Deception

by Carolyn Haines

  In the time that Willene spoke, Connor gathered her wits. “I tried to call you, Clay, repeatedly. You didn’t have time to accept my calls, and neither did Mr. Ashton.”

  “I guess I figured I’d clear up everything I could with my business and talk with you in person.”

  There was still an edge of accusation in his voice, but Connor chose to ignore it. “I’d have felt a lot better if you’d simply returned my calls.”

  “I’ve got some sewing to finish in my room.” Willene excused herself, carefully closing the door between her private suite and the kitchen.

  “Are you really going to California?”

  Clay hadn’t moved an inch toward her. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “I suppose Richard is ready and waiting to help you out.”

  “Yes, he is.” Connor felt a prickle of anger. “Strange thing about Richard that makes me believe he’s my friend—when I call him he calls me back.”

  “We have a lot of things to settle, Connor. I’ve got something that we need to discuss.”

  “I have a lot of things to think about.” Before Clay could say anything, Connor rushed on. “Your brother paid me another visit. He told me about Melanie.”

  “I don’t give a damn what Harlan told you. It all boils down to a matter of trust, Connor. Either you’re willing to believe in me, to trust me to be the man you want to marry, or you aren’t. It’s that simple.”

  “Nothing is ever that simple, Clay. I can’t believe in you because you dictate that I should.”

  “Have I ever done anything to make you doubt me?”

  “No.” Clay’s actions had been caring, considerate and constant. “But as Richard warned me, and as I’m constantly told, there’s always the past to consider. Especially if you’re a Sumner.”

  Clay stepped to the table, his face contorted with fury. “Damn the past and damn the Sumner name! You can’t hide behind rumors and gossip. Either you trust me—me, Clay Sumner—or you don’t!”

  “This isn’t fair, Clay.” Connor kept her voice low by sheer will power. “I have a right to consider the past and the present when my future is at stake.”

  “Have I asked you about your past? Have I, Connor? Have I made an issue of the fact that you and Richard were lovers?” The look that passed over his face was almost triumphant. “Yes, I know about that. Why do you think I’m so upset that you’d run back to Richard?”

  Connor rose to her feet, her anger complete. “Richard is my friend. Whatever was between us in the past is none of your business. The only thing that should concern you is what we are to each other now, and I’ll say it once more, Clay: Richard and I are friends.”

  Clay’s smile was slow. “It isn’t very amusing to be accused of something with only the evidence of the past to condemn you, is it? Your past is sacrosanct, but mine is open for examination.”

  Connor’s anger collapsed. “No, it isn’t.” She gripped the back of her chair.

  “There are facts from the past that can be deadly. It is true that you and Richard were lovers. That evidence could be used to make someone believe you were going back to renew the relationship with him. Just as my brother came here and presented a set of circumstances to you that made me appear to be other than what I am.”

  “You know what Harlan said?”

  “I don’t have to. I know Harlan. That’s why you have to either believe in me or listen to him. If you’re swayed by Harlan, how many other people do you think will be able to drive a wedge between us? Every time you pick up a newspaper and see an implication that I’ve been with a woman, every time I go on an out-of-town trip, you’ll have to contend with the gossip that I’m screwing a campaign worker or a member of my staff, or a member of the media. If that’s going to be the case, then it might be best if you went back to California.”

  “Is that what happened with you and Talla?” Connor asked softly.

  “In part.” Clay sighed, his own anger burned away by his passion. “I don’t think Talla ever really cared, except that I was her husband, her property. The idea of sharing me didn’t suit her fancy, but not because she loved me. She just didn’t like the idea that I had someone who cared about me. Besides, it was all stupid. Except for Melanie, Talla never had a thing to worry about, no matter how many rumors my enemies floated.”

  “I see.” And Connor did. She had to make a choice. Right now. At this moment. And she had to be prepared to live with the consequences. More than anything, she wanted to cross the distance of the kitchen that separated them and feel Clay’s arms around her. If he’d only kiss her, she could forget her worries, forget how scared she was. When his hands and lips were on her, she knew where she belonged.

