Legacy of Lies

by JoAnn Ross

  Her doctor confirmed her self-diagnosis, with the caveat that she begin with a few hours each day, taking time to work herself back to full throttle.

  "You're still too pale," Eleanor complained during a visit to Venice. Although she'd gained back several much needed pounds, Alex's complexion continued to lack its normal healthy hue.

  "I'll be fine."

  "Of course you will. But we need you well rested, Alexandra. The Chicago debut of the Alexandra Lyons collection is only a month away," she reminded her. "And there's no better place to finish your recuperation than my house."

  "You want me to come to Santa Barbara? To stay with you?"

  "I'd love to have you as a houseguest."

  "But I can't leave town. Zach and I still haven't worked out the problem with the music." She was insisting on live musicians while he argued for a less expensive audio tape, which she in turn countered would sound like elevator music.

  "That can wait." Eleanor brushed off Alex's worries. "Zach will solve your little impasse. Believe me, dear, he always accomplishes everything he sets out to achieve. Besides, you couldn't have your meeting now, anyway. He's out of town."

  "Oh?" Alex said with careful casualness. Against all common sense, she'd been hoping Zach might visit her. He hadn't.

  "He's in Toronto. We're entering into negotiations to open our first Lord's in Canada. But right now things are hush-hush."

  "I won't tell a soul," Alex promised, vaguely surprised Eleanor had shared confidential business information with her.

  "Why, I never thought you would, dear," Eleanor answered mildly. "Now, let me help you pack."

  One thing she'd learned during their months together was that like so many other rich, powerful women, Eleanor Lord was more than a little accustomed to getting her way. Rather than stand up to the silken bulldozer currently plucking clothes from her closet, Alex decided to simply relax and go with the flow.

  * * *

  Miranda was furious. And when Miranda was furious, she paced. Zach stood in front of the upstairs bedroom window, looking out over Eleanor's Santa Barbara estate and tried to ignore the furious energy radiating from his wife's every pore.

  "I cannot believe she's invited that bloody little impostor into this house!" She was clenching and unclenching her fists, twisting her rings on her long aristocratic fingers, an outward sign of her tumultuous thoughts.

  Miranda was not about to be cut out of her inheritance by any calculating con artist. How dare Alexandra Lyons endanger her happiness, her comfort, her entire livelihood this way! The threat she represented hovered over Miranda like a thick, suffocating cloud of noxious smog.

  "Your aunt doesn't believe she's an impostor."

  He shouldn't be here, Zach told himself. He should be at his office in L.A. Someone had begun quietly buying up outstanding shares of Lord's stock, and as hard as he'd tried, he had not been able to work his way through the maze of holding companies designed to keep the buyer's identity a secret.

  But Eleanor had insisted he be on hand for Alex's arrival, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was curious to see how she'd react to the house.

  Miranda continued to wear a path across the needlepoint cabbage-rose rug. Her furious, restless strides reminded Zach of a tigress that hadn't been fed for a week.

  "You realize, of course, that the old woman's gone absolutely batty." She stopped long enough to light a cigarette. Puffs of blue smoke rose to the beamed ceiling as if from a smoldering volcano.

  "You're exaggerating again."

  "The hell I am. Any qualified psychiatrist would declare her incompetent."

  He spun around. "I'm warning you, Miranda, if you try it, I'll block you at every turn."

  Miranda took in his glittering dark eyes, his threatening stance, the tautly reigned-in violence simmering just beneath the surface. There was a looming menace about him that was palpable. And extremely exciting.

  It had been a long time since she'd managed to garner a reaction other than his usual cold disdain. A rush of sexual anticipation rushed through her loins, making her momentarily forget her fury concerning Eleanor's newest protégée.

  "Do you know, darling," she said slowly, switching gears with a blink of her gleaming emerald eyes, "that you are frightfully sexy when you're angry?" Deliberately, with regained control, she approached on a slow, hip-swiveling feline glide he'd once found incredible appealing. Now he just found her obvious seduction attempt depressing.

  "It isn't going to work."

