* * *
They returned to the house an hour later, Alistair welcoming them both at the front door. He reached to take Sean's duffel, but Sean shook his head and insisted on carrying it upstairs. Laurel made a mental note to tell her "husband" that he'd need to be especially careful around Alistair. The butler was fiercely loyal to Sinclair and any suspicions on his part would be immediately relayed to her uncle.
"I've taken the liberty of preparing a light meal for you," Alistair said, following them both up the stairs. "Sandwiches, a roasted vegetable salad and a fresh blueberry crumble. I've put it in your bedroom. Mr. Sinclair would like you to join him for brandy in the library after you've settled in."
He opened the door to Laurel's bedroom and walked inside, switching on a lamp next to the small sofa. "Would you like me to unpack for you?" Alistair asked Sean.
"No, I can take care of that." Sean reached for his wallet, but Laurel grabbed his arm to stop him.
"We'll be fine," she said. "Let Uncle know that we'll be down in twenty minutes. Thank you, Alistair."
When the butler had left the room, she heard Sean release a tightly held breath. "I was going to tip him," he said. "That wasn't right?"
"No, Alistair is an employee of my uncle Sinclair. But he takes care of me-and you now-because he wants to. Not because he has to."
She crossed the room to the small sofa set in an alcove. Alistair had set out the tray on a tea table beside it. She picked up one of Alistair's famous cucumber-and-cream-cheese sandwiches and took a bite. "Are you hungry? Alistair is a really good cook."
"No," he said. He stood in the center of the room as if he wasn't sure what he should do.
Laurel moved to the dresser, pulled open the top drawer, then scooped out all her underwear. "You can use this for your clothes. I'll clean out another drawer if you need it. And there's plenty of room in the closet." She looked down at her underwear, then walked over to the wardrobe, pulled open the door and tossed the lingerie inside. "The bathroom is through there." Laurel pointed to the door. "You'll need to change before we go downstairs."
Sean looked down at the clothes he was wearing. "What's wrong with what I have on?"
Laurel let her gaze drift down from his handsome face to his long, lean body. He wore a T-shirt and jeans like no other man could; the T-shirt stretched tight over his muscled chest, the black jeans riding low on his hips. "Uncle insists that everyone dress for the evening."
"We're having a drink."
"It's after six. It's one of his rules. Now, what did you bring along?"
"Jeans, T-shirts." Sean strode over to the bed and rummaged through his duffel. He pulled out a black sweater and held it up. "How about this?"
"You don't have a jacket and tie?"
"I don't own a jacket and tie," Sean said. "Whenever I need to dress up, I borrow something from my brother Brian."
"We'll have to shop tomorrow." She crossed to the closet. "I think Edward may have left something here."
"I'm not wearing his clothes." He grabbed his duffel and crossed the room to the dresser. But before he put his clothes inside, he held out a stray piece of her lingerie. A lacy red bra.
A blush warming her cheeks, Laurel grabbed it from his hand. She took his sweater, as well, and smoothed her hand over the fine silk knit. The designer label was a surprise.
"My sister-in-law gave it to me for Christmas. I've never worn it."
"This will be fine. We'll buy you some new things when we get a chance."
He grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and yanked it over his head. It happened so quickly that Laurel didn't have a chance to prepare, or to find something else to occupy her eyes. Her gaze fell to his chest, smooth and finely muscled. He was lean and hard, yet Laurel suspected it didn't come from working out at a health club. He just didn't seem the type.
She swallowed hard, then handed him the sweater. "We… we need to get our story straight about the honeymoon. I think you should let me do most of the talking. Add a few details here and there, but don't say too much."
"I never do," Sean replied.
"And we need to discuss public displays of affection. We have to appear… comfortable with each other. Uncle Sinclair needs to see that we're in love, but we shouldn't hang all over each other. Uncle has very old-fashioned ideas about decorum and propriety."
"Tell me what to do," Sean said.
"Well, we can hold hands," she suggested.
