Sweet Promise (23 page)

Yeah, but I had just told her that I was going to run for the Senate. She sure as hell wasn't going to turn me down at that point. As my fiancee, what would be more natural than for her to pitch in on my campaign?

But it's also possible that she really does love you.

Maybe.
Against his will, Sean thought of the anguished expression on Joanna's face when he'd made those cutting remarks.
Maybe.

A concern he didn't want to feel crept up on him when he shot another glance at her empty chair. Maybe he ought to check on her, just to be sure she was all right.

Oh, hell, Fleming, you've gone soft in the head over the woman.
Sean tossed his napkin on the table, muttered a terse, "Excuse me" and strode from the dining room.
Joanna Andrews is a self-centered, grasping spoiled brat who will stop at nothing to get what she wants. She's probably just sulking.

The thought brought his anger back full force. Jaw set, Sean loped down the stairs and headed for Joanna's suite. He'd be damned if he'd let her hide out in her room again. She'd created this mess, and she was going to face it.

Five minutes of banging on her door produced no results. Neither did a thorough search of the ship. For the next hour Sean checked out every shadowed corner on every deck, and poked his head into the theater, the casino and each of the nightclubs, but there was no sign of Joanna anywhere. By the time he had covered all the public areas twice he was growing concerned.

In desperation, he returned to her suite and banged on the door again. Just as he was about to give up, her room steward appeared.

"Are you looking for Miss Andrews, sir?" he inquired tentatively, looking a bit uneasy when he spied Sean's fierce expression.

"Yes. Have you seen her?"

"Miss Andrews is gone, sir. She got off the ship in Cozumel, just before we sailed."

"What! Are you sure?"

''Yessir. I carried her bags off myself. She said she had to fly home because of an urgent family matter."

In a blinding flash, Sean's concern turned to impotent fury. As civilly as he could, he thanked the man and stalked to his cabin. Cursing fluently, he paced the narrow confines. He checked his watch and made a quick, mental calculation. She'd gotten off the ship three hours ago. Even if she'd managed to get a flight out, she wouldn't have arrived in D.C. yet. But maybe, just maybe...

Sean yanked up the phone, dialed the operator, and told him he wanted to make a ship to shore call. In a matter of minutes he was listening to the ringing tones at the other end of the line and cursing impatiently when Matt answered.

"Hello."

"Matt, this is Sean. Is Claire all right?"

"Sean? What the... I thought you were at sea. And why the devil wouldn't Claire be all right?"

"Then she hasn't had the baby?"

"No. It's not due for another six weeks."

"I see." Sean paused to grit his teeth, then asked, "Have you heard from Joanna today?"

"Joanna? No. Why do you ask?"

"Because she jumped ship in Cozumel three hours ago. I'm assuming she's on her way home. I thought maybe she'd called to let you and Claire know."

"Why would she leave the cruise?" Matt barked. ''What the devil is going on between you two?"

"It's a long story, Matt. One I think you'd better ask Joanna. Look, I need her phone number in D.C."

"What do you—"

"Dammit, Matt. This isn't the time to go into it. Just give me the number, okay."

Grumbling, Matt complied, and a few minutes later when Sean hung up he stalked to the porthole and stared out at the night-dark ocean. "Urgent family matter, my ass."

* * *

Joanna entered her Georgetown home on a blast of frigid air. The wind had whipped color into her pale cheeks but there were dark circles beneath her eyes and a look of fragility about her that no amount of long solitary walks could cure. She pulled the knit cap from her head and shook out the snowflakes. She took off her coat and hung it and the cap on the brass coatrack to dry, before making her way to the kitchen at the back of the house.

Mechanically, Joanna turned the fire on under the kettle, got out a thick mug and emptied a packet of cocoa into it. Waiting for the water to boil, she leaned her hip against the counter and glanced around the room. It was not as immaculate as it had been when Mrs. Hall had worked there as housekeeper. There were a few dishes in the sink, a wadded towel on the counter, an apron slung carelessly over the back of a chair. But Joanna was fiercely glad that she had let the woman go. The last thing she needed to contend with at this point was Nora Hall's stiff formality. On her own, Joanna was free to weep or rage as she wanted.

Joanna had inherited the housekeeper along with the house. It had been her parents' home. Claire had signed it over to her when she married Matt, claiming she no longer had a use for it, but Joanna suspected that the place held unhappy memories for her mother.

Joanna understood. She was learning just how painful memories could be.

She poured the boiling water into the mug, and the scent of chocolate rose with the curling wisps of steam. Cradling the mug in her hands, Joanna turned and was heading for the door when her gaze fell on the wall phone. She stopped and stared at it uncertainly. On arriving home two days ago she had unplugged it. She had needed the time and the solitude—craved it still—but Joanna knew she couldn't go on hiding forever. Her mother and Matt were expecting her back from the cruise today.

With a resigned sigh, Joanna walked to the phone and plugged it in. Before she could take a step away it rang, and she jumped, causing her cocoa to slosh over the side of the mug and splatter onto the tile floor.

Aggravated, Joanna snatched the receiver and snapped, "Hello."

"Joanna? Oh, thank God, you're home," Claire said with heartfelt relief. "Where in the world have you been? I've been calling for three days."

"You have? But why? I wasn't due back until today."

"Sean called us the night you left the ship," Claire said, and Joanna's heart jerked. "He's called every day since, and he's absolutely furious, Joanna."

Joanna was too stunned to reply. She hadn't expected that. She had thought, if he even noticed that she was gone, that he would be relieved.

"We assume that you two have had an argument," Claire said in a concerned voice, breaking into the taut silence.

"Yes, I guess you could say that." With a calm she was far from feeling, Joanna gave her mother an extremely watered-down version of what had happened.

