The Butler's Daughter (4 page)

“Hello?” Annette York's voice had the breathless, disoriented quality of someone roused from a deep sleep.

Hunter introduced himself as The Guardian.

Lexi's sister woke instantly, wariness rippling into her voice. “Why are you calling?”

“I'm afraid I have some difficult news.”

“Is it Riana? Have you found her?”

Hunter's stomach tightened into a lead ball. “No. It's Ross and Lexi. There's been an explosion. I wanted you to know before it hit the news. They were both killed. I'm so sorry.”

“Oh, my God! Are you sure? There's no chance you're mistaken?” The shred of hope clinging to her voice nearly obliterated his self-control.

“There's no mistake.” He gently told her about the rented house in the Adirondacks and the suspicion that the explosion was caused by a bomb.

“But I talked to Lexi two days ago. She didn't mention they were going,” Annette protested in numb disbelief.

Hunter selectively chose what information he could share with her. He saw no point in informing Annette of the
purpose of the trip. Or that Juliana and Cort had narrowly missed being caught in the explosion.

“Perhaps the decision to go away was made last minute,” he said tactfully. “Ms. York, I realize this is a terrible shock, but you must listen to me carefully. Ross gave me instructions to protect Cort in the event something like this should occur. Someone killed your sister and her husband—quite possibly the same person who abducted Riana. You and Cort could be next on the list.”

Dead silence greeted his explanation.

He forged ahead. “It would be prudent to act with extreme caution. We must be very careful not to let slip any information about Cort. I want you to pack your bags. I've sent a car for you. You'll be brought to a hotel here in New York where I've registered you under another name. I don't want any reporters finding you. You can issue a family statement to the press via Ross's lawyers.”

“What about Juliana and the baby? Where are they?”

“They're safe. For your nephew's protection, I'd rather not tell you any more than that until we have a chance to speak privately. I'm sure you understand.”

“No, I don't understand. My sister and her husband are dead. I want to know where my nephew is
now.
” Her shrill voice scraped his ears like a blade cutting glass. “I'm his aunt—his
only
living relative. You have no right to keep him from me.”

“On the contrary, Ms. York. I'm acting on Ross's wishes and at the specific request of the infant's legal guardian, whom Ross and Lexi appointed in their wills. You'll be informed of Cort's whereabouts and a visit will be arranged when his guardian feels it's safe to do so.”

“Just who did Ross and Lexi think was fit to raise their son—the butler's daughter? Or someone in that damned company?”

Hunter genuinely felt sorry for her. He knew what it felt like to have your family shattered and suddenly be set adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Her hurt and disappointment that her sister hadn't chosen her to rear Cort were obvious. Anger was only one of the emotions she would be experiencing in the painful days ahead. “I regret that I'm not at liberty to reveal that information.”

“I'll go to the media,” she threatened.

Hunter felt the beginning pound of a headache. “Ms. York, take a deep breath. You're upset. You're not thinking clearly. Going to the media could endanger your life, as well as Cort's. I'll contact you at the hotel and we'll discuss this privately. Is there anyone you'd like to stay with you? The next few days are going to be very rough.”

“No,” Annette said very softly. Quietly. “Our parents died just after Riana's abduction. And Lexi was my best friend.”

Hunter's chest tightened with the dull ache of his own heavy heart. “I'm very sorry for your loss.” Somehow the words seemed inadequate.

He hung up the phone, promising himself that he'd find out who had done this. Make them pay for destroying a family. And he'd do his best to be the kind of father Ross had wanted for his son.

Hunter made a couple more quick phone calls, checking on the increased security measures he'd put in place on the Collingwood estate. Apparently, the press was already gathering at the gates. One of the operatives he'd dispatched to the hospital called with Goodhew's doctor on the line. Hunter convinced the doctor he was Goodhew's son-in-law and listened grimly to the doctor's report on the extent of the elderly man's injuries. At least he was expected to recover.

Feeling much older than his thirty-three years, Hunter made his way down the hall to Juliana's room.

If she was sleeping, he'd let her rest.

His knock went unanswered, but the sound of the shower running in the bathroom told him she wasn't sleeping. He entered the room. The bed hadn't been touched.

