Sean

by Kate Hoffmann

  She crawled out of bed and grabbed her robe, draping it over her naked body. His gaze fell to the spot where the front gaped open, revealing the soft swell of her breast, a breast he'd enjoyed just the previous night. "I-I don't want to tell him. Not now. Not yet."

  "Eddie isn't going away. I know guys like him. He'll be back."

  "I can deal with Edward," she said.

  Sean cursed softly. "I don't want you to deal with him."

  Laurel slowly turned and stared at him, her mouth agape. "I don't believe you just said that. You don't want me to deal with him? You sound just like a husband. You know, I've taken care of myself for seven years now and I've done a pretty good job."

  Her mood had changed so quickly, he couldn't adjust. "Oh, right," Sean snapped. "You were about to marry a bigamist until he got arrested. Then you hired me to step in for the groom to help you scam your uncle out of five million."

  Her jaw went tight and she crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "I am not trying to scam him."

  Sean shrugged. "Then what are you doing, Laurel?"

  "What I'm doing is none of your business. You're getting paid to do a job and to keep your mouth shut. If you can't do that, then maybe you ought to leave now." She stalked to the door and yanked it open, only to find Alistair waiting on the other side.

  "Breakfast," he said in a cheery voice.

  "I'm not hungry," Laurel muttered. She slipped past him, leaving the butler to gaze at Sean in confusion.

  "A little tiff, I presume?" he asked.

  Sean shook his head. "I don't know what I said. But she's definitely mad."

  Alistair strolled into the room and placed the breakfast tray on the bed. "Would you care for a bit of advice?"

  Sean moved to the edge of the bed and raked his hands through his hair. "Yeah, I guess so."

  "Give Miss Laurel a few hours to cool down. She can be a very determined woman and when she has her mind set on something, she doesn't let anything get in her way, including her impulsive nature. Or a crusty old gentleman who cares more about his stamps than his niece. Or a handsome young man pretending to be her husband."

  Sean smiled and nodded. "Thanks, Alistair." He picked up the silver cover on one of the plates and inhaled the scent of another Irish breakfast. "If I ever get rich, I'm going to hire a butler just like you. I don't know how I ever got along without you."

  Alistair nodded, clearly pleased by the compliment. "Thank you, sir."

  Chapter 6

  The sun was high in the sky and the weather warm. Laurel stood at the deep end of the pool and stared into the sparkling water, then sucked in a deep breath. She pushed off the edge and dove cleanly into the water, then stroked toward the shallow end. After two laps, she flipped over onto her back and stared up at the sky.

  Her mind rewound to the argument she'd had with Sean earlier that morning. It had been so silly and petty. Maybe she'd been a little tired or felt a little vulnerable, but whatever had caused her response didn't matter. She'd sounded shrewish and ungrateful.

  By day, she and Sean were supposed to act like husband and wife. But last night, they'd become lovers. And though she'd paid him for the former, she was getting the later free. If they were lovers, then he had every right to question her motives.

  From the start, Laurel knew the growing intimacy they shared was dangerous. The moment he'd stepped into the shower, they'd tossed aside inhibition and hesitation and indulged in a passion that possessed them both. And though she barely knew Sean, she knew enough to want him above anything else.

  When he'd looked into her eyes as they'd made love, she'd seen something there-a man she was fast falling in love with. He was passionate and completely irresistible. He was sweet and strong and dependable, the qualities most women would choose in a husband. But he was also flawed, holding himself at a distance when he felt vulnerable.

  Laurel knew a troubled childhood had left him wary and distrustful. But when they were together, all of that fell away and he became everything she'd never known she'd wanted. She kicked to the other end of the pool, then braced her arms on the edge.

  Caught in some strange limbo, she found herself pulled between a make-believe life that made her happy and a real life that was growing increasingly more complicated. Uncle Sinclair still hadn't mentioned her trust fund, even though, to his eyes, she and "Edward" had been married for more than two weeks.

