Sweet Pretender Page 13

  He didn't finish what he'd started to say, but she could have finished it for him. To Jeremy, a serious relationship between the two was unthinkable. Melissa couldn't hate him for that. He was a born snob. He couldn't help himself any more than he could help the color of his eyes or the set of his jaw.

  "She called a little while ago," she volunteered.

  "Jean? Where is she?"

  "I don't know," she answered truthfully. "Is she with Todd?"

  "She was. I don't know if she is now," she hedged. "Maybe if you'd go home, you might hear from him."

  He sat down again heavily and picked up one of the knick-knacks on the table, fingering it absently. "If you knew anything of their plans, would you tell me?"

  "No," she answered truthfully. "Do you want me to take your jacket? It's soaked."

  He waved her away and set down the figurine he'd been holding. "I'll be going in a minute."

  "Let me fix that coffee for you first."

  "Don't bother."

  "No bother. I could use a cup myself."

  "All right then."

  He was being as foolish and unreasonable as a small boy who was used to getting his own way. But for no good reason, the sight of him suffering tugged at her heart. She would have liked to have been able to put her arms around him and offer comfort.

  He'd been brought up with an unshakable sense of separateness of social classes. A York was several cuts above the average man. He would have been better off living in a different century. No wonder he envied Eli the simple life. A York couldn't give in to the yearnings of his heart. If those yearnings were for someone who wasn't listed in the social register.

  "My—friend didn't attend a fancy finishing school, it's true," she said carefully, trying to pave the way for her sister. "But she doesn't slurp her soup and she doesn't eat peas with a knife. She knows how to dress, and she uses reasonably good grammar. She would never be an embarrassment to you or to your family. If you could only see beyond your prejudices, you'd know that she has more than a few wonderful qualities. And I can assure you that her interest in Todd is not based on the size of his bank account. He could do a lot worse, and he'd have a hard time doing better."

  There! She'd said it. The rest—heaven help them— the revelation about the masquerade and the girl's true identity, would come later. And Melissa hoped to be a good safe distance away.

  "What are you talking about?" Jeremy snapped.

  She dug her bare toes into the rug. So much for sympathy. She might have saved her breath. "I couldn't expect you to understand. But I hope Todd is different. I hope he's worth the love she feels for him."

  "Sit down."

  "I have to set the water on for coffee."

  He made an impatient karatelike chop with one hand that might have severed the coffee table if it had struck an inch lower. "Forget the damn coffee. We have to talk."

  Melissa held her ground. "We've had more than enough talking for one night."

  "Please." He rested a hand on her arm and kept it there until she relented and sat beside him.

  His eyes searched hers as though he hoped to read something in them. "Natalie hasn't told you the whole story. She couldn't, of course. Since you're close to Jean, you might somehow have let it slip."

  "What story?" Melissa didn't melt with the new tenderness that flowed into his voice. It was designed to set her off balance, likely as not. She didn't understand his game, but experience had taught her some of his plays.

  "Do you suppose I give a damn if Jean doesn't own the clothes on her back? Don't you think I'm fond of her, too? That doesn't count here. She and Todd must not—cannot—get involved. They can't fall in love, and they certainly can't marry."

  It was ironic, she mused, that she should be the one to try to convince him to allow his brother to lead his own life. For as long as she could remember, people had been telling her the same thing about her sister. At least she and Jeremy had that much in common.

  "Have you considered that you may have nothing to say in the matter? Your brother is an adult. You can't be there to protect him all his life."

  "Protect him from Jean? For God's sake, Melissa." His face was ashen. His words came haltingly and without expression. "Jean is my daughter!"

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Melissa stared at him, too stunned to protest, as he stood, peeled off his jacket and flung it over the back of a chair. Clapping a hand to the back of his neck he rolled his head from one side to the other.

