The American Earl (12 page)

He nodded, unable to negotiate the curve in his thinking and drive toward the next coherent thought. “Yes, different. And she makes me very happy.”

“I guessed that when you didn't come back from Bermuda on schedule.”

“I've traveled and slept with other women,” he said with male defensiveness.

“You scheduled your vacations as if they were business trips. You never came back late.”

He sighed. “True.” His mind started working again, but nothing that came to him made any sense. “The thing is, she has her standards, her goals, and she's very sure of them.”

“Just as she should be,” Paula said emphatically.

He cast his assistant a dim glance. Whose side was she on anyway? “And I have my rules. They don't
mesh. I can't give her what she needs—a husband and a family. And she can't give me what I need.”

“Another lover? Is that what you need?” Paula asked patiently.

“No, not just another lover. I need a partner. Someone who stands on level ground with me, a woman who can share my business and my bed and make me equally happy in both settings.”

“A woman who loves you for who you are?” Paula asked.

“Of course, that goes without saying.”

“And what about you, Matthew? Would you also love her?”

Love.
As soon as she applied the word to his feelings, it chilled him. He couldn't answer her.

“Let me tell you something about yourself,” Paula said, picking up the black onyx paperweight from his desk. “You are a man who thinks he has to be the master of every situation. If you are the boss, you don't have to be a friend or a husband, or more than a temporary player in a sexual adventure. You don't even have to be a son to your father.”

He looked at her sharply, feeling trapped and enraged by her meddling. She'd set him up for a lecture that he didn't want to hear. But he couldn't help asking the leading question. “What does my father have to do with any of this?”

Paula rolled her eyes at him. “It's pretty easy to see the truth, if you pay attention to it. You left England when you were twenty-one and you haven't seen your father since. You push aside every opportunity for love and happiness because you're terrified the object of your love will do to you what your parents did to you long ago.”

He let the anger slip away and thought about that. Could it be so? “But Abby and I…we were absolutely open with each other. We cared for each other. She's important to me. I showed her that.”

“Did you?”

Well, he had wined and dined her at posh restaurants. He had taken her to romantic beaches. They had ridden in a carriage through the moonlight, and he'd asked her to stay with him and be his…
his what? His mistress?

“Have you done anything to show her how deeply you feel about her, anything that you wouldn't have done with another woman?” she asked.

There was the offer of a continuing relationship, but anything more would mean telling her he loved her and wanted to marry her…and that was impossible.

“I just hoped she'd know she was special. Apparently that's not enough.”

Paula touched the back of his hand. “To love someone doesn't mean you are guaranteed love in return.”

“I know. It just feels a hell of a lot better if it works both ways,” he said with a dry laugh.

“It's all about taking a chance. You take risks in business every day. Why not take the one risk that might change your whole life for the better, Matthew?”

He didn't hear her leave a moment later. He stood at the window, seeing only dots of white light across the city, outlining buildings, streets, the movement of cars in the streets below. He wished Abby were here to share the view with him. Maybe he'd tell her how
he really didn't hate his mother…he only wished he knew why she'd gone away.

To love someone doesn't mean you are guaranteed love in return.

It was true…his love for his mother, and even for his father, was still buried within him somewhere. It had never died. He had denied that love all of his life, and he was no happier for having done so. Wouldn't he be a fool to deny himself the chance of, just once in his lifetime, being loved back?

Turning abruptly, Matt reached for the telephone. He hit the speed dial button he'd programmed with Abby's number. It rang three times, then she picked up, and the sound of her voice sent ripples of warmth through him.

“Hi,” he said.

“Matt?”

“Yeah. I was just thinking, if you haven't already eaten, maybe we could use dinner to talk about…about the Johanson account.”

There was the slightest hesitation before she answered. “It's after work hours. I have plans for tonight.”

He gauged the level of tension in her voice. She wanted to see him as much as he wanted to see her, he was almost sure of it. “All right then, will you have dinner with me to talk about us?”

“The only
us
involves work, and I'm not working tonight.”

“Abby! This is insane. I need to see you and—”

“Good night, Matt. See you tomorrow at the office.” The line went dead.

He stared at the receiver in disbelief. No woman
had ever hung up on him! He hit redial. The phone rang six times, then was picked up.

“Don't do that again!” he growled.

“
I
didn't hang up on you the first time, but I will now if you don't stop harassing my roommate,” a deep female voice threatened.

