Housebound

by Anne Stuart

  But when it came right down to it, what did she really know about the man? That he was a widower, still mourning his dead wife. That he indulged in recreational sex. That he disliked being a lawyer and the compromises in integrity it involved. She knew he was gentle and kind and driven. What else had Holly told her during that phone conversation so long ago? That he was the sexiest man alive? That phrase would come back to haunt her, reminding her of her initial skepticism. She could attest to the fact that on that count at least Holly was remarkably astute.

  The utilitarian black phone hung on the kitchen wall, a mute temptation to her suddenly insatiable curiosity. She barely hesitated. It took her no time at all to dial Holly’s number in New York, all the time hoping that there’d be no answer. She was about to hang up on the third ring when her sister’s light, breathless voice came over the phone.

  “Darling, how are you?” she cried happily, and a fresh wave of guilt swept over Anne. “Is everything all right? Are you having as nasty a storm as we are? How’s Proffy?”

  “Proffy’s just fine. He’s out with the Merry Widow, and he told me he might very well spend the night with her.”

  “Naughty, naughty,” Holly chided with a bubble of laughter. “What are we going to do about such a disreputable example?”

  “I don’t know. I only hope the widow Morgan isn’t playing fast and loose with his affections.” Anne kept her voice brisk and cheery. “Speaking of which, how’s your love life?”

  “Smashing, as always. I’ve met the most divine man. He’s in advertising, if you can imagine anything so completely soulless. But he does have the most magnificent body. He lifts weights, he tells me. And he has the cutest little mustache—he’s sort of like a short Tom Selleck.” She let out a soulful sigh.

  “Uh…sounds wonderful, Holly. But what about Noah Grant? I thought you were interested in him?” She held her breath, waiting for the artless answer.

  “Heavens, I gave up on him weeks ago. He was proving amazingly hard to get, considering his reputation, and I decided to hunt for easier game. Not that I don’t have my moments of regret every time I see him.” Another lusty sigh. “I sure wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers.”

  “What exactly is his reputation?” She kept her voice casual, but Holly’s suspicions were finally aroused.

  “Why?”

  Anne thought fast. “Why?” she echoed vaguely. “Oh, I think he’s been in touch with Proffy about something. I’m not sure what, but it made me curious.”

  Surprisingly enough, Holly seemed satisfied with the explanation. “He’s got a reputation as a very astute, knowledgeable and charming man. Excellent at his job, socially very desirable. Discerning when it comes to women, but seldom without a real beauty beside him. He’s still mourning Nialla, I think, but that makes him all the more attractive.”

  Nialla, Anne thought numbly. Somehow knowing her name made it worse. “He’s pretty social?”

  “Not as much as he used to be. As a matter of fact, he’s been practically reclusive the past few weeks. Quite a turnaround for him, but I gather his closest friends aren’t surprised.”

  “Who are his friends?”

  “I can’t imagine why this is pertinent, Anne,” Holly said crossly.

  “Humor me, Holly. I’m just curious.” Her voice was lightly innocent, and once more Holly swallowed it.

  “Actually, he has a rather strange assortment of cronies. I went to a cocktail party at his apartment a few months ago, and he had paroled safecrackers hobnobbing with Wendell James, of all people.”

  “Who’s Wendell James?”

  “Head of the Allibet Foundation.” There was a sudden nervous rush to her voice.

  “Allibet Foundation? What do they do?”

  “You must be bored!” Holly snapped. “I thought you wanted to pump me about Noah Grant, not about some arts foundation.”

  “I do not want to pump you about Noah!” she denied hotly. “I was just bored and curious.”

  “You’ve never been bored in your life,” Holly said with more than a trace of envy. “And you still haven’t found out what you want to know, have you?”

  “Haven’t I?”

  “No. And I’m about to satisfy your curiosity, though I can tell you now—you won’t want to hear it. Do you know how Noah’s wife died?”

  “I suppose you’re going to tell me he murdered her,” Anne said caustically.

  “I wouldn’t tell you any such thing. Noah adored his wife. They had this absurdly romantic marriage—always holding hands and the like.”

  The jealousy was gnawing at Anne’s stomach like a vulture, and too late she wished she’d never made this phone call, wished she could think of some reason to stop this conversation that had taken a decidedly painful turn. But there was nothing she could do without giving herself away.

  “How very nice for him,” she said distantly.

  “She died trying to have his baby, you know,” Holly said slyly, and Anne almost did push down the receiver. She said absolutely not a word, but Holly didn’t need any encouragement, taking an almost malicious delight in imparting the information. “They’d always wanted children, and she had trouble getting pregnant. When she finally did they were in seventh heaven. She took off for a long weekend at their cabin in Western New York State while Noah was busy with work. It turned out she had an ectopic pregnancy, it ruptured, and she died there before she could get help. I guess Noah got worried when he didn’t hear from her, and he went up and found her.”

  “You’re making this up,” Anne accused her flatly.

  “I’m afraid not. Of course he’s been plagued with guilt ever since. I guess he feels responsible, though I can’t imagine why. Nialla was always the most willful woman, according to Wendell. There was no stopping her once she decided to do something.”

