Pillow Chase

by Jeanie London

  William Marshall Prescott’s study was a rich-looking room with black walnut furniture, paneled walls, a massive fireplace and lots of books behind glass doors. Miranda had always thought the Gothic mood reflected the man himself.

  She wouldn’t deny that he had a hard reputation, even within their family. Age and maturity had allowed her to appreciate that, while her grandfather might be stern, he was also an admirable man, one who stuck to his principles and fought for his beliefs, no matter what the opposition.

  He wasn’t sitting behind his desk as was his norm, but standing at the window staring out at the back lawn, where Miranda knew summer had overtaken the grassy slope leading down to the lake. Ducks would be swimming in lazy circles or napping on the bank, and the few flowering bushes her grandfather permitted on the grounds would be bright splashes of color in an otherwise manicured green world.

  “Grandfather, do you have a minute?” She resisted the impulse to whisper that she always had inside this room.

  A member of the Senate for more decades than she’d been alive, her grandfather had the gift of projecting his presence, and as he turned toward her, catching her with a gaze so dark it was almost black, his hands still held clasped on his cane, Miranda was struck by how the years hadn’t diminished him at all. She could still see that young hero Victoria had shown her beneath the shock of white hair and the stoic expression.

  “What can I do for you, Miranda?”

  “I wanted to talk with you.”

  “About your sister?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. How did you know?”

  He only motioned to a chair in front of his desk. “Please have a seat.” Circling his desk, he propped his cane against the wall, sat before her and said, “Go on.”

  Being the focus of that still black gaze brought back memories of various lectures she’d received sitting in front of this desk. Lectures about infractions, or life lessons, or worldly happenings. Her grandfather had never been a physically demonstrative man, but once she’d moved past early childhood, he’d shared the values and ideals that had been instilled upon generation after generation of the Prescott family. Her last name might be Ford, but her blood ran true Prescott as far as her grandfather was concerned.

  She took a deep breath and said, “I want to ask you a question.”

  He inclined his head and waited.

  “We’ve been researching our family genealogy online.” She borrowed Victoria’s cover story and sidestepped her sister’s name in favor of a royal we. “Since we’ve been together so much during this visit, we decided to see what we could find. With the Internet, information is so accessible.”

  “If you were interested in the family, why didn’t you ask me? I’ve always been forthcoming.”

  No doubt there. Her grandfather had always willingly shared his side of the family. Miranda even had memories of her now-deceased great-grandmother telling stories about how the Prescotts arrived from England to involve themselves in this country’s politics while there’d only been thirteen colonies.

  “I know that.” Miranda steeled herself to give the answer she knew he wasn’t going to like. “But we had some questions about Grandmother that we didn’t want to trouble you with.”

  Although his expression never changed, his reaction flared in his gaze—shock, disapproval and something else she couldn’t identify but sensed boded ill.

  “You’ve been researching information about your grandmother on the Internet,” he repeated and there was no missing his disapproval about the public forum they’d chosen for their search.

  Unfortunately this wasn’t anything Miranda hadn’t already thought of herself, so she just nodded, giving him a chance to absorb her news.

  If possible, his expression grew even more remote, and she was struck by how isolated he suddenly seemed, as if his dignity and self-possession kept him removed from any type of emotional reaction to bombshells like this one….

  Or from anyone who might dare to come close.

  “What questions?”

  “We were curious about Grandmother’s name. We came across some documentation that suggested she came from France and had Americanized her name.”

  There, she’d phrased that about as diplomatically as she could because she wasn’t about to confront him with two marriage certificates, both with his signature on them.

  When he didn’t answer, Miranda wasn’t sure he’d understood her question. “I wasn’t sure why our grandmother would Americanize her name, but I knew there must have been a reason. I’m bringing this to your attention to make sure we aren’t opening up a can of worms that is best left closed.”

  Her words faded to a silence so complete that she could hear the antique clock on the mantel—a clock that had made the journey over from England with one of her ancestors, in fact—tick with a steady rhythm that mirrored her own heartbeat pounding too loudly in her ears.

  Miranda didn’t breathe and couldn’t be sure her grandfather did, either, but as she stared into his unreadable face, she made a mental note to hunt down and kill her sister and Laura as soon as she got back to the hotel.

  Troy, too. She did not like running interference for a cause she didn’t believe in, and that had nothing to do with principles. It had everything to do with the accusation she felt radiating off her grandfather right now, for feeling responsible for creating conflict with the people she loved.

  Rising from behind his desk, he pushed himself to his feet, a move that appeared to require monumental effort. He braced his hands on the edge to steady himself, his black gaze boring into hers.

  “I’m surprised at you, Miranda.” He paused, giving her a chance to absorb the weight of his words and his tone, one she remembered so well, a tone that had always made her feel as if she hadn’t disappointed only him, but countless generations of faceless ancestors. “You don’t usually let your imagination run away with you. That behavior is classic Victoria.”

  Miranda knew no reply was necessary, so she just waited, willing herself to breathe again.

