Lady Love

by Diana Palmer

  Merlyn Forrest Steele couldn’t refuse the offer—work for a living for one month, and her father would stop his clumsy matchmaking attempts. Maybe she’d somehow find a man who had eyes for her, not her bank account, and meanwhile, she could prove she was no dilettante heiress.

  So it was ironic that the first man to penetrate her defenses in her new life would be the one who was looking for just that…Not that she’d have the sardonic, arrogant Cameron Thorpe, even if he asked her. Let him go ahead and marry some insipid little heiress—he’d get exactly what he deserved…But why did this thought give Merlyn no comfort at all?

  Also available from MIRA Books and DIANA PALMER

  THE RAWHIDE MAN

  CATTLEMAN’S CHOICE

  FRIENDS AND LOVERS

  DIAMOND GIRL

  PASSION FLOWER

  CHAMPAGNE GIRL

  ROOMFUL OF ROSES

  AFTER THE MUSIC

  ONCE IN PARIS

  RAGE OF PASSION

  PAPER ROSE

  FIT FOR A KING

  MOST WANTED

  DIANA PALMER

  LADY LOVE

  For Shirley and Cordia

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter One

  Merlyn Forrest Steele’s eyes were the same shade of green as her father’s, but Jared Steele’s had a twinkle that, at the moment, she was too angry to match. She glared at him from the plush white depths of the horseshoe-shaped sofa, its covering emphasizing the jet blackness of her long hair.

  “It’s all your fault,” she told him shortly.

  His eyebrows arched. “What is?”

  “Adam.”

  He gave a world-weary sigh and stuck his hands deep in the pockets of his charcoal gray suit pants. His silver mustache twitched as he frowned. “I see what you mean,” he confessed. “I meant well.”

  “I didn’t mean your matchmaking attempts,” she explained. Her hand smoothed a wrinkle in her green silk slacks. “I meant the fact that you’re so rich.”

  “I often think of donating my fortune to charity and throwing myself on the mercy of strangers,” he murmured, tongue-in-cheek.

  She glared at him again. “I never know if it’s me or your money that men want,” she said. “Adam seemed to be head over heels in love with me, and I was…warming to him. Then I found out that he only got engaged to me because he had dreams of becoming your business partner! Now where in the world did he get an idea like that? Especially since he works for a rival computer company!”

  Her father turned away and looked out the window. “Look at that sun,” he said with enthusiasm. “Imagine, it’s spring already!”

  “Evading the issue, huh?” she challenged.

  He hunched his shoulders and glanced at her. “Well, darling, you aren’t ugly,” he reminded her.

  “I’m not poor, either—that’s the trouble.”

  “He seemed like a good prospect,” her father murmured defensively.

  So he had, Merlyn thought. Her father had introduced her to Adam James at a party. Jared Steele felt that, at twenty-six, his only child was ripe for the joys of wedded bliss. So for the past year he’d been flinging unsuspecting males at Merlyn’s feet in what she considered a pathetically obvious way. If her mother had still been alive, perhaps her father would have been too occupied to bother Merlyn. But, as it was, he was determined to marry her off, and no eligible bachelor of reasonable means escaped his eagle eye.

  Adam James had seemed to be a prize catch. A minor executive in a rival computer company, he had come to Jared’s attention at a computer conference. Her father had dragged him home to Merlyn as proudly as a hunting dog carrying a duck in its mouth.

  Adam, for his part, had seemed immediately smitten and had pursued Merlyn with considerable enthusiasm. Right up until the very end, she’d been fooled by his persuasive charm, despite the fact that only her mind agreed to the liaison. Her body had been ice-cold in his arms; somehow, he’d never managed to stir her. No man had managed that in her virginal life, although she was certain she had passion in her. She loved fast cars and excitement and all sorts of hobbies that her father had predicted would be the death of her.

  She hadn’t gotten over Adam in the month since their engagement had been broken. She’d gone off to France for two weeks and come back with a suntan, a sour disposition, and a grudge against her disappointed parent. Now she was bored again, and nagging him had become a rather satisfying diversion for her.

