“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Darling, everyone knows he’s carrying a torch for his ex. He was devastated when Lana moved out, and most people think he’d take her back in an instant if she’d have him.”
Two big fat tears of annoyance slid down Sam’s cheeks. “I’d like to know why you felt compelled to share that with me, Mother.”
“Well, isn’t that obvious?” Julia asked. “I’m worried about you and I don’t want you left with a broken heart.”
“My heart’s in no danger,” she declared, brushing away the tears with the back of her hand.
“I hope not,” Julia said, “because there’s nothing worse than loving a man who doesn’t love you.” She paused. “Especially if you’re expecting his baby.”
Chapter 11
Duncan found Sam in the dining room an hour later. She was bent over a thick black Filofax, and the sound of her fountain pen scratching against the pages filled the air.
“Your mother is well?” he asked from the doorway.
She looked up and it seemed to take a second for her to recognize him. “Yes,” she said. “My mother’s well.”
“Was she surprised to hear about the wedding?”
“You could say that.” She scribbled another line then capped her pen. “We need to talk, Duncan.”
He sat down across the table from her. It was clear the conversation with her mother had upset her. “I’m listening, lassie.”
“My files will be arriving from the States tomorrow or the next day,” she said, “and I need a place to set up an office.”
“An office?” That was the last thing he’d expected to hear from her.
“Yes,” she said, all business. “I’m still on salary with Wilde & Daughters. The sooner I get my office situation straightened out, the sooner I can earn my keep.”
“You’re in a hurry,” he observed, leaning back in his seat “You’ve been here less than twenty-four hours.”
An odd expression shadowed her eyes. “And another twenty-four wouldn’t change a thing,” she said. “The business has always been my top priority.”
He felt her words like a knife in the heart. “And the baby?”
Her cheeks reddened. “The baby obviously comes before business.”
“Aye,” he said slowly, “that’s what it says in our agreement.”
“I don’t need an agreement to put my baby first.”
“What is it you need to establish an office?” he asked.
“I need quite a bit,” she began. “Fax machine, telephone, a printer, file cabinets, a desk.” She paused. “And a place to put them.”
“You can put them anywhere you wish, lassie. The room is yours to choose.”
“I saw a room overlooking the garden that would work quite well.”
“Then it’s yours.” He would put no obstacles in her way as long as she understood the child came before all else.
She nodded. High color still stained her cheeks, from anger or embarrassment he couldn’t say. “Now my next question is, where do I go to find office equipment?”
“There aren’t many choices in Glenraven.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
“I can take you into town and introduce you to Dixon the stationer.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“I’ll bring the car around.”
* * *
WILLIAM DIXON was a garrulous old man with an encyclopedic knowledge of business equipment and suppliers. Within an hour he had helped Sam place orders for everything she needed and a few things she didn’t.
“I’ll see to it myself, Samantha,” he said as she handed over her American Express card. “You’ll be all set up by Friday.”
“You’ve been a wonderful help, William,” Sam said as she signed the receipt. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
“Glenraven is small but enterprising,” he said, winking at Duncan, who stood near the doorway. “We even have a web site.”
Sam laughed, but she noticed that Duncan only managed a quick smile. The charged atmosphere that had existed between them in his studio had been replaced by silence and unease, and she blamed her mother for the change.
If Julia had been looking to undermine Sam’s self-confidence, she’d succeeded beyond her wildest dreams. Although maybe it was a good thing to be reminded this wasn’t a love match, not by any stretch of the imagination. For a little while, in the privacy of his studio, she’d forgotten everything but how she felt beneath his gaze.
It was better this way, she thought, as she followed Duncan outside. With everything else in her life turned upside down, she needed the predictability of work. Work was something she understood. All those neat vertical lines of numbers eager to be organized into ever neater rows. Even when the numbers argued with you, you could find a logical reason for it if you knew where to look.
So far, life had turned out to be much less predictable.
“Are you hungry?” Duncan asked as they started. down the street.
“A little,” she admitted.
“We could go back to the castle—”
“That’s fine,” she said.
He looked at her, a half smile on his face. “You didn’t let me finish, lassie. We could go back to the castle or stop at the Heather and the Thistle.”
“The latter,” she said, nodding. “That sounds wonderful.”
He put his hand under her elbow and shepherded her up the narrow street and around the corner. The streets were quiet. Duncan nodded at two elderly women who whispered as they walked by, and he waved at a trio of men who stood talking in front of a place called Drummond’s. People seemed to like Duncan but they gave him a wide berth, as if they recognized he wasn’t quite one of them, even though his history was tightly woven with Glenraven.
He pushed open the door to the Heather and the Thistle and motioned her inside. The pub was dark and a little smoky, but not unpleasantly so. It smelled faintly like Guinness but more so of bread baking in some back room. The place bore little resemblance to the noisy, brightly lit chain restaurants she knew back home, and she loved it all the more for that fact. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so instantly, completely comfortable.
An attractive young woman with a mane of fiery red hair approached them. She smiled broadly at both Duncan and Sam.