When she had finished Claire murmured, "Oh, darling, I'm so sorry. But I can't say I'm surprised that Sean is angry. I was afraid something like this would happen. He's easygoing, but he's not a man who can be pushed or manipulated. And, though he doesn't lose his temper often, when he does it's explosive. What does surprise me, though, is that you let yourself get involved with him. I mean, darling, I like Sean very much. You know that. But...well...where women are concerned, he's not known for his constancy."

Joanna blinked back tears and forced out a blase laugh. "Oh, well, you know how it is, Mother. You tend to get carried away with all that sun and surf and romantic, moonlit nights at sea. It was just a shipboard fling. No harm done." Joanna's heart felt as though it had split in two at the words, but they were necessary. The last thing she wanted was to cause Claire worry. Especially not now, with the baby due in just a few weeks.

"Well, maybe so. But as angry as he is, I doubt that Sean is going to pass it off that easily. If I were you I'd brace myself. I'm fairly certain he intends to pay you a visit."

Joanna fervently hoped that her mother was wrong, but a short while later, just scant seconds after she had hung up the phone, her doorbell sounded. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she went to answer it. Before she reached the entryway the bell sounded twice more, and then a hammering fist took up the summons. Drawing a deep breath, Joanna squared her shoulders and opened the door.

"It's about time."

Sean stormed past her like an enraged bull and stalked into the living room. Shakily, Joanna closed the door and followed him. He was standing in the middle of the room, radiating anger, his back to her, but when Joanna entered he whirled around.

"I should have expected an irresponsible stunt like this from you," he snarled through clenched teeth. "You connive and finagle to get what you want without a thought for anyone else, and then when things turn unpleasant, you turn tail and run like the spoiled, selfish brat you are."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry! Sorry doesn't cut it, Joanna. What you did was inconsiderate at best. If I hadn't run into your room steward I would have thought the worst."

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"I
mean,
you just disappeared without a word after we'd had a serious argument. For all I knew you could have fallen overboard or been kidnapped or been seriously ill. And didn't it occur to you that your mother would be worried."

"If you hadn't called—"

"Was I just supposed to ignore the fact that you had disappeared in a foreign country without a word? The steward said you'd rushed off the ship because of an urgent family crisis. The first thing that came to my mind was that Claire had run into trouble with her pregnancy. So I called."

"I see," Joanna said weakly.

Sean gave her a disgusted look and turned away, then just as quickly turned right back, his eyes narrowed. "And while we're on the subject, just where the hell have you been since you walked off that ship in Cozumel? Claire has called a hundred times. She's been going out of her mind with worry."

"I... I've been here. I unplugged my phone."

The stream of expletives that shot from him were sharp and searing. Joanna flinched with each one.

He was angrier than she had ever seen him, and as she watched him pace back and forth across the oriental rug, Joanna felt wretched. She couldn't even work up any anger, because she knew that Sean was right. Once again she had thought only of herself and acted impulsively. Despite all her good intentions and the earnest attempt she'd made to change, the habits and conditioning of a lifetime were difficult to shake.

Joanna listened to Sean's scorching comments with the calm of utter hopelessness, and when he was through, said quietly, "You're right, Sean. And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry or upset anyone. I know that's inadequate, but it's the best I can offer."

Her calm agreement stopped Sean in his tracks, and he looked at her with a mixture of confusion and caution. Where was her anger? He'd come spoiling for a fight and had expected her to rage right back at him. After the frustration of the past three days he had relished the prospect of clearing the air. And now this.

He frowned as he watched her edge toward the door, leaving him with no option but to follow.

"I.. .I'm sorry things didn't work out between us, Sean, but I do thank you for your concern. I hope, despite everything, that you will run for the Senate." With her head held high, Joanna gave him a wobbly smile and opened the door, keeping one hand on the knob. "Goodbye, Sean."

Sean hesitated and looked at her closely, then nodded. "Goodbye, Joanna."

It was over. He told himself it was for the best. That he'd had a narrow escape. Joanna Andrews was all that he'd accused her of being: shallow, selfish, thoughtless. She was incapable of loving anyone.

Yet, as Sean walked past her and stepped out into the frigid afternoon all he felt was a terrible, consuming sense of loss.

Chapter Thirteen

S
now lay over the Virginia hillsides like a heavy layer of whipped cream, blown by a capricious wind into smooth, swirling patterns in some places, mounded into high drifts in others. Skeletal trees stood in sharp relief against the leaden sky, their branches piled high with snow and drooping forlornly beneath its weight. It was utterly quiet, except for the occasional loud crack of a limb breaking and the mournful soughing of the wind around the eaves of the farmhouse.

Over and over, Joanna's eyes strayed to the wintry scene while her fingers automatically carried out the task of breaking pecan halves into small pieces and dropping them into the measuring cup. It could be a painting, she thought as she gazed out the frosted panes of the kitchen window. The still, stark, haunting loveliness of it appealed to her somehow. In her present mood, blue skies and bright sunshine would be offensive.

"It looks like we're in for another snow before morning," Claire commented as she deftly fluted the edge on a fresh made pie crust.

"Mmm."

"On a day like this I'm always glad to stay inside where it's cozy and warm." Letting her gaze roam over the homey kitchen, Claire's soft gray eyes glowed with contentment as they took in brick patterned floors, pecan cabinets, massive beams and hanging copper pots, their polished surfaces reflecting the cheery fire crackling in the,massive hearth. The large room was redolent with the tantalizing aromas of burning wood, spices, fresh-baked pies and warm, yeasty bread. "And it's a great time for baking."

Joanna gave her mother a faint smile-r "Is that why we're having this marathon bake off? Because the weather is gloomy?"

"Well... kind of. Besides, with the Drummond clan coming for Christmas it's best to stock up on goodies."