He reached out and took her hand, then wove his fingers through hers. His touch sent a current through her body, so strong that she had to fight the impulse to pull away.
"How's that?" he asked.
"Good. And you can touch me in other ways. Put your arm around me."
He slipped his other arm around her waist. "Like this?" he asked as he pulled her close, her hand pinned behind her back.
"And… and then, you could…"
"Kiss you?" he asked, pressing his lips to her cheek.
"Yes."
He moved to her neck and a wave of sensation washed through her as he bit softly. "How about here?"
A ragged breath slipped from her throat. "I think that would be a little… too… oh, that feels good."
He suddenly pulled away, as if the contact hadn't fazed him at all. "Maybe that's going too far." Laurel blinked, then nodded. "You're right. Touching is fine. A kiss on the cheek occasionally. But nothing else." She stepped away from him and sat on the sofa, pressing her hands between her knees to keep them from trembling. "If Uncle asks you strange questions, just go along. Answer as best you can. He never stays on one subject for too long."
"He shouldn't be hard to trick. When do you think he'll give you your money?"
"I don't want to trick him. The money is mine. My father left it to me. He just made the mistake of naming Uncle Sinclair as administrator of the trust, so Sinclair makes up the rules about when I can have the money. I need it now."
"Why do you need it now?"
"I just do," Laurel said. She'd never told anyone about her plans for the arts center. Until now, it had been a dream. She'd filled notebooks with her ideas, everything from curriculum to design of the classrooms to the teachers she'd try to hire. But she was almost superstitious about telling anyone, worried that any negative comment might ruin her perfect dream. "My reasons are my own," she said. "And they're none of your business."
Sean shrugged. "Just curious." He slipped the sweater over his head, then raked his hands through his hair. "I think we're ready."
Laurel strode to the door. "All right, Edward. Uncle Sinclair gets impatient when he's kept waiting."
As she walked down the wide staircase, Laurel tried to calm her frustration. She'd thought it would be easy to carry out the charade. Once Sinclair was certain she and "Edward" had married for the right reasons, he'd turn over her money. He wouldn't dare make her give it back once the marriage failed.
She didn't like to lie, but the deception was necessary and it was for a good cause. She could have waited for another man to come along. But who knows when that might have happened? And how was she supposed to trust her own judgment, especially after the mistake she'd made with Edward? She certainly didn't want to wait another five years for the money.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Laurel waited. Sean joined her a few seconds later. He reached out and took her hand, slipping his fingers between hers. "Lead on," he said.
They found Sinclair sitting in the huge leather wing chair in the library. Alistair had set out the brandy on a small side table and now stood silently in the shadows. As they entered, Laurel's uncle didn't bother to acknowledge them. Instead he kept his nose buried in a book.
Laurel sat on the leather sofa and motioned Sean to sit beside her. Alistair fetched them both a brandy, then resumed his place. After five minutes Sinclair finally glanced up, as if surprised that she and Sean were in the room. "Here you are then," he said, staring at Laurel. "I hope you used sunscreen."
"The weather was beauti
ful in Hawaii, Uncle."
"Beautiful," Sean repeated.
"Did you see any birds?"
"There were lots of birds there," Laurel said. "You would have found some new species to put on your list, Uncle. Uncle is only interested in American birds, Edward. But Hawaii is a state, so all those birds count."
He turned to Sean. "Do you like birds, Edward?"
"I do. I like ducks. Sparrows. And cardinals."
"A cardinal was the first bird I put on my list," he said. He looked down at his book again and for a long time didn't look up. Laurel took a sip of her brandy, then glanced over at Sean and shrugged.
"You like coins?" Sean asked.
Sinclair didn't answer, acting as if he hadn't heard. But Laurel knew better. He was testing Sean-Edward.
"What's your favorite coin?"
Sinclair slapped the book shut and, for a moment, Laurel thought he was angry, perturbed that Sean had interrupted his reading. "Let me show you," he said. "Alistair, bring out the Seated Liberty."