“So William was telling the truth,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “And here I called him a—” She laughed. “Well, I won’t be telling you what I called him.”
“This is Lucy,” Duncan told Sam. “She grew up here at the Heather and the Thistle. Her parents own the place.”
“Aye,” said Lucy, nodding. “Single malt is mother’s milk to me.” Lucy wiped her right hand on her apron then extended it toward Sam. “And you’re—”
“Samantha.” She shook Lucy’s hand. “Duncan’s wife.” Duncan’s wife. That was the first time she’d actually said those words. How strange they’d sounded to her ears. Duncan’s second wife, she could hear her mother say.
If Lucy found it strange, as Sam did, she didn’t let on. “You’re an American,” Lucy said, not even trying to hide her curiosity. “How did he find you?”
“Actually I found him,” Sam said. “I was looking for a pilot.”
Lucy threw back her head and laughed. “And you hired our canny Scot as a pilot?”
“That’s about the size of it,” Sam said, aware of Duncan’s interest in the conversation. “And he didn’t tell me who he was.”
“Oh, now I remember!” Lucy’s face lit up. “You’re the one who was in the plane crash with Duncan.”
“Yes,” Sam said. “I’m the one.”
“We were flooded with reporters after that,” Lucy said, shaking her head, “but Glenraven proved so boring they finally went back to London.”
“Aye,” said Duncan. “We protect our own.”
He and Lucy bantered back and forth and Sam found herself struck by the real
affection between them. William Dixon had displayed the same warmth with Duncan, as had his clerks. God knew, Old Mag and Robby were devoted to him. What was there about her husband that inspired such loyalty?
“You’re here to eat, not talk,” Lucy said, glancing from Duncan to Sam. “The soup is good today, but the stew is better.”
“Stew,” said Duncan, “and a Guinness.”
“Soup,” said Sam, “and a glass of milk.”
You could have heard a pin drop. It seemed to Sam that everyone in the crowded pub stopped talking and turned to stare at her.
“Milk,” Lucy repeated, her eyes widening. “Can it be—”
“Aye,” said Duncan, looking both proud and embarrassed. “It can.”
Lucy let out a shriek of delight. “Duncan’s having a baby!” she called, and next thing Sam knew, she was surrounded by happy, laughing strangers, all of whom had congratulations and good advice to offer her.
Duncan accepted the teasing with good-natured grace, but Sam couldn’t help but notice the muscle twitching alongside his jaw. He’d never expressed anything but happiness over the baby—or at least, that’s how she had perceived his reaction. Was it possible she’d misread the signals? When you came down to it, he was a stranger to her. She couldn’t pretend to know how he felt about anything at all, except maybe the child she was carrying.
Now, looking at him as he fielded congratulations from his neighbors, she found herself wondering what he really thought about the changes in his life. Up until that moment she’d accepted everything he said at face value, not once questioning his feelings about becoming a father. Was he happy? Sad? Did he feel trapped by circumstances? Had he ever really thought about what the rest of his life would be like?
And, more to the point, had she?
* * *
SAMANTHA WAS QUIET on the way to the castle. She hadn’t said much at all during lunch. They’d spent most of their time surrounded by well-wishers, and he’d seen the strain on her face by the time they said goodbye. The good citizens of Glenraven were an enthusiastic lot, but to his American bride, they must have sounded like jabbering monkeys. She’d get used to it one day but right now she looked exhausted.
“You didn’t eat much,” he observed as he negotiated one of a series of hairpin curves between town and home.
“I ate,” she said.
“Is it the morning sickness?”
She chuckled softly. “At four in the afternoon?”
“Aye,” he said, warmed by the sweet sound of her laughter. “That couldn’t be the answer.”
“Thank you for taking me into town,” she said, sounding very prim and formal. “William Dixon is a miracle worker.”
“He will be if your purchases arrive on time.”
“They will,” she said. “I have confidence in him.”
And in me, lassie? Do you have confidence in your husband?
In his studio that morning he’d felt the connection that had brought them together the first time. That sizzle of awareness that had sealed his fate. She’d been all softness and yielding curves, and it had taken all of his self-control to keep from taking, her there in his studio.
They’d detailed how they would handle everything in their prenuptial agreement. Money. Work. Geography. But not how they would handle passion. No, they had an answer for every other problem life might throw their way—every one but that.
He parked the car around back and opened the door for Sam. She favored him with a quick impersonal smile and climbed from the car.
“I think I’m going to putter around the office,” she said as they walked toward the kitchen door. “Try to figure out where I’ll put things.”
“You’ll need help,” he said.
“You should go back to your studio,” she said. “That’s what you should do. I’ll worry about my office.”
“How about this. I’ll help you get the office ready then you can come back to the studio with me.”
She hesitated just long enough for him to feel the fool. Was he that transparent then, his need for her shining through his simplest words? He raised his hand between them, as if the gesture could erase those words.
“An idea, lassie, and not a good one. My help doesn’t come with strings attached.”