  “If you need a few days in California, you should go,” Clay said slowly. “I came home as fast as I could. I haven’t been able to think about anything but you and how much I wanted to make you understand that I love you. I need you, Connor. Not for the children and not for Oaklawn—just for myself. This may be the only purely selfish thing I’ve ever done, but I intend to have you, if I can.”

  Connor pushed her chair into the table. The legs scraped along the floor. It was only five steps across the room to where he stood, but it seemed like a chasm that might catch her soul.

  Clay held out his arms.

  It was all the invitation she needed. She hurled herself across the empty space of the room and landed solidly against him, her body hungry for the feel of him. She pressed herself up on her tiptoes, hugging as close as possible as she sought his lips.

  “I’ve been nearly crazy waiting for you to call.”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, lacing his fingers in her hair and pulling her head back so he could take full advantage of her soft and waiting lips.

  “I need you so much that it terrifies me,” she answered.

  “Marry me, Connor. Say that you’ll marry me. I love you more than anything I’ve ever known. I haven’t called because I’ve been afraid you’d say you were leaving. I didn’t want to risk finding out that you’d gone. So I came here, as soon as I could, to tell you how much I love you and how important you are in my life.”

  Connor felt her will evaporating, along with her doubts. Clay loved her as much as she loved him. If she had ever doubted it, she had only to look into the clear blue of his eyes now to see how desperate he was.

  “I swear that together, we can work out everything. We can, Connor. The two of us, as a team, can overcome any obstacles. I need you. I have to have you by my side. Marry me.”

  “I don’t know …”

  Clay’s lips covered hers. He pulled her against him, holding her so tightly that she couldn’t breathe. His hand clutched her buttocks, then moved to unbutton her pants.

  Clay pushed her legs against the kitchen table as he reached behind her and swept plates and coffee cups to the floor.

  “Clay …” Connor thought of Willene in the next room. Danny was out riding, but he could return. “Someone might come in.” Clay was pressing her into the table, forcing her slowly backward as she clung to him.

  “They won’t.” He peeled her pants down her legs, stopping only long enough to remove her boots. He dropped them to the floor, then grasped the collar of her shirt. The tiny buttons gave in a series of soft pings as they struck the walls and floor.

  Connor gave up all thoughts of protest. The look in his eyes ignited her. She saw his need, and she reached up to put her hands on his shoulders and draw him down to her. No matter how difficult the future would be, she couldn’t imagine it without Clay Sumner. She had cast her lot with him when she allowed herself to love him.

  Oaklawn surrounded her, big and silent, a monument to the past. Connor stared at the fire that Clay had built in her sitting room. The flames leapt and cavorted while she simply stared.

  “Connor, I …”

  “Don’t say anything, please.” At the sound of Clay’s voice she felt her precarious composure begin to slip. They’d made love in the kitc
hen with a passion she’d never known, a savage possessiveness. And then Clay had brought her up to her room and handed her a simple brown envelope.

  It remained on the sofa between them, photographs spilling out on the floor. Connor looked at them and then away. “When did you get these, Clay?”

  “Two days ago, just when I got back from Emelle.” He picked up one of the glossy eight-by-tens. Connor was reclining on the concrete bench beside the fountain in his courtyard. She was completely nude, her profile clear and distinct to the camera. Clay stood over her, also nude. The photographs proceeded in freeze-frame explicitness to capture their lovemaking.

  “They had to be taken the only time I ever went to your carriage house.” Connor remembered the day well. It was the day she’d met Elvie and had stopped by to see Clay on impulse. She brushed the photos onto the floor. “They make me feel so cheap, so dirty.”

  “The only dirty thing about them is the person who invaded our privacy and took them. That courtyard has a twelve-foot brick wall. What we did behind it should have been our business.”

  “But someone saw us.”

  “I believe the photos were taken from the roof of the building on the west side of my property.”

  “Who owns that building?”

