“Legally I was no more than a kept woman—well-kept, I will admit, but still a kept woman.”
“I can change that.”
“I robbed you of your birthright once without knowing it. I won’t do it again knowingly.”
He put down his glass and got to his feet. “You never robbed me of anything.”
“Oh, please,” she said, turning to face him. “We both know that’s not true.”
“What happened was nothing you could have helped. I’ve always known that.”
She searched the angles and planes of his face that made up his strong features. The need for reassurance was not something that she could help. “Did you really?”
“I felt instinctively that my father lied, and knew it for certain the minute I saw you again after all those years away.”
“I could never quite believe what he said about you, either, except…Why else did you go, if not because he put you out for trying to destroy his marriage?”
“Because I guessed what he would tell you and knew that if I stayed, he would be right.”
“You hated it so much?”
He gave a slow shake of his head. “I loved you so much.”
A trenchant smile twisted her lips. “You’re determined to take this to the bitter end, aren’t you? You didn’t have to say that.”
“I know I didn’t,” he answered with asperity. “I said it because I mean it.”
“Suddenly? After all this time? You have a very convenient heart, then. If you love me so much, why did you lead me out to face the press like a revolutionary leading Marie Antoinette to the guillotine?”
“Because the whole sorry tale had to come out, every shadow had to be removed, before there could ever be a chance for us. There was too much guilt, too much suspicion, for it to be otherwise.”
She closed her eyes, then opened them again, and her expression was bleak. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”
He breathed a soft curse, then swung away from her. Moving to the desk that stood at one end of the room, he took a key from his pocket and opened the desk drawer. He drew out a sheaf of papers and then, straightening, brought them to her and thrust them into her hands.
“What is this?” The words were taut with suspicion.
“Read it.”
The papers were curling slightly around the edges and turning cream-colored with age. They were fastened by a small metal clamp that had rusted on one corner, leaving a stain. On the top page was her full name, including her maiden name, and a date. The date was mid June of 1964. Beneath it was a single typed word: Report.
Riva looked up at Noel in sudden doubt. She was not sure she wanted to see what the papers contained.
“Read it,” he repeated, his voice hard.
She lifted the top page and scanned the others. It was a detailed file on one Rebecca Benson Gallant. There were her parents’ names, their birthdates, and their marriage date. Her sisters’ names and dates were given, including Beth’s date of death and official, though not the true, cause. There were Riva’s school records complete with the time in the third grade when she had been absent for three weeks with what the doctors had called a mild case of polio. There were also her clinical records for colds and a cut or two, as well as her dental records and her immunization record from the local public health unit. There was more information gathered in one place, in fact, than she had known existed on her early years. There was also the record of her Arkansas marriage. After it were two damning lines: No record of divorce in Arkansas, Louisiana, or surrounding states. Marriage presumed to be intact.
Riva stared at the last words in frowning concentration, then turned back to the front of the report and looked at the date once more.
Finally she said, “This is the report Cosmo had done while I was working at the bar, before we were married. He mentioned it once.”
“Exactly. It’s been locked away here in this desk drawer for more than twenty-four years.”
She swallowed, asking without looking at him, “You knew it was there?”
“I put it there when I found it where my father had thrown it on the floor.”
It was an admission she was not ready to face. Instead she said, “But why didn’t Cosmo say something? Why did he go through with the wedding if he knew I was still married?”
“Who can say? Maybe he thought the report was wrong and the Arkansas marriage was really invalid as you said. Maybe he expected you to leave him in a few months or years, and this way you would have no hold on the estate. Maybe he was afraid to mention it for fear you would contact Edison and go back to him. We can’t ask him, not now.”
“Suppose—suppose I had had a child?”
“It’s probable there would have been a quickly arranged divorce and another ceremony. I can’t see my father doing it any other way.”
“Unless he was protecting you,” she suggested.
“My inheritance, you mean? I doubt that would have weighed against the rights of any child you and he might have had together.”
“What about you? Why did you keep the secret, at least after—after the funeral? It would have been to your advantage to make it public.”
“Make it public? I did everything in my power to suppress the information contained there, even going to Edison and sounding him out on a campaign contribution to keep him from telling you, from using it to manipulate you.”
“You did that?” she said, lifting her gaze to his in slow wonder.
“Oh, yes, though I should have known Edison would honor the agreement we made just so long as it suited him, so long as he didn’t need the information to save his skin.”
She gave a small shake of her head. “I still don’t understand.”
“Don’t you? I wanted you here. I wanted to be sure that nothing would cause you to leave, ever. Isn’t that clear enough?”
“But at the price of half of everything that was rightfully yours?”