“Dee? Put Abby on the phone. I know she's still there.”

“She doesn't want to speak to you or see you outside of the office,” she stated coolly.

He groaned. What could he do but hope Abby would eventually come to her senses? However, to change her view of him, he'd have to talk to her…and he couldn't very well do that at work with other people around.

In the days that followed, he tried to find an opportunity to talk to Abby. But it seemed that she was never alone. If Paula wasn't with her, one of the sales reps was meeting with her, or she was dashing out the door on errands she insisted were necessary to one or another of his deals.

Five days later, on a Friday night, he ran out of patience. He decided he wouldn't call, he would go directly to her apartment. Together, they would figure out what was to become of them. He would ask her to move in with him. To hell with office gossip. He would still give her the option of her own shop, or let her stay on and work with him…but none of this cold shoulder business. They would be lovers and if anyone didn't accept that, it was just too bad. There was something liberating about living the way he wanted to, not caring what others thought.

Abby would have her job and a long-term relationship. It would have to be enough. If she wanted to
have children…well, he'd see if he could even handle that. In the meantime, there should be at least some compromise. Right? He had to leave an escape hatch for himself. A back door, a tunnel to freedom if she lost interest in him or it turned out she had never really loved him. Above all, he wouldn't end up the one left behind. Not again.

A
t the sound of the knock on her door, Abby straightened her dress, ran fingers through her hair, and checked her lipstick in the mirror. He had called, and she was expecting him. The conversation they would have wasn't one she was looking forward to, but it would have to happen. It helped to know she looked as good as she possibly could before facing him.

But when Abby opened the door, the person standing on the other side wasn't who she'd expected. She fell back a step in surprise. “Matt?”

“I hope you don't mind my dropping by without calling.” He held out a bouquet of flowers to her. She stared numbly at them.

“I…well, they're lovely of course…but now isn't a good time.”

“It's now or never,” he said grimly, stepping into
her apartment. He crossed the living room and looked around, as if to find a handy vase. At last he laid the bouquet on the low, glass coffee table. “We need to talk. I believe we can come to a compromise on this issue.”

“This
issue?
” She quirked a brow at him. “You and I aren't participants in a business merger. We're people, with feelings and needs and…and right now,” she continued hastily, “I need you
to leave.
”

“No,” he said and sat down on her couch.

Abby looked nervously at the clock on her wall. If she didn't get him out of here fast, all hell was going to break loose in a matter of minutes.

“I'm expecting someone,” she said softly.

He stared up at her as if unable to translate her words from a foreign language. “I won't get in your way,” he said. “I'll just wait until you're finished with—”

She was shaking her head. “He'll be here any minute, and we—he and I—need to be alone to talk.”

She could see the reality of the moment sinking in, slowly, by increments. Matt's expression darkened. His hands, resting at his sides on her sofa, rolled into tight fists. When he spoke, his voice was low and tight. “You have a
date?
”

“Richard is coming over.”

“Richard,” he said dully. “Getting back with that loser isn't going to solve anything, Abby.”

“What we do or do not do is none of your business,” she said sharply. “Now I'm asking you to leave.”

“No,” he repeated with renewed emphasis. He sat deeper into the sofa cushions and gave her a stubborn smile.

Abby rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, now resigned to a confrontation between the two men who had had the most impact on her life. One she once had promised to marry; the other she had desperately wanted to marry.

Her mind whirled with options. She couldn't physically force Matt out of her apartment, and she wouldn't call the police on him. She glanced hastily again at the clock. She might try catching Richard on his cell phone and heading him off until she was able to convince Matt to leave.

The doorbell rang. Both Abby and Matt snapped around to stare at the door. Slowly, Matt leaned back in his seat, linking his wide fingers over one knee. He smiled in challenge at her. “Can't wait to meet your Richard. Aren't you going to let him in?”

She felt as if she were taking that last, long walk toward her own execution. Finding herself facing the door, hand on the knob, she stared down at her fingers as they shakily turned it. She looked up to see a stranger…maybe.

“Richard?”

“Like the beard?” He swooped down on her, looping an arm around her waist, hoisting her up to him and planting a sloppy kiss on her mouth. “Hey, you look gorgeous! Here, these are for you.”

She looked to her right at a big bunch of daisies. Her favorite flower…at least they had been until she'd met Matt. Now she was partial to hibiscus. Island hibiscus in tropical shades.