  "Whiplash," he muttered, as if trying to decide how to say what had to be said. "Years ago. One of the roller coaster cars I was checking jolted against another and, well, it gives me hell whenever…"

  His voice trailed off. The sound of the mantel clock ticking filled the room. Melissa sat quietly, not wanting to distract him from his fantastic story. Whatever it was, she had to know. It had begun as Natalie's deception. Now it was hers, as well.

  He picked up her glass paperweight and transferred it absently from one hand to the other, setting the snowstorm into motion. "We were very young, Natalie and I, and in love with the idea of being in love. She was exquisitely beautiful, and my parents disapproved of her, which made her all the more exciting to me. We were inseparable. Then, all at once, she was gone. She didn't explain. She didn't come to see me. I couldn't even get her on the telephone. When she and her family moved away not long after that, I was devastated."

  He spoke of his fury when his father finally admitted that he'd given Natalie a great deal of money to get out of Jeremy's life. Jeremy's first impulse had been to go after her. But when he'd thought it over, he'd realized how shallow her feelings for him must have been.

  He picked up the paperweight again and shook it. He didn't speak until all the snow had settled. Sitting in silence, Melissa heard the rain outside. Drops fell steadily, rhythmically, and the branch of a pear tree outside the window made a scritching sound against the pane.

  "Kathryn and I had known each other all our lives. She was a gentle sweet person who really knew how to listen, and she was there when I needed someone. When we announced our intention to marry, my parents were overjoyed. It was the match they'd hoped for."

  He didn't learn until after his father's death that there had been more to the story. A child had been born to Natalie—a daughter, Jean. His daughter. When he'd gone over his father's accounts, trying to put things in order, it hadn't taken him long to wring the story out of the lawyer who'd been taking care of support payments.

  "It was a nightmare," he said. "I loved my father and I missed him. But I hated him, too, for cheating me out of my daughter."

  Immediately he got in touch with Natalie and proposed revealing the truth to Jean. She rejected the idea, pointing out that the girl could hardly be helped by discovering after so long that Natalie's husband, the man who had acted as the girl's father, was a pretender.

  There was good reason for Natalie's nostalgic return to Sandgate, Jeremy explained. A music teacher in Europe. An incredibly expensive music teacher. Natalie had informed him that it was the burning desire of Jean's life to study with that music teacher. The lessons would take several years, and Jean couldn't possibly travel alone. Natalie had wanted to accompany her. The expenses of such a lengthy stay would be enormous. And Jeremy, not trusting Natalie's word, had wanted to see Jean's talent for himself before signing any cheques. With so many people attending the bicentennial, they'd decided it was the perfect opportunity for him to get to know Jean without arousing suspicion.

  "The night we met," Melissa said, remembering the sudden change in Jeremy that had puzzled her, "and I said I was here with Natalie, you supposed I was Jean?"

  A weary smile played on his lips. "The name was wrong. But then, I thought perhaps you'd learned the truth and were toying with me, pretending to be someone else. It was quite a shock. Up to that point, I'd been thinking some pretty unfatherly thoughts about you."

  It was just her ill-fortune, Melissa thought miserably. Now that she felt c
loser than ever to him, when his moods had become understandable to her, and when she was finally able to admit to herself that she loved him, she had to reveal something to him that might alienate him forever.

  "Natalie has been lying to you," she began, with a deep sigh. "We've all lied."

  A chill moved through her when he raised his eyes to hers. "In what way have you lied? When you said you didn't know where Todd and Jean have gone? You must realize now how important…"

  "Please don't say anything more until I've finished. This is going to be difficult enough."

  So that she wouldn't have to face him and watch his despair turn to disgust, she rose and crossed to the window. A deafening crash of thunder followed a spear of lightning.

  In spite of her discomfort, she almost laughed at the melodramatic effect. "Jean isn't your daughter."

  He started to say something, but she waved her hands to silence him. "She isn't even Jean. Her name is Arlene Brandon, and she's my sister."

  Now it was her turn to grope painfully for words that might explain without convicting. She kept her eyes riveted on a patch of light outside, where a muddy stream ran in an ever-widening path to the street below. The story unfolded itself in a disconnected way. It jolted ahead, then returned to fill in gaps and moved ahead again.

