by Nora Roberts
“There's a number of other pieces—hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth in 1913 dollars.”
“He sold nearly everything,” C.C. murmured. “We found the documents of sale. He got rid of anything that reminded him of Bianca.”
“It still hurts,” Lilah admitted. “Not the money, though God knows we could have used it. It's the loss of what was hers, what we won't be able to pass on.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be.” Amanda rose to lay a sleeping Delia in her crib. “We're too sentimental. I suppose we all feel such a close connection with Bianca.”
“I know what you mean.” It felt odd to admit it, but Megan was compelled. “I feel it, too. I suppose from seeing the references to her in the old book, and having her portrait right there in the lobby.” A bit embarrassed, she laughed. “Sometimes, when you walk down the halls at night, it's almost as if you could sense her.”
“Of course,” Lilah said easily. “She's here.”
“Excuse me, ladies.” Nathaniel stepped inside, obviously comfortable in a nursery inhabited by babies and nursing mothers.
Lilah smiled slowly. “Well, hello, handsome. What brings you to the maternity wing?”
“Just coming to fetch my date.”
When he took Megan's arm, she drew back. “We don't have a date.”
“A walk, remember?” “I never said—”
“It's a lovely night for it.” Suzanna lifted Christian into her arms, cooed to him.
“I have to put Kevin to bed.”
She was digging in her heels, but it didn't seem to be doing any good. “I've already tucked him in.” Nathaniel propelled her toward the doors. “You put Kevin to bed?”
“Since he'd fallen asleep in my lap, it seemed the thing to do. Oh, Suzanna, Holt said the kids are ready whenever you are.”
“I'm on my way.” Suzanna waited until Megan and Nate were out of earshot before she turned to her sisters. “What do you think?”
Amanda smiled smugly. “I think it's working perfectly.”
“I have to agree.” C.C. settled Ethan comfortably in his crib. “I thought Lilah had lost her mind when she came up with the idea of getting those two together.”
Lilah yawned, sighed. “I'm never wrong.” Then her eyes lit. “I bet we can see them from the window.”
“Spy on them?” Amanda arched her brows. “Good idea,” she said, and darted to the window.
They were outlined in the moonlight that sprinkled the lawn. “You're complicating things, Nathaniel.”
“Simplifying,” he corrected. “Nothing simpler than a walk in the moonlight.”
“That's not where you expect all this to end.”
“Nope. But we're still moving at your pace, Meg.” He brought her hand to his lips, kissed it absently, when they began the climb. “I seem to have this need to be around you. It's the damnedest thing. Can't shake it. So I figure, why try? Why not just roll with it?”
“I'm not a simple woman.” She wished she could be, just for tonight, just for an hour in the starlight. “I have baggage and resentments and insecurities I didn't even realize were there until I met you. I'm not going to let myself be hurt again.”
“No one's going to hurt you.” In a subtle gesture of protection, he slipped an arm around her and looked up at the sky. “Look how big the moon is tonight. Just hanging there. You can see Venus, and the little star that dogs her. There's Orion.” He lifted her hand, tracing the sky with it as he had once traced his charts. “And the Twins. See?”
“Yes.” She watched their joined hands connect stars while the breeze lifted lovingly off the water and stirred the flowers that grew wild in the rock.
Romantic, mysterious, Coco had said. Yes, he was, and Megan realized she was much more susceptible to both than she would have believed.
For she was here, wasn't she, standing on a cliff with a seafaring man whose callused hand held hers, whose voice helped her see the pictures painted by the stars.
His body was warm and solid against hers. And her blood was pumping fast and free in her veins.
Alive. The wind and the sea and the man made her feel so alive.
And perhaps there was something more—those ghosts of the Calhouns'. The cliffs seemed to invite spirits to walk, the air filled with contentment. And the glow of love that had outlasted time.
“I shouldn't be here like this.” But she didn't move away, not even when his lips brushed over her hair.
“Listen,” he murmured. “Close your eyes and listen, and you can hear the stars breathing.”
She obeyed, and listened to the whisper and throb of the air. And of her own heart. “Why do you make me feel this way?”
