The Butler's Daughter (12 page)

He reached into his coat pocket for her wedding rings, which she'd given him for safekeeping when they'd left for the funeral this morning. Even if she felt he was once again breaching her trust by insisting on this visit with her father, he was listening to his gut on this one. He'd never had a chance to say goodbye to his mother. He wouldn't deny Juliana this chance with her father.

He took her left hand and slid the rings over the third
finger, more solemnly aware than yesterday of the commitment he'd undertaken when he'd claimed this woman as his wife.

 

T
HE EXTENT OF HER
father's injuries hit Juliana hard. It was all she could do to keep the sharp cry of anguish from her lips. She gripped Hunter's hand in silent communication to steady herself as she approached the bed.

Her father, who'd always possessed an authoritative bearing, lay motionless in the bed, garish bruises mottling his face, a turban of bandages circling his head. There were red areas on his arms and neck resembling a sunburn. And the tubes! Some sort of tube protruded from his chest. Another tube helped him breathe and a feeding tube had been inserted in his nostril.

Only when she reached the side of the bed could she detect the damage from the stroke on her father's poor battered body. The features on the right side of his face drooped.

Releasing her grip on Hunter, Juliana slipped her hand gently under her father's, careful not to cause him further discomfort by touching any of the burns.

“Papa, I'm here,” she said softly, seeking an undamaged spot on his face to kiss him. Tears welled in her chest as if caught in a dam. “I'm here with you.”

She felt a gentle supportive squeeze on her shoulders. “I'll be right outside,” Hunter told her. His eyes gleamed with warmth and moisture as he brushed a kiss on her cheek. “You need your privacy.”

Juliana looked at her husband and nodded, her throat too choked to express the love and the appreciation she felt for his being here with her. Hunter had been right. As apprehensive as she was about her father's reaction to her visit, she could see now that her father had needed her here as much as she'd needed to see him. She had so much to say.
The ICU nurse had told her that even though her father was in a coma, he could still hear what was being said to him.

She prayed that was true. Summoning her courage, she said the words she should have said to her father years ago, “Papa, I'm very angry with you….”

 

“T
HERE WAS NO BOMB
.”

Investigator Bradshaw's brisk voice scraped over the phone line. “But we got some prints off the purse. We'll run them through the system and see if we pick up anything.”

“Good. Better safe than sorry.” Holding his cell phone to his ear, Hunter paced the front walkway outside the hospital. Relief bounded through him that the scare earlier over Juliana's missing purse had been just that—a scare.

“How's the butler?” Bradshaw asked. “Any chance we're going to get any information out of him in the near future?”

Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose. Smoke from a cigarette butt dropped on the pavement nearby curled up into the chilly September night. “He's still in a coma. The doctors aren't sure how extensive the damage is from the stroke. It's definitely wait-and-see. What's the story with Sable Holden? Did you get anything out of her?”

“She insists the ladies' room downstairs was crowded and she decided to try upstairs. There was nothing in her purse to indicate she'd been helping herself to a few souvenirs.”

“Annette was upstairs at the time—that could have been Sable's motivation for being there. Sable might have changed her mind when she saw the bodyguards.”

“I've got ten witnesses who'll swear Sable was seated at a dining table at a family party at midnight on Friday—” Investigator Bradshaw broke off abruptly. “Hold on a sec.”

Hunter waited impatiently, intending to point out to the BCI investigator that Sable could have put her hands under the table and called the pager that detonated the bomb with a cell phone.

Bradshaw came back on the line, excitement rising in his voice. “We've just been given the lead we've been waiting for on the pager. The call to the pager that set off the bomb was made from a pay phone in lower Manhattan.”

From the financial district, no doubt, Hunter thought.

“The pager was bought a month ago by a man named Robert Lance in Soho. Only one call ever made to the number. He doesn't have a record. Does the name ring any bells?”

“No. But he could be the person who delivered the flowers. Maybe he made the call, too.”

“We're on our way to pick him up. I'll keep you posted.” Bradshaw disconnected the call.

Hunter looked up into the night sky that was blurred by the lights of the hospital compound and hoped this lead would break the case wide-open.

 

S
EEING
J
ULIANA'S HEAD
bowed over her father's comatose body when he returned to the ICU made Hunter feel helpless and frustrated and willing to do just about anything to ease some of the pain she was going through.

“It's time to go.”

Juliana lifted her head and he saw the silvery traces of tears on her cheeks. Her eyes were red. Her defenses were down, bringing all his protective instincts roaring to the surface. He slipped an arm around her waist and helped her stand. He'd tell her about the new lead as soon as they were someplace private. Now, she needed some food. She looked about ready to keel over.

