HOT-BLOODED HERO

by Donna Sterling

  “Er, yes,” acquiesced Henry. “That’s exactly the potentially serious problem I’ve come to discuss.”

  Cole stared at the old family retainer in frustration. He didn’t want to hear about problems this evening, no matter how potentially serious. And he damn sure didn’t want to discuss a change in legal strategy, especially if it concerned his deal with Tess.

  Because regardless of what complications had arisen, she was his bride, and he was going to take her upstairs and make love to her all night long. All night long.

  That was one vow he intended to keep.

  *

  Chapter 5

  « ^ »

  “What do you mean, the curse wasn’t translated right?”

  Cole’s explosive question reverberated through the closed library door. Tess, who waited in the adjoining room while Cole conferred with Henry, resisted the urge to press her ear against that door. Instead, she sat in the armchair closest to it and strained to hear the attorney’s explanation.

  She couldn’t catch another word. Her curiosity surged, along with anxiety. Had the curse been translated incorrectly? It was possible. The curse had probably been written in Cole’s family bible the same as it had in hers—in Gaelic. Someone had printed an interpretation beside it. Tess had assumed it was accurate. Maybe it wasn’t.

  It was vital for her to know. The safety and happiness of all her loved ones might depend on her satisfying that curse. What were its demands? Did they include a marriage between “the Westcott of Westcott Hall” and a “daughter of his McCrary neighbor”? If so, what could the difference be?

  Unable to sit still, Tess paced across the elegant, spacious drawing room. A drawing room, Cole had called it, for Heaven’s sake. She’d never known anyone with an honest-to-goodness “drawing room.” With its twenty-foot ceilings, elaborately carved trimwork and exquisite antique furnishings, it looked more like a museum than a home.

  With her wedding dress sweeping around her like an antebellum gown, she paced past a glossy grand piano, velvet loveseats and brocade armchairs, venturing as near to the library door as her honor would allow. She wouldn’t listen through keyholes. She wouldn’t.

  Just as she considered changing her mind, the door opened and the men walked out, looking grim. “Think about it, Cole,” Henry was saying. “It’s not too late to change plans.”

  A shifting of Cole’s jaw and a darkening of his eyes gave Tess the idea that he disagreed. He had discarded his suit jacket, she noticed, and removed his tie. The open top button of his white silk shirt allowed for an alluring glimpse of his strong, bronzed throat and a few dark, curling wisps of chest hair. His shoulders seemed even wider than before; his chest more powerful; his waist more tapered. He looked ready for an evening of relaxation—at home, with her. Her stomach warmed. “Thanks for the information, Henry,” he uttered, sounding more perturbed than grateful.

  Henry lifted a hand in acknowledgement, nodded to Tess, returned his pipe to his teeth and strode from the room. Cole then turned his gaze to Tess—a long, hesitant gaze.

  She couldn’t curb her curiosity a moment longer. “What did Henry say?”

  Letting out a harsh breath, Cole plowed the fingers of both hands through his hair in frustration and paced away from her. He clearly wasn’t looking forward to sharing the news. Her anxiety deepened. How bad could it be?

  He halted with his back to her, his fists resting on his hips as he presumably stared at an oil painting of Queen Victoria. “I’m sure you remember our discussion about Deirdre and my other two stepmothers. If I fail to satisfy the conditions in my father’s will, they’ll inherit his entire estate.”

  “Yes, of course I remember.”

  “My father’s only stipulation is that I fulfill every term of the curse that he’d photocopied from an old family bible. Henry and I took the interpretation at face value, assuming that all I’d have to do, basically, is marry a McCrary. But Deirdre’s attorney had the curse translated into its literal meaning. When Henry found out about his tactic, he also took the curse to an expert in the Gaelic language.”

  “And?”

  Slowly Cole turned to face her, that odd hesitancy still in his gaze. “The curse’s demands are a bit more … complex … than we first thought.”

  “Complex? How so?”

  He studied her with a measuring look, as if trying to judge the wisdom of telling her. “Let’s talk about it after dinner. My housekeeper set a table for us on the back terrace.”

