The Butler's Daughter (14 page)

“What has you up at the crack of dawn?” he asked mildly, noting her rumpled hair and chenille bathrobe and slippers.

She closed the door and jammed her slender hands into the pockets of her robe. “You have to ask? You, my confirmed bachelor brother, waltz in here with a wife and a five-month-old baby without giving me any notice. What's going on?”

He averted his gaze. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Liar.” She sat down in the chair opposite his desk. “Are you sure the baby is yours?”

Hunter's gaze leaped sharply back to his sister's “don't try to pull one over on me” expression, the one she used with mediocre success on her ex-husbands and her hellion sons. It didn't work any better on him. “I think you know me better than that.”

“I thought I did, but then I never anticipated you behaving this impetuously, either.” She cracked a self-deprecating smile. “That's usually my department. Are you in love with her?”

Her question hovered in the air.

Was he?

Hunter shifted the papers on his desk to hide his irritation. He knew Brook would sit there doing her sisterly duty until he gave her an answer or his nephews brought the house crashing down around their ears. “Brook, let me assure you that my decision to marry was neither impetuous nor hasty.”

Now she looked offended. “You mean, unlike my marriages?”

His lips tightened. “I didn't say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I'm saying, my nosy sister, that Juliana is the most courageous woman I've ever met. And far more than I deserve. Now make yourself scarce, I have work to do.”

Brook sighed and rose to her feet. “You know, it took me three marriages and two years of therapy to realize I had a problem saying, ‘I love you.' I hope you don't suffer from the same affliction.”

Hunter crumpled a report on his desk after she'd gone. He appreciated Brook's concern, but she didn't know what she was talking about.

 

J
ULIANA SHOULDN'T HAVE
been surprised to wake up and find herself alone in Hunter's bed. Still, it hurt.

She touched the pillow beside her that bore the indentation of his head, feeling uncertain and more than a little scared. If she hadn't already admitted her feelings for Hunter to herself, her body now radiated them.

She
loved
him. Loved his steely strength and his uncompromising determination to protect Cort at all costs. Loved the little displays of thoughtfulness that he tried so hard to hide. She'd always be grateful to him for forcing her to visit her father.

And she'd never forget the way he'd made love to her last night. As a wedding planner, she'd naively thought lovemaking was all about creating a romantic mood, creating just the right setting with flowers and soft music and candles. What she'd shared with Hunter had been so emotional and passionate she was still flushed and trembling from the wonder of it. No wonder newlyweds made love two, three times a day!

She laid her head on Hunter's pillow. Last night had given her hope that he might return her feelings. She'd seen the desire in his eyes.

But you never knew with men. Men desired and took what they wanted to fill their hungers—especially rich men. Ross had been like that with his female conquests until he'd met Lexi. And Hunter had made it plain that there wouldn't be a physical side to their marriage. A shadow crossed over her heart. Would he blame her for what happened last night? Think she was trying to seduce him for his money? Would he send her packing?

Anguish fought with anger inside her.

She was
not
leaving Cort.

As though sensing he was the subject of her thoughts, Cort gave a startled little cry. He sounded confused that he'd woken up in strange surroundings.

“I'm coming, baby,” she said, reluctantly leaving the warmth of the bed. She straightened her nightgown, her face burning with erotic images of Hunter's lovemaking and tied her robe around her. Then hurried to the sitting room.

“Good morning, pumpkin.”

Cort immediately brightened and lifted his arms to her, his cheeks warm and pink from sleep.

Juliana scooped him up and nuzzled his cheek, his sweet baby scent working its calming magic on her. One by one, she raised the roman blinds in the tower sitting room, letting in the light of day.

“Oh, my,” she breathed, gazing out at the view. She'd landed in paradise. The river spread out around FairIsle as far as her eye could see—a moving, shimmering carpet patterned with islands in varying shapes and sizes. Some populated with grand mansions or modest summer cottages, others scarcely more than a handful of evergreens rooted to massive outcroppings of granite.

Looking down, she could see a fountain splashing in the center of the formal rose garden. And flower beds lining a path to an ivy-covered building that might be a greenhouse. She'd always wanted a garden to tend.

