“He’s in the library. I’ll announce you.”
“No, thanks. I’m familiar with the way.” Announce me. Sheesh. She shook her head. Some days Carlton’s sense of self-importance was more than she could take. He would only get worse if the rumors were true that the president was going to appoint him ambassador to the Court of St. James. The plum of all ambassadorships…Mona wondered what he’d had to do for that little jewel.
The library door was half-open. “Carlton—” she called out as she knocked faintly and kept going. “Thank you for—” She jerked to a stop, staring.
Carlton quickly shoved the photograph in his hand into the top left desk drawer, rising to his feet, on his face an expression she’d never seen and couldn’t name. Quickly, he smoothed it over. “Mona, where is Hanson? He should have taken your coat.” Patrician displeasure coated every syllable.
But Mona didn’t care. She was still staring at the desk drawer where the photograph had disappeared. “Is that my mother?” Juliette, very young. A picture she’d never seen, she was certain. She lifted her gaze to his. “May I look at it?”
She noted the war in him, breeding at odds with anger, but she didn’t back down. For a long moment, they stood, locked in a silent struggle.
Once again, Carlton wiped his face clean of all expression, his posture stiff. “Certainly.” With noticeable reluctance, he opened the drawer and drew it out.
Mona stepped forward to accept it. For an instant after her hand closed on it, Carlton refused to relinquish control. Then he did so, turning and walking to the high windows that overlooked Central Park.
The room with all its rich, dark woods, its smell of leather bindings and cigars and expensive brandy, receded. Mona examined the face of a woman she’d never met. Young and alive, fresh with the promise of a different future than the one she would be given, Juliette Clark gazed out from the photo with a beauty and sweetness that could break your heart.
“I’ve never seen this photo,” she murmured. “Nana didn’t have one.”
“She had it made for me.” In Carlton’s voice was an odd note.
Mona was shocked to hear vulnerability in his tone. “How old was she?”
“Nineteen. It was shot prior to her departure for Los Angeles to act in her first film.”
“I didn’t realize you’d known her so long before—” Mona halted, awkward in the thick stew of emotions swirling in the air around them.
“Before she met your father?” His smile was anything but amused. “Before I introduced them, and he swept her off her feet?” An edge returned to his voice. “I encountered Juliette when she first came to New York. She never told you how we met?”
Mona could only shake her head, torn about hearing more.
“She was a waitress in a diner near the Theater District.” He smiled, and it was all fondness now. “Even then, she planned ahead. She wanted the additional edge of being seen by agents and directors outside auditions. She’d accept any break she could get. She was living in an apartment with four other girls and hardly making ends meet, but even half-starved, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” He gazed into the distance, a light in his eyes as he peered beyond this moment, this room.
“She was your waitress?”
“Hmm? Oh—no—” He blinked. “Some drunken fool was giving her a hard time, and I stepped in.” He smiled. “She ordered me to butt out. I asked if I could wait for her after her shift. She told me not only no, but hell no.” His eyes sparkled. “She said it just that way, in the Texas accent she hadn’t yet lost. I, of course, waited anyway and walked her home. She let me, but only barely.”
This was a woman Mona had never met. How had Juliette gone from tart-tongued ambition to the woman who’d renounced everything for love?
“She doesn’t sound like—”
His eyes cleared. “She was different then. Before fame and your father—”
Good manners should have precluded her asking, but Mona doubted she’d ever have such a chance again. “Why didn’t you marry her? If you knew her first?”
“We were inseparable for months. I’d never run across anyone like her, so fresh and original. But Juliette wasn’t the only one with ambition. My chance was here, in New York. Hers was in Hollywood. Neither of us was willing to yield.” His voice grew quiet. “We didn’t think we’d have to, that there’d be plenty of time. I let her go, planning that when I’d made enough money, I’d ask her to marry me. By then, she would have gotten acting out of her system. She’d realize what I could offer. How much better her life could be. Then she was cast as Annabella, and everything changed for her.” Bitterness tinged his voice. “She changed, as well.”
Annabella. Mona owned a copy now. Sometimes when she couldn’t sleep, she watched it, just so she could hear her mother’s voice. “But you saw her again. You introduced her—” Mona fell quiet.
His mouth twisted. “To your father, yes. She was in New York for publicity. Called me up, asked me to meet her for drinks.” The faraway expression was in his eyes again. “I had it in mind that maybe the time was right. I wasn’t where I wanted to be, but I could have supported her in far better circumstances than—”
He broke off, rounded his enormous mahogany desk and sat heavily in the leather chair. Face composed again, he lifted his hands, palms up. “Well, the rest is history. Martin was there—I introduced them. Fate had its own plans.” He looked at her. “I’m sure your schedule is as tight as mine. Perhaps we could discuss the tab now.” In his voice was command, not request. She’d gotten all she would gain from him.
But she’d finally recognized what she’d witnessed in his face earlier, when she’d surprised him. Love and pain, mingled with a deep anger. After all these years, he still hadn’t resolved his feelings for her mother. So why had he stayed so close to their family? Why would he put himself through that? Why would he make himself such a guiding force in her father’s career, when it would mean seeing Juliette constantly? Why help the man who’d won her?
