Share No Secrets (27 page)

“I’m sorry,” Adrienne said sincerely. “I should have stopped her.”

Kit smiled ruefully. “You
couldn’t
have stopped her short of tying her to a tree. She has a will of iron, and she’s a lot stronger than she looks or acts. Physically, that is. I’m grateful you went with her. She wouldn’t let
me.”

Adrienne thought of how Ellen had said she hadn’t minded Adrienne going with her because she knew Adrienne wouldn’t hurt Lottie. Did she fear Kit would?

No. The idea was nonsensical, Adrienne thought After all, it was Kit to whom Lottie had gone after Julianna’s murder, not Ellen. Kit that Lottie had turned to, not her best friend, Ellen.
Not Ellen.

“Adrienne, are you all right?”

Adrienne glanced up as she felt blood drain from her cheeks. Her sister was looking at her somewhat Wearily, but Kit’s eyes seemed to have narrowed slightly. Kit knew her too well not to realize something disturbing had crossed Adrienne’s mind. “I’m fine, Kit,” she said brightly. “Just hungry.”

But she still felt uncomfortable as Kit abruptly said she’d leave them to their lunch and swept away from the table. Kit
did
suspect something, Adrienne realized. And whatever she suspected was making Kit feel extremely uneasy.

Feeling wretched and confused, Adrienne forced down what should have been a delicious lunch while her sister harangued endlessly about Margaret Taylor, the woman Vicky hated.

“I get so tired of skulking around like a pair of teenagers. I wish we could bring our relationship out into the open.”

Margaret Taylor gave Miles Shaw the long, slow blink she knew he found enticing, and ran her foot up his bare leg to the top of his thigh. “But darling, you know I can’t pull the focus away from Philip onto myself, and that’s just what I’d be doing by announcing that I’m seeing a world-famous artist.”

Miles laughed softly. “World famous. Now that
is
funny.”

“You
are
famous.”

“Maybe in a tristate area. Big fish in a little pond. That’s all I am.”

“A fabulously talented fish who will soon be well-known in a much bigger pond. As soon as I get Philip elected, give me two or three years to work on you. Your name will be known all over the United States and Europe.”

Miles reached out, touching the silky length of Margaret’s gleaming black hair. “Not lacking in confidence, are you, Ms. Taylor?”

“There’s no room for insecurity in my business.”

“And you do know your business. You’re an expert at disseminating
and
concealing information. But are you certain Philip doesn’t at least have an inkling about us?”

Margaret turned slightly and picked up her glass of red wine from the bedside table. “I’m quite certain. I’ve taken great pains to keep us a secret.”

As she sipped, Miles looked at her closely. “Then why do you lower your eyes when you talk about our secret? Is it to hide a little flicker of doubt in your eyes?”

Margaret’s forehead wrinkled slightly. “Maybe there’s just a
little
doubt.” She took another sip of wine, her voice hardening. “It’s that damned Rachel. I think
she
suspects us. And if she does, she’ll tell her mother.”

“And you don’t want Vicky to know about us because she thinks you’re having an affair with Philip, which thrills you.” Margaret tried to look insulted and failed. The corner of Miles’s lips crooked. “You really can’t stand Vicky, can you?”

“She frustrates me.” Margaret replaced the wineglass on the table, turned, and began tracing tiny circles on Miles’s chest. “From what I’ve heard, Philip made a good choice when he married her. She was attractive, charming, self-possessed, even fairly savvy about political affairs. She was quite satisfactory as a politician’s wife. She even had some backbone, like her sister, although I don’t care much for Adrienne, either. She watches me, like she’s waiting for me to screw up. Of course, that’s because Vicky has told her all kinds of unflattering things about me.”

“Imagine that,” Miles said dryly.

“I don’t know what happened to Vicky over the years, but now she’s so damned
weak,”
Margaret went on heatedly as if Miles hadn’t spoken. “And whiny. And not nearly so physically presentable. Do you know that half the time she doesn’t put on her makeup properly?”

“Good God! I had no idea!”

“You think it’s funny, but it’s
not.
It’s a sign. Vicky isn’t careful about her looks because she’s fast on her way to becoming an alcoholic. I think she has her first drink by ten in the morning. Certainly by noon. An alcoholic wife! She could ruin everything for Philip!”