The door to the ensuite bathroom was closed, steam escaping the crack at the bottom of the door. Hunter frowned. How long had she been in there? Concerned, he rapped briskly on the door. “Juliana?”

There was no answer. Beneath the rhythmic drum of the water, he thought he heard a sob. Was she crying?

He knocked once more on the door. “I'm coming in.”

Mist surrounded him, ghostly fingers of it swirled around him as he stepped into the bathroom. He couldn't make out Juliana's shape through the mist-cloaked glass doors of the shower, but the water was running.

What on earth? Where was she?

“Juliana? Are you here? Are you all right?”

A muted sound like an animal in pain echoed from out of the shower stall. Hunter opened the door to the stall and saw her huddled on the marble floor, a sodden trembling ball of white flesh. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her knees and damp ribbons of hair were plastered to her shoulders and back.

Sympathy pierced his body like a sword from his groin to his heart. Hunter quickly shut the water off and reached for the thick white towels she'd set out.

He snapped one open and stepped into the shower, crouching down to gingerly wrap it around her. Somehow he hadn't associated a marriage of convenience with the inconvenience of having a sodden naked young woman in his life.

“Juliana, we have to get you out of here,” he said gently, worried she was in shock.

She lifted her head, looking at him with red-rimmed eyes. Fear, dark and turgid, shadowed her gaze. Hunter fervently wished that he were anywhere else in the world but here. Her eyes were a mirror into his own soul. “My father?”

“I just spoke to his doctor.” Fighting a reluctance to touch her in this vulnerable state, he massaged her back through the thickness of the towel, careful to keep his gaze from drifting onto the gleaming damp softness of her limbs or the delicate shape of her feet peeking out beneath the towel. She looked like a frightened swan, ready to take flight. “It's good news. Your father's made it through surgery—he'd been struck by some flying debris. He broke a few ribs and shattered his shoulder blade, but the surgeon has repaired the damage. Apparently your father's suffered some burns on his face and hands, but the doctor expects him to make a full recovery. They're moving him into ICU to keep a careful eye on him. He's heavily sedated.”

Her eyes shuttered closed. “Thank God. I should be there with him, but if I went he'd only be angry. He told me to stay with Cort.”

Hunter didn't contradict her. A tremor was shuddering through her body. He wasn't letting her or Cort anywhere near that hospital. If the killer was intent on finding Juliana, that would be the first spot the killer would look. “You're exhausted,” he said. “And you're shivering. You need to be in bed.” He lifted her effortlessly against his chest, his senses reacting simultaneously to the feel of her buttocks molding sweetly to his abs and the scent of apple blossoms clinging to her damp hair.

She didn't protest.

The shock of what had happened was setting in.

Carrying her into the bedroom, he yanked the covers back from the bed and laid her gently on the crisply ironed powder-blue sheets. Stopping long enough to extinguish the bedside lamp and curse his predicament under his breath, he removed his shoes and climbed in bed beside her.

Every self-protective instinct in his body rebelled, his legs and arms moving as if hindered by rusting armor as he wrapped his arms around Juliana, awkwardly spooning his body to hers. Despite the steaming heat of the shower, her limbs were ice cold.

“It's going to be okay,” he whispered.

Hunter closed his eyes, not caring that the dampness from her hair seeped into his pillow. He grudgingly allowed the exquisite softness of this woman he'd committed himself to marrying to register on his senses, to distract him from the headache grinding at his temples.

The faint shallow sound of her breathing gradually deepened and became regular.

She'd fallen asleep.

Hunter told himself he could leave her now, strip himself away from the forced intimacy of their joined bodies. Take some pain reliever for his headache. It would be light soon. There were numerous tasks still requiring his attention. But he didn't move. Ross and Lexi were dead, their lives extinguished far too soon. Though Hunter never would have thought it possible, somehow, holding Juliana close to him like this made his own grief more bearable.

 

A
MONTAGE OF PHOTOGRAPHS
of Ross and Lexi Collingwood flashed on the TV screen, each looking as if it had been lifted straight out of the pages of a storybook fairy-tale romance—white teeth, stylish clothes, not a pimple to be seen or a hair out of place. There was no mention of the butler's daughter or the baby.

A curled fist hit the desktop. Damn!