  “You and your sister have made a mistake.” He continued. “You’ve obviously traced information about the wrong woman. Your grandmother’s name was Laura Russell. There is no question and no can of worms.” His tone grew steadily more clipped, more unyielding. “Anything you want to know about her, I will tell you. No more searches on the Internet. Do you understand?”

  She understood he’d just passed an edict about public genealogy searches. She understood that to continue the search would be to defy his expressed wishes.

  But she didn’t understand how she was supposed to trust him when he’d just lied to her.

  Miranda had seen copies of the marriage documents—one from an obscure little church in the French countryside, the other from a well-known church in London. She’d seen his signature beside his bride’s.

  Laure Roussell.

  And she understood that whatever he didn’t want them to know about their grandmother was serious enough to make a man renowned for his blunt honesty lie to her without flinching.

  And he didn’t flinch. He faced her with the same strength of purpose she’d recognized in Victoria’s photograph last night. But he wasn’t the same man. Suddenly Miranda noticed every line on his face, the way his wavy white hair had started to thin at the temples, and the question she wanted an answer to faded on her lips.

  And that was when she understood just how much she didn’t like confrontation, didn’t like facing the ugly, uncertain way she felt right now.

  She could have asked him about his signature on the marriage licenses. She’d seen them, for goodness’ sake, proof that the marriage had taken place twice. But she couldn’t come up with any way to ask that didn’t sound like an accusation.

  So she didn’t say anything at all, hid the knowledge she had, telling herself that he must have a good reason, even though she didn’t quite believe it.

  “I’d caution you against following in your sister’s footsteps right
now.” His dark gaze sliced the distance between them, his tone cut.

  She could see no trace of the calm-voiced grandfather who had taught her about politics and economics while she’d grown up, the demanding, challenging man who shared his opinions and enjoyed discussing hers. In his place was an old man whose expression had closed up like a fist.

  “Victoria’s making choices that are running her into trouble, and you don’t want to go along for the ride. Her engagement was impulsive enough, but making a spectacle of herself at a wedding—”

  “Wedding?” The only thing that had been saving Victoria was that the family hoped her engagement would be a reasonable one. “She’s set the date?”

  He inclined his head, an oh-so regal gesture that sent a chill along her spine. “Your sister has informed us that her wedding will be the grand finale of the inaugural campaign she’s covering.”

  It took a few seconds for his words to register, for Miranda to comprehend that making the wedding the grand finale would mean getting married this weekend.

  Then she could only stare at her grandfather, not having a clue what to say, but knowing with a wild certainty that she’d just made a bad situation worse.

  Much, much worse.

  8

  TROY HAD LEARNED about Victoria’s plans for a weekend wedding while Miranda had still been talking to the senator. By the time he’d seen her, she’d been so withdrawn that she’d explained what had happened during her visit to the senator’s study in less than twenty seconds.

  He understood she felt telling the senator about their investigation had made the situation worse and offered to reschedule their dinner interview with Tyler for another night. But in true Miranda fashion, she’d reined her emotions in tight and insisted she’d be fine.

  She was more than fine. She’d slipped behind her perfect persona and wowed Tyler all through dinner. She’d been charming, informative and her performance so on that he’d never have known she’d just walked away from a family mess.

  She was still on when they said their goodbyes after dinner, and Troy escorted her back to their suite, barely able to make out his wife behind the too-composed features.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked.

  She glanced at him, her face shadowed as they passed beyond the wall sconces that illuminated the hall. “Fine. And you?”

  She might have appeared fine, but she wasn’t. She’d only put aside her feelings about the day’s events, and he wasn’t happy that she was trying to sell him otherwise. Did she expect him to buy her reassurances?

  He wasn’t letting her off the hook so easily. “What are we doing about your sister? Helping your mother pull together a wedding in a few days?”

  “If I’m understanding this right, Mother won’t have to do a thing. Victoria’s wedding will be a Falling Inn Bed promotional stunt, which means Laura and her staff will host. Although I can’t guess whom Victoria thinks will come on such short notice, I guess that’s not my problem.”

  “Your mother seemed to think that making the wedding part of the Naughty Nuptials will minimize the need for explanations. She said Victoria will be making the announcement in her article tomorrow morning.” He inserted the keycard in the door, and added, “Your mom seemed fine with the news.”

  In fact, his mother-in-law had seemed as fine as Miranda did now.

  “She has no choice but to make the best of the situation,” Miranda said.

  “She also said she didn’t think the senator would have much of a choice but to accept Victoria’s plans, either.”

  But the senator did have another choice—the very same choice he’d made with his own daughter thirty years earlier.

  None of them had said it aloud, but there wasn’t a question in Troy’s mind they’d all been thinking it. And debating what to do if the senator severed ties with his youngest granddaughter.

  But what he remembered most was the way his mother-in-law had put on the appearance of everything being all right. There’d been no media around, no one but family, yet she’d put on an award-winning performance.

