Temporary Bride (3 page)

Mrs. Whitney nodded and murmured, "Yes, sir," but her eyes
sought Karen's and the message in them was clear.
Don't make
a nuisance of yourself
, they warned her again.

Karen would have liked to have had coffee in the den with
Shane and Mark, but she had been reminded of her place in this
household. She was an employee, not a guest, and it was time she
remembered it.

She stood, too, but backed away as Shane started toward
her and said, "Uh—I think I'd better go to my room and
unpack."

Shane took her arm. "Taffy will unpack for you."

She looked at him. "Taffy?"

"One of the maids." He urged her forward. "It's probably
already been done—now come along."

She sidestepped carefully, not wanting to seem rude but
anxious not to upset Mrs. Whitney. "I'd—I'd really rather do
it myself. I'll be ready to start work tomorrow. That is, if you'll be
here to show me the library and what you want done."

He frowned impatiently and dropped his hand. "As you wish.
I expect to be here all weekend so we'll have plenty of time to discuss
it. Good night." He turned and walked out of the room and she knew she
had displeased him.

The next morning Karen woke early and made her way to the
large main kitchen on the other side of the lower level. She was
greeted by a tall, slender man of indeterminate age dressed all in
white. A big smile lit his face and he spoke with a heavy French
accent. "
Bon jour, mademoiselle
. You are the new,
how you say, librarian?"

She laughed. "Well, not exactly. I'm going to catalog the
library. My name is Karen Muir."

He nodded his understanding. "Ah, then you will need
breakfast. Sit down, sit down." He waved at the breakfast bar with
several high stools and she slid into one as he poured her a cup of
coffee. "I am Henri. You like your eggs scrambled, yes?"

Before she could agree, a high-pitched feminine voice,
like the tinkle of a bell, sounded from the doorway behind her.

"Henri, love, could I have a three-minute egg in two
minutes? I overslept yesterday and the Dragon has been breathing fire
and smoke down my neck ever since. If I don't start cleaning Mr.
McKittrick's room the minute he leaves it, she'll probably hang me by
my thumbs." She spotted Karen sitting at the bar and squeezed onto the
stool beside her. "Hi, you must be the new gal who shares my bathroom.
Do you always shower at five-thirty in the morning?"

Karen smiled. "Sorry. I tried to be quiet. I'm Karen Muir."

The young face surrounded by blond curls dimpled in a grin
and the hazel eyes teased as the girl said, "Apology noted and
accepted. I'm Taffy Harris."

So this was the "Taffy" Shane had mentioned last night.
She looked to be about Karen's age and was soft and curvy and purred
like a kitten—the kind of girl men liked to gather up and
take home.

Henri brought the girls eggs with side dishes of bacon and
hot buttered biscuits. Taffy picked up her fork and said, "Thanks,
Henri. I hope Mr. McKittrick doesn't decide to get up early." She
turned to Karen. "Have you clashed with the Dragon yet?"

Karen blinked. "The Dragon?"

"Mrs. Whitney. You sure don't get a chance to fluff off
around here. She's right there with her whip and chair. You're not
really a member of the staff, though. I'm surprised you were put down
here—I'd think you'd rate an upstairs room."

Karen shrugged. "Apparently not—this is where
Mrs. Whitney brought me."

Taffy finished eating and jumped up. "Sorry, I gotta run.
Don't let Mrs. W. browbeat you."

Karen followed a few minutes later, intending to try to
find the library. She was anxious to examine the books she would be
working with. As she passed the dining room she saw Shane at the table
having breakfast. He glanced up and called to her.

"Karen! You're up early. Where are you going? Come sit
down and I'll ring for your breakfast."

She stood there puzzled. "Oh, no, thank you, I've already
had breakfast."

He frowned. "When?"

"A little while ago," she replied vaguely.

He motioned her into the room. "How did you manage to
wander around without me hearing you? Sit with me and have some coffee,
at least."