He took the report from her and flung it on the desk. “That wasn’t important years ago, and it isn’t important now. My father was happy with you, and you made the house come alive. I was afraid that if you knew you were free, you would leave—especially lately. That was the last thing I wanted.”
“But years ago, when Cosmo told you I had tricked you, when he turned against you because of me?”
“You were always more important than any house, no matter how old and historic, more important than a raft-load of corporate stock.”
“So you made your beau geste—”
“God, no! It wasn’t like that!”
She smiled at his vehemence. “Constance’s description, not mine. But anyway, you went away and left it all behind, left it to me.”
“It was what my father wanted.”
That was true, though she knew, as surely as she knew the sun would rise tomorrow, that it was not the full reason. She shook her head, her gaze bemused and softly green as she looked at him. “I can’t believe you did it.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw. “What will it take to convince you? What can I say? What can I do to make you understand that I want to be with you, to have you beside me in my bed for all time, to stand beside you in all things, here and at Staulet?”
“To take your father’s place?”
His eyes were defiant as he answered, “To take mine that I let him have years ago.”
“Out of love?”
“Out of love,” he agreed, “and also out of respect and compassion, and because he had earned your love and I had not.”
“I thought you despised me because I shielded Edison. Why the change?”
“I listened to what you said out there in front of the cameras later, and I knew I had been wrong. It had to be Margaret you were protecting, trying to keep her from ruining her life. That made sense once I knew the sacrifice you had made for Erin.”
Daring, finally, to ask the question whose answer threatened the most pain, she said, “You don’t mind about Erin? That
I have a daughter?”
“How can I mind, when I have both a daughter and a son? Besides, Erin is special to me because she reminds me so much of you.”
Her heart swelled inside her, causing such pressure that tears rose, aching, behind her eyes. “So magnanimous,” she said with difficulty. “I suppose you think I owe you something in return.”
“No.” His voice was suddenly tired and the look in his gray eyes defenseless. “I want no charity, no more sacrifice, any more than you.”
She stepped toward him then, opening her arms, taking his and clasping them around her. “Would you accept a gift?” she asked with quiet certainty. “A gift of love that has always been yours?”
He caught her close, yet his hold was tentative, as if he could not believe she would not break away. He whispered against her hair, “Always?”
“Always, I promise,” she said with rich joy.
He lifted his head to look at her, and in his face was love so deep and boundless it verged on pain. He echoed the vow she had made in a whisper.
“Always.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Since publishing her first book at age twenty-seven, New York Times bestselling and award-winning author Jennifer Blake has gone on to write over sixty-five historical and contemporary novels in multiple genres. She brings the story-telling power and seductive passion of the South to her stories, reflecting her eighth-generation Louisiana heritage. Jennifer lives with her husband in northern Louisiana.
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@JenniferBlake01
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PAST TEMPTATIONS
THE TEMPTATION SERIES
M.A. COMLEY
New York Times bestselling author M A Comley
Published by M A Comley
Copyright © 2014 M A Comley
Digital Edition, License Notes
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ONE
Nicole threw aside the book she was reading. “That isn’t going to happen…not now, not ever. Got that?”
Christine smirked and nodded. “You keep saying that often enough, Sis, and even you’ll end up believing it.”
“Get lost, Chrissy. You know nothing. I cannot give that man another chance to ruin my life again. It’s taken me ten years to get over the last heart-breaking encounter.”
“Nicole, you’re not being fair.”
“Not being fair?” Nicole flung herself back into the chair and ran a trembling hand through her long, blonde hair, crying out as it caught in a knot halfway down. “Ouch! Even my hair recognises the pain I went through back then. Why can’t you?”
She knew her sister’s heart was in the right place and that Chrissy had always thought the world of her ex, Josh Holland, from the day she had introduced him and his charming nature to her family. Not long after that, Josh had left town, walking out on their relationship without so much as a discussion to tell her it was over between them. Chrissy was fooling herself. She’d only been privy to some of the problems Nicole and Josh had been through during their tumultuous, but passion-filled relationship. Nicole had been so damn hurt when Josh had just taken off and shut her out, and since that day she’d been determined never to let another man worm his way under her skin the way Josh had. Now, her sister was here for a visit, to share with her what she thought was exciting news: Josh was back. Back in Windy Creek.
The words had knocked the wind out of Nicole, striking absolute fear and dread into her fragile heart, the heart that had never healed. Josh doesn’t have the nerve to come knocking on my door now that he was back in town, does he? She hoped to God he wouldn’t—she had no idea how she’d react if she ever came face-to-face with him again, after all this time.
“Everyone goes through painful breakups in their teens. You can’t tell me that you’re still bearing a grudge against him after all this time, surely?”