  She placed her hand against his chest. "Are you so sure about that?" She began toying with the buttons of his shirt. "Do you realize how long it's been since we made love?"

  "Made love?" He plucked her hand away. "Is that what you call it?"

  "Of course." Refusing to give up, she twined her arms around his neck. "We used to be so good together, Zachary. Remember?" Taking the fact that he hadn't moved away as a sign of encouragement, she pressed her body against his taut, unresisting one.

  "Remember that lovely evening in the limousine in London? Remember how we spent the remainder of the night, steeped in sex and sin?" Her voice was a velvety purr; her teeth nipped at his earlobe. "Remember how you told me you'd never met a woman who made you feel the way I did?" She paused and assumed a tragic look. "When did everything go so wrong?"

  "How about when you stole those earrings on our honeymoon?"

  She sighed prettily. "You never will let me live that down, will you?" Moisture shone in her green eyes. "Perhaps, if we tried again. Perhaps, if I could believe that you truly loved me, no matter what my faults, I could be strong enough to get help for my sickness." On cue, tears began to stream down her face.

  She was a remarkable actress, Zach mused distantly. He'd give her that. If he didn't know her so well, he'd actually believe that she regretted the chasm that had grown between them. A gulf as deep and wide as the Grand Canyon.

  She went up on her toes and brushed her parted lips against his. "Please, Zachary. Can't we try to put the pieces together again? So we can have a wonderful, heavenly life together?"

  She was definitely pulling out all the stops. Her fingers were caressing the back of his neck, her voice was a soft breeze against his mouth and her pelvis was moving seductively against his groin.

  She was also out of luck. He didn't need to look down to know that his body was steadfastly refusing to respond.

  "And I suppose all I have to do to achieve such Nirvana is help you gain Eleanor's power of attorney and lock her away in some home for addled old ladies."

  "Well, you can't deny that she is old," Miranda said. "And even you must admit this latest idea about that little slut of a Hollywood dress designer being her long-lost Anna is proof that she's not completely in her right mind."

  "Alexandra Lyons is not a slut." Fed up, he shoved Miranda away with an unexpected force that had her tottling on her high heels. "She just happens to be an extremely talented woman who's overcome a lot of hard knocks by integrity and tenacity and working damn hard."

  "So." Miranda's seductive expression turned hard and cold, making her look every bit her age, which just happened to be ten years older than that printed on her California driver's license. "I was right about her all along."

  "I don't know what you're talking about." Furious at himself for rising to her bait, Zach turned his back to her, jammed his hands into his pockets and resumed staring out the window.

  She thought about the photographs Mickey O'Rourke had given her. Incriminating photos of Zach carrying Alexandra into her house. Photos that, from the intense, concerned expression the camera lens had frozen on her husband's face, suggested their relationship was much more than a mere business alliance.

  Miranda hadn't confronted her husband with the damning evidence. Not yet. Although patience had never been her long suit, she was willing, when necessary, to bide her time. But if the conniving little tart thought she could steal both Miranda's husband and her inheritance, she was going to be in for a
very rude awakening!

  "I've wondered why you've been so indulgent with Auntie's delusion this time." She was practically biting the words off, one at a time and spitting them at him like stones. "Tell me, Zachary, is she any good in bed?"

  "I wouldn't know."

  A breath hissed from between Miranda's glossy lips. "Liar," she taunted. "I'll bet you know very well. I'll bet the little chit's been spreading her legs for you for months. All the better to convince you to go along with her little scheme to inherit the Lord millions."

  His hands curled into fists. "I'm warning you, Miranda—"

  "No, darling," she said, her voice a silken threat, "I'm warning you. If you so much as look at that girl again, let alone fuck her, I'll sell my shares of Lord's stock to Nelson Montague so fast yours and Auntie's heads will spin."

  "Nelson Montague?"

  "Didn't I mention that I'd run into him in Monte Carlo last month?" She examined her polished nails, dragging the moment out for as long as possible. "He was playing baccarat—winning wonderfully, by the way—and I was doing miserably at roulette."