Once outside the hospital the cold air seemed to revive
her a bit, bringing color to her cheeks. Hunter told her that the scare with her cell phone had been a false alarm. She seemed to be barely listening as he explained that the police had lifted some fingerprints from her purse and hoped to come up with something positive. But hope lit up her eyes when he told her the troopers had traced the pager to a Robert Lance.

“The name Robert Lance doesn't sound familiar to me, either. I'm sure he wasn't on the wedding guest list.”

“He could be a hired goon. Maybe an explosives expert. We'll know soon enough. The state police will be bringing him in for questioning.”

She gripped the lapels of Hunter's wool suit jacket as if a gust of wind might carry her off. “Thank God! Maybe there will be an end to this nightmare. You've no idea how difficult it was at the funeral today—watching people, wondering if they were up to no good.”

Hunter listened intently as she told him about Kendrick Dwyer's huddled conversation with Lexi's secretary at the church. “For all I know they were discussing details of the service, but Stacey asked me questions about Cort later—how he was doing, if I had pictures. Even Sarah Younge cornered me in the ladies' room and asked if the search would continue for Riana. She said she wanted to volunteer as a spokesperson for the search.”

“What'd you tell her?”

“That of course it would continue. And she said something that might explain the nature of the private meetings between Ross and her husband. Apparently Sarah and David have been having some trouble with their oldest son. Ross was strongly encouraging David to take a month off to be with his family.” Juliana's voice caught. “Sarah said Ross had convinced David that family was the most important thing a man had.”

Hunter silently agreed. “I'll check it out. You did well today. I know it couldn't have been easy when you had your own grief to deal with.”

A crooked smile touched her lips. “Well, I didn't tell you everything. Gord Nevins, the household manager, asked if he could visit my father. They've been friends for twenty years. I was hoping that under the circumstances you'd consider allowing Gord to visit. I refuse to consider him a threat to my father's well-being.”

Hunter cupped her jaw, stroking the fine perfection of her skin. She was at her most beautiful when she was displaying her unwavering loyalty to the people she cared about. And Hunter couldn't refuse her, not when she was so terribly torn between her duty to Cort and her love for her father. Odd, he didn't trust easily, but he was beginning to trust his wife's instincts.

“Consider it done,” he said.

“Thank you,” she breathed. It was all Hunter could do to resist the temptation to kiss her. “I'll feel better knowing he's being visited by someone he knows.”

Their hired car pulled up to the hospital entrance. Hunter kept a firm arm around her as they settled into the comfortable leather seat. Even though the world seemed to be in a shambles around him, an unexpected contentment settled deep in his soul when Juliana pillowed her head against his shoulder.

He hoped her visit with her father would bring her peace. Maybe, who knew, the visit from his daughter would give Goodhew the will to survive.

Hunter instructed the driver to take them to the nearest take-out restaurant where they ordered grilled chicken sandwiches and fries. Juliana only managed to eat half her sandwich and a few of the fries in the short drive to the field where the chopper would be landing.

In spite of how drained he knew she was, a smile transformed her face as she moved to Cort. “There's my pumpkin. Oh, I've missed you sunshine! Were you a good boy?” She shot an anxious glance at the two bodyguards who'd been protecting him. “He didn't cry, did he?” she shouted over the whirling of the chopper blades.

“Not more than a whimper, ma'am,” the self-assured black man with a jaw like an ice breaker told her with a grin.

“When did you last feed him?”

“At six, just as we were told. He drank the whole bottle and burped half of it on my lap.”

“Sorry, Del. With all your nieces and nephews I thought you'd be wise to that trick,” Hunter shouted, making sure Juliana was buckled into her seat.

“No sweat, boss. Ty and me can handle that kind of action.”

Hunter felt Del's scrutiny as Juliana fussed over the baby, tucking a blanket more securely around him. Her love for the baby was evident in the tone of her voice and her tender smile.

As the chopper lifted off the ground, Hunter wondered what he'd found in this amazing woman.

 

F
ROM THE SKY AT NIGHT
, the St. Lawrence River was an unfurled bolt of fabric with pinpoints of light scattered across it like diamonds on an evening gown. Juliana thought it seemed wonderfully remote. And beautiful.