After all that careful planning, the baby had escaped his fate.

Not for long, though. Not for long.

Ross and Lexi's killer smiled smugly and rose to thumb through the clothes hanging precisely one inch apart on the row of expensive wooden hangers. The specially chosen attire purchased for the funeral waited expectantly at the back of the closet like a gift to be unwrapped and savored on Christmas morning. The brand-new black leather shoes lined up beneath it, toes and heels aligned as if at attention. Half of the plan had been achieved. The baron of Wall Street and his oh-so-perfect wife were dead. How hard could it be to find the butler's daughter?

The baby would be with her.

Soon, very soon, all the Collingwoods would be dead.

Cort's cries tore Juliana from sleep, uprooting her from what felt like a tangle of heavy branches until she realized that the branches flung over her torso were long and muscled—and belonged to a man.

Sunlight peeped through the partially closed drapes allowing her a glimpse of the slumbering man beside her.

He looked just as handsome and dangerous this morning as he had last night. What was Hunter doing in her bed?

A draft of cold air on her bare shoulder brought an even greater worry. How had she ended up
naked
in bed with him?

His eyes fluttered open, pinning her in the sights of his azure gaze. Juliana stared at him, transfixed, as his pupils narrowed to tiny dots and shifted downward to her breasts. Too late, she scrambled to pull the sheet up to cover herself, conscious of the heat that exploded in her stomach and crept over her body to sear her face.

“The baby's crying,” she gasped. “Where's my robe?”

Hunter blinked as if orienting himself, then threw back the covers and leaped out of bed. He was fully dressed. Memories slapped her like physical blows to the heart as she remembered the explosion. The Collingwoods were dead. Her father was in the hospital, clinging to life. And
Hunter, the man she'd woken up beside this morning, expected her to hand over her freedom and her dreams and marry him to protect Cort's identity.

“I'll get Cort,” Hunter said gruffly, “and bring him in here while you find your robe.”

“He doesn't know you—” she protested, searching the floor and the bedclothes for the practical toffee-colored velour robe her father had given her last Christmas.

He cut her off abruptly. “Then it's time we got acquainted. Besides, a new father would be eager to see his son. Marquise and Valentina would expect it.”

He was right, Juliana realized, finally spotting her robe on the carpet on the opposite side of the bed. It looked like a mud puddle on the pale-blue wool—as glaringly out of place as she was in this apartment. Had Hunter climbed into her bed last night because he'd thought the servants would expect that, too?

She snatched up her robe, jamming her arms into the sleeves and hurried to the dresser to find fresh underwear and clothes. She doubted Hunter knew the first thing about diapering a baby.

Cort's cries had stopped by the time Juliana had changed into a pair of black slacks and a sleeveless black cowl-neck sweater. Her hair was a mess, so she twisted it into a ponytail. Then she hastily brushed her teeth and splashed cold water on her face. She'd call the hospital and get an update on her father's condition right after she'd checked on Hunter and Cort.

The deep murmur of Hunter's voice coming from the nursery pulled at her in a curious way. She paused in the doorway, feeling both protective of her charge and uncertain of the man holding him near the window.

Cort's blond head leaned trustingly on the biceps of Hunter's arm as the infant cooed and gurgled up at the dark,
unshaven face hovering over him. Hunter's eyes were intent on the infant, but he glanced up as if he'd sensed Juliana's arrival. Her heart locked solidly in her throat when she noticed moisture glimmering in the clear blue of his eyes.

“He's beautiful,” he said simply. A muscle flexed rigidly in his jaw as if capping the pain inside him.

Juliana took a hesitant step into the room, torn between conflicting duties. The butler's daughter would never intrude on his private sorrow. But as Hunter's bride-to-be she supposed she should say something. Offer some comfort.

She stood there awkwardly, feeling completely out of her element, yet drawn to this dangerous-looking man who could be abrupt and cynical one moment and deeply compassionate the next. Words whispered from her, razor-edged with grief for Cort's parents who would never know their son's delightful nature. “He's a bundle of joy. How did you do with his diaper?”

“No sweat. Just peel and stick. I've changed diapers before.”

