She gave him a sweet smile and watched him leave, sighing as his long legs swaggered back to the limousine. He may have been a Good Samaritan, and her mother’s dream may have been somewhat true, but no dream was perfect.
Hannah really did appreciate his help. But someone should let this man know that not all women were going to fall at his feet because he gave a finger to help. It was common decency to do the right thing. Too bad he was so full of himself because he did seem like a kind man, however skewed his intentions. And though she might run into him in such a small town, she wouldn’t worry. He would probably forget about her and move on to the next woman.
She felt bad about doing what she did, but he hadn’t given her much choice. Of course she could always have said no. But then where would she be?
Frowning, she realized she was probably the tenth in a long line of Hannahs. Her phone number was unlisted, but if he wanted it, he could obviously get it. This man could probably get anything he wanted. Anything but her.
With a small sense of regret she wondered how long it would take for him to figure out that the phone number he had in his pocket was the direct line to the Clearbrook Valley Police Department.
John Tanner Clearbrook pressed the cell phone harder against his ear as he walked toward the Chicago terminal for his flight back to Colorado. Drained from the string of trade shows he’d attended and multiple late night dinners, the last thing he needed was his father’s help in finding a tutor for his eight-year-old son.
“Found the perfect one,” Fritz said. “You won’t have to do a thing.”
Tanner groaned. He should have cut his trip short, knowing his father was going to pull something like this. He didn’t need his father’s matchmaking skills, nor did he need any gold-digging women walking about his house, the very creatures his father seemed to be securing lately. After Julie had died, Tanner hadn’t been truly interested in any woman until the night on that mountain road. And that had been a total disaster.
“It’s not your job to find a tutor, Dad. Jeremy’s my responsibility. I forbid you to hire anyone before I return. Is that clear?”
“What’d ya say? All I can hear is a crackling sound.”
Tanner glared out the terminal window where the jet sat waiting to be filled with passengers. “I’m warning you, Dad. I choose the tutor this time. I want the best for my son.”
“Dang it, I always get the best.”
Best floozies, Tanner thought with a scowl. At thirty-two, he still had his father interfering in his life, and there wasn’t a darn thing he could do about it. “I want a disciplined tutor. A man with some backbone. Jeremy’s grades have been diving for too long. I want the best this time.”
Something in Tanner’s heart twisted. He didn’t say his son’s declining marks at school were probably a result of his mother’s unexpected death, but he didn’t have to. It wasn’t the grades that bothered Tanner so much. It was his relationship with the boy. For two years Jeremy had been slowly drifting away from him, and the boy’s attitude toward learning seemed to be a direct correlation.
“Think you could buy a tutor like everything else?” Fritz countered back. “Your ancestors settled this town and this territory. They had brains and grit. The duke—”
Tanner closed his eyes, trying to tame his temper. “This is not England, Dad. And I may be a descendant of some grand peer, but I am not a duke!”
Tanner tried to inhale a calming breath. Why his father had to talk about their family lineage all the time was beyond him. “And this isn’t about money. It’s about me hiring a good tutor. Not you.”
“You ain’t knowing a thing about hiring tutors,” Fritz said. “And you dang well know it. All you do is fiddle with that phone of yours, readying for your next deal.”
“We can talk about this tonight.”
“You can’t come home tonight, I...”
A bad connection slowly drowned out the conversation and Tanner frowned. He loved his father, but he had no intention of entering into that argument again.
Pushing the older man to the back of his mind, Tanner stepped into the first class section of the plane and took his seat.
When the announcement allowing the elderly and families with small children to board, Tanner noticed a young mother, probably no older than twenty-five, carrying an occupied baby seat in one hand and an overloaded diaper bag in the other. The poor woman was barely able to maneuver her way passed first class as she headed toward the back of the plane and stumbled. Sweat beaded along her brow, and her muscles strained under the weight.
At that moment a pang of sympathy shot through Tanner. He instantly recalled the long nights when Jeremy had kept Julie and him up until dawn.
“Ma’am,” Tanner said, rising from his seat. “Can I help?”
The young mother looked at him hesitantly, then looked back at the flight attendant who seemed to be having trouble with one of the passengers.
“I have a son of my own,” Tanner said, catching the wary look she gave him.
Her shoulders sagged with relief, and she rested the baby carrier on the seat behind him. “Thank you, yes, I could use help with my bag, if you don’t mind. My husband is waiting for us in Denver, and this is my first trip with my baby alone.”
She looked about ready to cry, and Tanner felt a moment of pure panic.
“I think I can do more than carry your bag. Why don’t you sit right here.” He pointed to the seat next to the baby.
Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, no. I have a seat back there, not here in first class.”
Tanner smiled. “I happen to have an extra ticket for my wife, but she couldn’t make the trip. The ticket was nonrefundable. It seems we were the only ones in first class, so take a seat and relax. I’ll see what I can do.”
The lady burst out crying, and fifteen minutes after takeoff, Tanner asked himself whatever made him tell that whopper of a lie about his wife and the nonexistent ticket. But the answer to his question was soon answered as he peeked over his shoulder, eyeing the lady and her babe fast asleep.