“All right I see the trouble with Vicky. I hardly know her, but she doesn’t appeal to me, either. So let’s move on to Rachel. What’s your problem with her?”

Margaret’s expression turned rancorous. “I have lots of problems with Rachel, not the least of which is she doesn’t appreciate that a great life has been handed to her on a silver platter. She takes it for granted, like it’s her due. If she’d had to scramble to pull herself out of the dirt like I did, she might value a thing or two. Instead, she looks down on me.”

“Are you sure she looks down on you? Or is that your imagination? You can be a little paranoid about how people view you.”

“That is
not
true!” Margaret drew away from him, her face turning pink.

“Uh-oh.Hit a nerve.”

“No, you did not hit a nerve. You accused me falsely. I don’t like it.”

“What you don’t like is being criticized.” Miles smiled and drew her close again, cupping her firm, bare breast. “But most people don’t like being criticized unless they’re masochists. I’m sorry, lover. I’ve had too much wine. My mouth is running away with me.”

“Your mouth is just fine.” Margaret kissed him deeply, then licked his earlobe. “No earring tonight?”

“You nearly tore it out last time.” He chuckled. “Besides, I seem to have misplaced it. Hey, speaking of tearing, how about tearing ourselves out of thi
s
bed for a while, going to see a friend of mine who’s having a little party, then returning for more fun and games?”

Margaret tensed as she pulled back and looked him full in the face. “Those friends who indulge in drugs?”

“Only moderately, for mind-expanding purposes.”

She shook her head. “No, thanks, darling. Too risky. Whenever we’re there, I feel like the cops will be sweeping down any minute. Besides, Philip has an important meeting tomorrow.”

“Philip
has a meeting, not you.”

“When Philip has a meeting, so do I. You know I have to be on my toes so I can brief him.”

Miles sighed in disgust. “Good God. If only people knew they were electing you instead of him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean
you
seem to do all the work. Philip is like an actor, reciting for the public the lines you’ve given him. He’s just a puppet, a conventionally good-looking guy in an expensive suit who can memorize.”

“That is not true, Miles. Philip Hamilton is a brilliant man.” Miles snorted. “He
is.
But no political figure does all his research. Not even the president.”

“Now
that
I can believe.”

Margaret sat up in bed, not bothering to hold the sheet in front of her breasts, her hair hanging long and tangled over her shoulders. “Are you jealous of Philip?”

“I’m jealous of the time you devote to him. He always comes first You can’t go here with me. You can’t go there with me. Being seen in public with me might cause gossip that could detract from Philip. God, Margaret, you make me feel like a whore.” Miles’s ebony eyes blazed. “Maybe that’s all I am to you. A whore.”

“That’s absurd.”

“Then prove it Devote one whole night to me instead of to Philip.”

“I’ve devoted
many
nights to you. It’s just that I’ll have to cut this particular night a bit short. I have notes to go over, then I need a full night’s rest Alone.”

“And you forgot to mention all of that when you invited me to dinner.” Miles flung off the sheet and stood up, his imposing six-foot-four frame leaning over the petite, small-boned Margaret “I don’t like being taken advantage of, Maggie.”

‘Taken advantage of!” Margaret scrambled from the bed and stood across from him. “I didn’t know fixing you an excellent dinner and having sex with you was taking advantage of you!”

“Why? If I’d fixed dinner for you, had sex with you, then told you to leave, you’d be mad as hell. But because you’re doing it to a
man,
it’s a whole different story. That’s the trouble with you feminists. You don’t change things. You just turn old conduct on its ear, treat men like crap instead of vice versa, then feel justified!”

“That is preposterous, Philip!”

His eyes narrowed and he said in a low, angry voice, “My name is
Miles,
Margaret.”

She flushed. “I
meant
Miles. I say Philip a hundred times a day. It just comes out sometimes.”

“Yeah, like when you’re in the presence of a naked man.” Miles bent and picked up his jeans. “You’ve just been playing with me, haven’t you? Using me as a smokescreen for your real love interest—Philip Hamilton.”

