"Please sit down," he said.
She sat. Here in the natural brightness of his office where they were removed from the subdued lighting in the waiting room, the woman looked prettier. Softer.
Her blond hair hung past her shoulders in sun-bleached stripes, and she was appraising him with eyes as clear and gray as the summer sea at dusk. The smooth planes of her face were agreeable to the eye, but she was clearly a person of no sophistication, and as for those clothes, they were outlandish—a huge brownish-green dress with a ridiculous flirty ruffle around the hemline and low-cut armholes that exposed more than was strictly decent.
He caught a glimpse of one rounded breast through an armhole and quickly turned his eyes away. She wore a flowing tie-dyed scarf around her neck, marvelous colors, but she must have thrown it on as an afterthought because the colors had nothing to do with those of the dress, which looked like a camouflage tent for an army tank.
"I don't believe I heard your name," he said.
"Kate Sinclair," she said. To his surprise, her voice was gentle.
"Will you state your business?" he said.
She nodded. "I certainly will. I thought about writing you a letter, but I couldn't think of any way to phrase it, and I thought about telephoning, but I was sure you'd think I was some kind of oddball. But now..." and her words dwindled away. She stared at him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, and to his horror, her eyes filled with tears.
She pulled a clean white handkerchief out of her handbag and pressed it to each eyelid in turn. He would have been touched by the gesture if he hadn't been so wary.
"Ms. Sinclair, I wish you'd get to the point," Morgan said.
"I'm sure you're very busy, and I'm sorry for the way I acted in the waiting room. I had to see you, and I didn't want the people who work for you to know why. This baby—" she said, folding her hands protectively over her abdomen "—this baby is yours."
Morgan leaned back in his chair and regarded her with distaste. Then, without meaning to, he winced. He'd forgotten where he'd hidden the dart.
"I've never seen you before in my life," he said, changing positions and unobtrusively sticking his hand in his pocket. The point of the dart had maneuvered itself into a most inconvenient place and was poking into a very tender part of his anatomy.
"Courtney is an acquaintance of mine. It was the embryos, you see. She wanted to have a baby without actually bearing it, so I volunteered."
Morgan wasn't having any luck with the dart. He couldn't reach it without twisting his torso into an awkward and obvious position.
"Now I think it was the stupidest thing I've ever done," Kate continued, oblivious to his discomfort, "but at the time—at the time—" and she buried her face in the handkerchief. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably.
Now she wouldn't see, so Morgan writhed uncomfortably and plucked the dart out of his pocket.
She didn't notice, he thought thankfully when she lifted her head. He slipped the dart into a desk drawer and accorded her his full attention. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and her skin was blotchy. Altogether she looked most unattractive.
"Am I to understand that my ex-wife asked you to serve as a surrogate mother?" he asked, ending his sentence on exactly the right note of disbelief and thinking that he was handling this well.
"Yes," she whispered, looking as though she wished she were anywhere else.
"And you claim that this child of yours is actually the result of those fertilized embryos that were given by the court into the custody of my ex-wife?"
Kate nodded miserably.
"Would you mind telling me what in God's name this has to do with me? Courtney insisted on custody, and she was awarded it. I have nothing more to do with the matter." His eyes blazed with fury.
"Courtney doesn't want the baby now," Kate said. "Her new husband says there's no room for a baby in their lives."
"Oh, yes, Damien the plumbing contractor. You'd think he'd have more interest in plumbing, wouldn't you? Well, all I can say is that it's no concern of mine. You'll have to work all this out with Courtney. And Damien, of course. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." Morgan stared at her until her gaze faltered.
"It is your child, Mr. Rhett," she said softly. "It's part of you."
If he had let them, the words would have caught at his heart. He'd wanted a child. He came from a big family. But Courtney hadn't been able to conceive normally, and the in-vitro fertilization idea had been their one hope.