  When it was over, she turned toward him and waited, knotting her fingers together and allowing her gaze to fall to the pattern of the braided rug. She had said everything she could think of to say. Why didn't he say something now?

  A part of her considered making a dash for the door, climbing into her car and escaping. Maybe she would be able to blot out the last week from her memory, as she'd forgotten other painful scenes from childhood. Her best friend through kindergarten and elementary school had moved to Texas when she was ten. As Melissa had seen it then, the girl had abandoned her. She'd supposed she would never recover from the loss. She had. And so she would recover from Jeremy.

  "Now you've decided to double-cross Natalie. Or would this be considered a triple cross?" His voice was razor sharp when he finally spoke. She wouldn't have recognized it. "Were you hired to captivate and distract me, so I wouldn't look into the scheme too closely?"

  "I wasn't hired at all."

  "Maybe you figure to profit more if your sister marries Todd. So you scrapped the original plan. Cute."

  "It wasn't like that."

  She took a step toward him, but he thrust out an arm to stop her. "Don't press your luck, sweetheart. If you come any closer, even that angel face won't keep me from throttling you."

  "Won't you listen?"

  "I hope for your sake you were well paid for your trouble. There'll be no marriage, I promise you." A blast of cold wind struck her in the face as he threw open the door and stared into the night. But if he'd planned to leave, he changed his mind. He turned back to her and kicked the door closed behind him. "Get dressed," he said, jerking his head toward the stairway. "And hurry up about it. Pack whatever you'll need for the night. I'm taking you home with me."

  "But why?" She shivered and drew her robe more closely around her, as if the flimsy material could somehow protect her from his fury.

  "Winifred loves guests, and that's what you'll be until I locate my brother. Consider it house arrest. Try to leave, and you'll be using your charms on the chief of police."

  "How will you explain to your mother-in-law why I've come back?"

  "You explain it." His laugh was a snarl. "Tell her you're afraid to stay alone in the storm. Tell her anything you like."

  "She won't believe me."

  "She'll believe you. She's too fine a woman to imagine you'd lie to her. Get moving now, or I'll drag you out the way you are." He took a threatening step to-ward her to reinforce his words. "And that would be even harder for you to explain."

  Winifred was so pleased at having unexpected company, she all but squealed. Without asking any questions, she had one of the servants ready a room. She didn't even puzzle over the vague excuse Jeremy gave for dashing out again as soon as he had delivered Melissa.

  "If only I had known you were coming," the woman said, touching a finger to her chin. "We'd have had such a good time. But I've already taken a sleeping powder. Our visit will have to wait until morning."

  Was it the luxuriantly piled white carpeting and the tightly closed shutters, Melissa wondered, or the sturdy way these houses had been built against the forces of nature that gave her room such an unnatural hush? Beyond the rose-tinted walls, she knew there were servants gliding down the corridors, tending to last-minute duties, yet it seemed that she was entirely alone and that the room was actually a beautifully furnished jail cell.

  Would Jeremy be able to find Arlene and Todd? What would he do if he did? Then a thought came to her like an icicle pressed between her shoulder blades. What would he do if he didn't?

  Even making an attempt at sleep seemed pointless. She tried to read a fashion magazine she'd found on the night table, but the pictures blurred before her eyes. Only static came over the radio. There was a supply of notepaper in the desk drawer, along with a ballpoint pen. Should she write an explanation for Jeremy? Would he read her words if he wouldn't listen to them?

  She unfastened the hooks on the shutters, opened them and drew back the curtain, hoping the night would rush in and free her somehow. It was still raining. Not a violent rain now, but a hypnotic one. Time passed with agonizing slowness.

  She saw the headlights long before the car approached and stopped. The driver got out, and he was alone. Her heart turned over and began thudding an uneven beat. She was listening now, though there was nothing to hear. Listening and waiting. When her bedroom door opened and closed soundlessly, she was still at the window.

