What She Doesn't Know

by Beverly Barton

  “My mother doesn’t deserve your hatred and my sister doesn’t need your pity.”

  She wriggled, trying to free herself, but to no avail. “I see I can add eavesdropping to your many sins.”

  “I don’t care what you think of me or what you say about me,” he told her, tightening his hold on her wrists and bringing them upward until he held them between their chests. “But if you hurt my mother or sister, you’ll answer to me.”

  “Is that a threat?” She narrowed her gaze until her eyes were mere slits.

  “Take it however you wish. I just want you to know that I protect what’s mine.”

  “How very noble of you. Tell me, Max, does eliminating obstacles to your mother’s happiness fall under the jurisdiction of protecting your own?”

  Damn the bitch! She had all but accused him of murder. He released his tenacious hold on her. “You’ve learned to fight dirty, haven’t you?”

  “It’s survival of the fittest in this world, isn’t it? And believe me, I am a survivor. So, you’d better pray that my father didn’t give me any power over your precious family, because if he did…” She smiled wickedly.

  “A battle to the death?” he asked, already knowing the answer. Nothing would please Jolie Royale more than destroying his mother.

  At eight o’clock that evening Garland Wells gathered the family in Louis’s study. Yvonne served decaffeinated coffee and iced tea to those who wanted refreshments. When she started to leave the room, Gar reminded her to stay.

  Every nerve in Jolie’s body rioted. She wanted this night over with, and the sooner the better. Her father’s will could change her life completely. It would either prove to her once and for all that he had cut her out of his life or it would give her the power to seek revenge.

  Gar glanced around the room, then sat in the bourbon-brown leather chair behind Louis Royale’s majestic Jacobean desk. “I believe we’re all here.”

  “Are you saying that everyone in this room is mentioned in Louis’s will?” Parry Clifton asked.

  “That’s right,” Gar replied.

  Jolie held her breath as Gar began to read the will, stopping occasionally to explain this or that. Louis Royale had left the bulk of his estate to his three children—Jolie, Mallory, and Max—to be equally divided among them. He had also left his business holdings to the three children, with the provision that Max continue in the leadership role he had held for several years now. He provided a fund for both Georgette and Clarice, sizable amounts to take care of all their needs for the rest of their lives. And to Yvonne, he had bequeathed the sum of one-hundred thousand dollars.

  “And to my brother-in-law, Parry Clifton, I request that my stepson, Maximillian Devereaux, take care of his uncle as he sees fit, providing for him as is necessary.”

  “Why that old bastard,” Parry grumbled.

  “Shut up, Parry!” Georgette glared at her brother.

  “You should be as outraged as I am,” Parry told her. “Your husband should have left everything to you and you damn well know it. You gave him nearly twenty years of your life and this is how he rewards you—by leaving you a pittance!”

  Max rose from his chair, grasped his uncle’s arm, and said quietly, “Either sit down and be quiet or I’ll take you out of here.”

  Parry looked Max square in the eyes, then reluctantly nodded. “Whatever you say, nephew. It seems that you’re The Man now.”

  Max turned to Gar. “Continue.”

  “There are several charity donations and minor bequests,” Gar said, “but the only other major bequest is Belle Rose.”

  A hushed silence descended over the room. Jolie wondered if it would be a sin to pray for something that could be the instrument of her revenge?

  “Belle Rose was the property of my first wife Audrey Desmond’s family for generations,” Gar Wells read. “Upon my marriage to her, she and her sisters deeded the house to me in exchange for my restoring the house and grounds to their former glory. I have searched my soul and have come to the conclusion that the only fair and honorable thing is to bequeath Belle Rose—the house, furnishings, and acreage—to my elder daughter, Jolie Desmond Royale.”

  Chapter 7

  “Dear Lord, no!” Gasping dramatically, Georgette clutched the bodice of her black silk dress, her hand centered over her heart.

  “This is an outrage!” Parry Clifton rose to his feet, his face a bright red, his hands balled into tight fists.

  “Daddy left our home to her?” Mallory glared malevolently at Jolie. “How could he do that?”