  Her eyes gleamed coldly, like green neon. "Well, generous man that he was, he gave me part of his winnings so I wouldn't have to go over my credit limit." She smiled. "We had a wonderful time."

  "I'm so happy for you both," Zach said dryly. "And I suppose sometime during this fun-filled evening he offered to buy your shares."

  "No."

  "No?" She was enjoying herself immensely, Zach realized grimly, tempted to wring her neck for the way she was dragging this out.

  "Actually, it was the next morning, after breakfast, that he brought up the stock." That her eyes gleamed with memories of whatever orgy she and Montague had indulged in didn't faze him. She had long ago lost the power to make him jealous.

  But the idea of Nelson Montague getting his grubby Australian raider's hands on any Lord's stock bothered the hell out of him.

  A former miner who'd made his first millions when he'd struck a mother lode of gem-quality diamonds on Australia's Kimberly plateau, Montague was a ruthless, take-no-prisoners type of businessman who viewed things like laws and ethics as nothing more than petty annoyances to be overcome.

  "You're not going to sell." It was not a suggestion. Nor a request. It was an order, pure and simple.

  "Not right now," she agreed. "However, Nelson assures me that before long, if I were to sell, he'd have controlling interest in the company you and Auntie care so much about."

  Zach damned her dissolute father for having sold his family stock in the first place. If Lawrence Lord hadn't been such a poor excuse for a man, if he hadn't succumbed to gambling fever, if his luck hadn't always been so bad, the company his brother founded would not be in jeopardy now.

  "Actually, to tell the truth, I don't really like the man," Miranda confided. "He's coarse and crude."

  "He's also the fifth wealthiest man in the world."

  "That does make up for a great many faults," she agreed pragmatically. "And I can't deny that I found much of what he was offering quite attractive. Did I tell you he proposed?"

  "I don't believe you mentioned it. Tell me, did you accept?"

  That would certainly solve one of his problems, Zach considered. Unfortunately it would also mean that Eleanor would end up losing control of Lord's. Something he would not allow to happen.

  Although he was more than capable of starting over, Zach knew exactly how much Lord's meant to Eleanor. The company was, quite simply, her life, second only to her quest for Anna. He didn't think her aging heart could take such a loss.

  "Of course not, silly boy. How could I? Since I'm already married to you."

  "There's also the little matter of that Aussie thug probably killing any wife who dared even think about playing around."

  Rumors of the corporate raider beating a former unfaithful mistress to death had been circulating in the international business community for years. The official report was the depressed young woman had jumped from Montague's penthouse terrace.

  "Well, there is that," Miranda agreed. "So," she said with a remarkable amount of cheer, considering the mutual antipathy surrounding the discussion, "we're agreed? You keep your hands off that conniving little fortune hunter and help me get Auntie the help she needs, and in return for your husbandly fidelity, I'll not sell my stock."

  "I won't let you do anything to Eleanor. You make one move against your aunt and I'll refuse to cover up for your shoplifting ever again."

  Frown lines furrowed her porcelain brow. "Honestly, Zachary, you can be so distressingly unbending." She bit her lip and considered her options. Jail was not one of the prettier ones. "All right. I suppose we've reached a stalemate. So long as you're at the helm of Lord's protecting my investment, I'll allow Auntie her little eccentricities.

  "But," she continued, her tone growing hard, "I want that girl gone."

  "That isn't my decision to make."

  Miranda's eyes turned as flinty as her tone. "Then you'd better figure out something, darling. Because if you won't get rid of Alexandra Lyons, I will."

  It was not, Zach feared, an idle threat.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Refusing to allow Alex to make the drive up the coast in her weakened condition, Eleanor sent a limo to fetch her. As the white limousine approached the estate, winding its way through avocado orchards and eucalyptus groves, Alex felt as if she were entering another, more privileged world.

  She rode through pastures, where Arabian horses galloped across wildflower-dotted fields, their manes flowing in the breeze. The driver paused momentarily at the palace-like wrought-iron security gate hung with bright pink bougainvillea, where an elderly guard welcomed Alexandra to Casa Contenta. His proprietorial air made Alex suspect he'd worked for Eleanor Lord for a very long time.