  “And why should Wendell James know all the intimate details of Noah’s marriage?”

  “Because Noah was married to his daughter.”

  “Oh.” Anne’s voice was hollow.

  “They’ve stayed good friends, despite Nialla’s death,” Holly continued. “So I would think he’d know.”

  “Poor Noah,” Anne said sadly. And poor Nialla. And poor, poor Anne.

  “Oh, don’t waste your pity, darling. He does well enough—he’s hardly taken a vow of celibacy. Though I wouldn’t think you’d be his sort at all. For one thing, he goes for tall redheads, with a few blondes interspersed. I gather Nialla had dark-brown hair. Somewhat like yours.” Holly paused. “I think you’d better watch your step around him, Anne. He’s more my kind of man—I don’t like involvements any more than he does. But he’d break your heart.” For a moment there was real warmth and concern in Holly’s tone, a warmth and concern that had been missing for a long time.

  “I don’t think I have to worry about it. After all, I’m engaged to Wilson.”

  “So you are. How could I have forgotten?” Holly’s voice turned flat and cold and definitely hostile. “I don’t think that will protect you if Noah decided he wants you.”

  “I think I’m safe, Holly.” Anne managed a creditable drawl. “Thanks for the information, though. If I happen to see him again I’ll watch my step.”

  “Oh, you’ll see him again. Despite what he said, I have no doubt at all on that score. ‘Bye.” She hung up without another word, and slowly, thoughtfully Anne replaced the receiver.

  “Find out anything interesting?” Noah murmured pleasantly from directly behind her.

  She whirled to face him, her face flushed with guilt. The cool expression in his blue, blue eyes wasn’t the slightest bit reassuring. She stalled for time. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Surely Holly must have given you all the lurid details of my past,” he said with deceptive sweetness, the grimness around his mouth the only clue to his anger. “I’ve already told you that reports of my sexual prowess are greatly exaggerated.”

  “I didn’t realize Holly had firsthand knowledge,” she snapped
back nervously.

  “Is that what she told you?” He shrugged. “Far be it from me to contradict a lady. Is dinner almost ready?”

  “Just about.” She eyed him warily, but that blank, easygoing mask had shuttered down over his face again. “Noah, I’m sorry. That was a rotten thing to do.”

  “Yes, it was.” His lovely, rich voice was hard and uncompromising. But at last that bland expression had left his face once more.

  “Will you forgive me if I promise not to pry again?”

  “I might consider it,” he drawled, a predatory gleam lighting his eyes, “if you’ll sleep with me tonight.”

  “I’m going to put saltpeter on your chicken,” she warned, relief making her slightly light-headed.

  “It won’t do you any good,” he said smugly. “It’s been tried.”

  “I can imagine,” she muttered. “You carry the silver and the wineglasses, and I’ll be up with the food in a moment.”

  He took the cutlery from her, his eyes suddenly quite somber. “No more telephone calls?”

  “I promise.”

  He smiled at her, that achingly sweet smile she saw so seldom. “I trust you.”

  She watched his disappearing back with a strange longing in the pit of her stomach. He knew just how to reach her, she realized with no small amount of alarm. He had an uncanny knack of finding her most vulnerable spot and soothing it with his gentle, seductive charm. If she knew what was good for her she would forget her promise, call Wilson up and invite him over for supper. A firelit dinner on a rainy night was just a trifle too romantic to be safe, especially in the company of Noah Grant. She stared at the telephone for a long, contemplative moment, then turned back to dish up the chicken. Even if she hadn’t promised, Wilson Engalls would be the last person she would call that night. She was going to count on her own pride and sense of self-preservation to keep Noah at bay. The last thing she wanted to do was follow a well-trod path to his bed for a few blissful nights.

  And they would be blissful, she had little doubt of that. But it would be too great a price to pay for a weekend or two. If she even lasted that long. With her lack of sexual expertise his interest would undoubtedly pall almost immediately.

  Though he didn’t seem to tire of kissing her, she thought dreamily as she started up the stairs. He seemed to take an inordinate amount of pleasure in it, almost as much as she did. Perhaps…

  There was a huge, rending crash from directly outside the house, the tinkling sound of breaking glass, and the hallway was suddenly plunged into an inky blackness. Anne tripped, the plates went flying for the second time in one day, and she ended sprawled in the hallway.

  “Annie!” Noah’s anxious voice reverberated through the dark hallway, and she managed to roll out of the way just before he would have trampled on her. She felt rather than saw him squat down beside her, and his hands were gentle as they caught her and helped her up. “Are you okay?”

  “Just fine. I’m afraid that was the last of the Wedgwood. And all our dinner,” she added mournfully. Struggling to her feet, she tried to peer through the inky darkness. “What happened?”

  “One of those old trees, I imagine. The wind was just too much for it.”

  An irrational panic gripped her. “Do you think it hit the house?”

  “I don’t know. I heard some windows break, but that might have just been from the vibration of the falling tree. Go on in by the fire and I’ll check.”

  “Check? How?”

