The Earl's Secret (8 page)

“And she is how old now?”

“Seven.”

“But surely—”

“Enough!” he said tightly. “Now you know. I live in Scotland to be near my daughter. When her mother thinks it's the right time, I will have her at least a portion of each year.”

Jennifer shook her head but said nothing more.

Christopher's hopes seemed so fragile. She could tell by his voice that even he was beginning to doubt the day he had waited for so patiently would ever come. If his child's mother hadn't kept her promise
by now, something must have convinced her to keep the secret to the few people directly involved.

Jennifer didn't speak of Christopher's daughter again that day. But she soaked up the flavor of his life as she observed him with his friends. The women were sophisticated, bright. Even those who weren't naturally beautiful managed to appear striking and desirable. The men carried themselves with the self-assurance of wealth. They looked at everything around them as if they never doubted their right or ability to own whatever struck their fancy.

Very few guests bothered to speak to her.

She felt uncomfortable and out of place in their company. But Christopher seemed in his element. She watched him circulate through the room, laughing with friends, ignoring her most of the evening.

There was, she noticed, a lot of money passing between hands. Most of it going to Christopher. Undoubtedly to cover bets made on the game. The gleam in his eyes reminded her of her father after a rare lucky day at the track.

At last she could stand no more. Jennifer rushed out through French doors into a formal garden.

Of course, she mused bitterly, he had brought her here to make a point. Christopher Smythe had never considered a lasting friendship with her. He was an aristocrat who had palled around with royals and the children of the rich all of his life. She was an American woman who worked for a living. For a few days she had amused him. But as soon as he had succeeded in charming her into bed, the fascination ended.

Jennifer sat on a chilly stone bench surrounded by late-blooming roses and sighed at the sunset.
The sooner I get home the better,
she thought sadly.

“All alone then, are we?” a refined voice asked.

She turned on the bench and looked up into the gentle brown eyes of one of the men who had played polo that day. His hair was a silvery white, and if she hadn't seen him riding with such amazing agility that day, she might have guessed he was close to seventy years old. He still might be, she thought now, observing the mature lines of his face, but he was as fit as most thirty-year-olds. He had nearly beaten Christopher out of two of his goals.

“For the moment,” she said, “yes, I am.”

“I'm Richard Crown. I saw you on the field today. You came with Christopher Smythe?”

She smiled, surprised that he had even noticed her in the middle of the frenzied play. But then, she supposed these were small and exclusive social circles, and the aristocracy kept close watch on one another.

“Yes. It was a very exciting match. I'm Jennifer Murphy.”

He cocked his head at her non-British accent and frowned softly at her. “You're an American. And very different from Christopher's usual dates. Much nicer, actually.”

She noticed he didn't say anything about her being prettier.

Crown seemed to consider his next words more carefully. “Are you living in England…or just visiting?”

“I'm flying back home to the States tomorrow.”

“I'm very sorry to hear that. Christopher could use some permanency in his life, a strong and supportive companion.”

A resonant voice came out of the shadows. “What Christopher does or doesn't need isn't up for debate.”

Jennifer swung around to see Christopher standing at the path's opening. He was glowering darkly at them.

Crown gave him a polite nod. “Fine match today, my boy. That check I owe you will be in tomorrow's mail.” He turned back to her. “Goodbye now, Jennifer. It was nice to meet you. I should return to the party. I have some business to tend to.”

She lifted her hand in a limp wave.

Christopher was watching her intently. “What did he want?”

“We were just chatting. He seems very nice. Who is he? I mean, he gave his name but—” She shrugged. Despite her disappointment with Christopher, she was curious. The man seemed to be the one pleasant person she'd met all day.

“Lord Richard Crown, the duke of Worth. He's a good man. His family has sat in the House of Lords for as long as anyone can remember. Two of his sons were playing today, as well.” He gave her the information grudgingly, his voice tight, his attitude bored.

She wasn't about to stand around and feel unwanted any longer. “I'm ready to go,” she said. “I have to be up early to pack and get to the airport.”

He nodded. “Fine, we can leave by the garden gate. I've already given my thanks to our hostess.”

They started walking in silence.

