by Joanne Rock
Another kindness Ian had done for her sake.
“I wonder what you’re thinking, Mrs. McNeill.” His words cut through her daze as the limo emerged on the east side of Central Park.
Startled, she sat bolt upright on her seat, her drink sloshing droplets on her arm. She set the water aside in the cup holder to give herself time to gather her thoughts. When had he finished his phone call? She needed to get her head on straight before they walked into his grandfather’s house and faced the full contingent of McNeills. Ian had phoned his brothers from the plane to let them know they were flying to New York earlier than anticipated. Apprehension flitted through her, and Lydia wished she’d taken Ian up on his offer of a light lunch during their flight to New York. Maybe having something in her stomach would have helped ease her nerves.
“Just a few jitters about meeting all the McNeills at one time.” She smoothed the hem of the peach-colored dress some anonymous staffer of Ian’s had packed for her back in Florida before this trip. She really needed to find out more about him and the people who worked with him, who’d made this trip just a little less stressful by sending some of her own clothes with her. “I know you said that your family trusts your judgment so they will accept your choice of wife, too.”
“They will see what I see. A smart, compassionate woman who’s battled complicated obstacles to carve out a good career.” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, his blue eyes warm.
Would she ever get used to the way he made her pulse flutter like that?
Then she recalled the whole reason for this trip and cursed herself for becoming sidetracked by her own worries. “But I’m being selfish.” She shifted to face him on the bench seat, her knee grazing his. “You have much deeper concerns than that for this visit. More than anything, I hope your grandfather is well.”
“Me, too,” he said simply, turning to peer out the window as the driver slowed the car. “But we’ll know soon enough how he fares because we’re here.”
Lydia marveled as they came to a stop at the curb outside a six-story limestone building with an Italianate facade and a delicate wrought iron balcony off the second floor. Her designer’s eye went to the clay-tiled mansard roof and neo-Renaissance details, but it was difficult to enjoy the beauty of one of New York’s turn-of-the-century masterpieces when Ian’s family was on the other side of the front door.
No matter what Ian said, she worried what his brothers would think of their unorthodox—and rushed—marriage. But right now, she needed to be there for Ian in case his grandfather’s health had taken a turn for the worse.
Resisting the urge to pull a mirror out of her purse and indulge the old insecurity demon her mother had given her, Lydia took a deep breath and stepped out of the vehicle as the chauffeur opened the door. She would remain calm. Composed.
Strong.
Ian had been all of that and more for her in the face of her mother’s attempted publicity stunt.
The iron gates of the foyer rolled open before Ian announced them on the intercom. Clearly, they’d been expected.
“I texted Gramps’s housekeeper,” Ian explained as they strode into the house without knocking. “She must have been watching for us. She said my brothers are here. Sofia is running late because of a ballet performance earlier in the day, but she’s due to arrive shortly.”
He closed the door behind them and Lydia did her best not to gawk. She’d read that Malcolm McNeill was an avid art collector, but she hadn’t expected to be greeted in the foyer by a Cezanne and a Manet. The pieces were hung to be enjoyed, with the focus on the art. The only piece of furniture was a settee in a shade of cerulean shared by both paintings. Lydia had seen the opposite approach often enough in her time as a designer—boastful collectors who were more interested in having their taste admired and envied.
“Wow.” She’d been drawn to the pieces in spite of herself, only realizing after a long moment that Ian was speaking in quiet tones to someone off to one side of the hallway.
Lydia turned to join them, but the older woman in a gray uniform had already hurried away.
“Cindy tells me the family is upstairs,” he informed her, pointing the way. “It’s two flights to the library, though. Let’s take the elevator out of deference to your shoes.” He cut a quick sideways glance her way. “Though they make your already-gorgeous long legs look damn amazing.”
Before she could think of a response to his outrageous compliment—that yes, she did enjoy—he was already pushing the call button, and the elevator door swished open. She followed him into the cabin. The grand staircase snaked through all six floors with a mammoth skylight at the top, and though beautifully impressive, she didn’t relish the idea of testing her heels on the sleek, polished treads. Not that she planned to take them off and walk in to meet Ian’s grandfather barefoot.
As the door closed behind them, whisking them upward, her apprehension grew. But Ian stepped nearer, and the warmth of his physical proximity somehow comforted her.
“Thank you for coming with me.” He spoke with quiet sincerity. “I’m glad you’re here.”
The words so perfectly echoed what she’d been feeling at that moment, they slid right past her defenses and burrowed in her heart in a way that made her breath catch.
Before she could think what to say, Ian folded her palm in his and squeezed. “We might as well hold hands.” He planted a kiss on her temple. “We’re newlyweds, remember?”
The soft warmth of his lips stirred a hungry response in her as she recalled their honeymoon in vivid, passion-saturated detail. But as the full import of his words sank in, she wondered if the display of affection was for his family’s sake more than anything.