She sat down and took the cup of coffee he handed her as
she wondered how he could have expected to hear her when there were two
stories between them. She stirred her coffee and glanced around the
room, then gasped at the panoramic view before her. The wall-to-wall
draperies had been pulled open and the two outside walls were simply
two huge windows with a breathtaking view of the Pacific. With a little
cry, she jumped up and went across the room to gaze at the magnificent
view.

She had been right last night; the house was built on the
side of a cliff with the rocky coast below. Shane came up beside her
and said, "Do you like it?"

She drew in her breath. "Like it! I've never seen anything
so beautiful! Where on earth are we?"

He laughed. "We're on Seventeen Mile Drive, between
Pacific Grove and Carmel on the Monterey Peninsula. Surely you've been
here before."

She couldn't take her eyes from the cloudless sky and the
smooth, shimmering ocean. "I've driven through after paying the
four-dollar entrance fee, but I never dreamed that someday I'd stay in
one of these houses. To think you actually live here! I don't see how
you can stand to leave it."

He was standing so close that his shirtsleeve brushed
against her bare arm. "I don't remember ever being especially impressed
with either the house or the view. I was born here and never knew
anything else. When my parents were alive it was a place to come back
to from boarding schools, but now I use it mostly for business reasons.
It's an excellent place to entertain, but I spend most of my time at my
condominium in San Francisco."

There was a touch of sadness in his voice. She felt a
twinge of sympathy for the little boy who spent most of his childhood
away from home in boarding schools and said, "You must have been a
lonely child."

He looked at her with a quizzical expression in his dark
eyes. "Why on earth would you think that?"

She realized she'd overstepped the bounds of propriety and
felt a surge of embarrassment as she hurried to apologize. "I'm sorry,
I didn't mean—"

He held up a hand to silence her and his voice was low.
"Don't be sorry—you're right. I'm just wondering how you
knew."

She looked back at the peaceful scene on the other side of
the glass. "When I was growing up my parents and I were never
separated. It would have broken my heart if they had sent me away to
school or left me behind when they went on vacation, but I'm sure the
thought never occurred to them."

"You miss them very much, don't you." It was a statement
not a question.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Shane's nearness and the tenderness in his voice were
having a disturbing effect on her. He was a stranger. She should never
have come here with him and yet she had no fear. She trusted him
instinctively, knew somehow that he wouldn't hurt her. He could be
gentle one moment and flare into anger the next, and yet she felt
protected here in his home.

But was there another side to him? Why had he put that
strange ad in the newspaper? What was the position that she was too
young to fill? Why all the secrecy? If it was all honest and
aboveboard, why didn't he hire a girl from an employment agency? Who
was this man and what did he want?

Karen ran her fingers reverently over the book before she
replaced it gently in the glass case and locked the door. The library
was half the size of the living room but the walls were lined with
hundreds of books. Some were custom bound in leather, others encased in
publishers' jackets, and then there were the first editions—
worn, stained, and priceless. These were the ones that were kept locked
behind glass.

Karen sighed and dropped wearily down beside Shane on the
red velour couch in front of the brick fireplace. He looked up from the
ledger he was working on and asked, "Are you tired?" He glanced at his
watch and exclaimed, "Good heavens, you're probably starved,
too—it's after one o'clock!" He closed the ledger and stood,
reaching for her hand. "Come on—we'll go find Mark and have
some lunch."

Mark had joined Karen and Shane briefly at breakfast, but
they hadn't seen him since they left him to come to the library. It was
a delightfully intimate room, and the hours had flown by as Shane
familiarized her with the books and showed her how he wanted them
sorted and catalogued. It would be a big job, one that would keep her
working happily for weeks.

She put her hand in Shane's and let him pull her to her
feet as he said, "I'll find Mark. You go freshen up and we'll meet you
in the dining room in fifteen minutes."

She hesitated. "Oh, but I—"

Why did he keep inviting her to eat with him when Mrs.
Whitney had made it plain that she was expected to take her meals with
the rest of the staff in
the
kitchen? He was
probably only being polite but it was awkward all the way around. She
took a deep breath and continued, "You and Mark go ahead with lunch.
I'll grab a sandwich and take it to my room. I still have some settling
in to do."