“There are more lights in the summer,” Hunter told her, leaning over Cort's car seat between them to point out her window. Juliana was conscious of the scent and heat of Hunter's body, beckoning her to lean into his arm, absorb his strength. “We're getting into the off season. Most of the summer homes are closed up by the Canadian Thanks
giving in October. The river doesn't freeze up until December usually. See the darker shadows in the river? Those are islands. This area is called Thousand Islands, although there's actually one thousand eight hundred and sixty-four islands. Two-thirds of the islands are in Canada. In the daylight you can see white stone markers in the water that delineate the international boundary.”

One thousand eight hundred and sixty-four islands sounded like an ideal hiding spot from a killer, Juliana thought, glancing at the rough-hewn bodyguards on the bench facing them. “Where's your island?” she asked Hunter.

“Out in the middle of the channel past Million Dollar Row. My grandfather—he built the house for my grandmother—was never one for crowds, which is good because we're off the charter boat tour route. We're nearly there. See the towers?”

She gaped. In the distance a castle sat like an illuminated jewel, its stone towers jutting up from a dark ring of trees.

She'd grown up in grandeur. The Collingwood estate was unparalleled. But Hunter lived in a castle. A real castle.

It was only one of several magnificent buildings on the island. Juliana noticed a tennis court, docks, an extensive garden and landing pads for two helicopters.

The chopper touched down on an empty pad. Hunter climbed out first, carrying Cort in his car seat. Then he offered a hand to Juliana to help her descend.

A shiver whispered up her arm as he brought her hand to his lips and pressed a warm kiss on the back of it. His voice rumbled with gruff emotion over the slowing whine of the chopper blades. “Welcome home, Cinderella.”

The spectacular cabinetry and warmth of the foyer took Juliana's breath away. A massive staircase wrapped up the intricately molded paneled walls for four or five stories to a stained-glass dome.

A face appeared just for an instant over a railing on the second floor. “Hunter, you're home!”

Seconds later a slender brunette in tan corduroys and a leaf-motif sweater tread lightly down the carpeted staircase. She slowed as her gaze landed on Juliana and the baby. “Oh!”

Though she was emotionally and physically exhausted, Juliana felt a smile forming on her lips as she returned the woman's interested gaze. Was this Hunter's sister?

She'd always wanted a sister.

Tucking her sleek bobbed hair behind her ears, the woman continued down the last few steps at a more sedate pace. “You've brought guests. What a surprise.” She held out her hand as she reached the mosaic-tiled main floor.

Curiosity sparkled in blue eyes that were a shade lighter than Hunter's. “Welcome to FairIsle. How do you do? I'm Brook Sinclair, Hunter's
much
younger sister.”

Hunter's shielding hand settled at the small of Juliana's
back. “Brook, I'd like you to meet my wife, Juliana. And this is my son, Cortland.”

“Your son? Your wife?” Brook's smile slipped from her face, then reappeared as her eyes darted to her brother's face. “Oh, my God, you're not joking, are you? Congratulations!”

Her cool fingers warmly clasped Juliana's hand. “My brother has a lot of explaining to do, keeping a secret like this from me. Not even a word of warning so I could prepare a special welcome.” She beamed at Juliana. “But any wife of Hunter's is a dear friend of mine.”

Juliana decided then and there that she would like Brook very much. “I'm pleased to meet you. I've heard so much about you and your boys. I'm looking forward to meeting them, too.”

Brook gave her brother a congratulatory peck on the cheek, causing him to turn an interesting shade of crimson. Juliana had never thought Hunter could look embarrassed.

“The boys have been in bed for hours,” his sister prattled excitedly. “The beginning of school is always exhausting. But they'll be thrilled to wake up and find their favorite uncle is home—with a new cousin. May I hold my new nephew? He looks like an angel, blond like you, Juliana. How old is he? How did you come up with the name? Is it a family name?”

Cort immediately seized a lock of Brook's hair and gave her a beauteous smile. “Urgh!”

Brook pelted them with questions as Hunter directed the butler to bring their bags upstairs and asked for coffee to be brought into the drawing room. Juliana did her best to answer her new sister-in-law's questions as Brook carried Cort into a comfortable book-lined room with huge picture windows. The carved woodwork and the plaster ceilings were magnificent, but Juliana immediately fell in love with
the time-worn furniture, the checker table near the fireplace, the shells and pebbles lining the windowsill and the walkie-talkie jammed between the cushions of the antique sofa. This room had been used and loved and lived in for decades. Cort would be happy growing up here.

She glanced up at Hunter, catching him watching her intently as if trying to gauge her reaction. This was another glimpse of her husband she hadn't anticipated. This was his home, the place where he was most comfortable. Was he wondering how she would fit in here?