  “The city. It’s vacant; that’s why I felt we were perfectly safe in the courtyard. Connor …” Clay picked up the envelope, flipping it over to expose the large, ornate M that had been written on it. The letter was the only identifying mark. “This was slipped under the door of the carriage house while I was asleep. Someone had a key to the gate to do that. And the M …”

  “What?”

  “It might be the young girl I told you about. Melanie. I’ve been a little worried because I haven’t heard from her in months. If she’s found out that I’m involved with someone else, that I’m in love and intend to marry, she might have come back to town. She might do this.”

  Connor was too stunned to speak.

  “She isn’t an evil person. She’s just … obsessive. Or she could be. And she might be capable of this. If she is, and if I can locate her, maybe I can talk some sense into her. To stop this.”

  “She’s dead.” Connor spoke the words in a flat monotone.

  Clay stopped talking. “She’s dead? What are you saying?”

  Connor felt as if her heart was slowing, shifting to a beat so painfully slow that she might not be able to speak. “When Harlan came here he told me how she died when she fell from the seventh floor of a mental institution. After her abortion …”

  “Harlan said what?” Clay carefully placed the envelope on the sofa. His hands clenched into fists, but he did not move. “That sorry son-of-a-bitch. So this is his last-ditch effort to run you off. I’ll kill him with my bare hands! I swear it, Connor, I’ll beat him into the ground, like I should have done years ago!”

  “Clay!” Connor reached out and put her hands on his fists. “Clay!” She knew she wasn’t reaching him. She couldn’t penetrate the wall of rage that burned in him. “Stop it, Clay!”

  “All my life Harlan has felt free to lie, cheat, steal, manipulate, and interfere with my life. But this is the worst. Melanie isn’t dead. There was never an abortion. She’s been in school, and I have the letters from her to prove it.”

  “Harlan said …”

  “Harlan wasn’t content with presenting Talla as the perfect wife for a man with political ambitions. He introduced her to my parents, pushed her “family connections” even when I wasn’t interested. Even that wasn’t enough. Once I’d married her, he had to sleep with her, too.”

  “Clay!” Connor held onto his hands even as he tried to shake her off. She’d never seen him so completely out of control. He was raging.

  “That little gesture came shortly after my parents died in a car accident. That’s when Harlan found out he’d inherited only a small portion of the Sumner wealth. As the perfect son, I got the reward. Harlan got the leftovers, so he set out to destroy the pathetic marriage I’d tried to build.”

  “Clay!” Connor dug her nails into his hands with all her strength. As she watched, his eyes glazed, and then he looked down at the eight crescents of blood just above his knuckles.

  “I ought to kill him.”

  All the rage had gone from his voice. His statement was fact, not vow. Connor dropped his hands and reached out to pull him closer. “Those pictures don’t matter. Melanie doesn’t matter. Forget them, Clay. Once we’re married, no one can use them to damage your career. How can they prove whether they were taken before or after the wedding? And if we’re man and wife, then whatever we do in the privacy of our property is our business. Those photos may titillate a few people, but they won’t do any harm.”

  Clay pulled her into his arms, holding her tight as he stroked her back with one hand. “I need you, Connor. You’re the only thing in my life that makes sense. How soon can we marry?”

  “As soon as you want,” she answered. “How about April?”

  “That long?”

  “Then March. It’s warm here then. The first spring flowers will be out and Oaklawn will be magnificent.” Connor tried to sound excited, but there was a chill around her heart. Clay needed her. Love was an emotion that required sacrifice, and faith. She loved him and together they’d make it work.

  “Two weeks,” Clay said, his fingers moving across her back. “That will give you time to get a dress and Willene to make the arrangements. Please don’t make me wait any longer than that.”

  Connor closed her eyes and let her body rest against him. He was so strong in so many ways, but in this way he needed her. What difference did it make, two weeks or twelve? Where Renata was concerned, it might be best to go ahead and make the marriage a fact. That would forestall any more of her tricks. Connor’s thoughts rushed around helter-skelter in her head.

