Ingrid laughed again. "Oh, Finn. I really think you're a hazard on our highways. Use a driver from now on."
Finn chuckled, so charmingly. "But I love driving, especially with all the windows down, the radio turned up loud. And going very fast. Sadly, here in America, there are so many other cars in the way. Big ones, too. I saw my first Lincoln Navigator today. Amazing. And with a very small, very angry looking woman at the wheel…"
"Yes," said Ingrid, a lightness in her voice that had been there too seldom of late. "You ought not to mess with an American woman in an SUV."
"Excellent advice, I have no doubt."
Liv, still hanging back near the foot of the stairs, straightened her shoulders and stepped proudly into the open doorway.
Her mother, in a chair facing the hall, saw her first. Finn, lounging against the mantel on the outside wall, turned when he caught the direction of his hostess's gaze.
Ingrid didn't miss a beat. Her wide mouth spread in a happy, gracious smile. "Liv darling. You're early."
"Mother," Liv said. She felt like a wire—strung tight, but not yet sprung. "Finn. How are you?"
He gave her the most beautiful welcoming smile. "Better by the moment." Oh, he was good. He was very, very good.
"What a surprise," Liv sneered, "to see you here."
Those amber eyes glittered with challenge, with something Liv couldn't quite define. "Her Majesty has graciously invited me to be her guest during my visit to your beautiful city."
The wire of Liv's temper pulled all the tighter. She flashed a furious look at her mother.
Ingrid rose to her feet. "Finn, I wonder…"
He nodded. "I can see the two of you would like a little time alone."
Ingrid beamed him a grateful smile. "Yes, that would be wonderful. Fifteen minutes?"
"No problem." He bowed over her hand and then he was striding straight for Liv. He wore camel-colored slacks and a polo shirt and he made something inside Liv go silly and hopeless and weak. Oh, why did he have to be so utterly gorgeous?
He reached her. And she was still standing there, rooted to the spot, blocking the doorway. She stared at him and he stared back at her. The air around them seemed to be humming—with her own righteous indignation, she tried to convince herself, as she ordered her foolish, wobbly legs to get her out of his way. With a quick, polite nod, he went on by.
She heard his footsteps going up the stairs. They faded off on the second floor. By then, she'd more or less pulled herself together. She leveled a look of disdain at her mother. "Well?"
"Oh, darling." With a long sigh, her mother dropped to her chair again. "I hope you're not too upset with me…" She looked across at Liv, hoping, no doubt, that Liv would rush in with eager reassurances, vowing she wasn't angry in the least.
No way.
Ingrid became very absorbed with crossing her long legs and smoothing her bronze-colored linen skirt over her knees. "Oh, all right," she finally admitted, "I should have said something earlier."
"Now there's a thought. Maybe you could have mentioned it last night, while I was stumbling all over myself trying to make sure you wouldn't worry if you heard any rumors about my 'engagement' to that man."
"I wanted you to get a good night's sleep, be fresh for your job today. I knew you'd be angry, whenever I told you. And last night it simply seemed … wiser, just to wait until this evening."
Liv still held the apple she'd carried from the kitchen. Her appetite for it had vanished. She set it on the counter in the built-in bar area and moved nearer the chair where her mother sat. "Finn was here last night when you called me, wasn't he?"
Her mother sighed again and nodded.
"Then you know about what happened between us?"
"Yes, darling. I do."
Did the humiliation never end? One night's indiscretion and everybody had to know about it, her mother included. "How did you find out?"
"I spoke with your father. He called yesterday. We had a long talk."
Liv wondered if she'd heard right. "Wait a minute. The way you say that, you seem to be implying that you and Father had an actual conversation."
"Yes. I would say the word 'conversation' pretty much describes what took place between us."
"But … you never have conversations with Father." The two had barely spoken in over twenty years.