Her expression softened and she placed a hand gently on his arm. “I never thought it did.”
He followed her up the path to the kitchen door. Old Mag was stirring something at the stove when they stepped inside.
“Good thing you’re back,” she announced the second she saw Duncan. “If it’s a telephone operator you want, then you best be hiring one.” She pointed toward the kitchen table with her ladle. “Your messages.”
The stack was almost an inch thick. Duncan picked them up and sifted through them. “These are for you,” he said, handing a half dozen to Sam.
Her brow pleated. “For me?” She glanced at the messages and some of the furrows smoothed out. “Invitations!” she said, turning to Duncan. “This is amazing. How did they find out about me so fast?”
“Glenraven is a small place,” he said. “And the people like to talk.” He hadn’t considered how it would feel to share her with other people. What they had together, what they’d created in that lawyer’s office in Houston, seemed a thing apart from real life. Watching her as she talked with the customers at the Heather and the Thistle, he’d been reminded that there were facets to her personality he knew nothing about. He wouldn’t have imagined his ambitious American businesswoman would seem so comfortable with the plainspoken, hardworking people of Glenraven. Or that they would take her so quickly to their hearts.
“What about your messages?” she asked.
“The same. Everyone in town wants to meet you.”
“It would take us all year to visit with everyone,” she said.
“Aye, it would.”
“And the more pregnant I get, the less likely I’ll probably be to go visiting.”
“There’s that.”
“So I think we should throw a party.”
Behind them Old Mag’s ladle clattered to the floor.
“A party,” Duncan repeated. The last party the old castle had seen was at his wedding to Lana.
“It makes perfect sense,” his new bride went on. “Throw open the doors and invite the entire town.”
“Ach!” Old Mag muttered. “And more work for the innocent ones.”
Duncan shot the housekeeper a sharp look, but Mag only glared at him more fiercely than before.
Sam turned to Mag. “I’m not afraid of hard work,” she said, smiling at the old woman.
“I can afford extra help,” Duncan said gruffly.
“So can I,” Sam said, “but part of the fun of giving parties is the preparation.”
Old Mag rolled her eyes. “’Tis the pregnancy speaking.”
“You’re right,” Sam said, looking from Mag to Duncan. “It is the pregnancy speaking. My baby’s going to grow up here, with all of these people around him. Why not start off on the right foot and show everyone a good time?”
To Duncan’s surprise, Old Mag nodded her approval. He felt as though he was seeing his wife for the first time. He wished he’d thought of the party himself. The people of Glenraven were a close-knit group. They were loyal to their own and had little experience in welcoming newcomers into their midst. The best way to introduce Sam as one of their own was at an old-fashioned party, the kind the castle had been famous for in years gone by.
“When would you have this party?” he asked Sam.
Sam thought for a second. “In two weeks.”
He looked at Old Mag. “How does that sound to you, old woman?”
“Two weeks, two months,” Old Mag said, “too much work for a body either way.”
“Two weeks,” Duncan said.
“Two weeks!” Sam’s face lit up with a smile. “This is going to be absolutely wonderful.”
* * *
DUNCAN didn’t come to bed that night
.
Sam had bathed right after supper, then propped herself up in bed, surrounded by pillows, and set out making lists for work and the party. From the time she was a little girl, she’d loved to make lists. She listed her dolls, her daydreams, the places she wanted to visit and the things she hoped to do when she was grown up and on her own. She still loved making lists, but tonight she couldn’t keep her mind on anything but Duncan.
From her window she could see the lights glowing inside his studio. She had no idea what his normal working schedule was. Was he a day person? A night owl? Did he work best in solitude or was a model a necessity for him? A ripple of excitement moved through her body as she remembered the thrilling intensity of being the focus of his undivided attention. He must have used models before to pose for him. Had they felt the same burst of pleasure as Sam had when he placed those big hands on her shoulders and moved her from position to position?
And what about his first wife? Julia had said Lana was beautiful, one of those actresses the camera adored. She must have posed for him. Probably many times. His work had always been almost unbearably erotic. His nudes had glowed with a sexual heat and passion that could only come from life. Duncan had loved his first wife, Julia had said. Loved her passionately until she walked out on him.
And what if he did? What business was it of Sam’s if he’d loved the first Mrs. Stewart more than life itself? She was gone, and Sam was here. She and Duncan might not be the love match of the century, but they were legally married and expectant parents. Sam might not have first claim—or any claim at all— on his heart but she did have the first claim on his future. Or at least the baby did.
Suddenly the walls of the enormous bedroom seemed to be closing in on her. She climbed out of bed then slipped into her favorite Wedgwood blue silk robe and a pair of matching slippers. She hadn’t been able to get the windows open, and the stagnant air made her feel a little queasy. Maybe if she stepped outside for a while and got some fresh air, she’d feel better.
She hurried from the room and made her way downstairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. Not that it was so late. She just didn’t want to bump into Old Mag and have to endure a round of the woman’s questions.
Operation Page 14