  The room screamed with protests, filling the very air with indignation and disappointment. Jolie sat quietly, absorbing the reality of what Garland Wells had just said. Belle Rose was hers. In the end, her father had done the honorable thing.

  “Oh, dear girl, Louis has given you a great gift,” Clarice said, her cheeks slightly flushed and tears misting her eyes.

  Jolie felt Max’s gaze directed at her and was unable to resist looking at him. While his family ranted and raved at the injustice of Louis’s bequest, Max sat solemnly, his body tense, his expression murderous. A shiver of apprehension quivered up Jolie’s spine.

  “Please, please,” Gar called, and when the ruckus continued, he shouted, “There’s a stipulation to this bequest.”

  Parry Clifton continued grumbling in a loud obnoxious tone. Georgette burst into tears and Mallory jumped up and headed for the door. Max shot out of his chair, grabbed Mallory before she could clutch the door handle, then whirled her around and shoved her back into her seat. After whipping out a white linen handkerchief from his pocket, he tossed it to his mother.

  “Dry your eyes and blow your nose.” He spoke to her with gentle authority, as if she were a child. Turning to his uncle, he clamped his hand on Parry’s shoulder. “Sit down and shut up. Now.” He emphasized the last word, his voice deep and low and commanding.

  Immediately and obediently, Parry quieted, sat in the chair beside Georgette, then crossed his arms over his chest and stuck out his lower lip in a pouting, protesting gesture.

  “Continue,” Max told Gar. “What are the stipulations?”

  Gar cleared his throat. “Louis left Belle Rose to Jolie Royale with the provision that his wife, Georgette, be allowed to live on the premises for as long as she lives.”

  Jolie’s heart sank. Damn the old son of a bitch. He’d stuck it to her again. He’d given her what she wanted most, but he’d tied her hands to prevent her from wreaking havoc on his precious Georgette.

  “And Mallory Royale and Maximillian Devereaux are to be allowed to remain on as residents of Belle Rose for as long as they choose.” Gar drew in a deep breath, as if bracing himself for the next verbalization of righteous indignation.

  Jolie had no intention of degrading herself with any sort of outburst. Let these low-class Cliftons reveal their lack of breeding. She was a Desmond and at this precise moment she had every intention of conducting herself as her female ancestors had done for generations—with pride and dignity. She needed time to think, time to speak to another lawyer, time to make decisions, time to deal with the intolerable situation in which her father had placed her.

  “Does this mean we won’t have to leave Belle Rose?” Georgette patted her damp face with Max’s handkerchief.

  “Yes, Mother,” Max replied.

  “Then even though she owns this place, she can’t make us leave. Not ever. Is that right?” Mallory glared at Jolie, a triumphant smile curving her lips.

  “That’s right,” Gar said.

  Clarice rose from her chair, a soft pleasant expression on her face. “Isn’t this wonderful? Everything worked out perfectly. We should celebrate Louis’s wisdom and kindness.”

  Jolie stared at her aunt, uncertain whether to burst her happy we’ll-all-live-together-harmoniously bubble or allow her to continue with the delusion. Poor Aunt Clarice. Maybe she was as loony as everyone else believed. If she thought for one minute that Jolie was going to share living quarter
s with Georgette’s family—even on a temporary basis—then she was definitely living in a fantasy world.

  Max helped his mother to her feet. “You’ve had a long day. You should go to bed early.” He motioned to his sister. “Mallory, take Mother upstairs and help her get ready for bed.”

  “I’d be delighted.” Mallory continued smiling at Jolie, obviously finding the irony of the situation quite delicious.

  Parry Clifton headed for the door. Max called out to him, “Don’t go running off to town tonight. I don’t want to have to bail you out of jail again.”

  Parry’s cheeks flushed. He grumbled under his breath, then nodded and followed Georgette and Mallory out the door.

  Clarice grasped Jolie’s arm, then waved to Max. “Max, you must drive Jolie into town to the inn to pick up her car and her luggage.” Clarice smiled at Jolie. “Your old room is all ready for you. Yvonne and I aired it out a couple of days ago and put fresh linens on the bed.”