Her mother was smoothing her skirt again. "Well, sweetheart, I've been doing some thinking. And I've come to the brilliant deduction that things change. If we want to survive in life, we have to adapt." Ingrid looked up. A rueful gleam lit those sea-blue eyes. "With Elli married and living in Gullandria, and with Brit suddenly deciding to—oh, how should I put it?—explore her Gullandrian roots—I can see I'll have to be willing to talk to Osrik now and then if I want to have any idea of what's going on in my daughters' lives."
"You could try asking us."
Ingrid made a sound of frustration low in her throat. "I have. I don't get a lot of answers—and what are you saying? That you'd rather your father and I went back to not speaking?"
Maybe she would. Especially if they were going to discuss things like her sex life. "Whether you speak to him or not is completely up to you."
"Thank you, darling." There was a definite note of sarcasm.
Liv decided to ignore it. "So Father called and he told you…"
"About how you spent Midsummer's Eve, about how you experienced the Freyasdahl symptoms the following night, about Finn's offer of marriage and your refusal. Your father said Finn had decided to come here, to Sacramento, for a few weeks, to see if he might somehow manage to change your mind."
Liv felt her anger rising again. "And you want that to happen, right? You want him to change my mind. That's why you invited him to stay here, in the house where I grew up—to show your support for him. You actually think that I ought to marry him."
Ingrid reached out. "Oh, Livvy…"
Liv stepped back and sat in the chair across from her mother. "Just say it. You think I ought to marry him—marry a man I hardly know, a man with whom I have absolutely nothing in common, a man who's been under just about every skirt in Gullandria."
Ingrid said nothing. For a moment, they sat in silence, mother and daughter, at odds.
Then Ingrid was leaning forward again, a wild, warm light in her eyes. "Oh, Livvy. I like him. I do. And he's from a good family. And if you give it a chance, you might find the two of you have more in common than you realize. And besides, I saw the way he looked at you just now."
"Mom." Liv leaned forward, too. She spoke softly, taking care that no one but Ingrid would hear. "He's a … playboy. Flirting to him is like breathing. He does it without having to give it a thought. He looks at all the women as if they're the only one."
"No, he does not. I'd bet a huge sum of money on that," said Ingrid firmly. "And please don't scowl. I do understand exactly what you mean when you speak of his flirting skills. He's flirted with me, for heaven's sake, and I loved it."
"Well, at least you admit it."
"Why shouldn't I? He's a joy to flirt with. But the way he looked at you … it was an altogether different thing."
Absurd, but Liv felt her heart lift a fraction. "Oh, I don't think so."
"You're so bright, Liv. So strong and sure. Focused and determined, way beyond your years. And you're also domineering. And overbearing. And it wouldn't hurt you to stop and smell the flowers now and then."
Liv tried to keep from rolling her eyes. "Your point being?"
"That I think Finn sees your value, as a person, as a woman he could love. And you have to admit—" her mother dared a naughty grin "—he's certainly experienced enough with the fairer sex to know a special woman when he meets her."
Liv did roll her eyes then. "That's an interesting way of looking at it."
"It's merely the truth."
"Mom. You are working on me."
"Yes, I am. I want you to give Finn a chance."
"I have a boyfriend, remember?"
>
"Darling. Simon Graves is a lovely man. But if he was really all that important to you, I doubt you would have spent Midsummer's Eve with Finn."
Liv felt her face flaming. Okay, okay, maybe some of her fury at Finn was misdirected anger at herself. What she'd done with him four nights ago told her things about herself she really didn't need to know.
"Finn," Ingrid said, "is, after all, the father of your child."
Liv groaned. "Please. It was only one night—to my lasting shame. And it's way too soon to—"
"No, it's not. What happened to you always happens to the Freyasdahl women when—"
"Mom. Let's just … not go there, okay? I've been over it with Brit and Father and Finn. I really don't feel up to going around and around about it with you, too."
Her mother's eyes were very bright. "There will be a baby. Deny it now, if you feel you have to. But that won't make it go away. And yes, I am … supporting Finn in this, in his effort to get to know you better. In his willingness to try and do the right thing. He seems a lovely man to me and he's welcome in my home. I'm only too happy that the father of your baby was well-brought-up, is well-to-do and wants to marry you and give your baby his name."