“Well,” Jennifer said to fill the awkward void, “you should have no trouble funding your renovations now.”

She had seen him thrust a wad of hundred-pound notes into his pocket earlier in the evening, and who knew how many checks for outrageous sums he'd been handed in payment of wagers. If her father had
won that sort of money on his gambling, her mother wouldn't have come so close to filing for bankruptcy.

“Do you bet on every match?” she asked.

“Most of them.”

“And you win—”

“Most of the time,” he answered with a hint of irony in his voice.

She nodded, offering no comment. If she'd learned one lesson from her father, it was that everyone's luck ran out sooner or later.

B
altimore seemed a gray and lonely place after London and Christopher. Jennifer had just finished writing out a refundable check for her troublesome pair on the last tour. As expected the couple had demanded a partial refund. She sorted through a stack of cruise brochures, pausing at each to stare blindly at its brightly colored cover before returning it to the same pile.

“It doesn't look as if you're making much progress,” Evelyn Murphy commented from her computer terminal.

“Jet lag.” Jennifer sighed.

Evelyn shook her head at her daughter. “After three days!”

“I'm sorry. I guess I'm just…preoccupied.”

“Want to tell me who he was?”

“A man I met in—” Jennifer's head shot up, and
she smiled sheepishly at her mother. “Fell right into that one, didn't I?”

Leaning back in her chair, Evelyn picked up the mug of steaming herb tea from her desktop. “So? What's his name and how did you two meet?”

It was no use trying to put her mother off. Evelyn Murphy was a tenacious woman who never let questions go unanswered.

“His name was Christopher, and he—”

How could she put into words all the many confusing things the young earl had been to her for those few delicious days? She certainly couldn't admit to her mother that she'd slept with the man!

“We met south of Edinburgh, on one of the castle tours.” She hesitated, overcome by a warm wave of emotion, a reminder of his arms closing around her. “He was a very handsome man. Different from any other I've ever met,” she finished softly.

“I see.” Evelyn gazed with interest over the rim of her mug. Jennifer had never seen the energetic woman sit so still. “In what way—different?”

“Christopher Smythe has a title—the earl of Winchester. And he lives in a castle.” She laughed and felt herself blushing. “It sounds absurd now.”

“Smythe,” Evelyn repeated thoughtfully. “He's not the one I've read about in that newspaper I sometimes pick up at the grocery story, is he?”

“He might be. Although he has two brothers who are probably every bit as good at attracting the attention of the press. But,” Jennifer added quickly, “he's not exactly the playboy they make him out to be. I mean, he's terribly wealthy and very, very handsome and charismatic. But he has a serious side, too.”

Evelyn nodded but made no comment.

Jennifer considered telling her about Christopher's daughter but decided that was information he hadn't meant for her to spread around. She searched for other ways to define him. “He was a very
confusing
man.” She stared down at a slick brochure she couldn't remember picking up.

“You had a crush on him,” her mother guessed.

Jennifer nodded.

“More than a crush?”

Jennifer shrugged. “We spent some time together. He stepped in as local guide. He knew amazing things about Britain. The group loved him.”

“
The group
did, did they?”

Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Don't go reading more into this than there is, Mother. I just sort of…sort of miss his company. He was different and interesting and—”

“And he got under your skin, didn't he?”

In a manner of speaking,
Jennifer thought, feeling a bit wicked for the thought. “Chris was fun to be with. But he's too much like Daddy,” she said flatly. And that was the heart of it, as far as she could see.

Yes, he had a gentle and loving side when it came to his daughter. But hadn't her own father doted on her in much the same way? And he had let her down, repeatedly.

Her mother put down her tea and stood up to walk across the room toward her. “Are you sure you're not just gun shy? You've never had much of a social life. All men aren't like your father. There are kind, generous, honest men who would do anything to protect their families.”

“Instead of doing anything
to
them?” The bitter words came of their own volition. She sighed.
“Daddy was horrid to you. How could you let him take such advantage of you?”

Evelyn shrugged, her face softening for a telltale moment before returning to its determined expression. “I loved him, so I suppose I let him use me. At least, for a time. Listen—” she touched Jennifer affectionately on the arm “—our early years together were wonderful. So exciting. And he gave me you. I'll never regret that.”