  “I want to be loved for myself,” she muttered.

  His eyebrows arched again. “I love you.”

  “Prove it,” she challenged. “Stop throwing men at me!”

  He threw up his hands. “My God, all I want is a few grandchildren!”

  “Adopt!”

  He glowered at her. “Shame on you, moaning over being rich. Plenty of women would love to walk in your shoes.”

  “Maybe I’d like to be poor for a change!” she shot back, rising from the sofa. “And have a chance to be liked for myself alone.”

  “So, do it,” he dared her, with narrowed eyes. “I dare you. If you think it’s so wonderful being poor, you go try it. I grew up with nothing, but you’ve always had the advantages. Let’s see you get along without them. For, say, a month.” His eyes twinkled mischievously and he wiggled his mustache, which had more hair in it than he had on his head. “Live without money. Work for your keep. And if you can manage that for a month, without telling anyone who you are or what you’re worth, I’ll swear off matchmaking for life. Cross my heart.”

  She pursed her lips, and her own green eyes began to twinkle. “A month, huh?”

  “A month.”

  “What kind of work could I do?”

  “You’ve got a degree in history,” he reminded her.

  “Lots of people have.”

  He looked thoughtful. “Yes, but I think I know a way you could use it.”

  She cocked her head warily. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

  “No men,” he said, holding up his hands defensively. “Just a lovely lady who writes torrid historical romances. She lives on Lake Lanier, north of here.”

  “In Gainesville?” she asked, and he nodded. She studied him. “What would I do?”

  “Help her with some research on her next book. Jack Thomas was talking about it yesterday. We were at the board meeting of that college—you know, we’re both trustees. He knows Cameron Thorpe, the Charleston banker, well. The writer is Thorpe’s mother. She lives alone, except for a housekeeper.”

  It was sounding better and better to Merlyn. She knew Lake Lanier. It was a man-made lake, Georgia’s biggest, and one of her good friends raced at Road Atlanta near there. Dick Langley had an enormous home on the lake, which she’d visited occasionally.

  “She’s a writer?” She frowned. “Does she write under her own name?”

  “No. Her given name is Lila Thorpe,” he said, “but she writes as Copper O’Mara.”

  She gasped. “But I read her!” she burst out. “She’s one of my favorites!”

  “All the more reason to apply for the job,” he chuckled. “Want me to call Jack Thomas and ask if he knows her phone number? And don’t worry, I won’t blow your cover. I’ll say I have an acquaintance who might qualify for the job.”

  “Fair enough,” she said. “I’ll show you I’m no society darling.”

  He studied her slenderness and smiled with pure pride. “You’ve got class, though. J
ust like your mother.”

  “But she was beautiful,” Merlyn argued.

  He nodded. “The most beautiful creature on earth. I still miss her, you know.” He turned away. “Well, let’s get this show on the road, daughter.” He picked up the phone.

  ***

  Three days later, on a rainy Friday, Merlyn drove up to the large two-story lake house where Lila Thorpe lived. It was a fieldstone and wood building as beautiful as its natural surroundings. Beyond it was the lake, with a boathouse and a private cove and pier. Around it was open land, with hills and pine trees and none of the cluttered construction one found closer in to Gainesville.

  Merlyn imagined that the estate would be beautiful in the sun, and she could hardly wait for the weather to break and the warm breezes to herald blossoming things. There were dogwood trees all around the house, along with small shrubs; the dogwoods were in bud already.

  She carried her suitcase up to the front porch and rang the doorbell. A small, thin woman in a cotton dress let her in.

  “I’m Tilly,” she introduced herself. “Mrs. Thorpe is in the living room. If you’ll follow me?”

  There was a quick scurrying sound on the staircase in the long hall. Merlyn got a glimpse of a dark-haired, dark-eyed girl of about twelve who hesitated a few steps up.

  “Hello.” Merlyn grinned, tossing back her long black hair. “I’m Merlyn Forrest,” she said, deliberately leaving off the “Steele.”