  Still, Laurel hadn't made a point of bringing up the subject herself. She knew as soon as Sinclair turned the money over to her, her time with Sean would come to an end. She didn't want it to be over yet. Perhaps he didn't have a place in her future, but, for now, she needed him in her present-and that was enough.

  Laurel kicked beneath the water and sank to the bottom of the pool. When she looked up through the water, she saw a figure standing next to the pool. Sean had left earlier without saying a word to her. He'd told Alistair he'd probably be back for lunch, but Laurel hadn't wanted to question the butler further. Anxious to make amends with her make-believe husband, she pushed off from the bottom of the pool and broke the surface of the water.

  But Alistair stood at the edge of the water, holding a stack of thick towels. "May I get you some lunch, Miss Laurel? It's past noon."

  Laurel pulled herself up out of the pool and took one of the towels. "I thought I'd wait for Sean-" She paused, then quickly corrected herself. "Edward. I want to wait for Edward."

  Alistair smiled. "Mr. Sean called and said he wouldn't be home for lunch. He needed to see his family."

  She stared at him, her mouth agape. "You know?"

  "There isn't much that goes on in this house that I don't know about," he said. "I know about your ex-fiancé, Edward, and I can't say that I'm upset that he's been arrested. And I know why you were so anxious to get married. I'm not one to offer an opinion about your personal life, but I like Mr. Sean. He's a very dependable man."

  Laurel smiled hesitantly. "I like him, too."

  "You seem very happy together."

  "We are. I didn't expect to like him so much."

  "I think he likes you, too," Alistair said.

  "Did he tell you that?"

  "He doesn't have to say it, Miss Laurel. Mr. Sean is a man of very few words. His actions do most of the talking."

  "We had a fight this morning."

  "I gathered that."

  "It was stupid. I said some things that I didn't mean. I wish I could do something to make it up to him."

  "I think he'll forgive you," Alistair said.

  She took another towel from his hands and dried her hair, then sat at the edge of the pool. Laurel patted the concrete beside her. "Sit with me," she said. Alistair spread a towel at his feet and sat. "You have to take off your shoes and your socks."

  "Miss, I don't think that would be proper."

  Laurel rolled her eyes, then reached over and tugged off his gleaming black oxfords. Alistair removed his own socks and carefully rolled up his trousers.

  "Put them in," she said, dangling her own legs into the water.

  The butler did as she ordered and as soon as his feet dipped into the pool, he smiled. "Well, that's lovely," Alistair said. "Quite refreshing."

  "Sinclair would have a fit if he saw you," Laurel teased. "He's such a fuddy-duddy sometimes."

  "He loves you very much, Miss Laurel."

  She froze. "Sean?"

  "No, your uncle."

  Laurel forced a laugh, embarrassed by her assumption. "He does not! He enjoys making my life as difficult as possible."

  "He's afraid if he gives you the money, you'll leave and he'll never see you again."

  "How do you know that?"

  "I've worked in this house since before your mother came to live here twenty-seven years ago. I've kept my eyes open."

  "And what have you seen?"

  Alistair paused before he spoke, as if he was trying to decide how much he wanted to reveal. "I was there the night your father met your mother. Sinclair and Stewart were in
New York, and the night before, Sinclair had gone to see a musical play in which your mother was appearing. He was so captivated by her performance, it was all he could talk about."

  "Sinclair?" Laurel asked.

  Alistair nodded. "The next night, he went back to the theater, only he brought Stewart with him for moral support. Sinclair was determined to introduce himself to your mother. They waited at the stage door and when she appeared, he stepped up and asked her to accompany them to dinner. And at that dinner, your mother fell head over heals in love-with your father."

  "Poor Sinclair," Laurel murmured.

  "I don't know that he ever stopped loving your mother. All the time she lived here with Stewart, after she gave birth to you, and after she died, Sinclair was always in love with her. But he couldn't say anything. It wouldn't have been proper or prudent."