“I don't have an answer. Not everything adds up neat, Meg.” Because he had a great need to see her face, he turned her gently. “Not everything has to.” And kissed her. His lips skimmed hers, journeyed up to her temple, over her brow and down. “How's the headache?”
“It's gone. Nearly.”
“No. Keep your eyes closed.” His lips traced over them, soft as air, before trailing slowly over her face. “Kiss me back, will you?”
How could she not, when his mouth was so tempting on hers? With a small sound of surrender, she let her heart lead. Just for tonight, she promised herself. Just for a moment.
That slow, melting change almost undid him. She went pliant in his arms, those hesitant lips heating, parting, offering. It took all his willpower not to drag her against him and plunder.
She wouldn't resist. Perhaps he'd known that there would be enough magic on those cliffs to bewitch them both, to seduce her into surrender—and to remind him to take care.
“I want you, Megan.” He took his lips down her throat, up over her jaw. “I want you so much it's got me tied in knots.”
“I know. I wish...” She pressed her face to his shoulder. “I'm not playing games, Nathaniel.”
“I know.” He stroked a hand down her hair. “It would be easier if you were, because I know all the rules.” Cupping her face, he lifted it. “And how to break them.” He sighed, kissed her again, lightly. “They make it damn hard for me, those eyes of yours.” He stepped back. “I'd better take you in.”
“Nathaniel.” She laid a hand on his chest. “You're the first man who's made me...who I've wanted to be with since Kevin was born.”
Something flashed in his eyes, wild, dangerous, before he banked it. “Do you think it makes it easier on me, knowing that?” He would have laughed, if he hadn't felt so much like exploding. “Megan, you're killing me.” But he swung an arm around her shoulders and led her down the cliff path.
“I don't know how to handle this,” she said under her breath. “I haven't had to handle anything like this before.”
“Keep it up,” he warned, “and you're over my shoulder, shanghaied straight to bed. Mine.”
The image gave her a quick thrill, and a guilty one. “I'm just trying to be honest.”
“Try lying,” he said with a grimace. “Make it easier on me.”
“I'm a lousy liar.” She slanted a look at him. Wasn't it interesting, she mused, that for once he was the one at a disadvantage? “It doesn't seem logical that it would bother you to know what I'm feeling.”
“I'm having a lot of trouble dealing with what I'm feeling.” He took a long, steadying breath. “And I'm not feeling logical.” Nor, he thought ruefully, would he sleep tonight. “ 'Desire hath no rest.'“
“What?”
“Robert Burton. Nothing.”
They walked toward the lights of The Towers. The shouting reached them before they crossed the lawn.
“Coco,” Megan said.
“Dutch.” Taking firm hold of Megan's hand, Nathaniel quickened his pace. “You're insulting and obnoxious,” Coco snapped at Dutch, her chin up, her hands planted on her hips.
His massive arms were folded across his barrel of a chest. “I saw what I saw, said what I said.”
“I was not draped all over Trenton l
ike a... a...”
“Barnacle,” Dutch said with relish. “Like a barnacle on the hull of a fancy yacht.”
“We happen to have been dancing.”
“Ha! That's what you call it. We got another name for it. Where I come from, we call it—”
“Dutch!” Nathaniel cut off the undoubtedly crude description.
“There.” Mortified, Coco smoothed down her dress. “You've made a scene.”
“You were the one making a scene, with that smooth-skinned rich boy. Flaunting yourself.”
“F-f-flaunting.” Enraged, she drew herself up to her full, and considerable, height. “I have never flaunted in my life. You, sir, are despicable.”
“I'll show you despicable, lady.”
“Cut it out.” Prepared for fists to fly, Nathaniel stepped between them. “Dutch, what the hell's wrong with you? Are you drunk?”
“A nip or two of rum never rattled my brain.” He glared over Nathaniel's shoulder at Coco. “It's her that's acting snockered. Out of my way, boy, I've got a thing or two left to say.”
“You've finished,” Nathaniel corrected.
“Out of his way.” All eyes turned to Coco. She was flushed, bright-eyed, and regal as a duchess. “I prefer to handle this matter myself.”