  The child, obviously shy, stared at her, unsmiling. “Hello,” she said after a minute.

  “This is a lovely house,” Merlyn said. “Do you live here with Mrs. Thorpe?”

  “She’s my grandmother.”

  How formal the child sounded, how repressed. Why did she live with her grandmother? Where were her parents? Was Cameron Thorpe, the man her father had mentioned, this little girl’s father?

  “This way, Miss,” Tilly called when she realized that Merlyn was lagging behind.

  “Yes, excuse me,” Merlyn said. She winked at the girl and walked on.

  Lila Thorpe was tall, thin and graying and had twinkling eyes. She held out a slender hand to shake Merlyn’s extended one. “You must be Merlyn,” she said, smiling. “I’m so glad you’re here! I simply can’t research and write at the same time, and I have this incredible pull toward English royalty at the moment. What do you know about the Plantagenets and the Tudors?”

  Merlyn caught her breath with a little laugh. “In fact, just a smattering, though the English kings have always fascinated me. But I brought my history books along, and I can find anything you need. How about that?”

  “Perfect!” Lila sighed.

  “Is she going to live here?” the little girl asked from the doorway.

  Merlyn turned and found the child hesitating at the door. She was wearing a white and brown cotton frock, knee-high socks, and patent leather shoes. She had a manner that was much older than her years, and eyes that didn’t smile.

  “Yes,” Lila said warmly. “Come in, Amanda, and meet Merlyn Forrest. She’s going to help me research my new book.”

  “She told me her name in the hall,” Amanda murmured.

  “Yes, I did, but you didn’t tell me yours,” Merlyn said warmly. “Did you know that Amanda means ‘worthy of love’? It was my mother’s middle name.”

  The child’s huge eyes widened. “Really?” Her shoulders hunched. “My mother is dead.”

  “So is mine,” Merlyn said with quiet sympathy. “It’s rather lonely, isn’t it? At least you have your grandmother.”

  Amanda tilted her head, studying the newcomer. Merlyn was wearing jeans and a velour pullover. She had purposely avoided designer pieces, choosing instead clothes in some medium price range that wouldn’t arouse suspicion. But with her usual flair, she was wearing a vibrant Mexican poncho over the outfit. She looked colorful and bright and a little nonconformist.

  “That’s so pretty,” Amanda remarked of the poncho. “It’s like a rainbow.”

  “I got it…I mean, a friend brought it to me from Mexico,” Merlyn said. In fact, it had been purchased by Merlyn herself in Mexico City, but it wouldn’t do to let them know how well traveled she was. She grinned. “I’ll let you wear it sometime, if you like.”

  Amanda brightened, and then her face fell and she shrugged. “Daddy wouldn’t let me,” she muttered. “He won’t even let me wear jeans. He’s afraid I’ll grow up to be a tomboy.”

  Daddy sure must be weird, Merlyn thought, but she didn’t say anything.

  “My son is a banker,” Lila confided. “My only living child. There was another boy, but he was stillborn. Cam is all I have now. His wife died some years ago.”

  Odd wording, Merlyn thought as Tilly brought coffee and cake on a tray and interrupted the conversation. It was strange that Lila hadn’t called her late daughter-in-law by name. But that was none of her business, and she wasn’t the interfering sort. The son sounded awful. She was glad he didn’t live at the lake house. For an instant she had feared that her father might be matchmaking again, but she quickly dismissed the idea. Cameron Thorpe probably looked like Dracula. Certainly he sounded like him.

  Merlyn and Lila spent a pleasant afternoon getting to know each other. Surprisingly, Amanda stayed with them; she seemed drawn to Merlyn. Merlyn felt a tug of affection herself, because she’d been lonely like that after her mother’s death, when her father had buried himself in his work and had no time for her. Perhaps that was Amanda’s problem, too.

  By bedtime Merlyn had some idea of Lila’s working schedule and the scope of the project. She pored over her texts before she went to bed, seeking out bits and pieces of information to give Lila the next morning.