  His evasion of her question elevated her anxiety, robbing her of appetite. “We can talk about it over dinner,” she amended, unwilling to be held off until the end of the meal.

  “After,” he insisted. “I’d rather not ruin Mrs. Johannsen’s wedding day feast. She’s been preparing for it all week. I haven’t seen her this excited over any event since my graduation from college. It would kill her if we didn’t savor every bite.”

  Tess didn’t have the heart to argue with that. In fact, she respected him for caring about his housekeeper’s feelings. But her stomach tightened in concern over the information he would withhold until after dinner. The interpretation of that curse must be disturbing, indeed, if he believed it would ruin their meal.

  Cole held out his hand to her. She hesitated to take it. The thought of holding his hand seemed too intimate. She hadn’t forgotten the tumultuous heat he’d started with his touch in the limo, or his sultry whisper about making love to her tonight. She had to keep her wits sharp unless she wanted to end up in his bed.

  Did she? Frazzled by her answer, she quickly altered that question to: Should she?

  For an instant, she had to search her mind for her reasons against it. Because you’re not in love with him, and he’s not in love with you. Sex would only lead to complications. Oh, and then there was Phillip. The man she loved. The man who had dropped out of her life with a suddenness that left her reeling.

  She was so tired of the gap he’d left behind. She yearned for something to fill that gap; something warm, positive and exciting. But she feared that making love to Cole would only bring her more emptiness in the long run—a different but no less painful form of abandonment. She wasn’t ready to risk that.

  Instead of accepting Cole’s hand, she took his arm, as she had in church. With a rueful quirk of his mouth, he folded his arm into proper alignment and escorted her down the wide, central hall to the back terrace.

  Even that slight, casual contact with him flustered her— The feel of warm, hard muscle beneath the silk of his shirt; the power exuded by his tall, solid body. His very nearness heightened her senses. The mild evening air as they stepped outside seemed especially fragrant with magnolia, jasmine and the brackish scent of the river. The sound of crickets and frogs rang through the rustling trees with a particularly melodious lilt. The spring breeze ruffled her hair and the satin of her gown; caressed the bare skin of her shoulders and throat with a gentle, almost sensual, touch.

  She was too vulnerable to him, even when he was behaving himself.

  The moment they reached the table set for two on the wide back terrace, she withdrew her hand from his arm and distanced herself from him. Mrs. Johannsen, the short, rounded, motherly housekeeper, set steaming plates of food on the table and beamed at Tess in welcome. Cole pulled a chair out for Tess. She sank down into the seat and smoothed her wedding gown around her. The table had been set with snowy-white linen, fresh flowers, glowing candles, delicate gold-trimmed china and fine crystal goblets. She felt as if she were in a world-class restaurant rather than a private home.

  Not surprisingly, the food was excellent: Carolina-style okra gumbo; sautéed lump crab cakes with lemon herb sauce; pan-fried quail; fresh shrimp, scallops, clams and corn in tomato saffron broth. Despite her lack of appetite, Tess set out to do justice to Mrs. Johannsen’s Lowcountry feast.

  Cole ate slowly and with clear appreciation, which somehow endeared him all the more to Tess, seeing how Mrs. Johannsen glowed with satisfaction. Neither Cole
nor Tess spoke much. She caught him a number of times staring at her in that disturbingly measuring way, as if he were trying to read her mind or see into her soul. Perhaps he was wrestling with some decision regarding her.

  She remembered Henry saying, “It isn’t too late to change plans.” Had he meant their marriage? Had he advised Cole to end it now? Was Cole considering it? A confusing rush of emotion spilled through her at the possibility that he might—anxiety over the curse’s resolution, yes, but also disappointment of a dangerously personal nature.

  Perhaps her wedding night dilemma would be a moot point. Maybe he’d send her home.

  She set down her napkin beside her plate and eyed him in determination. She had to have answers to her questions immediately. “What does the curse really say, Cole? Does it demand that you marry ‘the daughter of your McCrary neighbor’?”

  He drank from his water glass, touched his mouth with his napkin and tossed it down beside his plate. He then raised his gaze to her in that hesitant yet appraising way again. “Yes, it does.”