"Oh, Mom…" Liv knew she was softening. How could she help it, seeing the way her mother looked right now, that gleam in her eyes, the glow on her cheeks?
Liv supposed her mother's reaction wasn't surprising. A new baby in the family, to Ingrid, would mean new hope for the future, someone on whom to lavish all the love she'd never be able to give her lost sons.
"Darling, I'm not saying you should marry him just because of the baby. This is not Gullandria and you know your family will support you, whatever steps you feel you have to take. I'm only saying, what can it hurt to give Finn a chance?"
* * *
At dinner, by tacit agreement, they kept things light.
Finn entertained them with stories of his adventures during his first day in Sacramento. Yes, he confessed, he had once or twice driven over the speed limit.
"But, as luck would have it, no one was hurt."
He'd eaten lunch at McDonald's. "Excellent French fries." And pumped his own gas at a Jiffy ServeMart. "There was a small market beyond the pumps. I went inside. Rows of muffins and biscuits, individually packed. Racks and racks of crispy snacks made of mysterious ingredients the names of which I found difficult to pronounce. And self-serve beverages. They offered something called a Super Huge Gulp. A massive plastic cup and you fill it up yourself. In my rental car, along with the computerized mapping system and the state-of-the-art stereo, there's a small device between the seats for holding beverage cups. Not big enough to hold a Super Huge Gulp, however. I was forced to drink the entire thing before I dared to get back behind the wheel."
Ingrid suggested teasingly, "And from this you learned?"
He laughed. "Absolutely nothing." He asked Ingrid about her work. Liv's mother owned an antique shop in Old Sacramento. He listened, rapt, as she described how she'd sold two French Empire armchairs with bronze sphinx mounts and a Winged Victory gilt candelabra.
And then he turned to Liv. "And how are things at the Attorney General's Office? Did they manage to get along without you for an entire week?"
Liv admitted with a good-natured smile that somehow they had.
There were candles on the table, tall white tapers in her mother's favorite silver candlesticks. Liv looked across at Finn. His eyes met hers, gleaming more golden than amber with the candle flames reflected in them. She thought of the two of them, on Midsummer's Eve, dancing like moonstruck fools around that blazing Viking ship, the rim of the red Gullandrian midnight sun dropping at last below the horizon. Her pulse quickened. Her whole body was too warm.
She felt a smile quiver across her mouth as she accepted the fact that he was here, in Sacramento, that he really did seem to want to make it work between them. And even if she didn't believe it could work, even if she didn't really believe she was pregnant, even if the last thing she needed in her life, at her age, with her career goals, was a baby…
Well, if by some crazy trick of fate it turned out she was pregnant, her choice would have to be to keep the child. She had plenty of money, a loving family to provide emotional support and she was strong and self-directed. For her, it would be a coward's act to do otherwise. Yes, it would slow her down a little, as far as her goals were concerned. But it wouldn't stop her. Nothing would stop her. She meant to make a difference in the world, no matter what curves life decided throw her.
So all right. She would … work with Finn on this, on getting to know him better. After all, if it did turn out she was pregnant, whether they married in the end or not, she would still have to find a way to get along with her baby's father.
* * *
"Good night, darling. Drive carefully," Ingrid said, presenting her cheek for a kiss. "Finn will walk you to your car."
Liv hardly needed an escort out to the back driveway, but she didn't argue with her mother's obvious attempt to throw her and Finn together.
Side by side, she and the prince walked down the back steps and over to her waiting car. Liv found herself all too conscious of the way his arm twice, and oh-so-lightly, brushed hers.
The thick branches of an old oak had swallowed the light intended to brighten the area between the porte cochere and the garages. When they reached her car, they were in deep shadow.
She stopped before crossing around to the driver's side and leaned back against the passenger door.
Finn, as if invited, moved in close. "Do I detect a certain … softening in your attitude toward me?"
