her? Probably right next to him, the better to intimidate her. She read the next two:
B. GRANT
,
S. CUNNINGHAM
.

Had he left her name out?

At the end of the table she stopped and sent him a furious glare. But he only smiled and nodded ever so slightly. She yanked her skirts in annoyance as she rounded the table, preparing to check the cards on the other side. It was then that she found her name.
L
.
KIMBELL
was printed in sturdy letters, devoid of any swirls and curlicues. These were certainly not place cards for a luncheon, she noted obliquely. A nearby gentleman pulled her chair out for her and she thanked him as she settled herself. Then she looked up to see Dillon pulling out the chair on the opposite end of the table. As if on cue the other men drifted to their own chairs. There was much good-natured kidding as they jockeyed around one another and found their places. Once they were all settled, however, the situation could not have been clearer to everyone, she realized. Dillon anchored one end. She was squarely on the other. Between them at least a dozen and a half men sat, the rope in the coming tug-of-war.

Lacie already knew they would be pulling with Dillon against her. Still, she had not come this far only to cave in now. She took a deep breath and then raised her chin a notch. With her bitter smile she sent Dillon a message:
Let the battle begin.

“…Page seventeen summarizes the profit-and-loss statement for each of the companies we’ve reviewed so far.”

Lacie stifled a yawn as she looked at still another page of small printed figures. Column upon column. Profits, losses, bottom lines. Estimated values at current market prices. Shares. Dividends. For six hours, with only a short break for a lunch that was brought in, they had been examining each company’s financial position in endless detail. She was relieved that some of the others seemed just as bored as she. Whispered conversations were always going on even as the main discussion proceeded. But invariably, whenever another company was brought up for discussion, one group of whisperers would turn their attention toward Dillon while another group would lose interest. It wasn’t hard to see that the board members held ownership in different companies. They felt compelled to listen only when their affairs were up for discussion.

But Frederick had owned large portions of each of the companies. Despite her boredom, Lacie felt compelled to follow every one of Dillon’s explanations. He would have no reason to accuse her of negligence where her properties were concerned, she vowed. And he would not sneak anything by her either.

It was late in the afternoon when Dillon leaned back in his chair and closed the leather-bound book before him. “I think this is a very good point to adjourn today’s discussion.”

“Wait!”

At her unexpected outburst every eye turned toward Lacie. It was almost enough to unnerve her completely. But she doggedly held her ground.

“We’ve discussed every business venture imaginable but the one I am most interested in. I don’t think we should adjourn until Sparrow Hill School for Young Ladies is discussed as well, for I have something to say on that matter.”

“This is not the time.” With that curt dismissal, Dillon rose from his seat.

Lacie stood up as well. “When
is
the time?”

For a tense moment they faced each other while the other men sat very still—waiting for the fireworks to start, she guessed. But Dillon was surprisingly pleasant.

“It is our usual practice to discuss the stock-owned companies the first day and the privately owned ones the second day. We follow that with general discussion, and on the third day go into the budgets.” He smiled then, a warm, generous smile that caught her completely off guard. “I assure you, you’ll have more than adequate opportunity to discuss the school.”

In the ensuing melee of chairs being scraped back, papers being collected, and boisterous conversation as the room was vacated, Lacie continued to stand where she was. Why had he smiled at her like that? It hadn’t been mocking or cruel. She’d not seen the sarcasm she would have expected under the circumstances. After all, he’d just put her in her place in front of everyone. Yet his smile…

Lacie sat down abruptly and began to straighten the myriad papers before her. He must be up to something, she decided. He wanted to appear to be the good brother-in-law, in case the others felt any sympathy for her, the poor widow. She slapped the pile of papers down on the table, then reached angrily for her purse. It was just like him to affect one attitude when his real intentions were quite the opposite. Oh, he was truly devious.

She got up to leave, determined not to fall, even for an instant, under the charming spell he wove so well. She must remember not to trust him, she told herself. She must always remember not to trust him.

A few of the men still lingered in the antechamber as she left the room. Mr. Cunningham, who had been to her left, nodded as she passed. Two others whose names she’d already forgotten nodded as well. She was beginning to think she would escape without seeing Dillon again, when she rounded a corner and almost ran directly into him.

“Well, did you enjoy your first board meeting, Lacie?” His expression was relaxed, neither taunting nor condescending, but she refused to let down her guard.

“It was interesting,” she answered, stepping back from his always-overwhelming presence.

“This was actually the most boring part. It should get more interesting as we go on.”

“No doubt.” She smiled stiffly, then looked beyond him. “If you’ll excuse me?”

But his hand on her arm stopped her. She backed away immediately, alarmed that his casual touch could shake her so profoundly. They might not have been in a place of business, on opposite sides of a bitter struggle, so quickly did her blood heat and her pulse begin to race. She met his intense gaze with fearful eyes, then abruptly averted them. It was bad enough to feel as she did. Letting him suspect it was ever so much worse.

“We need to talk,” he said quietly.

“No, we don’t. Besides, I’m tired and would like to leave,” she stated as firmly as she could, considering that her heart was pounding thunderously in her chest.

“Have dinner with me.”

“What?” Lacie jerked her head up. He must be mad to think she would willingly do anything with him, even something as apparently harmless as eating a meal at the same table. She had already discovered, to her enormous dismay, that Dillon was never harmless. Never.

“Have dinner with me,” he repeated, as a smile began to curve one side of his mouth.

“No.” She purposefully pulled her skirts to one side and tried to pass him. She wanted nothing to do with him. But he was equally determined to have her assent.