  Majestic, graceful California oaks flanked the long, curving brick driveway which led through even more acres of brilliantly colored formal gardens in full bloom, accented with cascading fountains. Finally they arrived at the sprawling, Spanish-revival mansion.

  The house, if such a magnificent display of architecture could be deemed a mere house, perched atop a gentle rise of luxuriant bluegrass, offered panoramic views of pastures, mountains and sea.

  The limo had no sooner glided to a stop beneath the wide red-tiled porte cochère, when the towering oak doors opened and Eleanor emerged.

  "Welcome, Alexandra dear. I've been waiting for you." As she hugged her guest, kissing her on both cheeks, Eleanor wondered what Alexandra would say if she knew exactly how long.

  If she'd thought the drive through the Lord estate was like entering another world, Alex was struck momentarily speechless by the baronial splendor of the home's interior.

  Sunlight streamed through a bank of skylights, casting a warm yellow glow over the deep red Spanish tile of a reception galleria that was more spacious than many of the apartments Alex and her mother and brother had lived in during their Gypsy years. The hand-carved wooden posts lining the plaster walls and the massive beams adorning the dizzyingly high ceiling overhead recalled California's earlier era of Spanish dons and doñas.

  "Well, Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," she murmured.

  Eleanor laughed. "I realize it seems a little grand at first sight, but we live quite casually." She patted Alex's arm comfortingly. "Let me introduce you to the others."

  One grand room followed the other as she led Alex into what she called the library and what, if the rugs had been taken up from the floor and one didn't worry about all those undoubtedly priceless knickknacks perched atop marble pedestals, was large enough to double as a gymnasium. As in the galleria, wood was abundant—in the heavy Mexican furniture, in the built-in bookcases lining the paneled walls, on the high, elaborately honeycombed wood ceiling. They could have held the NBA finals in this room, Alex mused. And still have room down by the massive see-through stone fireplace at the far end for the concession stand.

  A portrait of Eleanor as a
young woman hung in a gilt frame above the fireplace. Alex stopped in her tracks, stunned. Except for the fact that the portrait's subject had glossy auburn hair and was wearing a wedding gown, she could have been looking in the mirror.

  "That was painted a month after my marriage to James," Eleanor said. "I see you've noticed the resemblance."

  "It would be hard not to." Alex wondered why Eleanor had never mentioned this before. "They say everyone has a double, but this is incredible."

  "Isn't coincidence a remarkable thing?" an all too familiar, distinctly British voice offered from the other side of the vast room. Alex slowly turned.

  They were waiting for her. Zach was wearing the same smooth mask of composure he always donned when forced to rein in his emotions, while Miranda looked as if she'd like to pull Alex's hair out, strand by strand. Before she had time to dwell on Miranda's obvious antipathy, Alex was being introduced to a heavyset woman outrageously clad in a rainbow-striped chiffon caftan and matching turban, and a tall, handsome man in his fifties.

  Although he appeared momentarily startled by Alex's appearance, Averill quickly recovered.

  "Welcome to Santa Barbara, Alexandra," he greeted her warmly. The laugh lines framing his friendly eyes crinkled attractively. "I've been looking forward to meeting Eleanor's brilliant designer. You know," he said, dropping his tone confidentially, "you're all she talks about these days."

  "I'm pleased to meet you, Dr. Brandford."

  "Please…call me Averill." His gaze turned momentarily professional as it swept over her face. "Eleanor says you've had pneumonia. How are you feeling?"

  "I'm fine. Well, mostly fine," she amended, when she saw the physician's eyes narrow.

  "This is an excellent place for R & R," he assured her. "And perhaps, before you leave, you'll let me take you out on my ketch. You do sail, don't you?" he asked with the air of a man who couldn't imagine otherwise.

  "Actually, I've never been sailing."

  "Then you must. You'll love it, Alexandra." He rubbed his hands together with anticipation. "There's nothing more invigorating than the tang of the salt spray and the sea breeze in your hair."