Guarding the Socialite

by Kimberly Van Meter

  “This business with that maniac killing the ladies of the night has everyone worried about you, Miss Vale. Your parents have been glued to the television each night, waiting for news, hoping that whoever is perpetrating these horrific crimes has been caught.” Phillipe placed a hand gently on her shoulder, and her eyes widened at the genuine concern she read in his dignified face. “They’re terrified of losing you, too.”

  “Likely, they’re more terrified of the bad press,” she said in an uncharitable grumble that immediately shamed her, but the old arguments her parents resurrected about Iris House caused her to be defensive.

  “I shouldn’t talk out of turn but Mr. Vale pulled some considerable strings to ensure your safety regarding this nasty business.”

  She startled. “What do you mean?”

  Phillipe shook his head. “I’ve said too much already. It’s not my place, but I know I rested a little easier knowing the FBI had assigned their best to the case. Just remember your parents have already lost one daughter—they can’t bear to lose another.”

  Elyse’s ghost hovered between them, a painful memory for the entire household. As much as she was loved, her death had been both devastating and a relief for her parents. By the last days, Elyse had nearly ripped their family apart. Emma read the pain in Phillipe’s eyes as the memory haunted him, as well. She buried the cold knot of fear pulsing beneath the surface of her emotions and deliberately forced a warm smile for his concern. It hurt her heart to see Phillipe so visibly shaken. She patted his soft, gnarled hand and reassured him as best as she could. “You’ve nothing to worry about, Phillipe,” she said with good cheer, though she didn’t quite like the fact that her father had been responsible for putting Dillon on the case. It made her feel babysat and that didn’t sit well at all. Still, since she had no wish to trouble Phillipe with her feelings on the matter, she simply reassured him. “I am taking every precaution. Agent McIntyre is quite sharp and you’d like him, I think. He’s very 007 with his British accent but there’s an edge about him that says I can disable you with my pinkie.” She refrained from continuing. There were many things about Dillon McIntyre that were noteworthy, but if she continued, Phillipe knew her well enough to see that she was soft on the man. And she didn’t really want anyone to know that. Least of all her family. She had complications enough. She didn’t need one more added to the heap.

  Phillipe’s frown didn’t ease, but he remained silent, offering only the slightest nod to indicate he’d said his piece even if he didn’t feel better about the situation.

  She sighed and glanced in the direction of the drawing room. “Guess we should get this over with. The Vales are not the kind of people you leave waiting.” She offered a subtle mischievous smile, which Phillipe couldn’t help but return.

  Lips twitching, he said, “This way, Miss Vale. It’s always a pleasure.”

  Phillipe announced her at the door and then closed it behind him. Her parents, as well as their family friend Isaac West stopped their conversation and turned as she walked into the room.

  Isaac, a wealthy gentleman who had come into their lives through her father’s business associates, had been something of an uncle to Emma and Elyse, and she was, at the very least, happy to see him, if not her parents.

  He greeted her with an effusive hug that caused her to laugh when it lingered. “Isaac, you act as if you haven’t seen me in years,” she joked when he finally let her go.

  “Forgive me, but you get more beautiful each time I see you,” Isaac said, his gaze warm and appreciative. She laughed away his compliment but he would not allow it. He shook his head. “No, it is no wonder your father cringes at the company you keep.”

  Faltering, Emma glanced at her parents, wondering when they’d managed to contaminate Isaac’s views on her work when he’d always been so supportive, even going so far as to help find the building for Iris House when she first began. “Isaac, please tell me you haven’t lost faith in the work I do,” she teased but there was unease resting beneath the surface. She needn’t have worried, though. A heartbeat later Isaac laughed and waved away her concern.

  “Of course not. It’s just this sordid business has everyone all tied in knots. You are a guardian angel for those women,” he declared, ignoring her father’s look of irritation at his effusive praise. “Nigel, deny it all you want…Emma is doing important work. Imagine how things might’ve been different if there’d been something like Iris House for Elyse?”

  Veronica Vale stiffened at the mention of Emma’s twin, the subject forever a sore one for her mother. She sniffed and took a quick sip of her wine. “Next subject,” she demanded, her displeasure clear. “I will not have a pleasant evening ruined by bad memories.”

  Emma swallowed her immediate ire for Isaac’s sake, but a moment of uncomfortable silence followed until Veronica cleared her throat and forced a smile like the good hostess she was trained to be. “Darling, it’s so good to see you. What’s new? Anything exciting going on? Isaac was just telling us that on his latest trip he rode an elephant.”

  Emma shot Isaac a look of incredulity that was not entirely directed at his mode of transportation while visiting Thailand. She chose her words carefully, not wanting to incite a full-blown fight when there was a guest in the house but not wanting to pretend that everything was fabulous for the sake of appearances. “Well, Mother, as you know, we’ve suffered a loss at Iris House,” she began. “So we’ve been wrapped up in the investigation. An agent has been interviewing the girls—”

  “Emmaline,” her mother’s sharp voice interrupted her, her mouth a firm slash of Estée Lauder red. “I don’t want to talk about Iris House tonight. Surely, there’s something else happening in your life worth talking about aside from prostitutes and drug addicts.”