“You have?” Why did her heart beat so fast when he looked at her like that—as if he could intuit every thought, every secret she'd ever harbored? She crossed her arms over her chest and resisted the urge to reach for Cort. Somehow seeing him so secure in Hunter's arms seemed threatening, a reminder that Hunter had all the power to make decisions for Cort's care.

Hunter shrugged his massive shoulders, Cort's eyes widening at the sudden movement. “My sister, Brook, has two sons resulting from two of her three failed marriages. Both boys' fathers work in New York and she brings them for visitation.” Juliana didn't miss the wry curl to his tone.

“That explains the nursery. How old are they?”

“Mackensie is eight and Parrish is three. They're rascals.” Hunter frowned, thinking of his nephews' dubious
futures and the way Juliana had her arms drawn over her breasts as if she thought he might pounce on her. Of course, she'd been somewhat underdressed when they'd awoken this morning. And the glimpse he'd had of one sleep-warmed, pearly breast and its rosebud tip had been so disconcerting he'd practically pole-vaulted out of the room to attend to Cort.

Even now, in that typical chic black New York getup, her wild tangled hair and the circles under her eyes, there was a freshness in her clear skin. An honesty dwelling in those rich brown eyes and a sweet sensuality to her curves that made the prospect of marrying her doubly alarming.

He'd never once considered taking a wife. His sister's three disastrous marriages had cemented that resolve. And thankfully, had produced the requisite heir and a spare to the Sinclair family coffers.

Hunter had no illusions that he'd be any better than his sister or his father in choosing a soul mate.

How many times had he cautioned his clients about marrying in haste? Rushing into a relationship based on physical desire or—especially among the wealthy—an attraction to an individual's net worth. He'd been worried when Ross had told him Lexi was pregnant and they were getting married.

But Ross had assured him he'd learned his lesson from their Harvard days when women were eager to fall into his bed, and more than one had tried to trap him into marriage. Lexi was different.

And Hunter acknowledged the truth of that. Even though her parents had been pushy and middle-class with aspirations of grandeur for their daughter, Lexi had been Ross's soul mate in every way. Even after Riana's abduction, a tragedy that would have destroyed many relationships, the core of love between them had remained rock solid. The
looks they exchanged excluded everyone else around them because Ross and Lexi had a private world unto themselves. Ross would have moved heaven and earth for his wife's happiness, even asking the butler's daughter to raise their precious son.

And Hunter could understand Ross's reasoning. He'd met Juliana's father and knew how highly Ross had regarded Goodhew, who'd looked after Ross like a second father after J. Ross Collingwood had died of a massive heart attack when Ross was barely out of college.

Goodhew knew how J. Ross had run the Collingwood empire, knew which senior executives and which board members could be trusted and which were sharks circling for a meal. While he'd brushed suits and laid out Ross's Oxford button-down shirts and silk ties, he'd dispensed advice. And Ross had taken the Collingwood empire further than his father had ever dreamed.

Cort playfully drummed his heels against Hunter's forearm, vocalizing his little heart out with chirps and coos. Hunter smiled down at his godson, feeling a laugh trying to burst its way to the surface.

The tender look he caught on Juliana's face as he stole a glance at her told him they were at least on the same page when it came to Cort's care. Her fierce loyalty to the baby was obvious.

Hunter had no intention of dishonoring Goodhew's daughter, or ruining a perfectly good business arrangement by letting lust creep into his marriage and muddy the waters. A man in his position had the means to discreetly deal with his physical needs.

Since Juliana's arms were still folded like bars across her body, he decided there was no time like the present to clarify their arrangement. “About my being in your bed this morning,” he began, finding it more difficult than he ex
pected to broach the subject with her. “It was only for show…. You shouldn't expect a physical side to our marriage. Or children.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. “Oh.”

Hunter wished he could interpret the thoughts flickering behind her dark polished eyes. She was relieved. He was sure of it. “I wanted that to be clear before we proceeded with the ceremony,” he continued, “in case it altered your decision.”

“Hardly.”

Hunter looked with renewed interest at his self-sacrificing Cinderella. Judging from the way she lovingly cared for Cort, he'd assumed that she was the type of woman who would want children of her own. She probably did, but she wasn't going to admit it. His admiration for her went up another notch. “Do you feel up to coping with the world? I'll have Valentina prepare breakfast.”

