Can't Stop the Feeling: Romantic Comedy (Sinclair Sisters Trilogy Book 2)

by Janet Elizabeth Henderson

  “She went to her office to see if she could find a way out of the contract she signed with the Women’s Institute,” Grace said.

  Agnes glared at him. “You’d better not lay a finger on her.”

  “I would never lift my hand to a woman.” And he was insulted that she thought he might.

  “Don’t make her cry either,” Agnes said.

  Now that, he couldn’t promise. Although, the thought of Donna crying made him want to take a knife to his own heart.

  “She was only trying to please everybody,” Grace said. “The things she did weren’t just about getting you out of the mansion. She wanted you to enjoy yourself and to step back into the art world.”

  Aye, he wasn’t buying that. “So this ball was just an unlucky by-product of Donna trying to get me to back into the world?”

  “Oh no,” Mairi said. “We planned the whole thing. Donna wanted to ask you for permission, but she was scared you would shoot the messenger, then say no.” She smiled at him as though it was all perfectly logical.

  “I would definitely have said no to this.”

  “To be fair,” Grace said. “Donna thought she was hosting a gentile charity ball, not a bacchanal for the depraved.”

  “The women from the institute conned her,” Agnes said.

  “Walked all over her,” Mairi added.

  “Took advantage of her kind and loving heart,” Grace said.

  “Aye. I get it.” He’d come to that conclusion all by himself. Although, he was sure the women in front of him hadn’t been much of a help in protecting Donna from those who wanted to take advantage. No, it looked like they’d encouraged her wild plans instead. “Clear the building out while I deal with my housekeeper.”

  “Haven’t you been listening?” Agnes snapped. “We’ve been trying to clear the building out. Nobody pays any attention to us.”

  “Is that right?” He turned on his heels, stalked back into the ballroom and headed straight for the stage. When he climbed up and snatched the mic from the lead singer’s hand, the band behind him stopped playing, plunging the room into silence. “This ball is over. Get your stuff and clear out.”

  “Hey, who do you think you are?” A young guy in a three-piece suit got to his feet. “We paid good money for this ball. We’re not leaving until we get what we were promised—a party until midnight.”

  He glared at the young man, ensuring he could see that Duncan had run out of patience. “Who do I think I am? I’m Duncan Stewart, the mansion’s owner, and this ball ends when I say it does. If you want your money back, see the women from the institute. This is their problem.” He looked around at everyone else. “Get your stuff and leave. Now!”

  As people jerked to their feet and rushed towards the door, Duncan strode back to the three women who’d helped Donna get into this mess. “Grab every member of staff you can find, including the waiters, and get them to sweep the building to herd people out.” He looked at Agnes. “Tell the guy in the library he has ten minutes to pack up and get his bull outside, or I’ll take an axe to it.” He looked at Grace. “Inform the casino that if they’re not gone in the same time, the house is going to confiscate their takings.”

  “What about me?” Mairi said. “What should I do?”

  He turned to the youngest Sinclair sister, who was prone to causing more damage than good with any task she was given. “Take photos of every bastard who gives us trouble. We’ll hand them over to the cops later.” She nodded happily, making him wonder, yet again, what planet she lived on.

  “What are you going to do?” Grace said.

  “I’m going for my woman.”

  He walked away from the shocked look on the three women’s faces and stalked down the corridors to Donna’s office, telling everyone he met to get their arses out of his house.

  He heard voices through her open door as he approached, and he slowed his stride to listen.

  “The whole of Campbeltown is laughing at you,” a callous male voice said. “Donna Sinclair can’t say no, she’ll give money to anybody with a sob story. She’s probably bending over for her boss while she’s at it, giving him a pity fuck because she’s too timid to refuse. Look around you—three old women walked all over you to take over the building. You’re the laughing stock of Kintyre. You always have been.”

  “No.” Donna’s voice trembled.

  “Aye,” the man snapped. “Now get out of my way.”

  “No!” she shouted. “I’m not going to let you take that painting. It’s mine. Duncan gave it to me.”

  “For services rendered, no doubt. Now back up or I’ll make you.”

  Duncan had heard enough. He rushed to the open doorway. Donna stood with her back to him and her arms spread, trying to stop their ex-gardener from leaving with her painting. The one he’d given to her. The one that belonged to her.

  Hell no!

  “Put that down, you bastard,” Duncan roared.

  “Duncan!” Donna screeched, and the colour drained from her face.

  “Go to hell, cheapskate,” Bill snapped. “I’m leaving with this, and neither one of you can stop me.” He pushed Donna aside, making her stumble and fall into the desk.

  She cried out, and Duncan saw red.

  “We’ll see about that.” His fist reared back before he launched it at the gardener’s head.

  At the last second, Bill lifted the painting to use as a shield. Duncan’s fist ripped through the canvas, hitting the man on the jaw, and he crumpled to the floor, taking the ruined painting with him.

  “No!” Donna’s wail cut through his anger.

  She fell to her knees beside the man, and for a second Duncan thought she was checking to see if the gardener was still alive rather than out cold. Instead, she lifted the ruined artwork and cradled it to her like a child. Tears streamed down her face as she looked up at him.