Laurel gave Sean's hand a squeeze. Her uncle loved to discuss his coin collection with anyone who would listen. And now, he had a fresh set of ears. She slowly stood and walked over to the tall cases of books, searching through the titles as she listened to Sinclair talk about the history behind the coin.
"This is a very rare coin," he said. "It was minted in 1866. There's only one other in better condition and it goes up for auction next week."
Sean seemed genuinely interested and when Sinclair brought out another coin, he pulled up a footstool and sat next to Sinclair so he could examine the coin more closely. Laurel watched him in the low light of the library, taken by how sweet he could be. How had a man like Sean Quinn managed to remain single for so long?
"This is my Liberty Capped cent," Sinclair said. "Look at those luster darts. This coin was made in 1794 and the machinery was primitive at best, so perfection is nearly impossible. This is only one of three which is graded mint."
"Wow," Sean said. "It looks brand new."
"Laurel!" Sinclair called. "Get the Breen. The copy I gave you for Christmas in 1991."
Laurel retrieved the book from the shelf where she kept it and handed it to her uncle.
"If you're interested in coins, then this is the book." Sinclair patted the cover. "The Complete Encyclopedia of U.S. and Colonial Coins."
"So, you only collect U.S. coins?"
"And Colonials," Sinclair said. "And U.S. stamps. A collector has to have some limits. That way, you don't waste money chasing things you don't really need or want." He held the coins out to Alistair, then pushed to his feet. "We'll talk again, Edward. You're an interesting young man."
"Thank you, sir," Sean said, quickly standing.
Laurel watched her uncle walk out of the room, Alistair trailing behind him, then smiled. "He gave you Breen."
"Is that good?" Sean asked.
"It's just a big book of coins, but it's like his bible. He spends hours pouring over that book. I think he must have it memorized by now."
Sean nodded, then tucked the book under his arm. "He's not going to give me a test, is he?"
Laurel giggled. "He might. But not right away." She paused, then pushed up on her toes and gave him a quick kiss on her cheek. "You're a good husband."
A tiny smile quirked his lips and he shrugged. "That's what I get paid for."
Laurel's breath caught in her throat. For a moment she'd forgotten that this was all just an act, that the handsome man standing next to her wasn't really her husband at all. "I guess it's time for bed," she murmured.
Sean held up the book. "I know what I'll do if I can't sleep." He slipped his arm around her waist as they walked out of the library and up the stairs. Laurel knew there was no need for the oddly possessive gesture. No one was watching. But she liked the way it felt when he touched her, the illusion of affection that it gave her.
But what would happen once the door to her bedroom closed? Would they continue this charade of romance or would it be strictly business? With each step, her heart beat a little faster in anticipation. This was the wedding night she hadn't had. And Laurel was afraid that morning would come all too fast.
Chapter 4
Sean slowly closed the door of Laurel's bedroom and leaned back against it, watching as she walked over to the huge four-poster bed. Her room, like the rest of the mansion, was richly furnished with expensive antiques and beautiful fabrics, a far cry from the tattered furnishings of the house on Kilgore Street or the hodgepodge decor of his flat in Southie.
Again and again, he'd been reminded of the two very different worlds they'd come from. The ten-thousand-dollar check in his wallet represented a fortune to him, a chance to build his business. Yet, to Laurel, it was spare change, payment for a day's work, and there was more where that came from. He couldn't really blame her. Given a chance at five million, Sean probably would have risked more than just money.
As she wandered around the room, his gaze followed her, taking in her slender body and beautiful features. He'd known a lot of women who were pretty, but Laurel's beauty eclipsed them all. She wasn't like the women he usually met. She was… classy. Smart. Sophisticated. And way out of his league.
"I think tonight went well," she murmured, running a finger over a little china rabbit that sat on her bedside table.
"Do you think he suspects?" Sean asked, setting the book he carried on the table near the sofa.
She quickly turned, concern etching her features. "Do you?"