Juliana was wondering, too. Feeling Brook's watchful eyes on them, she sat beside him on the sofa and laid her hand on his hard, muscled thigh.

Hunter covered her hand with his, his thumb massaging her palm.

Juliana caught her lower lip between her teeth as she felt the stirring effects of his caress create an ache deep inside her. How on earth could just this slight touch make her breasts feel heavy and sore?

She shifted her thigh against the hard length of him, not sure if she wanted him to stop this erotic torture. Telling herself that this was an act he was putting on for his sister's benefit failed miserably at dampening her response.

Brook kissed one of Cort's tiny hands. “I want to know everything. How you met. How old this little guy is. And when you got married. I don't remember receiving an invitation.”

“We got married yesterday as a matter of fact,” Hunter explained, giving her an anecdotal account of the first-meet story they had concocted.

Juliana attempted to add in the appropriate details, but the seductive play of Hunter's thumb on her palm, circling, stroking, kneading her fingers, was far too hypnotic. Her body clenched in tandem with the rhythm he set.

Her breasts ached for the same caresses.

She was ready to jump out of her skin by the time Lars, the butler, who looked as if he could win a gold medal in an Olympic triathlon, brought in a tray and laid it on the coffee table.

To Juliana's dismay, Hunter's ministrations abruptly ceased as Brook served the coffee like an experienced hostess and mother, expertly juggling the baby, cups and dessert plates.

Juliana drank the coffee, which was strong and delicious, and ate a slice of the lemon-blueberry pound cake, her mind struggling to grasp a few of the facts that Brook was telling her about the history of the house.

With one hundred and two rooms, she and Hunter would surely have their own suites. Their own space. They'd be able to maintain the relationship they'd agreed upon.

Even as she repeated this to herself like a mantra, Hunter set down his coffee cup. “Thank you for your warm reception, Brook. If you'll excuse us, I'd hoped to romance my wife on our first night home.”

Juliana felt her body zing with heat and her knees start to quiver. “Promises, promises,” she said lightly, setting down her own cup.

Hunter shot her a wolfish gaze that made her throat constrict. Dear heaven, if she didn't know better, if she didn't know
him,
she'd think he meant every heated word.

Brook looked amused. “I can take a hint.” She reluctantly handed the baby to Hunter, then gave Juliana a sisterly hug. “Go easy on him. What he knows about marriage would fit onto the head of a pin. But he'll stick with you through thick and thin, which is more than I can say for my three husbands.”

Hunter scowled at his sister. “Thanks, Brook. Don't you have a hotel chain to run?”

“As a matter of fact I do. No thanks to you.” With a cocky salute to her brother, Brook sauntered out of the drawing room.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Juliana tilted her head to one side and eyed her husband appraisingly. One of Cort's tiny hands explored the contours of Hunter's chin, while the other patted the column of his strong neck. “She didn't tell me anything I didn't already know.”

He raised an arrogant brow. “How reassuring.” Juliana couldn't tell if he was annoyed or amused, he hid his emotions so well. But her mouth went dry as a wry smile touched his lips and a marked huskiness entered his voice. “It's been a long day. Let's get our son to bed.”

Our son. Warmth shimmered over her skin. Standing in the living room with Cort battened protectively in Hunter's arms, Juliana saw all she wanted in her future displayed before her. This strong noble man and this adorable little baby.

With a small sigh of gratitude, she let Hunter guide her toward the stairs, goose bumps raising on her arms when his hand grazed the small of her back. She could only imagine how many nights they would climb the stairs together, only to part and go to separate rooms and separate beds. She wouldn't think about that now. At least they'd all be safe.

“I'm afraid my mother's rooms haven't been used in a long time. They'll need a good cleaning before you can move in. I've asked the staff to set up a crib for Cort in my sitting room. We'll make do for tonight in my room and sort the rest out in the morning. Brook might think it odd if I gave you a guest room.”

The edge in his tone rubbed the glow off her mood. It was obvious he was trying to establish distance between
them. Setting the boundaries. “Of course. I'm so tired, I don't care where I sleep.”

Liar.

Her heart was already racing, her fingers and toes already curling at the prospect of sharing a bed with him. She hadn't forgotten what he looked like with his shirt off. She doubted any woman could.

On the north wing of the second floor, Hunter opened a pair of dark paneled doors to a room that was rich and masculine. William Morris area rugs scattered over the oak floors added color and interest to the paneled walls and the massive wood pieces. He'd probably hate it if she told him how much she saw of his personality in the fish and the acorns carved into the bedposts and the telescope placed in the bow window of the sitting room formed by one of the towers.