  “It’s ruined,” she whispered, the torment in those big eyes ripping right through his anger, leaving him just as broken as the painting in her hand. “It’s gone. The only thing I have of you is gone.”

  What the…? His anger fled at the sight of her. He crouched beside her, brushing the tears from her cheek. “What are you talking about, Angel?”

  The pain that twisted her face was one of the worst things he’d ever had to witness. He never wanted to see her beautiful features that tormented again.

  “This was all I had that was yours.” She sobbed like her heart had been broken in two.

  “I’ll give you another painting.” Hell, he’d make a houseful of them just for her, if she would only stop breaking his heart. The heart she had revived and that now belonged to her and her alone. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay.” She dissolved into sobs, still rocking as she held the trashed painting.

  He might not have been the most sensitive man on the planet, but even he could see she’d reached the end of her tether. On top of weeks of scheming behind his back, the chaos of the evening had taken its toll. Donna wasn’t cut out for subterfuge—her heart was far too soft to cope with the guilt that went with it—and the strain had worn her out.

  “Come on.” He scooped her, and the painting she wouldn’t release, into his arms. “It’ll be fine.”

  “It won’t be fine. I’ve messed everything up.” The resignation in her tearful voice made him want to hit more people, in the hopes it would make everything better for her.

  She turned her face into him as she sobbed, curling her hand into his shirt. As he strode through the kitchen to the stairs at the back of the house, he found Grace helping the caterer pack everything up. She rushed to his side.

  “What happened?” The cook reached for Donna, stroking her hair as she continued sobbing.

  It raised his opinion of the woman that she didn’t even entertain the thought that Donna might be crying because of him. “The gardener I fired broke into her office and tried to steal her painting. He was bullying her when I walked in on them.” He looked down at Donna, tightening
his grip on her as he watched her fall apart. “Can you call the police and send a couple of the men to stand guard until they get here? I don’t want that arse to run off.”

  “I’ll see to it.”

  Duncan nodded as he listened to Donna cry. She seemed to be lost in her own misery, oblivious to what was going on around her. “I think she’s reached the end.”

  “It’s been a tough couple of weeks,” Grace said softly. “Unlike her sisters, she’s not cut out for these shenanigans.”

  “I figured that out for myself. I wish she’d resisted the Women’s Institute.”

  Grace gave him a pitying look. “Do you see her saying no to a ball for cancer patients? One given in your wife’s name?”

  “If she’d told me, I would have stood up to them for her.”

  “Next time, Duncan. Do that for her the next time they come at her.”

  He nodded. Making that promise to himself. “Make sure you get everyone out. Get the cops on to that as well. Tell them I didn’t sign the bloody contract, and as far as I’m concerned, everybody is trespassing. I’m taking her up to her room and putting her to bed. We’ll deal with this in the morning.”

  “I’ll bring up some hot chocolate, just in case.”

  Duncan nodded his thanks as he held his woman tight. Her tears seemed never-ending, and she’d folded in on herself. “You take care of the mansion,” he said. “I’ll take care of Donna.”

  “I know you will.” Grace gave his shoulder a squeeze before turning back into the room.

  He ignored everyone else as he took the stairs two at a time to the housekeeper’s apartment. Her door was as she usually left it, unlocked, which wasn’t sensible in a house full of strangers. Something else to add to the list of things to talk about in the morning.

  He swung her apartment door open, took two steps inside, and stopped dead.

  “What the hell?” She’d been robbed. The whole place had been cleaned out. There was nothing of hers left. “Donna, Angel.” He kept his voice soft so as not to upset her further. “I’m sorry, but you’ve been robbed. I’ll get you settled on the couch, and then I’ll let the police know. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

  She lifted her head, tears still rolling down her cheeks as she looked around the room. “I haven’t been robbed. I’ve moved out, and I’m quitting my job.” And then she started sobbing all over again.

  Duncan stood in the middle of the empty room, unsure of what to say or do. She’d moved out? She was leaving him? Was it because she’d been frightened of how he might react when he found out about the ball? Surely not. He’d never hurt Donna. But one thing was for sure—she was in no fit state to answer his questions right now.

  Taking care not to hit her head off the doorjamb, he took her through to the bedroom and settled her on the bed. There was nothing of hers in the room, except one lone book on the bedside table.

  He took off her black shoes and considered stripping her of the plain black dress she’d worn to the party, but then thought better of it. He didn’t want her to feel any more vulnerable.

  “I need to take this,” he said as he gently prised the painting from her hands. “You have to get some sleep. I’ll leave it on the floor beside the bed and you can decide what to do about it tomorrow.” She reluctantly let go of the canvas. Duncan tucked the duvet around her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Everything’s going to be okay,” he told her.

  “No, it’s not.” She curled into a ball on her side, facing away from him.

  He sat on the floor beside her bed, guarding her as she cried herself to sleep. Outside, voices called to one another and car doors slammed. People were leaving the building. Strangely, he felt no sense of invasion at them being there in the first place. Probably because the mansion had never really been his home.