Her sister infuriated her at times; the blasé way Chrissy managed to brush aside Nicole’s pain as if it was just a harmless bout of the common cold.
“Where? Where did you see him?” Nicole asked…and then thought, why did you ask that? You’re showing that you’re interested when you’re anything but.
Her sister was on to her. It was evident when her eyes sparkled with amusement. “He came into the store and tapped me on the shoulder. It took me a few seconds to figure out who he was. He’s turned into a real hunk, Nicole. Not that he wasn’t devastatingly handsome back then. But he’s altered—now he has a distinct air of money about him. The cut of his suit was like I’d never seen before, not on any of the so-called men around here anyway.”
Nicole put her head in her hands, frustrated with her sister’s take on this whole monstrous thing. “Like that makes a difference? You know money has never interested me. Truth and being treated like a worthwhile human being is all I crave, sister dearest. Traits that are tragically missing from the Josh Holland Divine Traits Handbook.”
Nicole crossed and uncrossed her legs as an unwelcome feeling seeped between her upper thighs. Furious that even thinking about Josh could still affect her in such a way, she jumped to her feet and paced the room in a mini circle. She looked around her house, the house her hard work as a struggling hairdresser had paid for. She had no man to thank for any of this. Hard work and determination had always been the ultimate key to her successes.
“Well, I think you’re being ridiculous—” Her sister stubbornly folded her arms and tapped her foot.
Nicole’s raised hand halted what Chrissy was about to say next. “Change of subject needed, I believe. Are you going out at the weekend?”
Reluctantly Chrissy sighed. “Friday night I’m off into town to a club, why?”
“Just wondering.” She paused and gulped down a large bubble of air. “I might come with you.”
“Really? Why? Since when do you go out nightclubbing?”
“Since this weekend.” Again she saw amusement flow into her sister’s eyes. “What?”
“Nothing, Sis. I’ll let you tag along providing I get first choice on all the hot guys we’re likely to meet.”
The two of them shook hands. Nicole grinned. “That’s a deal. Saturday night’s a date then.”
***
The following morning, Nicole dragged herself into the bathroom and glanced at her reflection in the oval mirror. Dark circles loomed under her eyes from lack of sleep—not an endearing feature. She splashed her face with cold water and went downstairs to the kitchen. “Strong and black for you today, young lady.”
Thankful that her nine-year-old daughter was on a sleepover for a few days with her grandma, she sipped her coffee out on the patio, contemplating the sleepless night she’d endured. Every time she tried to shut her eyes, he was there. Taunting her, messing with her head, tempting her to make contact with him. She struggled all night long to force his face from her mind, without success.
How was she supposed to be able to concentrate at work? She was booked solid at hourly intervals throughout the day. She said a silent prayer, asking for the man
upstairs to prevent Josh from tracking her down. Sipping the last drop of her bitter coffee, she went back inside to shower and get ready for work. In the full-length mirror, the person looking back at her tore her to pieces and shocked her. Dowdy and unkempt summed it up nicely. How on earth had she let herself slip into such doldrums?
She arrived at the salon and switched on all the lights and the dryers before she poured another coffee. From the restroom out back, she heard the tinkle of the bell as the shop’s front door opened.
“Just a minute,” she called and quickly washed out the dark stains of coffee lining the inside of the mug. She smoothed down her skirt and went back into the salon to welcome Mrs. Slade, her first customer of the day. “Hello—” she stopped abruptly, then, “You!”
“Hello, Nicole. It’s been a long time.”
Her legs semi-buckled, and she clung to the back of the nearest chair for support. He rushed forward to help her. “Stay back. Don’t you dare touch me, ever!”
A hurt expression crossed his handsome, clean-shaven face. The face she had once loved to kiss and run her hands over. Tracing the outline of his lips, feeling the tip of his tongue searching out her finger, sending chills running up her spine, back in the day…Stop it!
His croaky voice said, “You don’t mean that.”
Recovering quickly, she pulled her shoulders back, and her eyes narrowed. “You bet I do, buster. You had your chance with me, and you blew it, big time. No one gets a second chance to mess with my emotions. Have you got that?” She had no idea where the anger came from at that moment, but if she’d had a knife in her hand, she would have run at him with it, sliced his face to shreds so his gorgeous features couldn’t trick another woman the way they had deceived her.
He appeared genuinely taken aback by her venomous outburst. He held out a shaking hand. “Nicole, please. I’ve come back. For you. We can pick up where we left off. “
“What?” She clicked her fingers. “Just like that, you expect me to forgive you, to fall into your open arms and forget the torment, frustration, and anger you’ve put me through? What type of idiot do you think I am?”
Crimes of Passion Page 145