“But you should have seen through him sooner,” Jennifer objected.

“Perhaps. Maybe I thought he would change. But people don't, you know. They are what they are. And your father loved women and had a weakness for horses.”

“That's so selfish and cruel,” Jennifer stated.

“Selfish, yes. But, as strange as it sounds, I don't believe he ever wanted to hurt either me or you.”

Jennifer dropped her head into her hands. Even now, knowing what she did about Christopher—his rich and careless lifestyle, his penchant for brief affairs like the one she'd shared with him—she couldn't hate him. Even now a glow spread through her at the thought of him.

He had touched her, in more than physical ways. She wondered how long it would be before the yearning for him left and she found peace.

 

Lord Smythe was in the stables again before the sun had fully risen. His sleepy-eyed grooms viewed him dismally over their morning coffee. Before that summer they hadn't needed to rush to their morning chores, as their boss never appeared in the yard before
ten in the morning. These days he sometimes rode out in the gray light of dawn.

He always asked for Prince's Pride, his favorite. Fifteen minutes later the pair would be racing across gully and tor, the stallion straining to respond to his master's urgent heels at his belly, sweat running down the man's face and the horse's muscled flanks. Two hours later Christopher would return the exhausted animal to his senior groom.

This morning Jamie eyed both of them with concern. “If ya dunna ruin yerself, sir, yer sure ta ruin the horse.” His brogue seemed thicker for his worry. “Nothin's worth doin' in a fine animal like this.” He fondly stroked the horse's frothing muzzle.

Christopher gave him an apologetic smile. “I'll be gentler next time.”

He walked back toward the castle, his heart no lighter than when he had begun his ride. The day promised to be no better than any other since he and Jennifer had parted in London.

No other woman ever had affected him this deeply, and that vexed him. In the month since he'd last seen Jennifer, he felt like a school lad, suffering through his first infatuation. He couldn't stop thinking about the way she had tipped her head just a little to one side when listening to him describe a long-ago battle. He imagined he smelled vanilla everywhere.

And her body. All the saints and victorious Smythe ancestors protect him! He would give a fortune for one more night in her arms.

But that was impossible. To give in to this strange obsession with her and follow the woman halfway around the world. He just wouldn't do it!

Christopher gazed out across opalescent mists roll
ing over the loch as he strode toward the house. Between mysteriously shifting vapors, he thought he glimpsed a stubby, red van. He stopped in his tracks, stared, his pulse quickening. Almost immediately the vision was gone.

Last night her voice had come softly to him in his sleep. He had actually reached for her across the sheets.

Suddenly Christopher knew he couldn't stay another hour at Donan. Her presence was everywhere. As soon as he had showered and dressed, he drove to Lisa's school. As he left the administrative office, he saw her trooping with her class and teacher toward the library, chattering gleefully. He took the long way around the parking lot to intercept them.

“Good afternoon, Lord Smythe,” the teacher greeted him politely.

He smiled and nodded politely at the woman.

Lisa beamed at him as the line of girls approached. “Hi, Uncle Chris,” she chirped as they passed him by. “Are you coming down to London for dinner soon?”

“Soon,” he said. “I promise.”

“I have a new doll in my collection,” she tossed cheerfully back at him.

“Can't wait to see it.” The lump in his throat made it impossible to say anything more. He was grateful that he and Lisa had such an easygoing relationship. But it hurt that he couldn't rush over to her and embrace her.

Neither could he whisk her off to Donan with him for a weekend or take her off campus for a lunch in town like other fathers did with their daughters. That would require a call to her mother for special per
mission. And he had absolutely no say in her future. Where she would go to college…what sort of career she might pursue…who her friends would be and who she might eventually marry.

For the thousandth time he wished with all his soul that he hadn't promised Sandra to keep their secret. But he was nothing if not a man of his word.

Besides, as more time passed, the situation became more rather than less complicated. Lisa had grown up knowing him as “Uncle Chris.” She had started calling him that before she could pronounce Christopher or Lord Smythe, or most any other word. What would happen to their warm friendship if she suddenly learned he had been hiding the truth from her all these years? He couldn't bear to think of her disillusionment.