She looked down at the stunning face in the photo, a face that, once viewed, would never be forgotten. Mona and Kat had speculated more than once on whether or not Carlton had a crush on Mama, but what she’d heard today said that he had never forgiven her, either. Why he remained in their lives after Mama’s death was another matter. He did enjoy wielding power, and her father certainly granted Carlton more than Mona thought was wise.
No surprise there. Her father was a selfish man, and he had often taken the easy path.
“Mona?” His voice was sharp. “If you please—” He held out his hand.
Reluctantly, she returned the photograph to him. With a practiced move, he slipped it into the desk drawer, then folded his hands. His eyes forbade her to ask more.
She inhaled sharply. “Yes. The party plans.” She flipped open her tablet and tapped to get to her presentation folder.
Tansy scrambled up the caramel surface of the huge outcropping, her lithe, supple steps outpacing Lucas’s longer strides. Halfway, he glanced upward and saw a streak of bare calf. He watched her slender hips sway as she climbed, saw the sweetly curved bottom as she bent forward. One pure stab of desire raced through his body. He ducked his head quickly, so unsettled was he to know that this child woman should be the one to make him remember that he was a man with all his parts in working order.
One foot lost its purchase in the hasty movement, and he scrambled to recover his balance, carefully guarding the bird in his hand.
“Are you all right?” she called from above him.
“Fine,” he snapped.
“Wait there—I’ll come get you—”
“No—” He heard the savagery in his voice, aware she could have no idea why. He cursed silently, turning away from her until he could get himself under control.
A mistake, a mistake, a stupid goddamn—
So lost was he in self-loathing that her touch almost jolted him out of his skin. “Don’t—” he barked.
&nb
sp; She recoiled from his fury, her face gone as pale as milk, her eyes blue and huge and hurt.
But oddly, not scared.
Fighting for control, he wrestled with the beast inside. “I don’t—don’t touch me.” If there was anyone on this earth who should scare her, it was him. He’d lived among animals for twenty years. Been one himself.
But Tansy only smiled, then slowly extended her hand and traced the scar on his cheek. “Did someone hurt you?” Her voice was soft and sad and tender.
She undid him. Lucas found himself closer to tears than he’d been since that night of soul darkness when he’d realized that he was well and truly trapped. Crouched over, he dropped his head into the arm that rested on top of his knees and struggled to breathe just the next breath. Think not past this moment, this second, the way he’d learned to survive in his cage.
At last, he could speak. “Tansy, you should go home.”
But she didn’t move, not a muscle. For a long time, they sat at the halfway point up the scarred face of Mt. Tom, on the footsteps of countless children, footsteps that were once his own.
And bit by bit, he relaxed. Felt peace steal over him.
Then he lifted his head, ashamed to face her but also needing to view, just once more, the sight of this too-tender creature with power far beyond her size.
She sat very still, her legs folded beneath her, hands clasped lightly in her lap. On her face was infinite patience…and a wistfulness that he knew to his bones would break both their hearts.
“I’m not a prince, Tansy. Surely you can see that now. Please…go. I can’t be what you need. You’ll be hurt, and you’ve been hurt too much.”
Into her eyes he saw the faint and poisonous bloom of a dark knowledge he should welcome, for it might save her from making this very big mistake. A tiny shiver ran over her delicate frame.
But as quickly as it cut through her composure, it vanished, and along with it, the faint frown that had ghosted over her forehead.
He waited, breath held, afraid of what he might have stirred.
Then she blinked as if awakening, and her lips curved in a smile. “Tell me your name, my prince.”
“I’m not—” He cut off the protest, swearing under his breath. Then he drew a deep breath and reminded himself that she wasn’t wholly sane, that the moments just passed were a fantasy and had nothing to do with him, not really.
The look she bestowed on him was one of such forbearance and single-mindedness that Lucas felt amusement bubbling up, however out of place. Perhaps the girl Tansy had matured in some ways not immediately recognizable. This sort of stubbornness had been delivered with much less subtlety and grace when she was young.
Finally, he did laugh. And she joined him.
Two could play her game. “What do you think my name should be?”
She pretended to study the subject, head cocked, gaze sweeping the trees and the sky. After a bit, she turned her attention back toward him. “Galahad.”
Lucas’s eyes went wide. A long-buried yearning leaped in answer, one he’d thought safely smothered in the ashes of his life. A lump crowded his throat. Only he understood just how badly he’d failed that dream. “You can’t imagine how wrong you are.”
Her lips curved. “Maybe you’re the one who’s wrong.” Her blue eyes danced, and Tansy’s pure bell laugh floated, high and dear in mischief he hadn’t heard from her in twenty years.
She jumped to her feet and began climbing again.
“Why Galahad?” he called after her, watching her nearing the top.
To understand what she’d said took a minute, and by that time, she’d vanished over the top.
Come back tomorrow and maybe I’ll tell you.
Lucas raced to the summit to explain why he wouldn’t come back. Couldn’t. Shouldn’t want to. He tensed to run after her, to catch her and tell her no.
But she was already halfway across Riverside, heading toward the door of her building.