He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to her. “I'll get Cort settled for the night. You call the hospital and check on your father. Then have a bath. Your clothes are in your dressing room through that connecting door.”

Juliana couldn't argue with him, not when the baby seemed perfectly trusting of Hunter's care. She tousled Cort's corn-silk hair and kissed his warm silky cheek, every nerve in her being attuned to the bulk and the strength of the man holding her precious charge. “Good night, pumpkin. Don't forget to give him his antibiotics.”

Cort didn't look the least bit upset or anxious as Hunter carried him into his dressing room. The little traitor.

No, he wasn't a traitor.

He recognized a pair of arms he could trust.

She kicked off her shoes, listening for a moment to the deep rumble of Hunter's voice and Cort's giggles as the diaper tape was ripped open.

With a small sigh, Juliana punched in the hospital's number. Unfortunately, the nurse informed her, there was still no change in her father's condition.

She moved around the room, adding Cort's favorite blanket to the crib and lowering the Roman blinds over the windows in the sitting room so he wouldn't wake at the crack of dawn.

Her dressing room was cavernous and stripped bare of any form of decoration, the paneled woodwork painted a dreary shade of goldenrod that she didn't care for. Her clothes—all neatly hung or folded and placed on the shelves—took up only a small portion of the available space. She saw her purse on a shelf. A quick check revealed her wallet, her ID and her gun were present and accounted for.

She pulled the new midnight-blue nightgown and the matching robe she'd bought Saturday from their hangers and entered the bathroom. Someone had gone to the trouble of preparing the room for her. The mirrors sparkled. Pillar candles on iron stands ringed the old-fashioned claw-foot tub and a basket of toiletries was set out for her use.

Juliana filled the tub with steaming hot water, adding a generous dollop of bath oil and a sprinkling of the dried herbs and flowers from a crystal jar. Then she lit the candles, dropped her clothes to the white tile floor and sank into a warm scented heaven that made her body limp at the luxury. The only thing that could make it better was sharing it with Hunter.

An ache she'd never experienced for any other man settled between her thighs. Someday she'd like to see his beautiful chest—and the rest of him—sluiced with water.

Still, she'd settle for the joy of waking up beside him and a glimpse of watching him sleep.

Twenty minutes later, her muscles blessedly free of ten
sion and her toes wrinkled into prunes, she entered Hunter's bedroom. The lights were dimmed and he was gently laying Cort in the crib. A fierce longing gripped Juliana as she stared at them from across the room.

Hunter looked up and Juliana's breath evaporated from her lungs at the sudden flare of hunger in his eyes.

Her nipples beaded with primitive awareness. Her satin nightgown and robe felt too thin. Too revealing. The thought that Hunter found her attractive, desired her, was both alarming and thrilling.

But in the blink of an eye, the hunger she'd seen was gone and his face grew tight. Masklike. He didn't glance at her as he drew the moss-green velvet draperies along the wooden rod that offered the sitting room privacy from the sleeping area.

Juliana's heart slammed like a fist against the vulnerable wall of her feelings. She didn't need a translator to interpret his behavior.

It was as plain as the granite set to his jaw that he didn't want to desire her. The stripped walls of her dressing room were evidence that Hunter didn't want any woman to make a lasting mark on his life.

She turned her back on him and fumbled with the thin satin ties of her robe. She wanted to climb into bed, close her eyes and put an end to this horrible day before she made a fool of herself. All the wishful thinking in the world wouldn't turn their marriage into the passionate relationship Ross and Lexi had shared.

 

A
NY THOUGHTS
H
UNTER'D
had that he could make it through this night unscathed fled when he looked across the room and saw Juliana standing near his bed in a midnight-blue nightgown that made her skin glow like cultured
pearls. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders like spun gold.

He'd never broken a contract in his life. An honorable man would turn away, leave the room.

He'd buried his best friend today. He wanted solace with the one person who would weep with him.

Juliana's robe slipped off her shoulders. The skimpy satin nightgown she wore beneath it was little more than two tiny straps of satin over her shoulders and a meager amount of fabric that dipped low down her back and barely covered the lush curve of her bottom.

God, she was so beautiful. So graceful. He'd never been so fascinated, so spellbound by a woman's back—the line of her neck, the angles of her shoulder blades, the hollow of her spine and the twin dimples just above her buttocks. He wanted to chart those dips and angles with his fingers and his lips and claim them as his own.

She climbed into his bed, on his side, no less. Without giving him a second glance, she pulled the covers up over her shoulder and lay silently.