The elevator cabin halted and the door slid open on a third-floor hallway flooded with light from the skylight over the central staircase. Male voices and laughter sounded from nearby. Ian led her to a partially closed door flanked by carved wood panels that were flawless reproductions in the French eighteenth-century style. Better to focus on the home design than the butterflies in her stomach.
“That’s my grandfather’s voice,” Ian noted, walking faster. “He sounds good.”
Lydia squeezed his arm, offering what comfort she could as she followed him into a library where the walls were fitted with historic Chinese lacquer panels between the windows overlooking the street. But not even the superb design details could sway her attention from the impressive men scattered around the room. Even before introductions were made, she knew she was seeing three generations of McNeills. The gray-haired eldest sat in a leather club chair in the corner. Wearing a retro red-and-black smoking jacket belted over his trousers, the patriarch of the family gripped a crystal tumbler half-full of an amber-colored drink, a forgotten copy of the Wall Street Journal tucked into the chair at his side. At the window stood an extremely fit man who looked to be in his late fifties. He’d shaved his head completely, and she could see a tattoo on the back of his neck. Was this Liam McNeill? His gray pants and black T-shirt combined to make him look more like hired muscle than Ian’s father.
But as the middle-aged man turned toward her, she saw the same ice-blue eyes shared by every man in the room.
Ian introduced her to each member of his family in age order, ending with Quinn and Cameron, who rose from their seats on opposite ends of the room to greet her.
Quinn and Cameron, she thought, looked more alike than Ian, whose bronzed complexion favored their Brazilian mother. But Cameron was very tall, perhaps six foot five. She would have thought him a professional athlete if she’d seen him on the street.
Lydia was saved from making small talk by the arrival of an exquisitely beautiful, petite blonde, hair tightly coiled in a bun at the back of her head.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman offered, rushing to Quinn’s side. “I thought the train would be faster since traffic was ridiculou
s after the show, but there were delays.” She kissed Quinn. Her eyes darted around the room and, finding Malcolm McNeill, she moved to give the older man a kiss on one cheek that coaxed a smile from him.
“Sofia, my new wife, Lydia.” Ian repeated his simple introduction from earlier.
Lydia braced herself for a chilly greeting since she’d unwittingly stolen some of the woman’s wedding thunder with their preemptive visit to the justice of the peace, but if Sofia Koslov resented it, she hid it well.
The ballerina winked at Lydia, although she remained at Quinn’s side as he guided her to a love seat at the center of the room.
“I’ve been so eager to meet you.” Sofia pulled a silver phone from her small leather hobo purse and waved it. “Let’s exchange numbers before you leave.”
“I’d like that.” Lydia couldn’t help smiling, feeling more at ease with another woman in the room full of accomplished, powerful men. She and Ian took a seat on the long couch opposite Quinn and Sofia.
Without preamble, Malcolm McNeill reached for his silver-topped cane and rose to his feet, every bit as tall as Ian, even with his bent knees and back. “Lydia, we’re all glad to welcome you into our family.” He lifted his glass in a silent toast and took a sip before returning it to the side table. “I hope you will consider a more public celebration this summer so we can show the world how pleased we are to call you a McNeill.”
The old man’s blue eyes pinned her, inciting gratitude for the warmth of the gesture even as she regretted deceiving him. All of them.
Ian squeezed her hand as if he guessed her thoughts.
“Thank you, sir.” She ducked her head, oddly intimidated to be in the hot seat in this room full of strangers who would be her family for such a short time.
Luckily, she didn’t need to worry about saying anything else, because Malcolm continued to speak.
“It’s Liam who asked me to round up the whole lot of you.” Malcolm looked over to his son and gestured to the room. “Go on now. Tell ’em.”
“Dad wanted us all here?” Ian rose to offer his grandfather an arm while the older man lowered himself into the large club chair. “Gramps, I thought you called us together to talk about your health. How you’re doing since the heart attack and the trip home from Shanghai.”
“No, no.” Malcolm McNeill waved aside the help and the concern. “I’m healthy as a horse.”
Lydia felt the unease all around the room in the shifting of positions. Cameron sat forward in his chair, elbows on his knees.
He then scowled at his father. “Dad, what gives? Ian left his honeymoon for this. Sofia ditched her meet and greet after a ballet performance.”
Liam cleared his throat. “It’s not easy getting you all together at once.” He strode around to the desk, staying on the perimeter of the room, rubbing a hand over his shaved head. “My apologies for the timing, but I’ve waited long enough to tell you about this.”
Quinn spoke up. “That sounds ominous, Dad.” The oldest of the McNeill sons turned in his seat to better see his father. Quinn was a hedge fund manager, Lydia knew, and had all the appearances of refinement and wealth. But then, at the end of the day, that’s what he sold—access to a world of privilege by gaining the trust of the world’s wealthiest investors.
Cameron sighed. “What gives?” the youngest asked again, spreading his hands wide, a note of impatience in his voice.
Ian remained silent at her side.
Then Liam McNeill stopped pacing the perimeter of the room and turned to face the rest of the family. Lydia held her breath.