She kissed Cort's temple, wondering if Lexi had felt this overwhelmed when Ross had brought her to the Collingwood estate for the first time. Even though she'd lived around luxury all her life, Juliana had always been aware that it didn't belong to her. Lexi hadn't grown up in luxury, but she'd walked into Ross's world as if she were entitled to it. If she'd been overwhelmed, she hadn't let it show.

Juliana decided she wouldn't, either.

She'd change the baby and give him his morning bottle, then have a quick shower and find Hunter. She couldn't put off facing him. They needed to talk about last night.

The house was even lovelier in the daylight than it had been last night. The vibrant reds, blues and greens of the stained-glass dome over the foyer cast streamers of colored light onto the mosaic-tiled floor. Cort tried to capture the beams of light in his hands as they descended to the main floor.

The house was curiously quiet. She doubted the family had breakfast in the formal dining room. Surely there was a breakfast or morning room. If Hunter hadn't eaten yet, she'd take a tray to him, wherever he was.

She headed for the kitchen, always the best source of information in the workings of a fine home like this. She'd only been introduced to Lars, the Olympiad athlete butler last night.

She pushed a paneled swinging door and found herself in a spacious kitchen with an immense black granite-topped island in its center. The woodwork and custom cabinets were painted a lemony yellow. Terra-cotta pots planted with herbs stood in front of French doors that looked out over a terrace. The cook was monitoring several pots and pans on the commercial range.

At least half a dozen people, the staff, she presumed, were seated at an antique farmhouse table enjoying coffee
and cinnamon rolls and gossiping about Hunter's sudden marriage.

A sudden hush fell over the kitchen as Lars scraped back his chair and rose, laying his napkin on the table. “Mrs. Sinclair.”

Telling herself to behave as Lexi would, Juliana approached the table, smiling. “Good morning, Lars. Please, call me Juliana. I'm so happy to meet all of you.”

Lars made introductions. She greeted the maids, the head gardener, the maintenance engineer, the boatman, the cook and the friendly red-cheeked nanny named Prudy.

“Have I missed meeting Brook's sons?” Juliana asked.

“Mackensie is off to school already,” Prudy replied, tweaking Cort's toes with a mischievous smile. “And Parrish has play group on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Brook dropped them both off on her way in to work. The chopper takes her to the head office of the Clairmont Hotels in Syracuse. Shall I prepare a bottle for this young man?”

“Please do.” She looked to Lars. “Has my husband already eaten this morning?”

“Not yet.”

Juliana enlisted the staff's cooperation in stealing a few minutes alone with her husband. The cook prepared a tray loaded with freshly sliced fruit, cinnamon rolls, a carafe of coffee and glasses of orange juice. Prudy had volunteered to give Cort his morning dose of antibiotics and was feeding him a bottle and fawning over his sweet disposition and his fine long lashes. Lars informed her that Brook used the first floor study as her home office and that Hunter conducted his affairs from an office on the third floor.

The butler led the way upstairs, carrying the tray. Juliana's heart knocked in tandem with her knees and her palms grew moist. She hoped she wasn't making a mistake. But she couldn't very well change her mind in front of
Lars. It might be spread all over the kitchen within a few minutes.

Lars punched a code into a keypad before a closed door on the third floor, but Juliana stopped him from knocking. She wanted an unshielded glimpse of Hunter's face. “I'll take it from here, thank you.”

His expression clearly suggested he didn't like the idea of her entering Hunter's domain unannounced.

“It's quite all right. I'm well aware of the sensitive nature of his work. We don't have any secrets from one another.”

That seemed to satisfy him. “Very well. I'll be available to give you a tour of the house at your convenience. There are several sets of furniture in the guest bedrooms that you could choose from to appoint your suite until you've had time to redecorate it according to your tastes. Enjoy your breakfast.”

Juliana waited until he had reached the second floor landing before she quietly opened the heavy, steel-reinforced door. Taking her cue from Brook's attire last night, she'd dressed casually this morning in slacks and a blouse.

Hunter's back was to her. His dark head bent in concentration. Her stomach clenched. Desire welled in her to encourage him with a stroke of her hand or a squeeze to his muscled shoulder. He was working on the computer, the sleeves of his navy sweater shoved up to just below his elbows. Unlike the rest of the house, the furniture here was sleek and modern, in keeping with the bank of televisions and other high-tech equipment that Juliana didn't recognize.