Sean shrugged. Their audience with Uncle Sinclair had been strange at best. The old man didn't appear to be interested in the state of his niece's marriage. He'd barely noticed that Laurel was in the room, so occupied was he with his coins. But Sean knew better. "Your uncle wants you to believe he's not the full shilling."
"Full shilling?" Laurel asked. "Is that a coin joke?"
"It's my da's expression. Sinclair doesn't have all his oars in the water. He's a few sandwiches short of a picnic. He's-"
"I get it," Laurel said. "Maybe he is a little… crazy."
"But he's not crazy. He just wants you to believe he is. I think he's a pretty shrewd old guy."
Laurel fussed with the bedcovers, pulling them back and then smoothing them out until they were perfectly turned down. "I've never been able to figure him out. My mother died when I was ten and my father when I was nineteen, and Uncle Sinclair's been in charge of everything since then. He's the only family I have." Her shoulders rose and dropped. "I'm not even sure how he feels about me."
"Does it make a difference?" Sean asked.
She sat on the edge of the bed and rested her hands in her lap, studying her fingernails. Sean fought the urge to cross the room to sit beside her, to take her hands in his. All evening, he'd played the proper husband, touching her every now and then, smiling when she spoke, holding her hand as they talked with her uncle. It had seemed so natural, but now that they were alone, he couldn't bring himself to do the same. Where did the act end and the real desire begin?
"It would be nice to know there's someone in the world who really cares about me," she continued. "You have your family. They must love you very much. That has to make you feel good."
Sean's thoughts turned to his mother. Though he knew he could always count on his father and five brothers, he still hadn't resolved his issues with Fiona Quinn. "I guess so," he murmured.
It would be so easy to trust Laurel, to open up to her and to talk about problems he'd always kept to himself. But Sean had to remember Laurel was a woman and, like Fiona, she couldn't be fully trusted.
"Tell me about your family," Laurel asked.
Sean pushed away from the door and crossed the room. He grabbed up his duffel bag and finished unpacking, laying T-shirts and boxer shorts on a nearby chair. "We don't need to talk," he said.
A long silence fell over the room, Laurel's expression grim. His words caused him a pang of regret and Sean dropped what he was doing and sat next to her. Hesitantly, he reac
hed out and took her fingers, twisting them through his as he spoke. "I'm sorry. I'm just not much for that kind of conversation. Sports, the weather, current events. I can handle that."
"No, you're right. There's no reason for us to discuss personal matters. I have to remember, you're just doing a job."
"That's what you wanted, isn't it?"
Laurel nodded, then snatched her fingers from his and rose. "I'm going to take a shower-or maybe you'd like to use the bathroom first?"
"No, go ahead," Sean said. He glanced around the room. "What are the sleeping arrangements here?"
Laurel's gaze darted to the four-poster. For a moment he thought she might invite him to share the bed with her. Though the prospect was intriguing, he knew better than to tempt fate. He quickly pointed to a small reading alcove near the other side of the room. "I can take the sofa over there."
"No, you can have the bed," she said, grabbing a folded throw from a nearby chair. "That sofa is too small for-"
He took the throw from her hands, then picked up a pillow, as well. "I sleep on my sofa at home all the time. It won't be a problem. If it's uncomfortable, I can always stretch out on the floor."
She grabbed the robe lying across the end of the bed and clutched it to her chest. "All right then, I'm just going to take my shower."
The door to the bathroom closed and Sean let out a tightly held breath. He'd thought this job would be easy, but the tension that had sprung up between them made every minute alone together sheer torture. He almost wanted to return to the library and an audience with Uncle Sinclair.
Sean moved to the door of the bathroom and listened to the sound of running water. A vision of Laurel flashed in his head and he let it linger, imagining her as she undressed and stepped into the shower… as she let the water sluice over her naked body… smoothed her soap-slicked hands over her-
Sean cursed then strode away from the door. This was crazy! Nothing, not even twenty thousand dollars, was worth this kind of punishment. How could she expect him to live with her as her husband and not think about the pleasures that a husband usually shared with his wife?
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