He slammed his hands down on the desk, hard. He had to do it in order to keep them from trembling. If only she would stop looking at him with her pleading gray eyes, if only she weren't sitting there looking so pathetic in that awful dress!
"That child his nothing to do with me. Nothing at all," he said firmly, but to his horror, his voice broke on the final word, and she blinked at him.
It was the last straw. "If you don't leave right this minute," he said, "I will have you escorted out. I mean it."
She gasped, a pained intake of breath. It startled him; she couldn't be going into labor, could she? But no, she was pushing herself to her feet, her legs splayed wide to bear the weight of the child. She looked more miserable than any human being he had encountered in quite some time, but she was moving—albeit slowly—toward the door.
She paused with her hand on the knob. "I won't trouble you again," she said clearly and distinctly, and for a split second he felt that it was he who was the interloper and she who was in the right.
And then, thank goodness, she was gone. He heard Lavinia and the other two women murmuring in the hall, but he didn't want to know what they were saying. Let them gossip, let them whisper; Kate Sinclair and her baby had nothing to do with him.
It wasn't until about half an hour later when he was trying without success to concentrate on the new condominium deal that it occurred to him that it was Kate Sinclair who possessed in abundance the quality that he so admired. She had dignity.
* * *
Kate wandered blindly along hot streets crowded with students on spring break from the College of Charleston. She pressed through queues of tourists lined up for carriage tours of the historic district. Eventually she found herself walking on the East Battery where the brisk breeze from the harbor dried the tears on her cheeks. The tears in her heart, however, were another matter. Now she thought she knew the true meaning of despair.
She leaned against the railing for a moment. Behind her rose an impressive line of great mansions painted in pastel colors, but she was blind to their picturesque beauty. She had to figure out what to do.
It was much too late to have an abortion, even if Kate were so inclined, and she wasn't. She could follow the terms of the contract, which stated that in case of default of the natural mother, the baby should be put up for adoption. But Kate felt that this baby shouldn't go to strangers. It had two parents who were capable of taking care of it, and she had no doubt that the baby would be as pretty as Courtney and as intelligent as Morgan Rhett. It would be a wonderful baby, a baby that anybody would want. Anybody but its parents, that is.
It was all her fault. This baby would not exist if she hadn't decided to follow such a foolhardy course in the first place. Now it all seemed ridiculous in the extreme, her volunteering to bear a baby for someone else so that she could have the experience. This was an experience, all right. Some experience.
Carriages full of tourists passed by on the street behind her, and she envied them. They were so carefree, so happy. Out in the harbor, people rode tour boats to visit historic Fort Sumter, the fortress first fired upon by the Confederates in the War Between the States, and Kate now felt as much under bombardment as any fortress. Courtney didn't want her baby, and neither did its father.
What are we going to do? she whispered to the baby. What in the world are we going to do?
She couldn't summon the effort to move. It had been a hard day, starting when she rode the early ferry from Yaupon Island to the mainland, rented
a car, drove to Charleston, fought for a parking space in the downtown parking garage and then endured her disastrous meeting with Morgan Rhett. Now she felt exhausted and numb, but not numb enough to ignore the blisters on her feet, which had been caused by wearing old shoes too small for her feet now that she was pregnant.
A man broke away from a sedate group strolling along the Battery a hundred feet away or so, and she looked around in alarm. His tie was flying out behind him in the breeze, and he began to run toward her. She realized only when he was a few feet away that it was Morgan Rhett.
"Thank goodness I've found you!" he said, grabbing her arm. She stood there, too stunned to speak, too tired to move.
"I was afraid—" he said, and then he stopped talking and looked deep into her eyes. She stared back, spooked by his change in manner. "Are you all right?" he asked sharply.
She shook her head back and forth in an effort to clear it. "No," she said. "No, I'm definitely not all right." She was slowly realizing that what she had seen in his eyes only a moment ago was the glimmering of a conscience.