She set the tray down on a coffee table in front of a black leather sofa.

Hunter swiveled around in his office chair. “Is Juliana
awake—” His voice broke off abruptly when he noticed her. “Oh, hi.”

Hi? For a brief instant, Juliana rejoiced in the narrowing of his azure eyes on her like the lens of a camera sharpening into focus and his obvious discomposure. Hunter, with his formal education, was not the kind of man who said hi.

Confidence glowed in her like a lit candle as she remembered the way he'd pulled her into the shelter of his arms after they'd made love. Maybe after last night, he was one step closer to trusting her. “As you can see, I'm fully awake. I brought you breakfast.”

“I didn't hear you knock.”

She bristled at the subtle reprimand in his tone and the rapid alignment of his features into a cold impenetrable wall. Her confidence waffled and was in immediate danger of being snuffed out. He was pushing her away again. Distancing himself.

Well, she wasn't going to make it easy for him. She lifted a crystal tumbler of orange juice from the tray and held it out to him, so that he'd have to come to her to get it. “I didn't knock,” she said with mettle in her tone, “because I'm your wife. I thought we should discuss what happened last night.” She held up a hand to stop him from interrupting. “Don't worry, I'm not going to get hysterical or blackmail you because we shared more than your last name for a few minutes.” Her body simmered with the remembered warmth of his touches. “I've had sex before. Several times, in fact.”

Somehow, Hunter wasn't the least bit comforted by the knowledge that Juliana had been intimate with other men, or her willingness to dismiss the issue so lightly. He'd been with other women. But none of those experiences had equaled what he'd felt when he'd held her in his arms.

His mouth unhinged, then snapped shut like a steel trap.

He was damned if he said anything. Damned if he didn't. He'd never forgive himself for giving in to the emotion of the moment. For letting himself be vulnerable to her.

Even now he was experiencing difficulty resisting how perfectly at ease—and very, very sexy—she looked standing in front of the black leather sofa in tailored plaid slacks and a copper-hued silk blouse. Only four primly placed buttons stood between him and the remembered delights of her cleavage. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail and her face was devoid of makeup with the exception of a trace of gloss on her lips. She'd braved the lion in his den, entering unannounced. He had to give her credit for that.

Reluctantly he rose from his desk and took the proffered glass of juice from her hand.

It was a serious error in judgment. She'd washed her hair again this morning. The scent of apple blossoms was back.

He paced back to his desk, contemplating dangerous thoughts of easing her onto the sofa and releasing those buttons one by one in the full light of day. “Be that as it may,” he said rigidly, “I owe you an apology for breaking the terms of our agreement.”

Her determined little chin lifted gracefully. She even smiled.
Smiled.
Though he detected a shadow behind it.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I had a nightmare, you comforted me and one thing led to another. This last week has been difficult for both of us.”

He told himself he was a stronger man, more disciplined than his father. He wouldn't put himself at the mercy of emotions that couldn't be controlled. “It was a breach of trust. I assure you it won't happen again. I'm sure you agree that it would be best if we didn't overstep certain boundaries in future?”

Her mahogany eyes swirled like shifting pools, making it impossible for him to decipher her thoughts. Was she relieved? Disappointed?

He hated the weakness in him that made him care.

“Please don't give it another thought. Roll?” She passed him a plate that held one of the cook's legendary cinnamon rolls. “I'll see to it that my suite is prepared today.” She nabbed a wedge of cantaloupe and a cinnamon roll from the tray with a linen napkin and took a bite of the roll as she headed to the door. “I know you're busy, so I'll let you get back to work.”

He had the uncomfortable feeling she'd just dusted her fingers of him. “Wait. How's your father this morning?”

He could see her squaring her shoulders, taking a fortifying breath. “Still in a coma. Your operative kindly held the phone to my father's ear so I could at least speak to him for a few minutes.” Her eyes shone with moisture. “Please find out who did this to him.”

The door closed firmly behind her rigid spine. Not quite a slam but certainly with more force than necessary.

Hunter ate breakfast alone, debating whether he'd effectively made his point.