  "Natalie's cleared out," Jeremy said. "Hendricks too. But you knew that, didn't you?" He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth in a gesture of frustration. She couldn't make out his features in the dim light, but she could see the savage luminosity in his eyes, and she could hear his labored breathing. "You did your job well, little one."

  "I had no job," she said numbly. "I only—"

  "Went along for the ride?"

  "You're soaking wet. Hadn't you better change? You'll catch a cold."

  "Your concern is touching. But I can think of a more pleasant way to warm myself. I should get something for my time and money, wouldn't you say?"

  She hardly heard him. Picking up an afghan that lay across the back of an overstuffed chair, she held it out to him. "At least put this around your shoulders." She was so nervous her voice quavered. But she recognized one slim hope. He was here. That was something. It might even mean he was ready to listen.

  He let his arms drop to his sides in the stance of a gunfighter, waiting for his enemy to draw first. "Come here."

  She stumbled toward him, as if the monotone in his voice had placed her in a trance. Snatching the afghan away, he hurled it across the room. It collided with the transistor radio and swept it to the floor.

  "Kiss me the way you kissed me when we were in the woods."

  When she didn't comply with his order at once, he yanked her against him. Her robe fell open with the impact and slid off one shoulder. She tried to adjust it, but he pulled her hand away.

  "Have you really gone as far in entertaining me as you were instructed to go?" he asked. Gathering a fistful of hair, he eased her head back to make sure she took the full force of his shattering kiss. A kiss that was at once pain and pleasure, heaven and hell.

  "What do you say to another picnic?" he muttered against her mouth.

  A sob caught in her throat as he brought her head back again, to study her face. "You have every right to be bitter," she cried.

  "It's good to know I have some rights. This time it'll be you and me as we really are. No game playing. No pretense. Can you manage that, Melissa? Your name really is Melissa, isn't it?"

  She nodded mutely.

  "A beacon of truth shines through the storm of deception." He relaxed hi
s hold, allowing her to take her own weight, and she swayed, off balance.

  "Not like this, Jeremy," she whispered, pleading with her eyes.

  "Any way I want it to be. It's my picnic this time. I make the rules."

  They stood face to face, gladiators, readying themselves for combat. The first move was his. His fingers splayed her narrow waist, then moved along the sides of her rib cage to find her breasts. When she gasped he raked her toward him again, bringing his scorching breath and insatiable mouth to the sensitive skin at the side of her neck.

  If this was her penance, she thought, reeling drunkenly in the exquisite sensation that was hers, she almost welcomed it. She could only hope that when he'd played his role through, the bitterness would be gone. He would begin to feel what she was feeling now, an overpowering longing.

  "Jeremy," she said softly, only wanting to hear the sound of his name in her ears.

  "Damn you, I didn't have a chance," he snarled, sweeping her off her feet. When she uttered a faint protest, he only held her tighter. "Don't ever say no to me, little one," he warned, tearing back the quilt to deposit her sprawling on the bed. For what seemed to be an eternity, he stood staring down at her. "There's no hurry," he said thinly. "We have all the time we want, and I don't intend to overlook a square inch of you."

  "The servants might have seen you come in," she tried.

  He shook his head. "They're all asleep. And I was very discreet. Anything goes, doesn't it, as long as we're discreet?"

  "Your mother-in-law."

  "On nights like this, Winifred usually takes a sedative. I could set off a cannon and she wouldn't hear it." Impatient with the conversation, he slid smoothly over the foot of the bed to take his place beside her. Unmindful of the buttons, he discarded his shirt and shifted himself over her, the moist heat of his skin searing her breasts through the thin fabric of her nightgown.

  True to his promise, he began his methodical and complete conquest, nipping at her earlobes lightly, tasting her forehead and brushing his mouth against her eyelids before laying claim to her pulsating lips again. All the while his hands made an exploration of their own, and his body pressed hers more deeply into the mattress.