  “Veronica, don’t needle the girl,” Nigel cut in, while Isaac looked pained to be in the same room with the Vales at the moment. Likely, he hadn’t expected the evening to deteriorate the way it was. “You’re always complaining that she doesn’t visit enough as it is. Why are you trying to scare her off?”

  “I just don’t want to talk about that place,” Veronica said in a low tone, rising to refill her wineglass. “The whole thing makes me sick to my stomach, especially now with that maniac running around.”

  “Emma, we’ve come to the conclusion that this sordid business—” he gestured at her with a wave of his hand that she knew to mean Iris House “—has to stop. It was a harmless hobby that was quite benevolent of you in the beginning, but there’s real danger now with that man on the loose and I don’t want you in the thick of it.”

  “Now, Nigel—” Isaac started but her father waved him off.

  “No, Isaac, you’ve been out of the country for a while. You don’t know what kind of danger Emma has gotten herself wrapped up in. I’m sorry but things have gotten serious.”

  “Dad…” She spoke around the growing tightness in her chest and tried not to let her temper get the best of her. Her father was notorious for being a controlling bully but she was no longer a teenager under his thumb and refused to be cowed. “I appreciate your concern, but really, the media has sensationalized the case and I’m not in any danger. Besides,” she couldn’t help but add even when she’d told herself to let it go, “from what I hear you pushed all the right buttons to get the best on the case, so I should be just fine.”

  “Emma, the prostitute that was killed,” her mother started, her tone faltering on the word prostitute as if just allowing the word to fall from her lips was some kind of social faux pas, and shooting a glance at Nigel, who was wearing his customary hard-lipped scowl. “We know she was one of your boarders. Charlotte, yes?” Veronica took her silence as enough of an admission. “This is hitting too close to home. We can’t allow you to continue putting yourself in harm’s way with this pet project.”

  Pet project? “I beg to differ, Mother. Iris House is beyond a pet project or hobby. We’re making a difference out there for the women who want to chang
e their lives. I appreciate your concern but I have no intention of shutting down.”

  “Don’t make us be the bad guys when we’re just trying to keep you safe,” her mother said, puzzling Emma. The decision was not theirs to make. They held no claim on Iris House, she’d made sure of that from the beginning, yet there was an uncomfortable buzz at the base of her skull that surely wasn’t a good sign. “Your father and I think it would be best if you moved home for a while. Until things settle down and everything goes back to normal.”

  Move home? She was an adult, not a child and it irked her to know that in spite of her achievements her parents still perceived her as a girl who needed a short leash lest she hurt herself. “No.” Her answer was immediate. Leave Iris House? Absolutely not. “That’s not possible. I have responsibilities. You may not understand but I can’t just walk away. It’s ridiculous for you to even assume that I would consider it.”

  “Ridiculous?” Nigel repeated, his brow darkening. “What I find ridiculous is your incessant need to cling to a bunch of drug-addled whores, one of which was found cut to pieces, when it’s clearly unsafe to do so.”

  Isaac jumped to her defense. “Nigel, my friend, you aren’t being entirely fair. Emma’s work is incredibly important. You should be proud of her.”

  “Thank you, Isaac, but don’t waste your breath,” she said, too angry to censor her words, fisting her hands as she directed her ire at her father. “Don’t talk about my boarders with such disrespect. You know nothing about Iris House and with that attitude you never will.” She gathered a deep breath, her body quaking with the rage that her father never failed to kindle with his elitist snobbery, and cooled her voice with great effort. She wasn’t going to let him goad her into a shouting match. “If that’s all this visit was about then we’re finished here.”

  “Emma, please,” her mother said, a plea in her voice as her gaze darted from Emma to her husband. “What your father is trying to say is that it’s just too dangerous right now.”

  Emma thawed just a little at the raw fear in her mother’s voice. Veronica was not putting on a show for her benefit. Wonder of all wonders, her mother’s concern was genuine. Immediately shamed for her unkind thought, she said, “That’s what I’m trying to tell you…I’m fine. I’m in no danger whatsoever. I’m just as safe here as I am at Iris House and I have too much to do before the Winter Ball to skip out now, even for a short time. Mother, surely you can understand the preparations that go into coordinating a major fundraising event.”

  “Of course,” Veronica said. As the cochair or chair of a multitude of events throughout the city from her various committees and women’s groups, this was something she was quite aware of and could sympathize with. “But, perhaps you could put someone else in charge of the Winter Ball this year. I’ve always thought you needed to delegate more anyway.”

  “You could be right but you know I won’t,” she said. “I’m too much like the woman who raised me. I need to be involved with every detail. You’ve always said that to ensure a job is done correctly, you must do it yourself. I take that advice to heart.” If nothing else, she nearly muttered to herself. Emma had often wondered if the decision to adopt her and Elyse had been based on a need to accessorize with the latest fashion trend, which at the time happened to be babies.

  Her father eyed her with the same steady stare that left board members of the family’s pharmaceutical company quaking in their expensive Italian loafers and said tersely, “Don’t bother lying, Emmaline. I know about the letter. Someone is fixating on you and I won’t have my last remaining heir sliced to pieces at the hand of some maniac. End of story. You’re coming home.”