  He ran a hand through his hair before letting his head fall back to the bed behind him. Tomorrow was soon enough to deal with Donna and the manipulations that had gone on behind his back. Right now, he needed to make sure everyone was gone, and that the police dealt with the gardener.

  He looked over at the bedside table and reached for the book, the only thing in the room that belonged to Donna, seeking some comfort in touching something that was hers. He smiled at the title—Peter Pan—another kid’s book. He shook his head at yet another sign of her soft heart. And then he flicked the book open.

  Chapter 29

  Donna woke to the early morning sun streaming through her bedroom window. She’d forgotten to close the blind. She rolled to her back and groaned at the thought of getting up to face the day, but someone had to be there to deal with the cleaning crew so that the house would be in pristine shape when Duncan came home.

  “Duncan!” She sat up in bed with a squeal.

  “Good morning, Donna.” He was sitting on the armchair in the corner of her room, facing her bed.

  Although he was dressed in fresh clothes, and had obviously showered and shaved, he didn’t look like he’d gotten very much sleep. Her mind raced over the events of the night before, and her stomach sank. She was in so much trouble.

  Who knew what state the mansion was in, and then there was the gardener to deal with…

  “My painting!” She leaned over the side of the bed to find the ruined canvas still on the floor where Duncan had left it.

  “I haven’t touched it.” His low, rumbling voice was a warning. Unfortunately, it was also the same tone that acted like a tuning fork for her libido.

  She plastered on a fake smile. “How did the lecture go? Did you have a good time in Glasgow?”

  “Aye.” His dark eyes captured hers. “It was ‘hashtag awesome.’”

  She blinked at him, unsure of what to make of his response. “That’s great. I need to get ready.”

  “No, you don’t. I’ve already dealt with the cleaning crew. We’ve got a lot to talk about, and I think it’s best if you stay where you are. We both know how good you are at avoiding things you don’t want to deal with.”

  “At least let me use the bathroom.”

  He inclined his head in permission. “But no running. I’ll just catch you.”

  She swallowed hard and dashed for the bathroom, where she did her business, then washed her face and brushed her teeth.

  “Don’t think you can hide in there all day.” Duncan’s voice came through the door.

  There was nothing else to do but face him—and the mess she’d made of things. With a sense of dread, she left the safety of the bathroom and returned to the bed.

  He eyed her coolly. “Let’s start with the ball.”

  She winced. There really had been nowhere else to start. “I’m sorry.” There was nothing else to say. It had been a screw-up from beginning to end.

  “You should have asked me if you could hold it here.”

  It was hard to look him in the eye. “You would have said no.”

  “Damn right, I would. I’d also have stood by you while you dealt with those women. They walked all over you. And you let them.”

  “I know.” She stared out at the green vista for a minute. “But it was for cancer patients. How could I say no to that?”

  He ran a hand over his face. “That’s exactly why you should have told me. They played you. They wanted to hold the party here, and they knew they needed a cause that you couldn’t say no to.”

  Donna snorted. “They didn’t have to look far—there isn’t much I’d turn down.”

  “Which is why you should have let me stand up for you. I would have protected you, and this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Or would you have shot the messenger?”

  “No’ this week.” His lips twitched, and she could have sworn he was about to smile. “From now on, I’ll deal with the Women’s Institute.”

  Donna didn’t argue. She hadn’t planned on being there to deal with them anyway. Her mouth felt dry, and she licked her lips to wet them.

  “There’s water on the bedside table,” Duncan said.r />
  Grateful, she took it and drank her fill.

  His eyes never left her. “There’s also the matter of you lying to me.”

  She took another sip of water, wishing it was wine. She could have done with some fortification for this conversation. “Are you firing me?”

  “Oh, no, Angel. I have other punishments in mind.”

  She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. “If it’s any consolation, I hated lying to you. I was sick over it.”

  “I know.”

  “How?”

  “Because I know you. Although, you don’t seem to think I do,” he said ominously. “We’ll deal with the issue of you lying to me later. There are other things we need to get sorted first. Like this.”

  He tossed a book onto her bed, and she grimaced. “I don’t suppose you’re just upset because you don’t like Peter Pan?”

  He wasn’t amused. “Why didn’t you tell me you could draw?”

  She almost choked on her water. “Because I can’t. You can draw. I doodle.”

  He stared at her for so long, she started to squirm. “You really believe that, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer, he just leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “Those are some of the best illustrations I’ve ever seen.”

  The blood drained from her head so fast she felt dizzy and had to curl a hand into the bedding to stop from falling over. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Aye, I do. And the dean of the Fine Arts school thought the same thing when I showed her your copy of The Hobbit last night.”

  “I’m going to be sick.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  Duncan was there in a flash, pressing a gentle hand to the back of her neck. “Lean over and breathe slowly until it passes. You’ll be fine.”

  She didn’t think so, but she did as he told her. When she sat back up, he was on the bed beside her.

  “Okay,” he said. “We’ll deal with that topic later too. There’s something more important to discuss first. Why are you moving out of the mansion and quitting your job?”

  “Oh.” Donna had forgotten about the state of her apartment.