And getting out of a limo at the curb was her father.
Lucas could only observe as Tansy launched herself with abandon into the arms of the very man whose neglect had set her nightmare in motion.
Chapter Eight
Kat shut off the lights in the gallery and strolled halfheartedly toward the front door, unaccustomed to feeling blue. Surely Armand’s defection could not mean so much to her. They were still friends, after all. Nothing had truly changed. He’d been her mentor and conscience for five years now, and neither had wanted more. Wished for more.
And Tansy deserved him. She was far kinder than Kat would ever be. She would need shelter and caring, but in her own way, Tansy gave both back. Anyone she loved, she loved unselfishly, holding nothing in reserve.
No matter how Kat rebelled at his advice, at his reasoning hand staying her from what he considered rank folly, Armand was as good a man as she’d ever encountered, and he was entitled to the kind of love Tansy could give. No matter that she might never be more than half child, Armand’s life would be richer for her presence in it.
So why did that make Kat feel as if she were a toddler who wanted to flail her fists and scream? She had no claim on Armand, had never wanted one.
Still, she’d thought…
Kat laughed at herself. She was behaving like the petulant girl he’d often called her, and that was not to be borne. She didn’t want Armand, didn’t appreciate his interference in her life and plans. Didn’t require anyone telling her what to do.
So why was she so blue?
She felt old suddenly, emptied by chances lost, roads not taken. Thirty would be just as bad as she’d feared. It spelled the end of any claim to girlhood, to carefree, kickass life on the wild side.
Didn’t it?
Kat smiled. The hell it did. She was a force to be reckoned with. The art world had better be alert—Kat Gerard was a tigress, and she was hungry.
With confident strides, she resumed course for the front door. She would go down to her favorite dive bar and do some damage. Pick a fight, tease a cock, break a heart—maybe two. She would get stronger with age, not weaker, and she would take her pick of only the best—lovers, friends, works of art, you name it.
Watch out, Manhattan. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet. The man who can break my heart hasn’t been born.
“You ’bout finished, boy?”
Lucas looked up from sweeping the kitchen floor. “Just have to mop, then I’m done.”
“Good, then. I’ll be headin’ on home.” But Al paused. “You got somethin’ on your mind?”
Lucas shook his head. “Nope.”
“You been mighty quiet all night.” When Lucas said nothing, Al hesitated, then spoke again, his reluctance obvious. “Freedom ain’t all fun and games sometimes. Ever’body has tough times, but they pass.”
Humbled by the gruff caring he heard in that voice, Lucas leaned on his broom, wishing he thought he could explain to Al what was eating away under his skin.
But he wasn’t sure himself. “I’ll manage.”
Al nodded and turned to go.
As Al reached the doorway, some rusty instinct toward decency prompted Lucas to speak up, hard though it was. “Al?”
“Yeah?”
Lucas would like to be better with words. “Thanks.”
The older man gave a quick salute. “It’ll get easier, boy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Lucas followed his progress for a minute. Then he started sweeping again.
“Lucas?” The voice was so quiet he almost didn’t hear it, lost in his thoughts as he was.
“Hey, Gloria. What are you still doing here?”
Al’s lone dancer leaned against the doorway, lush curves displayed in a tight sweater worn over skin-hugging jeans. “Thought maybe you could use some company.”
For a second, Lucas lost the rhythm of his sweeping. He kept his eyes on the floor, not sure if he was misunderstanding her offer. He darted a glance at her, then resumed the strokes with his broom. “I’ve still got som
e work to finish.”
“I’m not in a hurry.” Her voice was alluring and warm. Her body would be warm, too. He could lose himself in a woman’s sweet flesh, something he’d fought to forget. Something he’d barely gotten started learning when he’d been locked away.
But his mind was full of Tansy.
What a laugh. Tansy might as well be on the moon. Responding to her as a woman had shaken him as nothing else could. She wasn’t in her right mind, for God’s sake—she was more child than woman, more spirit than bone.
She was nothing like the girl a boy once had hot, sweaty, long-night dreams over.
“What is it?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.” He faced her. “Gloria, I’m not good company right now.”
Her shoulders curved in for protection. “I…see. I—I thought maybe you hadn’t—” Her cheeks reddened. “Just getting out and all, I figured it had been a long time and maybe…”
Humiliation washed hot over him. “I don’t need charity,” he said stiffly.
Her head jerked up, and in her eyes he could tell that he’d guessed wrong. Chagrin fought with something else.
Shame. And sadness.
Chastened, he gentled his voice. “Honey, you can do better than me.”
Strangled laughter crawled from her throat. “A washed-up stripper working in a place like this? You’re wrong.” She lifted her head into something resembling defiance, but the slump of her shoulders defeated the effort. “Sorry. I should have known better.” She turned to go, but he heard the tears in her voice.
“It’s not you,” he said.
She halted, one hand on the doorjamb. “You don’t have to spare my feelings. I’m aware of what I am.”
“It has nothing to do with you. The problem is me.”
She scanned down his body with a practiced eye. “Appears to me that everything works just fine.”
Lucas felt his face redden. His body wanted what she was offering. All he had to do—
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