  Miranda was doing the same thing, and had been all day. She’d smiled when he’d taken her hiking and fishing then again at dinner with Tyler. Troy couldn’t help but think…how was he ever supposed to know how she really felt?

  They entered the suite, and if he hadn’t been watching so closely, he would have missed the signs of her relief, the sigh, the way she rubbed her temples to soothe away an ache.

  He was still watching when she disappeared into the bedroom, only to reappear a few moments later sans shoes and jacket. Her face was so composed, her deep blue gaze shuddered in a way he knew hid how she felt.

  “Will you do the honors?” Turning her back, she piled shiny curls on top of her head so he could reach her zipper.

  Unfastening her dress, a sheath in a deep ruby-red that complemented her dark hair and fair skin, he parted the fabric to reveal her lacy chemise and the slim curve of her waist. She glanced back over her shoulder and smiled.

  “Thanks.”

  She sounded totally normal, and he wanted to know how often he’d let her smile divert him from how troubled she really was. Catching her before she got away, he pulled her to him and lifted her into his arms.

  “Troy!” She abandoned the attempt to hold on to her dress, and threaded her arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m putting you in bed. You’ve had a long day.”

  “I need to check in with my mother—”

  “In the morning.”

  “But we need to discuss how to handle Grandfather—”

  “Tomorrow.” A command that wasn’t negotiable.

  And Miranda obviously recognized it because she only rolled her eyes as he marched her into the bedroom and deposited her on the bed.

  “I’m not ready to go to sleep yet,” she pointed out.

  “No problem.”

  He was on her in a second, pulling her hard against him, until all her barely-covered-in-silk curves unfolded against him. Her hair tumbled around them, draping them in silky curls. His pulse shot straight into the red zone, and he wished he was naked to feel every inch of her enticing body.

  To tease and torture an honest reaction out of her.

  “I thought you were putting me to bed.” Her breathy voice belied her cool expression.

  “No reason I can’t join you.” Burrowing his knee beneath hers, he flipped her onto her stomach in a neat move she obviously didn’t see coming.

  With a gasp, she propped up on her elbows, but he straddled her, pinning her beneath him. “What are you doing now?”

  “I’m making you feel better.”

  “I feel fine.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  She gave a huff as he drew up her slip, peeling away the fabric to reveal the smooth skin below. Unhooking her bra, he directed her arms above her head to remove everything until she lay beneath him with only her shimmery hose covering her heart-shaped bottom and her legs.

  “You are too tempting, Mrs. Knight.”

  Running his fingers along her spine, he smiled when she shivered, an immediate reaction that reassured him. Whatever might be going on inside her head, she still felt as deeply for him as ever. They were magic together.

  “Oh, that feels nice.” She exhaled the words. “So what did I do to deserve this special treatment?”

  “You let me take you fishing.”

  “It wasn’t so bad.”

  He wished he could believe her, but he thought she was just making the best of the situation to please him. Like she’d done with Tyler at dinner. Like she was doing right now.

  Sweeping her hair over her shoulder, he massaged her neck with a firm motion. “Just relax and let me do my thing.”

  “Mmm,” was her only reply as he worked his thumbs into her muscles, kneading away the tension there.

  He loved touching her. Even now, when all wasn’t well, they were still comfortable together in a way he’d ne
ver been with anyone else.

  He wanted her to feel that way, too. Comfortable enough to share how she felt.

  For better or worse.

  He’d meant the vows he’d made inside this hotel nearly two years ago. But if she only shared the better and hid the worse… He needed to prove he’d stick by her side and love her no matter what.

  It didn’t take long to put her to sleep. He worked over her tense muscles with steady strokes until her lashes fluttered shut and her mouth parted around even breaths. He’d dragged her down a ridge at sunrise, into a stream and back again, and if the physical activity hadn’t been enough to wear her out, her performances throughout the day had finished the job.

  Covering her with the satin comforter, he slipped out of the bedroom and headed straight for the computer. He had another piece of the puzzle and a few big questions to answer.

  When did Miranda get to be herself? And with whom?

  While he was away, he only knew what she shared on their Web site and in her phone calls and letters.

  Logging on to Knights Online, he began surfing through the archives of more than a year’s worth of bulletin board entries. He searched for clues about what had been going on in Miranda’s social life at home.

  The answers had to be in here.

  Scrolling through entry after entry, he read reports of the day-to-day business she took care of in his absence. She’d hired a new lawn maintenance service, dealt with a necessary financial transfer with their advisor, dismantled their living room to texture the walls with a technique she’d learned in a class at the local hardware superstore.

  He recalled the news she’d been relaying about her father’s career, a recent visit from her mother, her best friend Joan’s pregnancy. She wrote about his family as enthusiastically as she did about her own, but she never mentioned any friends except those she’d left behind on the East Coast.

  Troy frowned down at the screen. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t noticed her socializing with any of his buddy’s wives, either. They all got together for functions while he was home, but no matter how hard he combed his memory, he couldn’t recall her ever exchanging anything more than pleasantries with any of the women in their social circle.