Shane glared at her. "Damn it, Karen, what's the matter
with you?" He seemed prepared to say more but controlled himself with
an effort and muttered, "Oh, well, have it your way. Run
along—I won't need you anymore today." He turned on his heel
and stalked out of the room.

Karen had lunch in the kitchen on the lower level with
Taffy and the two other girls on the housekeeping staff, Jolene and
Erma. Taffy grumbled good-naturedly about the tyrant, Mrs. Whitney, and
the other girls merely listened, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. When
Karen could get a word in edgewise, she asked the question that had
been bothering her.

"Taffy, I've never been in a house where the kitchen was
in the basement. Isn't it awfully inconvenient running up and down
stairs with the food?"

All three girls laughed so uproariously that Karen
suspected her question had been a stupid one. Taffy, still giggling,
explained.

"We don't run up and down stairs, silly—we use
the dumbwaiters. Come on, I'll show you."

She led Karen to the wall and showed her the small
elevators that conveyed the food and dishes from the main kitchen to
the small kitchen next to the dining room directly above.

"And, love, this is not a basement." Taffy giggled again.
"We are also on the ground floor down here. The house is built on a
cliff and you just walk down the steps of the terraced gardens to get
from one level to the other."

She led Karen into the sitting room and for the first time
Karen saw the sliding glass doors that took up most of one wall and led
to the rolling green lawn outside. Drapes had been pulled across the
doors last night and this morning when she had gone through, but now
Karen saw that the view of the ocean was almost as spectacular from
here as from the main floor.

Taffy continued. "There's also a door in the kitchen and
the help is expected to use it instead of the front door upstairs. I
don't know whether that includes you or not."

"It most certainly does." There was no mistaking Mrs.
Whitney's voice even before the girls turned to face her. She stood
straight, unbending in both posture and attitude as her voice dripped
disapproval. "Karen is an employee here and as such is subject to the
same rules as the rest of you. Now, Taffy, I suggest you get back to
the kitchen and help Erma clean up the dishes. I'm sure Karen has work
to do also."

She turned and walked away, leaving the girls in no doubt
that they had been reprimanded.

Karen was in the library scrutinizing the bookshelves and
making notes of titles and authors when the door opened and Mark came
in. He sounded relieved.

"Hi, there. I've been looking for you. We missed you at
lunch but I don't blame you for not joining us. Shane was in a foul
mood—hardly said two words and rushed off somewhere as soon
as we'd finished eating."

She was surprised. Shane had been happy and in good
spirits all morning. She couldn't imagine what had happened to upset
him, unless it had been her refusal to have lunch with him and Mark.
She instantly dismissed that thought as silly and returned Mark's
greeting. They talked about her work for a few minutes until he changed
the subject.

"Look, it's Saturday and you've worked all morning. Why
don't you take off and come with me? We'll go for a ride. How about
Fisherman's Wharf at Monterey? Ever been there?"

Karen was tempted; why not? Shane had told her he wouldn't
need her anymore today. She agreed, and a few minutes later they were
heading north on Seventeen Mile Drive in a brilliant yellow Corvette
that Mark had requisitioned from the four-car garage. The drive along
the bluffs was a stunning visual experience, and Karen insisted that
they stop to examine the famous Lone Cypress, a stunted tree that had
been tortured by the continuous winds into a grotesque shape but clung
tenaciously to nearly bare rock on the cliff. A little further on they
explored Cypress Point Lookout, where the sunny blue skies made it
possible to see Point Sur and Point Sur Lighthouse twenty miles to the
south.

At Pacific Grove they turned east off Seven-teen Mile
Drive onto Lighthouse Avenue and followed it to Fisherman's Wharf in
Monterey. At the entrance an organ grinder ground out carousel music
while his small gray monkey, dressed in a blue vest and hat, danced.
Enchanted, Karen knelt and held a quarter in her outstretched hand. The
monkey took it from her and kissed her on the cheek. His rough little
tongue licked her smooth skin. It cost Mark five quarters before he
could entice her away with the promise of a fresh shrimp cocktail.