  “Connor, I love you.” Clay’s fingers tangled in her hair and gently pulled her head back so that she looked into his blue eyes. “Two weeks?” He grinned, a devilish grin that asked and teased. “I promise I’ll make you the happiest woman in the South.”

  “The South?”

  “I’m not familiar with traditions in other regions.” He kissed her nose. “I do love you.”

  “Two weeks from Saturday,” Connor said.

  “At one o’clock.”

  “In the gardens.”

  “With a string quartet.”

  “And just the family.”

  Clay paused. “We could do that, but it would be much better if I invited some of my friends and associates. I won’t have much time to socialize until after the campaign next fall. I’d like the wedding to be public. I don’t want people to think that I’m ashamed to marry you, or that there’s some secret.”

  “Okay, a small wedding. And I can invite my friends?”

  Clay kissed her forehead, then one earlobe. “Anyone you want. I’ll even spring for the plane ticket to bring your father home, if you can find him.”

  Connor frowned. “That may be impossible on such short notice, but I’ll try.”

  Clay kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry, Connor. It will all work out. If your father misses the ceremony, I promise I’ll take you to Australia for your honeymoon—after the election.”

  “That’s a long time to wait for the pleasures of the honeymoon,” Connor said, warmed by Clay’s generosity and his concern for her feelings.

  “We can practice until then. By the time we get to take a honeymoon, we should be experts on all the things that make it exciting.”

  Connor closed her eyes as Clay’s lips took hers. Somehow, everything would work out. It had to.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The hungry wind swept through the open window and forced a shiver from Connor. She stood holding the curtains aside and staring down at the pecan orchard, where a yellow-and-white tent billowed in and out with the wind, the colors bright in the January sunshine. Beside the tent Jeff and Old Henry were setting up rows of white chairs. In front of the
chairs, an archway woven with honeysuckle and jasmine was already in place. The sweet-smelling blooms had been forced in a hothouse, of course, but that was no problem. Clay Sumner’s name had been able to secure many items, including her handmade wedding dress, on very short notice. She dropped the curtain and shivered again, even though the day was pleasant, except for the wind.

  On the bed was her dress, a tea-length satin shift with lace sleeves and hem. The seamstress at the Bayshore Boutique had created it just for her. She had only to slip it over her head and call for Sally and her one attendant, Elvie Adams, to come and put the finishing touches on her hair. She’d chosen to let it hang loose in curls, beneath a short veil.

  The wedding was hastily put together, but Clay’s friends and associates would never know. And it was only in the absence of her friends that she would be able to tell. None of them had had time to make the journey from California. It had been impossible for them to cancel shows and obligations on such short notice. If Elvie had not accepted her invitation with such a rush of honest pleasure, Connor wouldn’t have had a single person to stand with her. Connor walked to the bed and fingered the elegant lace of her dress.

  Richard had refused to come home for the wedding. He’d begged her to wait, to think it through, not to be rushed into anything. In a different set of circumstances, that might have been the right path to take. But Clay needed a wife. Ugly rumors were building about their relationship. Aside from the potential damage of the photographs, Renata had told tales to the Bienvilles, who’d called to question Clay about what was going on at Oaklawn. An opportunity for revenge had presented itself in the guise of concern for the granddaughter they had all but disowned, Clay said. Talk from the Bienvilles could be extremely damaging to his political future, and they had hinted at a custody battle. As Clay had pointed out, a public commitment of their love for each other, a legal bond, would put that issue to rest. And the sooner the better.

  Connor picked up the dress and slid it over her head. She’d insisted on an outdoor ceremony. Willene had squawked mightily. Only Sally had seen the romantic beauty of the stark pecan orchard. She’d taken Connor’s side, pointing out that January was normally a month of bright sun and pleasant temperatures, or at least, nothing that long-sleeved dresses wouldn’t remedy. Connor had not bothered to tell her the truth—that the house was too oppressive. The ornate mirrors reflected images of the past, not the future. If there was to be a wedding at Oaklawn, it had to be outside, in the January sun. Outside, where no secret eyes, hidden in dark shadows of the old house, could watch.