  “Aunt Clarice, I won’t be staying here tonight,” Jolie said.

  “Why ever not?”

  “Clarice, I don’t think Jolie is ready to come home to Belle Rose.” Yvonne placed her hand between Clarice’s shoulder blades and patted her soothingly. “Not quite yet.”

  “But this is her home. Louis willed Belle Rose to her.” Clarice gazed at Jolie, puzzlement in her sad hazel eyes.

  “Now don’t pressure Jolie to do something she isn’t ready to do,” Yvonne advised. “Let her do things in her own way, in her own time.”

  “Well, I suppose…” Clarice’s thin shoulders rose and fell as she sighed deeply. “It’s just that I—”

  Yvonne looked directly at Jolie. “Why don’t you let me drive you into town after I see Clarice to bed and you can pick up your car and bags and come to my house tonight.”

  It was a compromise, one Jolie could live with and one that hopefully would pacify Aunt Clarice for the time being. She’d spend the night on Belle Rose property, just not in the house itself. “All right. Thank you, Yvonne. I think I will take you up on your hospitality.”

  “Good. Then that’s settled.” Yvonne patted Clarice on the back again. “You’ll have her nearby tonight and you can see her in the morning.” Yvonne gave Jolie a look that brooked no protest.

  “Yes…yes,” Clarice said. “I suppose that will be all right, won’t it?”

  “Jolie, why don’t you wait for me on the back porch. I won’t be long.” Yvonne took Clarice’s arm and guided her toward the door.

  Jolie nodded.

  Gar Wells remained in the room, speaking quietly to Max. As she moved toward them, Gar turned to face her.

  “It’s good to see you again, Jolie,” Gar said, extending his hand. “I just hate it was under these circumstances.”

  Jolie shook hands with him, then gasped when he put his arms around her and gave her an affectionate hug. He released her quickly and stepped back.

  “It’s good to see you again, too,” she said. She couldn’t blame Gar for the stipulations in her father’s will. He would have had no choice but to obey his client’s wishes. “Where’s Sandy? I caught a glimpse of her at the funeral, but I didn’t see her at the cemetery or at the reception.”

  “She had an emergency and had to rush off to the hospital right after the funeral,” Gar said. “She took my car and is supposed to drop by tonight and pick me up. She phoned about an hour ago, so I’m expecting her any minute. You should hang around. I know she’d love to see you.”

  “I’d love to see her, too, but if I don’t catch her tonight, tell her I’ll call her.”

  Gar nodded. “I’ll tell her.” He glanced back and forth from Max to Jolie, then cleared his throat. “If either of you has any questions about… well, about anything pertaining to Louis’s will, I’m at your disposal. Just let me know.”

  “I’ll be in touch very soon,” Jolie said.

  The moment they were alone in the study, Max backed up to the desk, propped his hips on the edge, and crossed his arms over his chest. “So, where do we go from here?”

  Pivoting around to face him, she huffed quietly. Don’t let him intimidate you, she told herself. Don’t let him see your discomfort or your disappointment. “I’m going to pick up my stuff at the inn and spend the night with Yvonne.”

  Max’s lips twitched, as if he were going to smile but didn’t. “And after tonight?”

  “Why would I willingly reveal my battle plans to the enemy?” She smiled, the forced effort infusing her with determination.

  Raising his eyebrows, he met her gaze head-on. “I take it that you don’t see any way to compromise. You aren’t willing to—”

  “Accept the stipulations that your family be allowed to remain at Belle Rose?”

  “This has been our home for nineteen years. This is the only home Mallory has ever known. Would you really throw your own sister out of Belle Rose?”

  “Mallory is my half sister by blood, but she’s your sister in every way that matters, not mine. I don’t owe her anything. Hell, I don’t even know her.”

  “And whose fault is that?” Max eased up and off the edge of the desk. “If you’d bothered to come home for a visit, you’d have had the opportunity to become acquainted with her. It’s not too late, you know. It might take some effort on your part, but Mallory’s a pretty good kid. Just a little spoiled, the way you were. You might find out that the two of you have quite a bit in common.”