  She liked her room. It overlooked the lake and featured French Provincial furniture, right down to the canopied bed and a blue and white color scheme. Already she felt at home. She was going to prove to her father once and for all that she could make it without his fortune. After Adam, she wanted no more attempts at matchmaking.

  Adam. Funny, when he’d let it slip that he expected to become her father’s business partner at the same time that he became her husband, she hadn’t really been heartbroken. She didn’t even cry when he made it clear that the marriage wouldn’t take place without the partnership. Her pride was hurt much more than her heart.

  She sighed and put Adam out of her mind. She couldn’t seem to settle down that night. Perhaps it was the new environment, the unfamiliar surroundings. Or maybe it was the thunderstorm raging outside. She got up to make herself a cup of hot chocolate. Maybe a warm drink would help her to sleep.

  Out in the hallway, it was pitch black. It must be close to midnight, Merlyn thought. The rest of the household was asleep. The darkness was sporadically lit by flashes of lightning from the storm. Getting her bearings during one of the lightning bursts, she hurried down the hall, turned the corner and ran headlong into a formidable barrier.

  Chapter Two

  Merlyn hated him immediately. Of course, he couldn’t have known that she’d be standing in the middle of the hall in the dark at twelve o’clock at night. On the other hand, she hadn’t expected him to blow in out of a horrible thunderstorm and knock her down onto the thick pile carpet.

  “Of all the…” came a voice as black and deep as thunder rumbling. “Who the hell are you?”

  She threw back her long black hair. The next lightning flash caught her glaring into a face that would have gone well with a copy of Jane Eyre and antique furniture.

  He was big. Bigger than any man she’d ever met face to face. Tall, built like a wrestler. Hands like hams, holding a black attaché case and an umbrella. He wasn’t wearing a hat, and his hair was thick and black and bushy and needed trimming. He was wearing a blue pinstriped suit, and the eyes she couldn’t quite see under his heavy eyebrows seemed to throw off sparks.

  “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” she shot back, too shaken to get up. “You were moving like a freight train! Come to think of it,” she added d
arkly, “you look a little like one.”

  “Get up from there.”

  “Yes, sir!” she said smartly, glaring at him as she pulled herself to her feet. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her, so she pulled the thin blue robe closer around her slender, half-clad body. Her feet were bare; she hadn’t thought about slippers. She hadn’t even brought any, come to think of it.

  “Well?” he growled.

  “That,” she said with a sweet smile, “is a deep subject. And you look like a man with a shallow mind. Were you invited, or are you a cat burglar?” She looked him up and down. He was doing a great impression of a man about to explode. “Make that an elephant burglar. Boy, I’d love to see you try to sneak up on somebody.”

  Her grin didn’t seem to impress him much. He slammed the attaché case to the floor. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Miss Jane Eyre, sir,” she said, making him a sweeping curtsy. “I’ve come to tutor the youngster and provide romantic interest for you.”

  “Oh, my God, I don’t believe this,” he muttered, running a hand over his unshaven face. “Six hours on airplanes, two waiting in baggage claim…Lady, unless you want to spend what’s left of the night in the nearest police station, you’d damned well better come up with some quick answers.”

  “There’s a phone in the living room,” she suggested. “I’ll look up the number for you.”

  He moved forward, and she moved backward. “Now, now,” she cautioned, stumbling. “Temper, temper. You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “Not damned likely,” he said darkly, and kept coming.

  “Mrs. Thorpe!” Merlyn screamed, and went tearing off down the hall toward that lady’s room.

  “What?” Lila appeared in her doorway, looking disheveled and drowsy. She gaped at Merlyn cowering against the wall, and then at the big, angry man almost on her.

  “Cameron!” she exclaimed, a smile appearing on her lined face. “Well, what an unexpected delight on a horrible evening like this. Come here and let me look at you, dear!

  “I see you’ve already met Merlyn Forrest,” she continued, smiling at the younger woman pressed against the wall. “Merlyn, this is my son, Cameron.”