Megan tugged gently on her arm. “Coco, don't you think you should go inside?”
“I do not.” She caught herself and added a friendly pat. “Now, dear, you and Nate run along. Mr. Van Horne and I prefer to handle this privately.”
“But—”
“Nathaniel,” Coco said, interrupting her, “take Megan inside now.” “Yes, ma'am.”
“Are you sure we should leave them alone?”
Nathaniel continued to steer Megan to the terrace doors. “You want to get in the middle of that?”
Megan glanced back over her shoulder. “No.” She chuckled, shook her head. “No, I don't think so.”
“Well, Mr. Van Horne,” Coco began, when she was certain they were alone again. “Do you have something more to say?”
“I got plenty.” Prepared for battle, he stepped forward. “You tell that slicktalking rich boy to keep his hands to himself.”
She tossed back her head and enjoyed the mad flutter of her heart when her eyes met his. “And if I don't?”
Dutch growled like a wolf—like a wolf, Coco thought, challenging his mate. “I'll break his puny arms like matchsticks.”
Oh, my, she thought. Oh, my goodness. “Will you, really?”
“Just you try me.” He gave her a jerk, and she let herself tumble into his arms.
This time she was ready for the kiss, and met it head-on. By the time they broke apart, they were both breathless and stunned.
Sometimes, Coco realized, it was up to the woman. She moistened her lips, swallowed hard.
“My room's on the second floor.”
“I know where it is.” A ghost of a smile flitted around his mouth. “Mine's closer.” He swept her into his arms—very much, Coco thought dreamily, like a pirate taking his hostage.
“You're a fine, sturdy woman, Coco.”
She pressed a hand on her thundering heart. “Oh, Niels.”
Chapter 7
It wasn't like Megan to daydream. Years of discipline had taught her that dreams were for sleeping, not for rainy mornings when the fog was drifting around the house and the windows ran wet, as if with tears. But her computer hummed, unattended, and her chin was on her fist as her mind wandered back, as it had several times over the past few days, toward moonlight and wildflowers and the distant thunder of surf.
Now and again she caught herself and fell back on logic. It wouldn't pay to forget that the only romance in her life had been an illusion, a lie that betrayed her innocence, her emotions and her future. She'd thought herself immune, been content to be immune. Until Nathaniel.
What should she do, now that her life had taken this fast, unexpected swing? After all, she was no longer a child who believed in or needed promises and coaxing words. Now that her needs had been stirred, could she satisfy them without being hurt?
Oh, how she wished her heart wasn't involved. How she wished she could be smart and savvy and sophisticated and indulge in a purely physical affair, without emotion weighing in so heavily.
Why couldn't attraction, leavened with affection and respect, be enough? It should be such a simple equation. Two consenting adults, plus desire, times understanding and passion, equals mutual pleasure.
She just wished she could be sure there wasn't some hidden fraction that would throw off the simple solution.
“Megan?”
“Hmm?” Dreamily she turned toward the sound of the voice. Her imaginings shattered when she saw Suzanna inside the office, smiling at her. “Oh, I didn't hear you come in.”
“You were miles away.”
Caught drifting, Megan fought back embarrassment and shuffled papers. “I suppose I was. Something about the rain.”
“It's lovely—always sets my mind wandering.” Suzanna thought she knew just where Megan's mind had wandered. “Though I doubt the tourists or the children think so.”
“Kevin thought the fog was great—until I told him he couldn't climb on the cliffs in it.”
“And Alex and Jenny's plans for an assault on Fort O'Riley have been postponed. The kids are in Kevin's room, defending the planet against aliens. It's wonderful watching them together.” “I know. They've blended together so well.”
“Like a mud bait,” Suzanna said with a laugh, and eased a jean-clad hip on the edge of Megan's desk. “How's the work coming?”
“It's moving along. Amanda kept everything in order, so it's just a matter of shifting it into my own system and computerizing.”
“It's a tremendous relief for her, having you take it over. Some days she'd be doing the books with a phone at her ear and Delia at her breast.”