“They're…they're very nice, Richard.” She backed out of his embrace and chanced a quick glance at Matt. His face was stormy. He was glaring at the
other man as if Richard were an oncoming train. Matt's gaze swerved to Abby for an instant.

She looked away, blushing. “Richard, this is my boss, Matthew Smythe.”

His face lit with a smile. “Ah, so you're the one who stole my Abigail from me.” He chuckled. “Heard all about you!”

“You have?” Matt asked warily.

“Yes, of course, or rather I've read about you. The American Earl the tabloids call you, right?” He crossed the room to Matt and elbowed him playfully in the ribs. “Anyone ever tell you we don't have an aristocracy in this country?”

Matt grimaced with thin tolerance.

Abby stepped between them. “Matt was just leaving. We had an issue to discuss, but it's been resolved.”

“Great.” Richard stuck out his hand. “Happy to meet you, Matt. Treat my little Abby good on the job, won't you?”

Abby was seething.
His little Abby,
indeed. But she didn't correct him in front of Matt. If Richard's ludicrous possessiveness got Matt out of her apartment without a knock-down brawl, so much the better.

Matt stared down at the other man's offered hand, then away without shaking it. “Are you sure you want to do this, Abby?” he asked.

“I'm not doing anything,” she insisted. “I asked Richard over to talk, that's all.”

Matt looked at her, his eyes roaming her features, settling on her eyes. “I'm sorry I can't give you everything you want. But I know for certain,
he
can't either.” Spinning on his heel, Matt strode through the open door.

Abby stared after him until she felt a touch on her shoulder. “There's something more between you two than work, isn't there?”

She turned back to Richard, the man she had once thought she loved, and felt only sadness. “I'm very fond of Matt,” she murmured.

Hurt shone in his pale eyes, and bitterness seeped into his voice. “You only
think
you like him because of his money.”

“That's not so!” she gasped.

“I'd bet you it is. I'm just an ordinary guy, but the earl there is a millionaire, and you want the things he can give you.”

“That's not true!” she cried.

Richard's lip lifted at one corner in a snarl.

“You're using him, Abby. Admit it.”

All the anger, frustration and confusion of the week before filled her up and overflowed. She wanted to scream at him that she had no interest in Matthew Smythe's wealth, that she loved him for the wonderful man he was. But in the wretchedness of the moment, she wavered, questioning herself.

“Maybe I have used him—” her voice dropped to a whisper—“in a way.” Abby turned at the muffled sound of footsteps in the hall. They were retreating. Someone passing by on the way to the stairs, she thought vaguely. “I don't know anymore. He wanted to help me, and I let him.”

She was speaking of their business arrangement, but it was also true of their far more intimate relationship. He had ushered her into womanhood in the gentlest, most marvelous of ways.

Abby glanced at Richard.

His face was swollen and crimson with rage. “You
slept with him,” he accused. “We were engaged to be married and you wouldn't have sex with me, but you
slept
with your boss!”

“This is not something we're going to discuss, Richard,” she said, her heart thudding in her chest.

“You walked out on our wedding. That was your final statement to me, as far as I am concerned.”

He was breathing hard, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for a reasonable motive for her behavior…or maybe for something to heave at her. “I wasn't rich,” he bellowed, “so you saved yourself for someone who was! You…you little—”

“Get out!” Abby ordered. “Get out of my home.” She stepped toward him, her chin up, eyes blazing, forcing him to back away. He was coming perilously close to calling her a name she could never forgive him for.

Without another word, he stormed out the door, slamming it behind him. Abby collapsed on her couch, buried her face in her arms and wept. It had all gone so wrong. Richard had called nearly every night, and she had wanted to have one final heart-to-heart with him, to calmly explain that, whatever they might have had together, was now over. Her life had changed. Her dreams had grown since he'd known her. She had made a mistake by ever promising herself to him. She would have told him, as graciously as possible, that he had done them both a favor by walking out on the marriage, for they had never been a good match.

But as soon as Matt had shown up, she lost control of the situation. Sobbing into her arms, she gave herself up to a disappointment so devastating she knew she would never be the same.

 

Matt walked all night long, remembering the last time he had done this, in Bermuda. By morning, he couldn't remember where he'd been or how the hours had passed. He recalled stopping in a good many bars, but hadn't drunk all that much. Just stayed long enough to rest and warm up from the chilly night. Then he was off again.