  "And that's why he doesn't like me," Laurel said. "Because I'm Stewart's daughter and-"

  "Oh, no, not so," Alistair said. "I think you look so much like your mother that he sees her every time he looks at you. He sees the love he lost. That's why he both pushes you away and keeps you close."

  Tears stung the corners of Laurel's eyes. "I thought he hated me," she murmured. "I guess I was wrong."

  "If he knew I told you this, he would sack me without a second thought. But I thought it was time you understood why your uncle does what he does."

  Laurel stared into the water, sunlight glinting off the surface, the tile mosaic creating a swirl of color below. "And will he ever understand why I do what I do?"

  "Give him a chance, Miss Laurel. It may take time, but I believe he'll come around."

  Laurel slipped her hands around Alistair's arm and gave it a hug. "Maybe I should go talk to Uncle Sinclair."

  "I think you have other fences to mend first… with your husband."

  "But if I explain to Uncle Sinclair and-"

  "Oh, no," Alistair said, shaking his head. "In my opinion, I think it's best to keep all your options open. Your little charade might just work to your advantage."

  Laurel frowned. If Uncle Sinclair truly loved her, then there had to be a way to convince him of her plans for her trust fund. Why would Alistair want her to continue her sham of a marriage? She pushed the question from her mind. Alistair was the only person in the world she could truly trust, so maybe it was best to listen.

  "Mr. Sinclair and I are leaving this afternoon for New York," Alistair said. "Perhaps you could prepare a lovely dinner for your husband and smooth things out between you two."

  "I'm not a very good cook," Laurel said.

  "Ah, but I'm a very good instructor."

  Laurel threw her arms around Alistair's neck. "And you're a good friend, too."

  He blinked, his eyes growing misty. "Thank you, Miss Laurel. I'm touched."

  She got to her feet and held out her hand to help him stand. "I think we better get started in the kitchen. This may be a long afternoon."

  * * *

  The house on Beacon Street was bustling with activity when Sean arrived. His sister, Keely, and her husband, Rafe, had been renovating it for the past month and planned to move in before Thanksgiving. Contractors' vans were parked on the narrow street and equipment and materials had been stacked on the sidewalk outside.

  Sean stepped around an electrician who was running a wire to the porch light, and walked in the open door. He strolled through the large foyer and peered up the central staircase. Though the house wasn't as large as the Rand mansion, it promised to be equally luxurious. Rafe Kendrick wouldn't spare any expense for the home he planned to share with his wife and their new baby.

  Keely had told the family about her pregnancy at the last get-together, an event that he hadn't attended. The family grapevine had worked well and he'd heard the news on a message that Liam had left on his voice mail. "Anyone home?" Sean called.

  "Back here!"

  Sean walked toward the rear of the house and found the kitchen. Keely stood in the center of the gutted room, staring at a row of tiles she'd laid out on the floor. He stood at her side and stared down at the tiles.

  "What do you think?" she asked.

  "Are you waiting for them to move?"

  Keely giggled and gave him a playful slap. "I'm trying to choose. I need something that isn't too dark but isn't too light."

  Sean slipped his arm around her shoulder, then kissed the top of her head. "Congratulations. Liam told me about the baby."

  Keely looked up at him, as if surprised by his show of affection. She slipped her arm around his waist. "Thanks. We're pretty excited. Rafe is just obsessed with getting this house done. I want to take a little more time. There are so many choices to make. But he's determined we're going to bring the baby home to this house."

  "It's going to be nice," he said.

  "It will," Keely agreed. She pulled him over to the French doors that overlooked the backyard. "Why don't you take a look at the garden and I'll get us something to drink. I have to talk to you about something."

  Sean opened the door and walked outside. The garden was tiny but beautiful, with an old maple shading the brick patio. A pretty iron table had been placed near a small fountain and he took a seat facing an overgrown flower bed. He couldn't help but wonder why Keely had been so insistent on seeing him. He had his answer a few seconds later.

  "Hello, Sean."

  He stiffened at the sound of his mother's voice, refusing to turn around. He should have known something was up. Keely was just too anxious to see him and too secretive about why. His jaw tightened and he tried to keep himself from getting up and walking away.