The image made Megan grin. “I can see it. She's amazingly organized.”
“An expert juggler. Nothing she hates more than to bobble a ball. You'd understand that.”
“Yeah, I do.” Megan picked up a pencil and ran it between her fingers. “I worried about coming here, Suzanna, bringing Kevin. I was afraid I'd not only bobble a ball, but drop all of them, because I'd be so anxious not to say anything, even think anything, that would make you uncomfortable.”
“Aren't we past that, Megan?”
“You were.” Sighing, Megan set the pencil down again. “Maybe it's a little harder, being the other woman.”
“Were you?” Suzanna said gently. “Or was I?”
Megan could only shake her head. “I can't say I wish I could go back and change things, because if I did I wouldn't have Kevin.” She took a long breath, met Suzanna's eyes levelly. “I know you consider Kevin a brother to your children, and that you love him.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I want you to know that I think of your children as my family and I love them.”
Suzanna reached over to lay a hand over Megan's. “I know you do. One of the reasons I dropped in was to ask if you'd mind if Kevin came along with us. I'm going to do some greenhouse work today. Alex and Jenny always enjoy it—especially since it includes pizza for lunch.”
“I can't think of anything he'd rather do. And it would make up for having to wear a tie the other night.”
Suzanna's eyes lit with humor. “I nearly had to strangle Alex to get him into his. I hope Aunt Coco doesn't plan any more formal dinner parties for some time to come.” She tilted her head. “Speaking of Aunt Coco, have you seen her today?”
“Only for a minute, right after breakfast. Why?”
“Was she singing?”
“As a matter of fact, she was.” Megan touched her tongue to her top Up. “She's been singing in the morning for several days now.”
“She was singing just now, too. And wearing her best perfume.” Uneasy, Suzanna nibbled her Up. “I was wondering if Trent's father... Of course, he's gone back to Boston now, so I thought th
ere was nothing to worry about. He's a lovely man, and we're all very fond of him, but, well, he's been married four times, and he doesn't seem able to keep his eye from roving.”
“I noticed.” After a quick debate on privacy versus disclosure, Megan cleared her throat. “Actually, I don't think Coco's looking in that direction.”
“No?”
“Dutch,” Megan said, and watched Suzanna's eyes go blank. “Excuse me?”
“I think she and Dutch are... infatuated.”
“Dutch? Our Dutch? But she's always complaining about him, and he's snarling at her every chance he gets. They're always fighting, and...” She trailed off, pressed her hands to her lips. “Oh...” she said, While her eyes danced over them. “Oh, oh, oh...”
They stared at each other, struggled dutifully for perhaps three seconds before bursting into laughter. Megan fell easily into the sisterly pleasure of discussing a family member. After she told Suzanna about walking in on Coco and Dutch in the kitchen, she followed it up with the scene on the terrace.
“There were sparks flying, Suzanna. At first I thought they were going to come to blows, then I realized it was more of a—well, a mating ritual.”
“A mating ritual,” Suzanna repeated in a shaky voice. “Do you really think they—?”
“Well.” Megan wriggled her eyebrows. “She's been doing a lot of singing lately.”
“She certainly has.” Suzanna let the idea stew for a moment, found it simmered nicely. “I think I'll drop by the kitchen before I go. Check out the atmosphere.”
“I hope I can count on a full report.”
“Absolutely.” Still chuckling, Suzanna rose to go to the door. “I guess that was some moon the other night.”
“It was,” Megan murmured. “Some moon.”
Suzanna paused with her hand on the knob. “And Nathaniel's some man.” “I thought we were talking about Dutch.”
“We were talking about romance,” Suzanna corrected. “I'll see you later.”
Megan frowned at the closed door. Good Lord, she thought, was she that obvious?
After spending the rest of the morning and the first part of the afternoon on The Retreat's accounts, Megan gave herself the small reward of an hour with Fergus's book. She enjoyed tallying up the costs of stabling horses, maintaining carriages. It was an eye-opener to see how much expense was involved in giving a ball at The Towers in 1913. And, by reading Fergus's margin notes, to come to understand his motives.