He ended up downtown, across from the Art Institute, in front of a boutique with a trendy window display. Shuddering, he brought back the dark thoughts that had haunted him during the bleakest hours of his life. Hours that matched in pain the loss of his mother, so very long ago.

Now he had lost Abby.

The worst part of it was, he had lost her without ever really possessing her. He had thought that she might have fallen in love with him, but he'd learned otherwise that night. Unable to leave her with Richard Wooten, he had lingered outside her door. Not to intentionally eavesdrop on their conversation. He had wanted to make sure she was all right. Then he had heard from her own lips that she had used him. She had been attracted to his money and all it might mean to her dreams. That had crushed him. He had looked into her soul and believed she was as innocent of deception and as loving as any woman he'd ever known. Apparently he had been wrong.

He didn't stop by his apartment, just kept on walking to his office. Paula looked up with a smile that immediately dimmed when she got a good look at him. He had forgotten he'd asked her to come in that Saturday.

“What happened to you?” Standing up from her
desk, she came around to meet him. “Matt, are you all right?”

“Fine,” he mumbled, not breaking stride on his way past her into his office. He must look a grimy, rumpled sight. “I need coffee. And fruit if the deli downstairs is open.”

He closed the door behind him, pulled a spare suit and fresh shirt from the built-in wardrobe at one end of the room, and quickly washed up and changed in his private bathroom. A few minutes later, he sat down at his desk to consider a future without Abby.

Exciting things were happening again for Smythe International. In the days since his return from Bermuda, he had saved two at-risk accounts and been given an opportunity to buy out one of his competitors. Six months ago, that prospect would have sent adrenaline racing through his body. Today, he couldn't give a damn.

Paula let herself into his office. He looked up at her hopelessly.

“Care to tell me what happened last night? Looks like you've been drug through the streets.” She set a tray on the desk in front of him, poured hot coffee from a carafe. A bowl of fresh melon, mango and pineapple rested along with a muffin beside his cup.

“A disappointment,” he said, not wanting to show how much he hurt, while perversely hoping Paula would pry details from him. He longed for someone to agree with him that life was unfair and he'd been cruelly shortchanged.

“Does this involve Abby?” Paula asked quietly.

He looked up at her through eyes that burned from too much cigarette smoke and too little sleep.

“You're good at this.”

“I know,” she said a little smugly. “Two sons who've already had their share of woman trouble have trained me well. What did you do, Matthew?”

“What did
I
do?” He was astonished. “I didn't do a bloody thing! I thought Abby was…might have been—” He shook his head, unable to say the words.

“In love with you?”

“Well, all right, yes. I thought she was in love with me. In Bermuda, it certainly seemed so and when we came back to Chicago, it was clear she expected some kind of commitment from me. I did the best I could for her.”

“You did your best?” Paula asked, her look doubtful as she pulled up a chair across the desk from him.

“What does that mean, Matthew?”

“Damn it, I told her I couldn't work with her while she was my mistress, so I offered her a shop of her own and a luxury condo.”

Paula tipped her head to one side as if giving this serious thought. “Amazing. And she didn't appreciate your gracious offer?”

“Blew me off. She's going back to her fiancé.”

“Really.”

He was loosening up now. He felt he could spill it all out—the frustrations, the confusion, the yearning to be with Abby in the same moment that he ached inside, knowing she'd used him. He told Paula everything.

After a few minutes, she said. “Abby called me this morning.”

His eyes narrowed. “She did?”

Paula nodded. “That young man of hers? She had asked him to meet her so that she could make him
understand that they wouldn't be getting back together. Ever.”

“She told you this?” He wondered how much more Abby had confided in his executive assistant.

“What else?”

Paula shook her head. “Abby has confided in me. It's not right that I spill it all out to you, Matt. She's a very special woman, and I like her a lot. I don't want to see her hurt anymore than I want to see you hurt.”

“What about her using me for my money?” he demanded. “She admitted it.”

Paula laughed softly. “If you believe she ever deceived you or cared one bit about your millions, you just don't know her.”

Paula reached out and laid her hand over his on the desktop. He felt no comfort, only a vicious pinching sensation in his chest. Still, as he closed his eyes and accepted her sympathy, he understood all that was in Paula's touch. If he'd had a mother, she couldn't have done a better job in a crisis.