  Fiona circled the table and stood in front of him, but he wouldn't look up. He felt a hand on his shoulder. "It's time for you two to talk," Keely said. "This can't go on any longer." She walked back into the house and closed the door.

  Fiona set a tray on the table and poured him a glass of pink lemonade. "I asked Keely to call you, so you mustn't blame her. May I sit down?"

  "Suit yourself."

  Fiona nodded, then took a spot across from him, folding her hands in front of her. "I've been waiting for this moment for such a long time."

  Sean glanced at her. He was amazed at how little she'd changed over the years, how much she still looked like the woman in the photo he carried. She was beautiful, and Sean could only imagine how stunning she must have been on the day she married Seamus Quinn.

  But he wasn't a stupid kid anymore and she wasn't his angel. She was the woman who had loved him and then walked away. The anger still burned deep inside of him. But one thing he'd noticed lately was that the fire had been fading. Somehow he'd come to realize that if he ever expected to move on with his life, he'd have to sort out his past. And confronting his mother was the first step.

  "I know you're angry with me and I don't blame you," Fiona continued. "I walked out of your life and you aren't required to let me in just because I'm your mother."

  "You weren't much of a mother," he murmured.

  "I know. I made some very bad choices and I accept all the blame you're willing to heap on me. Heap away."

  He sat silently for a long time, deciding whether to stay and talk, or whether to walk away. "Tell me why you left," Sean demanded. "Make me understand."

  She seemed anxious to answer, sitting up straighter and fixing her gaze on his face. "There were so many reasons and none of them a good excuse. I was worn down. Seamus was drinking and gambling and all we seemed to do was argue. When we came to America, we had such grand dreams. But as time passed, Seamus forgot those dreams. He wasn't able to give me all that he'd promised when he'd married me." Fiona paused. "And I think he was ashamed of himself."

  "So you ran away?"

  "I tried to make things better. I wanted him to quit fishing and find a job that would keep him home, but he refused. And when I found myself pregnant again, I decided I had to make a break, to show him how precarious it had become between us. I had to show him what he was risking. A few days turned into a we
ek and then a month, and pretty soon it was impossible to come back."

  "I know about the other man," Sean said.

  She inhaled a sharp breath, a stunned expression on her face. Then she slowly nodded. "There was another man," Fiona admitted. "No one knew about him except your father."

  "I knew," Sean said, anger coloring his voice. "And about twenty of Da's buddies at the pub knew. I heard him tell the story one night when he was drunk and didn't know I was listening. He said you'd had an affair."

  "No, it was never that!" Fiona said. "He was a friend and I took advantage of his kindness. I told him my problems and he listened and that's all that happened. But he fell in love with me and wanted me to leave Seamus and make a life with him."

  "And what about us?"

  "He wanted me to bring you boys with me. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't marry him, so I had no choice but to leave Boston."

  "God, Ma, it was the seventies. You could have gotten a divorce. We might have had a normal childhood."

  "No, I couldn't get a divorce. I was, and still am, a good Catholic, and when I married your father, I married him for life. I knew if I stayed in Boston, I might break my wedding vows, so I left. I only meant to go for a short time. But the days passed and it never seemed to be the right time to return. Then after I was gone for too long, I was afraid your father wouldn't want me."

  "And what about us?"

  Fiona shook her head. "I never stopped loving you. And I never stopped loving your father. After all this, I still love him." A smile touched her lips. "He was such a charmer when we first met. From the moment I first saw him, I knew he was the one for me."

  "How did you know?" Sean asked. He'd heard his brothers say the exact thing about the women in their lives and he'd felt the same way about Laurel. But the feelings didn't make sense to him. Maybe his mother could explain.

  "There was magic in the air that day," she said. "It sounds silly, I know. Even though you don't remember Ireland, it's in your blood, Sean, and someday you'll feel it. You're a Quinn and the magic is always there. You just have to let yourself feel it." She took a sip of her lemonade and waited for his reply.