“Of course I do.” She waited for him to say something about the future. Anything.
He caressed her cheek. “Stay with me tonight.”
“I thought we had to be discreet.”
“I didn’t say run naked through the street with me.” He gave her a teasing smile. “As long as you aren’t seen leaving my apartment during morning rush hour, I don’t see any reason we can’t be together these next two weeks.”
“I don’t know.” She felt torn between fear and hope.
“Stay with me.” He cupped her jaw and kissed her lightly on the lips. “It’s not enough seeing you here. I want to be with you as much as I can. We have a lot of time to make up for.”
She should tell him no, that they would wait until they could be together openly. But in two weeks, her pregnancy would be that much closer to showing—and she could be that much closer to losing him. Right or wrong, she wanted this brief time with him. Come what may.
“All right.” She nodded, and closed her eyes as he kissed her again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The day after Paige left for Corpus Christi, a tropical depression moved into the gulf and set itself down for a nice long stay. The resulting rain drenched the coast from Mexico to Florida for days on end. As if that weren’t enough to dampen the mood at the inn, Paige’s absence meant they all had to deal directly with the Buccaneer’s Ball planning committee.
Rory nearly had heart failure the first time she met Chance’s mother, but Ellen Chancellor proved to be gracious, kind, and practical in all things.
Marcy Baxter, on the other hand, would test the patience of the pope.
Sitting at a worktable in the kitchen, Rory battled a mild sense of guilt since Adrian was currently trapped in the dining room with Ellen and Marcy going over the menu. Still, she and Allison had their hands full altering the costumes the committee wanted them to wear, so Adrian would just have to handle Marcy on his own.
Thunder rumbled, adding an ominous feel to an already dreary day. While Sadie hid beneath the table and whined, Rory stared out at the rain that ran in rivulets through their newly planted landscape. “Do you think it’ll ever stop raining?”
“Only if the cool front the weathermen keep promising shows up,” Allison answered as she plied a needle and thread to a bit of satin and lace. “Otherwise, we’ll have a nice steamy sauna for the ball.”
“I don’t suppose there’s such a thing as a stop-the-rain dance.”
“Not that I know of.” Allison chuckled. “Besides, even if it doesn’t stop, we can move everything to the ballroom upstairs.”
“I know.” Rory sighed and returned to her own sewing. “But it won’t be the same. After all the plans we made, I want it to be perfect.”
“It will be,” Allison insisted. “We have a whole week to go. The rain is just getting itself out of the way now, so the night of the ball will be cool and clear.”
Rory looked up, surprised by her sister’s confidence. When had the two of them switched their roles of optimist and devil’s advocate?
“There. Finished,” Alli announced. Shaking the dress out, she stood and held it to her shoulders. It was one of many costumes they’d rented from the opera house. They’d lucked into peasant dresses and pirate crew garb for the servers they’d hired, and two elaborate sea captain outfits for Adrian and Chance. Alli’s ice-blue gown with black lace had needed some repair while Rory’s peach and cream affair had needed the hem let out as far as it would go.
“What do you think?” Alli asked as she twirled about, flaring the wide skirt.
An image flashed through Rory’s mind of how Marguerite must have looked, the elusive Pearl of New Orleans—gossiped about for her scandalous past, but held in awe for her enchanting beauty. “I think you’ll make a perfect pirate’s mistress.”
Alli grinned. “Only if I let some handsome pirate make a dishonest woman out of me.”
Rory laughed, but her sister’s words left her feeling hollow inside. A dishonest woman was exactly what she felt like after the past week of sneaking in and out of Chance’s apartment. Every day she told herself she should quit spending the night with him until they could be together openly, but the attraction between them was like a ravenous hunger that came upon them whenever they were alone—wherever that might be. They were like children who’d been set loose in a candy store, giddy with abandon. Even now, just thinking of him, she felt her thighs quiver with anticipation. But how long could this insatiable need for each other last? And where was it going?
As a child, when she’d thought of falling in love, she’d imagined it as something safe and warm that would add stability to her life, make her feel secure. Instead, she’d never felt more vulnerable and uncertain. She placed a hand over her stomach, frightened of what the future held for her and her baby. Would she ever be more to Chance than a weakness he couldn’t resist?
“I’m going to murder that woman!” Adrian announced as he burst into the kitchen.
Rory looked up with a start and noticed the frustration coming off her brother in waves. “By ‘that woman,’ I assume you mean Marcy Baxter?”
“Who else would I mean?” Adrian asked rhetorically. “Do you know what she wants now?”
“I haven’t a clue,” Rory said.
“A champagne fountain out on the lawn.”
Allison burst out laughing. “You’re joking!”
“No, I’m not.” Crossing to the counter nearest them, he started digging through a pile of catalogs and cookbooks. “The ice sculpture for the dessert table, that I agreed with because it will be inside in the dining room. And at least she went for the mermaid instead of those ridiculously formal swans she wanted. But a champagne fountain on the lawn? Give me a break!” He moved to a pile of papers. “This is supposed to be a pirate camp cookout, not a frig-gin’ wedding reception.”
“What are you looking for?” Rory asked.