“I'd like to call the hospital again. Check on my father.”

“Of course. I have the number in my study.”

“I'm going to call the Collingwoods' household manager, too. Let him know of my father's condition and that he'll need to supervise the preparations for the funeral. Annette won't know what to do or the protocol involved—” Juliana broke off suddenly. Her palm tapped her forehead. “Annette. I completely forgot about telling Lexi's sister! She'll be devastated. Lexi was her only family. I don't think Annette is seeing anyone whom she could lean on to help her get through this. She was engaged when Lexi was planning her wedding to Ross, but the engagement was called off for some reason.”

“I already called her. One of my operatives was dispatched to collect her and put her up in a nearby hotel as a safety precaution.”

“A safety precaution? You think she's in danger?”

“If someone knows of Cort's existence, it's logical for them to suspect that Lexi's sister would know where the baby is.”

Juliana ran her fingers through her tangled hair. “Yes, of course, you're right. Annette must be terrified.”

“She's being well guarded.”

Her pointed gaze threw his words of reassurance back in his face. He knew she was thinking he hadn't protected Ross and Lexi. He couldn't blame her, not when he was thinking it himself. Why hadn't he considered that Riana's abduction might have had deeper, darker roots, especially after the abandoned ransom demand? He set his jaw. He couldn't second-guess himself. There was no way to be certain that first ransom demand had been genuine.

He had to focus on the situation as he knew it now. On keeping Cort safe and hidden. On playing this role with Juliana of a man eager to wed the mother of his child.

He held Cort out to Juliana. “Take him. I need to shower and change. I'll meet you at the table for breakfast. I talked to my lawyer last night, he's preparing the prenup. We'll need to apply for the marriage license Monday. There's probably a waiting period. We'll need rings, and you'll need clothes—”

“The waiting period is one day in New York. I know because I helped Lexi plan her wedding, remember? And I worked as a wedding planner before I got drafted as the nanny. How about I handle the details for the wedding, and you concentrate on finding out who did this horrible thing so Cort will be safe?”

Hunter looked at her, surprised, remembering how magical Ross and Lexi's winter wedding had appeared in the video. She'd had her hand in that? He felt a prickle of guilt. A civil ceremony in the Manhattan city clerk's office would
be a far cry from whatever dreams she'd spun of her own romantic wedding. Well, they were both making sacrifices.

He'd suddenly had enough of the conversation and the cacophony of thoughts and emotions driving him in cross directions. “Consider yourself hired,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, grateful for her offer and already turning his mind to the tasks demanding his concentration as he headed back to his room.

“Hunter?” Juliana called after him. “One more thing.”

He paused in the doorway and looked back at her; Cort was tucked in her arms, hungrily gnawing on a tiny fist shoved in his mouth. “Yes?”

Her pink lips parted in a faint smile that seemed apologetic, contrite, and made him wonder how she would taste if he kissed her. Really kissed her. Sweet, like a perfectly ripe peach? Or tangy like dry white wine?

His blood pounded in waves to his brain.

Color dusted her cheekbones. “I'll need a credit card,” she said. “I suspect Hunter Sinclair's wife has a higher credit limit than the butler's daughter. It would probably be safer if I weren't flashing my own credit card around, too. Credit cards can be traced, can't they?”

He let his gaze twine with hers, felt his body's stiffening response to her simple beauty and the intelligence embedded in her eyes. What the hell was the matter with him?

Shock. Loss. And the fact that Juliana was more intriguing than his ego was willing to admit. “Yes, they can be traced. And, in this case, your paranoia is good. Brook has a personal shopper for each of her major haunts. Marquise will make the necessary arrangements with each store for your purchases to be put on my account if you feel up to venturing out today. I'll see that you receive your own cards as soon as possible.”

“Thank you. Since visiting my father isn't an option for
the time being, I might as well do something useful or I'll go absolutely crazy. I'll bring my cell phone with me so I can keep in touch with the hospital. Cort will need clothes and a new car seat. Do you have a crib for him on this island of yours?”

“Yes, there's a nursery. You'll both need warm, comfortable clothes for the island. And plan to pick up something for the funeral while you're at it. The butler's daughter will be attending it…under close surveillance.”