  “By going outside and seeing what I can see,” he replied patiently. “If it brought the lines down we’ll have to call the power company. Unless, of course, it brought the phone lines down, too.”

  “I’m coming with you.” She started after him in the darkness, only to have her arms caught in a firm grip, her body turned around and pushed unceremoniously in the direction of the library.

  “You most certainly are not. It could be dangerous out there.”

  “For you as well as me,” she argued, but he was propelling her along the hallway with inexorable force. “I know the area better than you.”

  “I don’t give a damn. You stay put until I get back or I’ll carry you upstairs and throw you off the roof where I found you.” Undoubtedly he was bigger and stronger than she was; undoubtedly he could have his own way if he was determined on it. Subterfuge was the only answer.

  “All right,” she replied.

  “Good.” He turned and was gone.

  She waited until his footsteps died away, waited until the heavy sound of the door slamming on the windy night reached her ears. “All right, you can throw me off the roof,” she added aloud, a stickler for honesty. She stopped only long enough to grab a heavy waterproof poncho and followed him out into the stormy night.

  Chapter Nine

  The wind whipped the heavy rain into her face as she rounded the corner of the house. It was easy enough to be discreet—the noise of the wind and rain drowned out any possible sound her sneaker-clad feet could have made. Far ahead she saw the beam of the flashlight sweeping through the curtain of rain. Noah must have had one in his car—as far as Anne knew there wasn’t a working flashlight to be found in the entire house. Quickly she ducked out of the way of that meager torch, heading out toward the driveway through the inky blackness.

  The ground was wet and slippery beneath her feet; the driveway, when she reached it, was a sea of mud. Determinedly she slogged onward, head down, the thick, oozing mud covering her ankles and sucking at her sneakers with each step. The weakest tree was halfway down the driveway. They’d already lost several limbs this winter, and Anne had ignored the fact that most of the trunk was completely worm-ridden. Getting a tree that size cut down was a considerable expense, one that she simply couldn’t afford. Not when the very roof over their heads was in danger of disintegrating.

  Peering through the rain-swept darkness, she saw in the distance a massive shape lying across the driveway. It had come down all right. She sighed, moving forward with fresh determination to survey the damage.

  At least it was far enough away from the house that a few broken windows were likely to be the only damage. Anne had become more than expert at repairing broken windows over the past years.

  The weak beam of Noah’s flashlight swept past her to the giant corpse of the tree lying in her path, then moved back to her. Well and truly caught, she accepted it sheepishly, keeping her back turned to him as she plunged onward through the night. She could hear his voice calling her through the pouring rain, but the hood of her poncho effectively muffled his words. Words she doubted she wanted to hear, when she had no intention of going in just yet. Now that the tree was finally down she wanted a good look at the ancient oak, to see whether the tree was rotten through or whether there’d be salvageable firewood. Not to mention the huge sums of money decent oak could bring in, for furniture and the like. She knew from a wood encyclopedia she’d edited that some trees could be worth small fortunes. Maybe the god of old houses would smile on her at last, sending her a toppled tree worth enough to pay for the new roof.

  She could hear Noah’s voice behind her, much closer, but she ignored him. She was only within a few yards of the downed tree; she wasn’t about to let him drag her inside without discovering what she desperately needed to know.

  Suddenly the beam from the flashlight behind her began to swing crazily—as if its bearer were running, she realized, moving correspondingly faster. She was almost to the edge of the branches when the light disappeared altogether. A moment later a body hurtled into hers, tackling her and landing them both in the cold, wet mud. Anne went down face first, spread-eagled, as his body landed on top of hers, and she felt a sharp stinging in her face before the cold mud covered her.

  A moment later he had rolled her over. It was too dark to see his expression as he loomed over her, but the furious sound of his voice was bad enough. “You criminally stupid idiot!” he shouted at her. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?” Cruelly strong hands dug into her s
houlders, yanking her into a sitting position for the sole purpose of shaking her.

  “I don’t like being ordered!” she screamed back through rattling teeth and the strong night wind.

  “Would you rather I let you run into the power line that’s about two feet away?” he yelled back. “You may have a death wish today but I have no desire to be a witness.”

  All the fight left her. “Power line?” she echoed.

  “I dropped the flashlight trying to save your stupid neck or I’d show it to you.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Oh, God, indeed.” He rose to his feet, hauling her shivering body along with him. “Come on.” His tone of voice had softened perceptibly, and she followed him blindly, her cold wet hand still clasped in his.

  “Where are we going?” she murmured, completely cowed.

  “Out of this damned rain. One thing’s for certain—no one’s either leaving or coming in here tonight. That tree has blocked the driveway, and there’s another one down on the far side of it.”

  “But what if Proffy decided to come home after all?” she fretted.

  “He won’t be able to get anywhere near the power line unless he’s a lot more agile than he appears to be.”

  “He’s not. Proffy abhors physical exercise in all forms.” Anne told herself that relief should be utmost in her mind, but as she glanced at the lean, rain-soaked figure beside her she found herself wishing that the fates hadn’t chosen tonight of all nights to bless them with a power outage and a house cut off from the outside world.