“The catalog from the rental company that shows the portable bar we picked out so she can see how stupid a three-tiered silver fountain would be next to a bar that looks like a bamboo hut with a grass roof.”
“I think I know where it is,” Allison said, setting aside her costume to help him look.
“Rory,” Adrian said over his shoulder, “will you do me a favor?”
“Depends on what it is,” she answered with a grin.
He gave her an exasperated look. “Take Ms. Chancellor and Ms. Baxter some of those macadamia nut cookies I baked yesterday to placate them while Alli and I look for the catalog.”
Rory almost groaned at the thought of braving the lion’s den, but she gathered a plate of cookies and the iced-tea pitcher from the massive stainless steel refrigerator. She was passing through the butler’s pantry when she heard Ellen say, “Marcy, I’ve never seen you be this indecisive when planning a party. I know you always worry over details, but not like this. Is there something wrong that you’re not telling me?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Marcy said as Rory entered the dining room. The women sat near the head of the table with menus and notes spread before them. “I just want the event to be special. You know how important this night is.”
As unobtrusively as possible, Rory slid the plate of cookies between the women, then moved quietly to refill Ellen’s glass. Marcy behaved as if she weren’t there, but Chance’s mother glanced up and smiled. “Thank you, Aurora. You always have the best tea here.”
Rory smiled back, amused at how Ellen used her full name, just like her son did. “The secret is to keep it refrigerated, rather than let it sit at room temperature.”
“I’ll have to remember that.” Ellen sipped and nodded with approval.
“The thing is,” Marcy continued as Rory moved to refill her glass, “it’s not just another Buccaneer’s Ball. It’s the grand opening of your son’s new business.”
Rory scowled at the top of the woman’s head. The inn wasn’t “Chance’s business.” It was a joint effort between all of them.
She caught Ellen watching her, and quickly smoothed her features into a blank mask. Amusement flickered in Ellen’s eyes.
“What’s more,” Marcy said, “it’s the night Chance and Paige will announce their engagement.”
Rory jerked, knocking over Marcy’s glass. Ice and tea splashed across the table, soaking papers. Both women gasped and leapt to their feet as tea ran off the sides of the table onto the floor.
“Oh! I’m sorry!” Rory reached for the papers, trying to rescue them but it was too late. They sagged like wet rags in her hands, stained and dripping. “Did I get you wet?”
“No, I’m fine,” Ellen assured her.
“Oh, of all the—” Marcy stared down at her silk blouse and linen pants, drenched from the waist to the knees.
“Oh, no. Hang on. I’ll get a towel.” Rory raced into the pantry and dug through a drawer for kitchen towels. Hurrying back, she offered one to Marcy, then started sopping up the mess. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her heart pounding.
Marcy’s words about Chance and Paige rang in her ears even though they couldn’t be true. They couldn’t! But why did the woman think they were? Did Chance know about this? She dabbed frantically at the soggy papers, her hands shaking.
“Aurora,” Ellen said softly and placed a hand over hers. Rory glanced up into the woman’s kind eyes. “It’s all right. Accidents happen.”
Her throat constricted. The word “accident” reminded her that she and Chance had created one of the biggest accidents of all: a baby. “I—I’ll get more towels.”
She fled to the pantry, then dropped back against the wall, closing her eyes to control the shaking. How many people were going to be hurt when the truth came out? Would Ellen, who’d treated her with a kindness that bordered on motherly affection, look at her in disdain when she found out about the baby?
“All right, Marcy.” Ellen’s voice was muffled by the closed door. “Before Aurora comes back, tell me what you heard. Chance hasn’t breathed a word to me, the little rat. If he’s proposed to Paige, I want to know.”
“Well, that at least makes me feel a little better,” Marcy said.
“What?”
“That Chance is being as closemouthed with you as Paige is being with me. My guess is they want it to be a surprise, since they know how long we’ve waited for this.”
“So how did you find out?”
Rory strained to hear, her heart aching with each hushed word.
“I overheard Paige talking to her friend Stacy before she left town. She said she wanted ‘it’ to be a secret until the ball. And since we both suggested to them that the ball would be a perfect time to announce their engagement, what else could ‘it’ be?”
“A lot of things,” Ellen pointed out.
“True. But I have a feeling it’s the announcement we’ve been waiting for.”
“Well, just to be on the safe side, why don’t we keep this particular ‘feeling’ to ourselves?” There was a pause before Ellen let out a heavy sigh. “Marcy, I know that guilty look. Please tell me you haven’t already talked to someone about this.”
“Only Stacy’s mother,” Marcy groused. “I wanted to know if Stacy had told her anything. Unfortunately, the woman was clueless.”
“You told Winney Connely?” Ellen asked in rising tones. “Marcy! You might as well have made a public service announcement to the entire town.”
“Don’t worry. I asked her to keep it to herself.”
“Asking Winney to keep a secret is like asking Niagara Falls to hold back the water.”
Adrian came up behind Rory. “What are you doing?”
She shrieked and turned, her face flaming at being caught eavesdropping. “I—I need to call Chance. Here.” She grabbed some towels and thrust them into Adrian’s hand.