  Chapter 8

  By the time she returned to Iris House, it was dark, she was emotionally exhausted and she couldn’t keep the tears from falling. She dashed the moisture from her cheeks in an angry gesture as she made her way to her floor, thankful that everyone was in their own rooms and not walking about the halls. She didn’t need them to see her in this way.

  She prided herself on being the consummate professional, the cool head in the midst of crisis, but right about now she was nowhere near calm nor cool and she couldn’t trust her mouth. When was her father going to learn that she was not a child any longer and that he had no control over her life? Hadn’t their struggles with Elyse taught him anything? Apparently not. He was still trying to run everyone’s life with or without their consent. He hadn’t even attempted to appear as if her feelings mattered on the subject. He’d just demanded that she leave Iris House and come home. If anything, his bullying had only worsened after Elyse’s death. She stopped short of blaming him for what happened to her sister but she came skidding damn close to that thought. Elyse had had many problems but their father had compounded them with his high-handed attitude.

  Emma had stormed out of her parents’ house riding fast and hard on indignant anger but beneath that a frisson of alarm shivered through her at what her father might do to persuade her to shut down Iris House. He had powerful friends and a long arm. She’d do anything to keep Iris House running, but in the end, if he started contaminating her donation pool…he could sabotage her best efforts to keep it going.

  Hands shaking, she closed the door behind her, still fuming about how things went down with her parents and fearful of what the consequences might be, so it took her a full second to realize the door had been unlocked. Heart leaping into her throat she nearly stumbled and fell on her rump when she saw Dillon lounging on her sofa as if he had every right to be there.

  “Excuse me?” she managed to gasp, her hand going to her throat where her pulse beat against the soft skin as if trying to escape. His attire shouldn’t have looked sexy—a rumpled burgundy dress shirt and a loosened tie generally looked sloppy to her—but at that moment she was shocked by how delectable he appeared even when she knew it was highly inappropriate. Maybe that was the allure. She had a healthy dose of damn-the-consequences running through her veins and she was barely holding on to a very slim thread of professionalism. “What are you doing here, Agent McIntyre?” In my room. At this hour.

  He unfolded himself from the sofa with an apologetic expression though his gaze traveled her face and noted the wet cheeks. “Chick put me in here to wait for you. Said it was best since the girls were still a little wary of my company.” He paused, giving her a chance to offer an explanation for her tears, but when she just lifted her chin and remained silent he continued with only the subtlest of lifted brows. “I’ve taken it upon myself to ensure your safety. There’s an agent outside the perimeter and I volunteered to be the agent on the inside.”

  “And why would you do that?” she asked. Her stomach muscles twisted at the silken slide of his voice. Nerves taut and raw from the bout with her parents, she couldn’t stop from eyeing him with the hunger that simmered just below the surface of her carefully painted veneer of control. There was a recklessness that was altogether heady and frightening but she was too emotionally wrought to tamp it down. For once she wanted to do what felt good instead of what was expected and as her gaze traveled his tall, lean body, she knew with a tingle in her fingertips what would feel like heaven.

  “Because I take my job very seriously,” he answered softly.

  “How lucky for me to have someone so diligent in charge of my safety.” She was always looking out for everyone else, making sure the women in the house had what was needed to survive. Her own needs had taken a backseat and she’d been fine with the inevitable end of her social life, but right about now, those needs were superseding just about everything else, including common sense.

  “Of course, if you’re uncomfortable—” he started, mistaking her comment for one of censure. She almost smiled at his consideration but she knew it would come off looking slightly feral so she didn’t. Instead, she took a step toward him, her heart hammering hard against her chest and increasing that whole breathless feeling that was making her light-headed, and before he could fathom what she had in mind, s
he launched herself at his mouth.

  Indeed, her sudden action startled him and as he stumbled and the back of his legs caught against the sofa edge, he tucked her into his arms before he fell, dragging her down with him. He took the impact of their fall, hesitating only a fraction of an instant, his lips stilling as if weighing the consequences. But she wasn’t interested in rational thinking at the moment and coaxed his tongue from his mouth.

  Their tongues tangled, the glide and tease heating her blood and torching her internal body temperature until her clothes scratched and weighed heavily on her limbs. A small voice cautioned her to stop, to think about the outcome of such rash action but she ruthlessly stomped the life out of that voice and thrilled when Dillon’s hand found the rounded curves of her rear and clamped down possessively.

  “This is a terrible idea,” he growled against her lips even as he pulled her closer, digging that hard length of his against the hottest spot in her body, causing her to groan and rub against him for that delicious friction. “There are rules—” his mouth broke away from her lips to travel the column of her neck “—against this sort of thing. Bad, so bad…we should stop…protocol…procedure…ethics.”

  If she was going to do this she’d rather not be distracted by talk of consequences. She nodded as if she agreed and then reached between them to grasp at his erection straining against the zipper of his trousers. She smiled when he jerked and moaned at the teasing contact. “You were saying, Agent McIntyre?”

  “I was saying…” he murmured.