That evening when he eventually returned to Donan, there was a letter waiting for him, postmarked London. He recognized Sir Isaac's coat of arms. Perhaps, he thought, with a burst of anticipatory joy, this was the message he had been waiting for. Christopher ripped open the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of vellum.

He read rapidly, out of breath from the first word, but as the meaning sank in, his heart sank, too. The letter was from Lisa's mother, not Sir Isaac. It didn't release him from keeping his secret. Sandra was taking Lisa to the south of France on holiday for two weeks. He would be without even a glimpse of his daughter for at least fifteen days…half a month.

He felt desolate as he dropped the letter on the marble-topped console and stomped away. Sadness gave way to anger at the lack of control he had over his own life and the lives of the people he wanted to
keep close to him. Damn holidays! Damn the female sex for having such a hold on him!

As his foot hit the bottom step, he looked up the curving staircase that Jennifer had climbed with him. Her sweet face flashed before him, and along with it came a sudden, wonderful jolt of inspiration.

 

“Go ahead and take a long lunch,” Jennifer told her mother. “I'm not very hungry, anyway, and business is slow today.”

Evelyn observed her daughter for a moment. “You haven't eaten enough to keep a hummingbird alive in weeks. How about I bring you back a nice, hearty sausage sub from Gino's? Loads of spicy meat, his marvelous Italian sauce, grilled green peppers and onions and a thick slice of mozzarella cheese melted on top.”

“Sounds like an invitation to a coronary,” Jennifer mumbled.

“But you'll die happy. You're sure?” she asked, gently.

“No, thanks. Really,” Jennifer said. “I brought a salad. I'll be better off with that.”

Her mother turned away, but stopped with her hand on the doorknob and stared through the glass pane. “Oh, my.”

“What?” Jennifer asked. Either there was another bad traffic accident on Charles Street or her mother had spotted a dress she envied.

“Will you look at
that.
Now if
he
couldn't make a nun break her vows!”

“Mother, will you stop ogling men. That's what gets us women into trouble. They're like chocolates. They're never as good as they look.”

Evelyn sighed. “This one might be. Oh, dear…oh, no, he…he's coming this way!”

Jennifer laughed as her mother leaped back from the door and practically dived behind her desk. She was sitting demurely behind it when the stranger pushed open the door and the little brass bell over it tinkled in welcome.

“May I help y—” Jennifer choked over the last word and stared in disbelief at the tall, elegantly dressed man who stepped into Murphy's Worldwide Escapes. “Chris?”

He looked at her for just a moment before glancing around the office to see she was not alone. “I decided to take you up on your offer, Miss Murphy.” His voice was low and rumbled pleasantly within her.

She swallowed. “Offer?”

Her mind went blank. But she could imagine a dozen things she
might
have offered Christopher Smythe in the heat of the moment. None of which was pronounceable with her mother in the room.

“I…I, well, yes. Of course.” Out of habit she waved a hand toward the customer's seat on the other side of her desk. He stepped forward. Thankfully her brain began to function again. “A tour of Baltimore!” she cried out triumphantly.

Her mother gave her a puzzled look, then recognition flooded her features and Jennifer knew she realized who it was.

Christopher ignored the chair. Instead, he strode directly to Evelyn's cubicle.

“You must be Jennifer's mother. The resemblance is striking.” He held out his hand to her. When she slowly reached out as if to shake hands with him, he
drew her fingertips briefly to his lips. “Lovely.” He smiled at her, his blue eyes sparkling.

Evelyn blushed. “Oh, my.” She shot an approving smile at her daughter. “Would I be wrong in guessing this is your earl?”

Jennifer opened her mouth to answer, but he beat her to it.

“Christopher Smythe, pleased to meet you. Has Jennifer told you all about us?”

Jennifer flinched.
All!
She shot him a horrified expression. His eyes darkened and seemed to laugh at her discomfort.

“Jennifer told me,” her mother began cautiously, “that you two met and spent a few days
touring
together. Although…she sometimes has a habit of understating things.” Evelyn winked at him.