"You'd better sit down," he said, appropriating her arm, and she said nothing when he steered her down the steps to street level, across busy East Battery Street and into the park on the other side. He found an empty bench and gave her a little push in its direction. She sat down and tried to breathe deeply. She felt faint, and walking had stirred up the baby.
"Ms. Sinclair," he said.
"Kate," she reminded him. "You might as well call me by my first name, considering we have such an, um, intimate relationship."
"Intimate," he said. "Well, I hadn't thought of it that way."
"Your child is, right at this moment, aiming drop-kicks at my kidneys," she said. "Cells created by you occupy a large part of my body. That's pretty intimate if you ask me."
"I didn't," he said, tugging at his tie to loosen it.
"Why did you look for me? Why didn't you let me go?"
He looked even more uncomfortable. "I thought about it. If it's my child—"
"It's yours," she said unhappily.
"I don't know that. You can't prove it. I don't know what kind of life you lead," he pointed out.
She focused wide eyes on him. "Oh, that takes some nerve. You want to know how many men I've slept with, right?"
"And you don't want to tell me, right?"
"It so happens that there haven't been any men, none whatsoever. For almost three years I've been living on Yaupon Island in the keeper's quarters of the lighthouse, where I nursed my sick father until he died. This baby came straight out of a laboratory, and I'll thank you never to mention it again," Kate said.
He seemed chastened. "I'll have to contact the fertility clinic, of course, and ask them to verify that you received the embryos," he said.
"Why don't you just ask Courtney? It'd be a whole lot easier," Kate said.
"We don't speak. It wasn't an amicable divorce."
"No wonder. You're not easy to talk to," she snapped.
"Some people think—"
"I'm not interested in anyone else at the moment. Are you going to take responsibility for this baby or aren't you?" she demanded.
"If what you say is true, and if I can prove it, and if you're what you appear to be—"
"Which is what?" Kate said hotly.
"A woman who is down on her luck and has a bizarre story to tell," he shot back.
She slumped suddenly. "Well, you've got that right, I guess," she said. All the fight seemed to have gone out of her. He noticed that her skin, though tanned honey gold by the sun, had pasty undertones.
He spoke on a sudden impulse. "Look, have you had anything to eat lately?"
She passed a limp hand over her eyes. "No," she said.
He took quick stock of her; she looked exhausted. "Let's go get some food. We can talk in the restaurant."
"I don't think I want to do that," she said in a small, quiet voice.
"What you mean is that you don't want to walk there," he said.
She lifted her head, surprised.
"I'm observant," he said. "I was holding on to you as we crossed the street, remember? You felt as though you were about to collapse. Let's not take any chances. My car is parked down the street, and I'll drive over here. You'll hop in—"
"My hopping days are over," Kate said morosely, easing one shoe off her foot and inspecting the blister from afar. She watched with a sense of helplessness as a run in her panty hose inched up her leg.
"You'll get in the car, and we'll drive somewhere quiet. All right?"
"All right."
"I ought to have my head examined," he muttered under his breath.
She pinned him with her eyes, which were remarkable for their intelligence. "I may be tired, but there's nothing wrong with my hearing. Please stop insulting me."
Morgan swallowed. Again he felt as though she had the upper hand. Well, in this case maybe he had been out of line.
"I'll be right back," he said, and the whole time he was hurrying to his car, he was wondering what gave Kate Sinclair the right to act like some kind of duchess.
* * *
Kate waited for Morgan, her expression bleak. She supposed he couldn't help being skeptical, but it was hard to see his point of view when she was desperate for him to take the baby or at least find a good home for it.
It hadn't been easy for her to beard Morgan Rhett in his own den. He was well-known in Charleston circles, and although Kate had never met him, she knew who he was. He owned real estate up and down the South Carolina coast and was one of the developers of Teoway Island, a prime beach, golf and tennis resort fifteen miles south of Charleston.