Liam looked around the room at all of them before speaking. “I have another family I’ve never told you about. Three more sons, actually.” A ghost of a smile flitted across the man’s face before vanishing. “Your mother left me because she found out about them, but I could never convince Audrey—my other, er, girlfriend—to move to the States and be a permanent part of my life.”
The news landed with all the force of a grenade, sending shrapnel into the heart of every McNeill. And that was before Cameron McNeill stalked across the room and launched a fist into his father’s jaw.
Eleven
Ian hauled a steaming Cameron to one side of the library while Quinn stood in front of their father, blocking further physical confrontation. They might as well be a freaking reality TV show at this rate. McNeills Gone Mad!
Ian couldn’t believe he’d left his honeymoon and flown to New York for this news, let alone that he’d dragged Lydia into it. Lydia—a woman who had lived her life as carefully as possible to avoid big, messy scandals. He noticed that Sofia had moved to sit beside Lydia on the couch, the two of them silently on the same side without saying a word. What was it about women that they could remain civilized when all hell broke loose around them?
Even Quinn looked the worse for wear after the dustup, with his shirttails untucked in front and jacket unbuttoned. Ian hadn’t fared as well; struggling with six-foot-five inches of pissed-off muscle and impulsiveness had sent him through the wringer. While epithets flew back and forth, it became apparent that Liam had been cheating on Ian’s mother for years, fathering sons with a mistress on the West Coast until the woman got fed up with his refusal to divorce his wife and left the United States the year after Cameron was born.
Private investigators had trouble finding her, but then she’d had years of McNeill money stashed to help her make the getaway. Liam had lost touch with her and his sons until a few weeks ago, when one of the old investigators snagged a lead on a McNeill family ring in a pawnshop in the US Virgin Islands. Liam thought it was just a ploy by the PI to resurrect an old job, but he’d contacted Ian’s friend Bentley to track it down, and it turned out the ring was real, verified by a family jeweler. Bentley traced it to the servant of a wealthy family—named McNeill—in Martinique.
“They use our name?” Ian barked, feeling more than a little angry with his father himself.
Furious, actually.
“I don’t know when the boys started using the name,” his father said, hanging his head. “But their mother died long ago and they want nothing to do with us, so you don’t have to worry about anyone coming in here and...”
Quinn swore. Cam accused their father of several indecent acts. Ian’s eyes went to Lydia, wishing she didn’t have to hear all this. She looked calm, however, if a little pale. She held her cell phone in one hand; her other was tucked under her thigh on the couch.
“Quiet down, all of you, and listen here.” Gramps stood, using his cane as he moved. “These young men are your half brothers, like it or not. They are your blood. My blood. Every bit as much my grandsons as you are. That doesn’t mean, however, that I plan to give them the whole kit and kaboodle of the family portfolio.” He straightened as much as his bad back would allow and used the cane to point at Cameron. “I’ve invited them to New York and we’ll take their measure when they arrive.”
Ian exchanged glances with Quinn. Family was all well and good. But what did this mean for them? And for McNeill Resorts if their grandfather handed over shares to people who clearly resented them? Ian didn’t give a damn about money, but the family business they’d poured their blood, sweat and soul into? That was another matter. Let his father do right by his offspring financially, sure, but protect the business.
“Gramps, that’s fine,” Ian said reasonably, stepping on Cam’s toe to ensure his brother didn’t gainsay him. “We understand you want to meet them and provide for them. But what about McNeill Resorts? You’ve spent our whole lives trying to impart what the company means to you and how you want it developed. You can’t honestly mean to start parceling off your business to people who are complete strangers to you?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Ian noticed Lydia straighten in her seat. Belatedly, it occurred to him she might feel differently about this newly unearthed bran
ch of the family. Hell, in her childhood, she’d been the unacknowledged heir, and it had caused pain her whole life.
“I meant it when I said they’re as much my grandsons as you are.” Gramps leveled a look at each one of the brothers, a stiff set to his jaw, before he put his cane back on the floor and shuffled toward the door. “Now that we have that out of the way, I’m going to change for dinner. You’re all invited, but don’t stay if you can’t act like grown-ups.” He paused at the door, almost running into Lydia, who had leaped off the couch to open it for him.
Gramps smiled at her. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you? If it gets too rough in this room, just head down to the dining room and someone will fix you up a cocktail.” He patted her arm.
“Yes, sir.” She beamed.
Gramps had made one person happy today. As for the rest of the McNeills, Ian couldn’t imagine what this meant for the family. He’d just gotten married to secure his portion of his grandfather’s company because he had been under the mistaken impression it meant so much to the old man.
Now? The whole damn trust and will were almost assuredly going to be rewritten to incorporate this new branch of the family their father had never bothered to mention.
That bugged Ian on a lot of levels—mostly because he had to contend with the news that his father was a selfish, cheating bastard. Yet what bothered him more than anything was the idea that if the will was altered and it no longer included a stipulation about taking a wife to secure a portion of McNeill Resorts, would Lydia suggest they dissolve their marriage?
* * *