  Her relief was tempered only by her wariness of what had changed. “Then how does the new translation differ from the old?”

  “It goes into more detail.”

  “Such as?”

  Mrs. Johannsen chose that moment to bustle outside with two delicate brandy snifters of an after-dinner liqueur, preventing Cole from answering. She then cleared away the dishes, forcing Tess to hold back her questions and murmur her appreciation of the sweet, strong, mocha-flavored liqueur. Cole thanked Mrs. Johannsen for the splendid meal—which Tess seconded—then sent her home.

  Tess waited until the housekeeper had left before demanding, “What details?”

  Cole settled his broad shoulders back in his chair and absently swirled the liqueur around in the snifter. Despite the nonchalance of his pose, she detected tension in his face. “For one thing, I have to provide my McCrary bride with ‘a safe, comfortable home.’”

  “A safe, comfortable home,” she repeated. “That sounds reasonable. What else?”

  “It also specifies that I must ‘forsake all others, keeping only unto her.’ My McCrary bride, that is.” His gaze entwined with hers. “You.”

  Tess stared at him in dumbfounded surprise. That had been the last thing she’d expected. No wonder he’d believed that talking about it would ruin his meal. As she pondered the implications of his forced faithfulness, worry churned within her. She would have no control over that issue. He might find ways to be more discreet about his trysts with other women rather than actually “forsaking all others.” But the curse wouldn’t be lifted unless he really complied.

  Lacey LaBonne and other beauties flashed before her mind’s eye. Was Cole Westcott capable of resisting temptation when she herself did not intend to take their place in his bed? Almost afraid to hear the curse’s other demands, she asked, “What else?”

  “This stipulation goes hand-in-hand with the last one … at least to my way of thinking.” Bracing an elbow on the table, he leaned in close to her. “The curse decrees that I take you into my bed,” he relayed in a gruff whisper, “and plant my seed within you.”

  A gasp stuck in her throat. “You’re lying.”

  Without breaking their gaze, he reached inside his shirt pocket, drew out a square of paper and tossed it to her. “Read it yourself.”

  She opened the folded page with trembling hands. It was a letter from Henry detailing his reasons for taking the curse to a translator and his subsequent findings.

  You, Westcott of Westcott Hall, must wed the daughter of your McCrary neighbor, take her into your bed and plant your seed within her. You must provide for her a safe and comfortable home. You must forsake all others and keep only unto her. If you fail to do this, your family shall reap only loneliness and heartbreak.

  Tess glanced up blindly from the letter, feeling stunned and shaken.

  “Whoever printed the original translation must have considered all that to be a natural part of marriage and didn’t see the need to outline those details.” A slight smile bent one corner of his mouth. “Your great-great-grandmother herself must have known better. She worded the curse to prevent some scheming Westcott boy from doing just what we’d planned to do—ease out of the conditions on a technicality.”

  Tess couldn’t utter as much as a word. She was trapped. Trapped!

  “Now, my sweet McCrary bride…” he drawled on a wry note, “you might be thinking that no one will know if we satisfy those conditions or not. But Henry mentioned that the opposition is laying the groundwork to challenge my right of inheritance. There’s no way of knowing what the court will require in the way of, uh, proof.”

  “Proof?” she whispered, staring at him.

  “Proof that I’m fulfilling every condition of the curse. Deirdre will probably have me followed in hopes of catching me in an extramarital affair. I wouldn’t put it past her or her attorney—or the media, for that matter—to tap our phones or plant listening devices wherever they can in hopes of discovering … whatever.”

  “But that’s illegal. They couldn’t use anything they’d discovered that way in court.”

  “No, but with inside knowledge, they could come up with specific questions to ask us under oath and call witnesses to corroborate our answers. In any case, the court itself will probably require us to testify that I have complied with every condition of the curse. They may call others to testify, too. Our family members. Visitors. Household staff.”

  The color had drained from Tess’s face until Cole felt sure she’d either faint dead away or bolt from the house with her wedding gown streaming behind her like Hollywood’s version of a runaway bride. She did neither, though, but simply sat there, her big gray eyes as round and luminous as full moons.