It was just that she hadn't expected him to be so handsome, with those broad shoulders, square-jawed face, patrician nose and deep-set ultra blue eyes that missed nothing. She suspected that the expensive, perfect suit hid a muscular, perfect build, product of frequent workouts at a local gym.
He was such a well-put-together package that she'd pegged him as a natural ladies' man, a real smooth-talking, fast-acting bachelor. Kate could, in her mind, picture him with Courtney, but the idea made her shudder. How could Courtney have married a sleazeball like Damien Cobb after having been the wife of the oh-so-perfect Morgan Rhett?
A car squealed to a stop at the curb in front of her and the door on the passenger side flew open. The car was a metallic-beige Mercedes sedan, one of the big models.
Kate heaved herself off the park bench and wedged herself into the front seat with a bit of difficulty. Once she was there, she sank into the cushioned leather upholstery with relief. She didn't look directly at Morgan Rhett.
He stopped the car at a crosswalk to wait for pedestrians to pass. "We'll go someplace small and quiet," he said, easing into the lane that would take them to less-crowded Mount Pleasant across the bridge, and Kate nodded. She didn't care where they went as long as it had a rest room.
He drove his car as though he were part of the machine. No, he was master of it, Kate decided, sending him a sidelong glance from beneath her eyelashes. She had an idea that if Morgan Rhett decided on a course of action, nothing could sway him from it.
That was good for her purposes, and now her job was to figure out how to persuade him to provide for this baby. Unfortunately she'd never been good at talking her way around men. In fact, most of the time she'd rather not bother. It was usually easier to walk away.
But this time she couldn't walk. Waddle, perhaps, but not walk.
"You're smiling," he said. "What's so funny?"
Kate forced a straight face. She hadn't been aware that her facial expression showed any emotion whatsoever, and she hadn't realized that he was looking at her.
"Nothing about this situation is remotely funny," she said as sternly as she could. Maybe he would respond to authority in her voice.
"Oh no? It amuses me that just when I thought she was gone for good, Courtney has managed to insert herself into my life again in a different form," he said wry
ly as they crossed the Cooper River bridge.
She stared at him. "You have a strange sense of humor."
"That's what my ex-wife thought. Well, here we are," he told her, pulling up beside a building fronting on a nondescript dock on Shem Creek.
He came around and opened the car door for her, and although she gave herself several unsuccessful pushes, she could not unbend from the car seat. She looked at him helplessly as he offered his hand. She took it, noticing this time how square and strong it was, how immaculate his fingernails.
She was acutely and embarrassingly aware that the two of them made an odd couple as she preceded him into the small seafood restaurant that looked dingy and weathered on the outside but was all tinkling silver, coral-colored tablecloths, and wide-windowed view of the docks on the inside.
When they were seated at the best table in the corner of the small loggia, Kate said, "Order something for me, I don't care what it is. I'm going to the ladies' room," and she hurried away in the direction of the sign she'd seen on the way in.
She was horrified at the way her hair looked when she glanced at her reflection in the ladies' mirror; it looked as though she'd combed it with an eggbeater. She tried to rearrange it, but it wouldn't hang properly, it only clumped. Finally she wound the tie-dyed scarf around her head and gave up. She wasn't trying to impress this man with her looks.
On her way back to the table, she saw two women who were lingering over dessert cast longing glances in Morgan's direction, although he didn't seem to notice. As Kate approached, he was staring out the window at a fishing boat as it eased up to the dock. He looked up and saw her, and, proper gentleman that he was, he stood until she was seated.
He sat down and said, "What exactly do you want from me? You might as well spell it out."
She regarded him coolly, her heart beating a mile a minute. "I want you to adopt this baby," she said.
"Adopt my own child? That's ironic."
"The contract that Courtney and I signed provides that the baby will be placed for adoption if Courtney for any reason changes her mind. It shouldn't be reared by strangers when it has a perfectly capable parent—"
Morgan's Child Page 3