“Hey, wait. Is something wrong?” he called after her.
Ignoring him, she dashed back into the kitchen, past a startled Allison, and down the stairs to their private quarters. They had yet to make a full move from the cottage, but they’d bought some furniture at least.
She grabbed the cordless phone from the table near the stairs and paced as she punched in the number for the bank. When she asked for Chance, she got Doris instead, the woman she’d come to think of as the guardian of the offices. She asked again to speak with Chance, but the executive assistant insisted he was in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed. Rory asked Doris to have him call her as soon as he was free, but the woman informed her that the younger Mr. Chancellor was very busy and might not be able to get back to her until the following day.
After disconnecting, Rory stared at the phone in disbelief. Doris was always a bit snooty, but she’d never blown Rory off completely.
Well, Chance might be busy, but this was something that couldn’t wait. Snatching up her purse and the keys to the Jeep, she headed back upstairs. If she couldn’t talk to him over the phone, she’d go to the bank and talk to him in person.
* * *
Chance stormed from the boardroom, numb with shock. He vaguely registered Doris coming to her feet as he headed past her desk, his only goal to get to his office where he could absorb the emotional blow he’d just been dealt.
“Oliver,” Doris said, all but blocking his path. “There’s a young lady—”
“Not now, Doris,” he said, brushing past her. His anger mounted as he registered the alarm in her expression. She knew! Goddammit, she already knew what had happened in the boardroom. Maybe her knowledge came only by intuition, but if Doris knew, how long would it be before everyone in the bank figured it out, then everyone in Galveston?
He stormed into his office and slammed the door.
A female shriek brought him up short.
“Aurora!” The sight of her standing before the window caught him off guard. “What are you doing here?”
“I have to talk to you.” She stepped forward. “Marcy Baxter was at the inn today, to go over the plans for the ball.”
“Not now.” He pressed a hand to his forehead, determined not to take his anger out on her. “Please. The last thing I want to think about is Marcy Baxter.”
“But you don’t understand,” she insisted in a panicked voice, and he realized she was pale and half soaked from the rain. “Marcy thinks you and Paige are going to announce your engagement at the ball. She’s told Stacy Connely’s mother, so half of Galveston must know. What are we going to do?”
“Aurora,” he said, his patience threatening to snap. “I said not now.”
She frowned at him. “Chance, what is it? Is something wrong?”
“I just need a second to think.”
“What do you mean?” She came toward him, concern lining her face as corkscrew curls of wet hair hung past her shoulders. “You look upset. What’s happened?”
He fell back against the door as a wave of weariness overtook him. “They fired my father.”
“What!” She drew up short. “They can’t do that.”
A bitter laugh escaped him. “Actually, they can. It was all quite civilized, of course. The chairmen of the board came down from the home office on the pretext of a routine visit. Then he called my father into the boardroom and politely requested he take early retirement.”
“Oh, Chance.” She stroked his arm. “How did he take it?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t even talked to him. We were called into the boardroom separately. My dad was leaving the bank just as I went in to hear the news.” He rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the sharp pain behind his eyes. “Aurora, I need to go.”
“Yes. Of course.” She stepped back, giving him room to open the door. He was halfway into the hall when he turned back to her. “We’ll talk about Marcy later, all right?”
“Fine. Just go.”
He nodded, and left. The drive to his parents’ house went by in a blur. He found his father in the game room. The room was dark, the draperies drawn. His father was standing at the wet bar, his hands braced on the counter, his head sagging forward
. A highball glass with half-melted ice sat next to an open bottle of Crown Royal.
“Dad?”
His father drew in a deep breath as he straightened. “I guess they told you?”
“Yeah.” Chance closed his eyes, remembering the pity on Doris’s face as he’d left. The rumors were probably already spreading through the staff. As soon as Norman bowed to their “request,” an official announcement would be made, followed by a retirement party. People would wish Norman good luck to his face, then shake their heads and say “What a shame” behind his back.
“Forty-two years,” his father said, pulling a second highball glass down from the lighted shelf and filling it with ice. “Forty-two goddamn years, and they ask me to leave. As if they have the right!”
Chance hated the fact that they did have the right. His father had sold it to them.
“Do you know, I still remember the first day I walked into that bank as an employee rather than just the owner’s son.” He poured amber liquor into both glasses. “I was seventeen, getting my feet wet while I made some spending money for college. I worked as a teller the first few summers, then a loan officer.”
Chance managed a smile as he moved closer. “And Granddad worked you twice as hard as he did everyone else. The same way you worked me.”
His father nodded. “And I loved every minute of it. Saw it as my rite of passage.” Turning, he handed a drink to his son. “My trial by fire.”
“Same here.” Chance raised his glass in a salute.
As if he’d aged twenty years in the last hour, Norman moved to one of two leather chairs that bracketed a small table. He sat, staring across the room, his eyes lost. “Did they tell you who they plan to promote to fill my place?”
“Brian Jeffries.” Chance took a seat in the other chair and braced his forearms on his thighs.
“A goddamn outsider.” His father snorted. “That’ll go over well with the locals. If they were smart, they’d have offered the position to you.”
Heart Stealers Page 94