  He knew, of course, she wouldn’t agree to go to bed with him to fulfill the terms of the will. She’d made it clear that she wasn’t the kind of woman to trade sex for money, even in the guise of wedded bliss. What’s more, he’d already committed himself to paying her two million dollars and the deed to McCrary Place

  after five months of marriage, the only stipulation being that she live with him during that time.

  When he’d made the deal, he’d thought that the marriage itself and their cohabiting for five months would guarantee his inheritance. That no longer held true. If he didn’t inherit his father’s estate, that two-million-dollar obligation would clean him out of his own private funds and assets.

  Henry had advised him to call off his deal with Tess McCrary. To send her home tonight and dissolve their marriage Monday morning. He could then choose another McCrary bride—one whose family didn’t harbor a grudge against the Westcotts; one who didn’t need for the world to believe they were in love before she married him. One who would consider herself lucky to go to bed with him. He would offer a much smaller settlement, contingent upon his inheriting his father’s estate.

  “There’s too much animosity between your families, Cole,” Henry had insisted. “She might double-cross you. She might stay married to you for five months, then testify that you didn’t fulfill the conditions of the curse. She’d walk away with two million dollars, your stepmothers would inherit your father’s estate, and you’d be left broke.”

  It was definitely a possibility. But Cole wasn’t ready to give up on Tess McCrary quite yet. Because no matter how much her family despised the Westcotts or how desperate her father’s situation might become, Cole believed that Tess would tell the truth under oath. She was just that kind of person.

  He would have to play it straight. He’d have to provide for her a safe and comfortable home. Forsake all others and “keep only unto her.” Take her into his bed. Plant his seed within her. His blood warmed and his body hardened at the very thought. Yes, he would have to do all of those things, and if he did, she would not deny it in court. Not if he knew Tess McCrary.

  Did he know her?

  Would she come to his bed; would she make love to him? Renewed determi
nation rushed like lava through his veins. Yes, she would. He would make damn sure of it. He’d have to stoke the sizzling sensuality that sparked and smoked between them. No chore there. He almost smiled at the thought.

  She would never relent on the basis of any monetary inducement.

  But she would have to play by his rules to some degree, or risk that he would follow Henry’s advice and dissolve their marriage before she could make any claim whatsoever on his bank account. Despite her scruples, she did need money in the worst way. She couldn’t possibly shrug off that two million dollars … could she? She would also lose McCrary Place

  . He couldn’t deed the property over to her unless he inherited his father’s estate. She wouldn’t want to give up her ancestral home … would she?

  She would give it up, though, along with the money, if he demanded that she make love to him as part of the deal. He wouldn’t make that mistake. But he would play his cards to win the stakes he was after. And those stakes were her—Tess McCrary Westcott, in his bed.

  And claiming his inheritance, of course.

  “Understand, Tess, that I can’t pay you that two million dollars if I don’t inherit my father’s estate.” A bluff, but just barely. “I also can’t give you McCrary Place

  if I don’t inherit it. Which means that neither one of us can take the chance that some member of our household staff or God knows who else might testify that we’re not—” he hesitated, and finished in the gentlest tone possible “—sharing a bedroom.”

  He believed that a slight flush of color had risen into her face, but in the flickering candlelight and the mellow glow of the moon, he couldn’t be sure. She didn’t respond in any other way to his suggestion. “I know I promised you a private suite,” he added, “but circumstances have changed.”

  “Yes,” she murmured, barely audible, “they have.”

  “We need for the world to think that we sleep together, Tess. But just because we’d share a bedroom wouldn’t mean we’d actually have to … do anything … that you’re … against.” Though he felt the reassurance needed to be voiced, he swore she wouldn’t be against his lovemaking for long. Their kiss in the chapel still simmered in his blood—and somewhere in hers, too, he sincerely believed. How could anything that hot cool off so quickly? It would have to take days. Maybe weeks. Or months. “I’m not asking you to sacrifice your principles, or … sell yourself for the money, or…”