“You will want to hear what I have to say,” he informed her as he accompanied her down the hall. Then he took her arm and swung her around to face him. He pinned her to the wall with his warm green eyes. “Just tell me what time to come for you.”

“No.” Lacie shook her head for emphasis when her refusal came out so weakly.

His hands tightened slightly, although not painfully. Then his thumbs began to slide back and forth along her inner arms, and she felt herself beginning to melt.

“You’re being foolish, Lacie, and overly emotional. Two traits that are deadly in business.” Still his thumbs circled on her sensitive skin.

“If you want to talk business,” she managed to gasp, “then you can save it for the board meeting.”

“This is private business. Between you and me.”

Lacie closed her eyes at his pointed words. Oh, dear God, help me, she prayed desperately. Give me the strength to resist him.

“It has to do with the school,” he added.

At that her eyes flew open.

He was only inches away from her, holding her arms still as she leaned back against the wall for support. Yet he might have been pressed intimately against her, so clearly did she recall the precise feel of his body warm upon hers. Then they heard footsteps approaching, and he slowly released his grip on her. By the time two clerks clattered around the corner, Dillon was standing a respectable distance from her, but his eyes had not strayed from her face.

“I’ll call for you at eight,” he told her decisively.

“I won’t be there,” she whispered in a hoarse voice.

“Where else is there for you to be?” Then, as if he did not expect an answer, he took her arm, escorted her to the office door, and put her into a waiting carriage.

Infuriated by his high-handedness, Lacie promptly pulled the fringed curtain down. But on the lonely ride back to the Palace, she knew it had been a futile gesture. A woven shade faced with striped satin could hardly block Dillon Lockwood out of her life. Indeed, it seemed that nothing could.

L
ACIE DECIDED TO WEAR
the black mourning dress. Then she squared her shoulders and swallowed hard as she contemplated what she was doing. It was just a dinner, she rationalized, a dinner with a business associate who wanted to discuss a matter of some importance to her.

But Dillon was not just
any
business associate, and Sparrow Hill was far more than a matter of
some
importance to her. It was home, yet it was also the source of all her problems, of her dilemma—the reason she and Dillon were embroiled in this winner-take-all confrontation. He had stopped at nothing to get Sparrow Hill—and the rest of Frederick’s properties—from her. And so far she had stopped at nothing to oppose him. Now they were nearing the final showdown, and she was petrified with fear.

Yes, her dyed mourning costume seemed most appropriate indeed, for one of them was bound to win and the other to fold in this high-stakes gamble.

She was very careful as she dressed. Not to impress him, she assured herself, at least not as she would want to impress a handsome dinner partner under more normal circumstances. All she wanted was to force him to respect her as a person, as someone who could take on all the responsibilities for Frederick’s properties and do a good job. Most of all, she wanted him to admit that she had bested him this time.

How many times had she been humiliated by him? she fumed as she fastened the endless row of jet-black buttons down the fitted front of her bodice. How many times had he manipulated and manhandled her? He’d lied to her from the beginning.

But she’d lied, too, her conscience reminded her.

She paused and stared at her pale face in the beveled mirror above the ornate vanity. Yes, she had lied, but she’d paid dearly for it. For a moment her resolve slipped, and wicked memories came rushing back, torturing her with their bittersweetness. Dillon had held her and kissed her. He’d seduced her and taught her what pleasure a man and woman might share together.

But it had all been calculated and insincere.

Her resolve stiffened as she recalled why he’d seduced her. But the so-called proof he’d found was just so many words. If he thought he could prove his claim, he would have done so by now, she reassured herself. The fact was, he had been bluffing all along. The only reason he hadn’t won was that he had underestimated her dedication to the school. It was her home and her livelihood. Without it, she was no one and had nothing. She could never give that up.

Lacie straightened up and peered at herself critically. In the stiff bombazine outfit, she looked quite the widowed schoolteacher. She should loosen her feminine chignon and reknot her hair into a prim bun at the nape of her neck, she thought. That would complete her look perfectly.

But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Frowning at her own idiocy, she donned her small black bonnet. She was being vain and foolish and courting disaster, she fretted. But what difference would her hair truly make? The real danger was in meeting with him at all. He wouldn’t care how she looked, as long as he was able to manipulate her again.

But he was going to fail this time. Nothing he could do or say would sway her in the least.

As she grabbed her small drawstring purse and turned to leave, she kept that thought uppermost in her mind. He would not sway her this time.

Unfortunately, the test of her resolve came far sooner than she would have liked. She had only begun to descend the hotel stairs when Dillon bounded up, taking the steps three at a time. When their eyes met they both stopped short. He was standing at the landing, one hand on the pineapple finial that capped the newel post, his eyes an unfathomable green. As impervious as emerald, she thought obliquely.

Yet he looked no less fine. Any other man in a black swallowtail evening suit, cut simply but elegantly, would have looked as good. Any other gentleman might have carried off the stark white shirt and simple satin band bow equally well. But no other man could duplicate that rare combination of carefully cultivated sophistication and raw animal magnetism. No man on earth would ever stir her so passionately.

Color stained her cheeks at such untoward thoughts, and she gripped the banister more tightly. She wanted to turn and flee, yet she knew she must not. Oh, why didn’t he say something instead of just looking at her like that, as if he might devour her at any moment?

Then he smiled faintly and lifted a hand toward her. For long seconds she hesitated, unsure as all her resolve weakened into nothingness. Only when his smile broadened into a grin was she able to prod herself forward.

Step by step she descended, as stiff and resistant as if she were facing a firing squad. He merely stood waiting for her to come to him, clearly confident that he had only to beckon and she would.

At the landing she tried to ignore the proffered hand, but Dillon would not allow her even that small victory.