The flight attendant passed, and Tanner gave her a knowing wink. They had worked together to get the young mother situated in first class. Tanner didn’t mind paying for the lady’s first class ticket, as long as it was without her knowledge. He didn’t want to embarrass the lady. But to Tanner, any loving mother was priceless.
However, after a minute, Tanner’s satisfied grin turned upside down as soon as he opened his briefcase, catching sight of the scrap of paper he’d received weeks ago when he’d taken the back roads to the airport to drop off the limo for his friend Jimmy. The crumpled paper stuck out of the pocket beside his laptop.
Hannah.
He couldn’t seem to forget her. The green-eyed beauty had certainly pulled the wool over his eyes.
Before helping her with her car, he’d seen the lady walking down Main Street. Golden hair the color of wheat. Long legs that went on forever. A willowy body that moved with a cat-like grace. She was a pretty package any man would notice. He’d even seen her leaving the parking lot of the hospital where his brother worked, and more to the point, he didn’t see a ring on her finger.
No doubt he could find her if he wanted.
Not that he needed her address or phone number now. She’d made a fool of him and good riddance. The Clearbrook police had a good laugh at his expense, and he was sure Hannah had, too. Maybe he had been a little forward that evening, but with women like her, he had been out of practice.
His bold attitude toward her that night had surprised even him. But there had been something about that woman.
The vulnerability and gentleness he’d seen in her eyes that night had pulled him in like some kind of spell, and without a second thought, he’d asked her out like a stupid schoolboy.
Everyone in town knew who he was, at least he thought they did. Did she really think he was a limo driver? Not that a limo driver would be bad, but being rich and eligible, he had to admit, he was used to women fal
ling at his feet, but not this lady.
A baby cooed behind him, invoking memories of yesterday. But yesterday was gone and so was his gentle Julie, his high school sweetheart, his dead wife, the only woman he had ever loved.
Scowling, he jerked the paper from his briefcase and crushed it in his hands for the umpteenth time. What the hell had he been thinking? Vulnerability and gentleness were a dangerous combination. Luckily for him the date had never become a reality.
THE REJECTED SUITOR
(The Clearbrook series, Book 1)
Excerpt
Copyright © Teresa McCarthy, 2004
All rights reserved
Chapter One
How dare they do this! If they thought to dictate whom she would marry without a word from her, as if she were a mere child toddling about their knees, then they had better think again. This was intolerable!
Seated at the lavish dining table of Elbourne Hall, Lady Emily Clearbrook clenched the folds of her gown and leveled a withering gaze toward her four older brothers. "Did it ever occur to you, gentlemen, that I should have been consulted about this monumental decision?"
Without a word, her eldest brother, Roderick, the twenty-seven-year-old Duke of Elbourne, finally looked her way, blinked lazily, and lifted his wineglass to his lips.
Emily bristled. Guardian, indeed! That indolent look said it all. Roderick would not be moved. Advancement was impossible. Yet retreat was unthinkable. His guardianship of her was maddening.
Moreover, Clayton, Marcus, and Stephen were following his lead as if they always went along with his dictates, a ludicrous assumption to say the least. As for Roderick including all her brothers in this decision, it was a cunning move worthy of Wellington himself. They were acting as if she had four guardians now instead of one.
She softened her gaze, trying to conceal her turbulent emotions. "This entire arrangement is quite intolerable. If any of you had consulted me first—"
"Consulted you?" Roderick said abruptly, raising his right brow in censure. "And pray, why the devil would we be consulting you? You are our baby sister. There is no consulting to be done. The four of us will take care of the matter entirely. We are merely informing you of our decision."
"But Father would have let me choose," she said, impatiently.
Roderick's lips thinned. "Father died three years ago, leaving your future in our hands. Count yourself fortunate that all your brothers have returned home from the war intact."
Oh, she loved her brothers. Indeed, she did. But Roderick seemed to be using her vulnerability to his advantage, and she would not have it. "I am well aware that we have been blessed with a healthy homecoming, and I realize that you are doing what you think proper, but believe me, I am clearly able to look after myself and my future."
Her four brothers stared back at her with open mouths as if she had just pronounced her loyalty to Napoleon.
Inwardly she fumed. Though her siblings were all powerfully built men, and challenging them was a feat in itself, she would fight for her freedom. Never again would she be at the mercy of a man.
"I am merely seeking a compromise on this," she added impulsively.
"Compromise?" Roderick's dark eyes turned menacing. "There is no compromising to be done. We have made a decision. You must leave all the details to us. In fact, you should be happy that we are to partake in your choice in a husband." His tone suddenly became gentle. "It is for your protection and comfort, Em. We think only of you."
Emily knew her brothers loved her, but at that moment, all she wanted to do was box their ears, especially Roderick's. She would have laughed out loud if the situation had not been so vexing. But she did not need their help in setting on the path to disaster—certainly not since she had been there already.