 

J
ULIANA COULDN'T STOP
her legs from shaking. She hid her disappointment about Hunter's rejection behind a determined smile and devoted herself to the tasks of preparing her suite and becoming acquainted with her new home and the staff.

Hunter couldn't have been more clear. After all he'd done to protect her and Cort, the least she could do was respect his need for privacy and distance. As Prudy gave her a tour of the nursery Juliana realized that most of her life had been spent trying to earn back her father's love and approval, curbing her own thoughts in deference to his,
doing what was expected of her, burying the hurt. She'd realized sadly, while at his bedside, that no matter how many times she tried to please him, it would never be enough. Her father simply wasn't willing to forgive her.

By the same token, she could show Hunter in countless ways that she loved him and that he could trust her with his heart, but if he remained unwilling to commit himself to an intimate relationship their marriage would remain as it was—an amicable arrangement in name only. She would simply have to accept that and enjoy her life within those parameters.

“The nursery is lovely, Prudy,” Juliana said, eyeing with pleasure the ducklings and bunnies that had been hand-painted on the pale-blue walls. Cort swung back and forth in the baby swing, his blue eyes bright as he pointed at a robin and big fluffy clouds painted on the ceiling. “This will be fine for Cort's naps, but I'm not sure I'm ready to have the baby sleep so far from me at night.”

“Brook felt the same way when she was visiting and the boys were babies. She'd have the extra crib Cort slept in last night moved into her dressing room.”

“I'll do the same.”

Prudy excused herself to pick up Parrish at preschool and bring him home for lunch. Lars gave Juliana and Cort a tour of the house and the guest rooms. Juliana suspected that in addition to being the butler, he served as a bodyguard. While he was courteous and deferential, his eyes carried questions. He was suspicious. She and Hunter would have to convince everyone they were in love, starting with Lars.

When Lars opened the door to a guest room on the third floor opposite the wing containing Hunter's offices, she exclaimed in delight at the white-painted furnishings with their quaint crystal knobs and the comfortable sofa and side
chairs in a blue-and-white French print. “I love this. It'll brighten up that dull goldenrod until it can be repainted.” She pointed out several other accessories she thought would furnish the suite temporarily, laughing when Cort nearly bent over backward reaching for a Chinese vase on a table.

Juliana got a better grip on his squirming body. “I think you'd better include the vase, Lars.”

The stony-faced butler's lips twitched. “We'll start moving in the furniture after lunch. It will be good to see that room in use. It's been empty far too long.” His incisive gaze seemed to take her measure.

She smiled at him over the top of Cort's head, warming to his concern for Hunter. “I couldn't agree with you more. Now, how do I find a decorator in this neck of the woods? That paint has got to go as soon as possible. By the end of next week I want a room that's warm and romantic and knocks Hunter's socks off, not a festering ground for bad memories.”

Lars grinned, showing large white teeth. “Leave it to me.”

 

“W
HERE ARE YOU
?” the killer demanded.

“In Alexandria Bay, New York. That's
bay
as in
river.
This Brook Sinclair lives on an island somewhere in the St. Lawrence. We're talkin' a big river. I just bought a map. You know how many friggin' islands there are out here?”

“No, and I don't care to know. I just want to know how long it's going to take you to confirm whether or not Juliana and the baby are staying with this Brook Sinclair.”

“I'm going to charter a boat and scout out the territory by day. Find a way to sneak onto the island after nightfall.”

“Excellent. Don't disappoint me. It's such a tragedy that so many babies die in their sleep. Sudden Infant Death
Syndrome they call it. They just stop breathing—like they've suffocated.”

“Have I disappointed you yet?”

“The tracking device wouldn't fit in the damn phone.”

“And somehow that's my fault? That was a top-of-the-line product—the smallest available on the market.”

The killer sighed in exasperation. “I'm sorry, you're right. It was a minor setback and you've already proven your worth by finding Brook Sinclair so expediently.”

“That's more like it. It's an in-and-out job. No sweat. No one will even know I've been in the house.”

The killer pressed the end button on the cell phone and verified that no one was nearby who could have overheard the conversation. Soon, very soon, there would be no more sucking up. The baby would be dead and finally there would be some justice in the world.