“Oh please,” Margaret nearly spat. “Don’t compare my morals to those of someone like your beloved Julianna. She’s the one who slept with so many men she no doubt got them confused. She would have stooped to anything. But you didn’t care, did you? You were blind to what she was. Absolutely, totally blind.
A fool!”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Margaret knew she’d made a grave mistake. Miles stopped fastening his jeans and looked at her, fury growing in his eyes, fury deep and strong and dangerous. Margaret had never been afraid of a man before. Not really. But to her intense surprise, she was now.

And the odd thing was, she didn’t quite know how this fight had started. The last few minutes seemed like a blur with the argument spinning out of control, stunning her with its speed and bitterness. But Margaret was an old hand at retrieving unpleasant situations. All it took was some charm and finesse.

She rallied her forces and smiled sweetly. “Darling, we were having such a lovely evening and now we’ve turned it into something silly. We sound like kids, and I’m sorry for contributing to it. It’s been a grueling day. Can’t we just bury the hostility and go back to our earlier peace and comfort?”

Miles gave her a hard look and reached for his shirt “I think it’s time for me to get out of here.”

“You’re going to leave? Now? It’s not even ten o’clock!”

“You have your important meeting in the morning, remember? You’d better be in bed within half an hour or you’ll have circles under your eyes and then God knows what will happen. Maybe it will cause Hamilton to lose the election.”

Margaret forced a laugh. “No one pays attention to me at these events, and even if they did, I don’t think I’d be jeopardizing Philip if I looked a little tired.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. You’re the brain behind the puppet. If you look tired, people will think the campaign is falling apart.”

She sighed. “Listen, darling, sometimes I get carried away. I’m a perfectionist”

“No kidding,” Miles said wryly as he finished buttoning his shirt and yanked back his hair in its long ponytail. “Well, I’m a perfectionist, too. I have a painting to work on tonight
Now.
Sorry, I forgot to mention it earlier. Hate to eat, screw, and run, but you of all people know that duty comes first”

Margaret dashed to his side, placing her hand on the back of his head and trying to pull his face toward hers for a passionate kiss. But she couldn’t bend his head. Suddenly his neck seemed as rigid as iron. And the look in his eyes turned her cold to the bone.

“Don’t, Margaret,” he said barely above a whisper. “Don’t try to kiss me, don’t clutch at me, don’t even touch me.” She drew back, stunned by the venom in his voice. “And one more thing, Maggie. Don’t you
ever
say a bad thing about Julianna again, or I swear to God, I’ll make you regret it.”

In fifteen minutes, Miles climbed into his car while Margaret hovered near the half-open front door, her silk robe tied loosely around her. Anger, confusion, and a little fright churned behind her dark eyes. She felt stunned. And hurt. But never one to let another person get the upper hand, she slammed the door, locked it, and flipped the dead bolt. The gesture was futile—after all, Miles wasn’t coming back—but she knew he’d heard the noise of the slamming door, which somehow made her feel better.

The big grandfather clock in her living room chimed ten times. How she’d loved that cherrywood clock when she was a teenager, and how surprised she’d been when the elderly man who’d been her mentor and her lover had given it to her when she got her master’s degree in public relations. “I’m an old man. I no longer need it,” he’d said. “But when you look at it, you’ll remember me. And don’t say you’re not leaving me, because I know you are. You’ve outgrown me, and I won’t be greedy and pitiful by trying to hold on to you. But I can’t forget how when you came to me at sixteen, you seemed like a magical gift. And a magical female needs a magnificent, chiming clock to let her know when it’s the witching hour—the hour of midnight on a full moon when a witch’s powers are at their strongest.”

“I wish you were still here,” Margaret said wistfully to the lover who’d died a year after their parting. “You would know how to handle Miles. You would know whether or not he really loves me, or if I’m just a poor substitute for his lost Julianna. The bitch! If I told what I knew about her death, I could change quite a few things that need changing, and not just because of Miles.”

By eleven-thirty, Margaret had put the dishes in the dishwasher, gone over her notes for tomorrow, watched the news, and written a rare letter to her mother, but none of these activities had settled her nerves. Margaret finally slipped into an old sleep shirt and went into the bathroom to begin her nighttime beauty ritual, all the while still smoldering over the woman who’d caused her so much trouble in life, and who still managed to cause her trouble in death.