  “I doubt that. Her mother is a Clifton. Mine was a Desmond.” Jolie made the statement without giving it any thought whatsoever, then a moment later wished she’d controlled her vindictive response. Mallory couldn’t help who her mother was.

  The muscles in Max’s jaw tightened; a vein in his neck bulged. “Twenty years away from Sumarville and as soon as you return you revert back to type, don’t you? The high and mighty, better-than-everyone-else Desmonds.” Max grunted. “Do you realize that Aunt Clarice is the only person living in Desmond County whose name is actually Desmond? You pure breeds are dying out fast and making room for us stronger, tougher mongrels.”

  “More’s the pity.” She practically spit the words at him.

  He moved toward her, his gaze never leaving her face. Instinct warned her to run. Pure stubbornness forced her to stand her ground. If he thought she was afraid of him…Maybe she was, but she’d never give him the satisfaction of letting him know. Jolie’s heartbeat thundered in her ears.

  He paused when only inches separated them. “Don’t fuck with me, Miss Jolie, or you might wind up flat of your back and begging…for mercy.”

  Heat rose inside her like flames from a roaring fire. Her muscles tensed; her nerves jangled. He was damn good at intimidation and there would have been a time, years ago, when she would have turned and run. But that had been a different Jolie. She didn’t intimidate easily, not anymore. And she didn’t run scared.

  Jolie tapped her index finger in the center of Max’s chest. “Don’t bet any money on who’s going to be doing the begging.”

  When she drew back her finger, Max suddenly circled her wrist with his big hand. Jolie resisted the urge to try to break free; instead she titled her head upward and leaned closer, her lips only a hairbreadth from his chin. Every feminine instinct she possessed became fully aware of Max’s overwhelming masculinity. They stood there in her father’s study, their bodies almost touching, their breaths mingling, their gazes locked in deadly combat—and neither of them would give an inch.

  Like a couple of unyielding warriors daring each other, each determined to come out the winner, they tenaciously, stubbornly waited for the other one to surrender. Jolie thought she would scream, if he didn’t break eye contact soon. A bold current of awareness sizzled between them. The tension wound inside her so tightly that she felt as if she’d fly apart, into a million pieces, with the least bit of provocation.

  Moving unexpectedly, Max startled her when he grabbed the nape of her neck. She shuddered, as if he were the first man who’d ever touched her.
Her mouth opened on a soft sigh.

  She didn’t know who moved first—and in the long run, it didn’t seem to matter. He released his hold on her and they broke apart, each acting as if they had committed some horrendous crime. Perhaps they had. For one split second Max Devereaux had come very close to kissing her. And heaven help her, she would have kissed him back.

  Jolie turned away from Max and forced herself not to run but to walk out of the room. Don’t you dare look back at him!

  Max didn’t know what the hell had happened between Jolie and him, but whatever it was, he didn’t like it. She’d been gone for a good five minutes and yet he still felt as if he’d been poleaxed square between the eyes. She was the last woman on earth he wanted to find attractive. Forget attractive. Alluring might be a better word. Or even seductive. What had he been thinking when he touched her? He might as well have jumped off a hundred foot cliff; it would have been less dangerous.

  He’d wanted to kiss her. When he’d grabbed her by the neck, every primitive, masculine inclination within him had urged him to reach out and take her. The moment he touched her, he had known he’d made a mistake, a monumental mistake. He’d seen it there in her eyes—passion and acceptance. If he had kissed her, she would have returned his kiss.

  “Why are you still in here?” Garland Wells stood in the study doorway. “Sandy just drove up. You should come out and say hello to her before we leave.”

  “Sure.” Max stroked his jaw with his cupped hand.

  By the time they reached the foyer, Sandy was coming through the front door. She smiled as she approached him, then opened her arms and enveloped him in a comforting hug. He wrapped his arms loosely around her.

  “I’m so sorry that I didn’t make it to the reception,” she said. “I had a patient with a ruptured appendix. Things got dicey there for a while.” Releasing her hold on Max, she reached down to clutch his hand, then glanced back and forth between Max and Gar. “So, how did things go here?”