"Let me understand, then. You believe that the four of you should partake in the choice of husband for me?" she asked calmly, her gaze sweeping over Clayton, Marcus, and Stephen as well. "Is this not correct?"
Four relieved smiles shot her way.
She clasped her hands tightly together. They had no idea that she could take care of herself. She had been on her own for three years. The scar beside her shoulder blade was proof of that. But without a doubt, informing them about a pistol ball ripping through her back while she had secretly worked for Whitehall would not only propel her brothers into a more frenzied state, but would also do nothing to further her cause.
"Daresay, Em, you understand perfectly." Marcus toasted his glass her way. "Knew you were not the kind of female to take offense."
At this point Emily's anger outweighed any patience she had left. "I will tell you this, dear brothers, that there is no choice to be made ... by any of you."
Marcus clanked his glass against his plate. Roderick let out a low growl. Clayton stared back in confusion, and Stephen pursed his lips as if waiting for the final cannon shot.
Emily did not disappoint him. "You must be insane. I am twenty! I believe that is old enough to know my own mind. So why in the name of King George should I be happy about you four simpletons choosing a husband for me?"
"Simpletons?" the brothers replied in unison, four dark heads snapping to attention.
"We are not simpletons," Clayton finally replied with a sigh, leaning forward as he helped himself to another slice of beef. "We are the most devoted of brothers concerned only for your welfare. Come now, Em, do not jest with us. This is an important matter."
So they seemed to think she was teasing them, did they? She doubted they had even heard her announce her age. Did they believe her just out of the school room? The ninnies. Perhaps they had not come back from the war intact at all. Well, they would be shocked to know that she could play their game, too.
Girding her resolve, she gave them a halfhearted smile. "Believe me, I understand your concern and am deeply touched. Though I have missed all of you since you took your stand against the Little Corsican, I cannot sit by and let you make this important decision for me. I am a full-grown woman, capable of making choices according to my own needs and wants, and I believe that it would be best for all concerned that you leave this most important choice to me."
"This is not a punishment, Em," Marcus said gently, "but a rite of passage so to speak. Important decisions should not be left to the weaker sex. You must leave these types of decisions to us wiser men."
Emily almost choked. Save her from the male mind. With a sense of the inevitable, she tilted her head toward Stephen. Her youngest brother had let out a muffled laugh at Marcus's pompous words. Though Stephen had avoided her gaze before, she knew that he would be her last hope. He had always given her the benefit of the doubt, but at the sight of his brown eyes growing wide with guilt, her chest tightened with dread.
"Peagoose," she muttered, narrowing her eyes on him.
Roderick leaned back in his chair and dabbed a white napkin to the corner of his mouth, setting the cloth down in neat, decisive folds beside his plate. "I will refrain from comment on your last retort, Em, because peagoose is debatable here."
Stephen's brows snapped together at Roderick's comment. "Peagoose? If you think—"
Roderick palmed his hand in the air, aborting Stephen’s rebuttal. "See here, Em," the duke went on, "we are not simpletons. We are your brothers and will only choose a suitable gentleman. You must see that."
Emily wanted to roll her eyes. Roderick's words were said in kindness, but they were also etched in stone as if he were some pharaoh making a momentous decree. But the problem was, in most circles in London, his proclamations wielded as much power as an Egyptian god. The mere thought of him choosing a husband for her sent a ripple of uneasiness down her spine.
"Indeed, we are not peageese or simpletons, Em," Stephen put in hotly, staring at Roderick, then back at Emily as if waiting for a reply.
Emily sat silently, her heart pounding. "Forgive me. The use of the word simpletons may have been the wrong choice."
Four sets of well-formed shoulders visibly relaxed. But she
would not let them decide for her. No. She would think of something. She would never again be at the mercy of a man and have her heart dangling like a target for hunting season. She had learned her lesson all too well.
"Indeed, simpletons was a poor choice to describe such thoughtful brothers."
Curling her fingers around the seat of her chair, she was determined to set them straight. She paused, waiting to see that she had their attention. Oh, they were a handsome lot, with their hair colors ranging from blue-black to rich brown. They had been blessed with twinkling eyes of sky blue or chestnut brown as well. Healthy male specimens, they could send the most callous of women drooling like hungry puppies at their feet.
They also had no inkling that their baby sister had information about many of their escapades in Town, and they would turn quite pink with embarrassment if they knew she had knowledge of the London ladies who ran circles around them at the Assemblies and routs—among other places. Inwardly she smiled. Indeed, they had yet to realize that she was not one of those silly women to be led on a leash.
"So we are not simpletons in your opinion?" The question came from Stephen, whose lips quirked upward. He seemed to think himself cleared from the field of fire—and him, a commissioned officer, Emily thought wide-eyed. No wonder Napoleon made such a comeback.
"No, no." Emily raised a delicate brow, her eyes gleaming. "Not simpletons exactly. I believe fools and half-wits would be more appropriate."
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Once Upon A Diamond (A sweet Regency Historical Romance) Page 34