"Yes," she confessed, "I suppose you do. You and my father and my mother have worn me down. I still don't think I'm pregnant, but I'm willing to accept that it's a possibility. I'm willing to do what you suggested back in Gullandria, to spend the next few weeks getting to know you better, just in case we end up discovering that there's a baby on the way, after all."
"Clearly a fate worse than death." He said the words lightly, but there was a note of rebuke in them, too.
She shrugged. "Well, I have to tell you, a baby was just not on my to-do list for at least another decade or so."
"Sometimes," he whispered, "life refuses to go according to plan."
They were quiet for a moment. From the corner of the yard, a cricket chirped steadily. And a block or so away, some lonely dog let out a long, sad howl. The night was clear. And warm. The white disc of a full moon rode high in the sky, partly obscured, from where they stood, by the branches of the oak overhead.
As the dog's forlorn howl faded to nothing, Finn laughed. The sound was low and achingly sensual. "I have an idea."
She looked at him warily. "Oh, no."
He put a hand to either side of her, resting his palms on the car behind her, trapping her gently between his outstretched arms. "Let me come with you to that house on T Street
." He smelled of lovely, tempting things. A hint of heather, a suggestion of musk…
"How do you know I'm staying on T Street
?"
"I asked your mother. She told me everything I needed to know—address, house phone, cellular phone. I have it all. I can call you or find you at my will."
"You know no shame."
"So I've been told."
"And I have to ask…"
"Anything."
"Don't you have any responsibilities in Gullandria? Can you really afford to just take off out of nowhere and stay on for weeks in another country?"
"Liv darling, you've got your Puritan face on—your eyes narrowed, your nose scrunched up, that beautiful mouth of yours pinched up tight."
She stuck out her chin at him, scrunched her nose harder and pinched her mouth up all the tighter.
"Gruesome," he said, and they laughed together. Then he explained, "I have estate managers. I pay them. They manage. And should there be a terrible crisis of some sort, they know how to reach me. I also expend a considerable amount of effort—much mo
re than I would ever admit to any casual acquaintance—managing a hefty stock portfolio. For that, in the past few years, all I need is a computer with an Internet connection and a telephone or two. Your mother has been so gracious as to give me one of the upstairs rooms to use as an office during my stay in America."
"You're admitting then, that you actually do work."
"Please don't tell anyone."
"My lips are sealed."
"Ah. Your lips…" He leaned a fraction closer. She brought a hand up, palm out, between his mouth and hers. He made a low, impatient noise in his throat. But he did back off. And she asked, "What about family? I seem to remember, at some point during the time we spent together in Gullandria, you mentioned a sister and a grandfather?"
"Yes." He shook his head. "My sister, Eveline, is sixteen. She lives at Balmarran. She's utterly unmanageable, I'm afraid. She drives tutors and companions away effortlessly, usually on the day my grandfather hires them. And then there was the recent upheaval over the groundskeeper's boy. The two decided they were in love. The boy is totally unsuitable for her, of course."
Egalitarian to the core, Liv put on her most socially superior expression. "Because he's a mere freeman?"
"Not really. I think my grandfather and I are enlightened enough to accept that my sister might someday decide to marry a man without a title."
"Then why?"
"You'd have to meet the boy. Cauley is completely uncivilized. He was ten when the grounds-keeper and his wife adopted him. It was probably a mistake that they took him on. He was angry and aggressive, couldn't read or even write his own name. He's seventeen now. Under all the hair and the surly attitude, I'd venture to say he's a handsome young man, if a trifle too thin. But he remains woefully undereducated and socially inept. He's good in the gardens, though. His father has him working with his top assistant, Dag, learning the ropes, as they say."
"And he and your sister?"
"She seems, I'm somewhat relieved to say, to have tired of him."
"Only somewhat relieved?"
Finn shrugged. "I can't help but pity Cauley. He's hopelessly in love with her still. She's hurt him terribly and he's pulled into his shell even deeper than before."
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