by Nora Roberts
She sat feeling foolish and awkward, her hands clutched in her lap. Had they really rolled naked on a sun-washed bed an hour before? How was such intimacy handled in a tidy kitchen over cold drinks and puzzles?
He didn’t seem to have a problem with it. Cade sat across from her, propped his feet on an empty chair and scooted her pad over. “You’re a worrier.”
“I am?”
“Sure.” He flipped a page, started a new list. “You’re worrying right now. What should you say to this guy, now that you’re lovers? Now that you know he’s wildly in love with you, wants to spend the rest of his life with you?”
“Cade—”
“Just stating the facts.” And if he stated them often enough, he figured she’d eventually accept them. “The sex was great, and it was easy. So you worry about that, too. Why did you let this man you’ve known for a weekend take you to bed, when you’ve never let another man get that close?” His eyes flicked up, held hers. “The answer’s elementary. You’re just as wildly in love with me, but you’re afraid to face it.”
She picked up her glass, cooled her throat. “I’m a coward?”
“No, Bailey, you’re not a coward, but you’re constantly worried that you are. You’re a champion worrier. And a woman, I think, who gives herself very little credit for her strengths, and has very little tolerance for her weaknesses. Self-judgmental.”
He wrote that down, as well, while she frowned at the words on the page. “It seems to me someone in my situation has to try to judge herself.”
“Practical, logical.” He continued the column. “Now, leave the judging to me a moment. You’re compassionate, responsible, organized. And a creature of habit. I’d say you hold some sort of position that requires those traits, as well as a good intellect. Your work habits are disciplined and precise. You also have a fine aesthetic sense.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Bailey, forgetting who you are doesn’t change who you are. That’s your big flaw in reasoning here. If you hated brussels sprouts before, it’s likely you’re still going to hate them. If you were allergic to cats, you’re still going to sneeze if you pet a kitten. And if you had a strong, moral and caring heart, it’s still beating inside you. Now let me finish up here.”
She twisted her head, struggling to read upside down. “What are you putting down?”
“You’re a lousy drinker. Probably a metabolism thing. And I think at this point, we could have some wine later, so I can take full advantage of that.” He grinned over at her. “And you blush. It’s a sweet, old-fashioned physical reaction. You’re tidy. You hang up your towels after you shower, you rinse off your dishes, you make your bed every morning.”
There were other details, he thought. She wiggled her foot when she was nervous, her eyes went gold when she was aroused, her voice turned chilly when she was annoyed.
“You’ve had a good education, probably up north, from your speech pattern and accent. I’d say you concentrated on your studies like a good girl and didn’t date much. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been a virgin up to a couple hours ago. There, you blushed again. I really love when you do that.”
“I don’t see the point in this.”
“There’s that cool, polite tone. Indulge me,” he added, then sipped his beer. “You’ve got a slim body, smooth skin. You either take care of both or you were lucky genetically. By the way, I like your unicorn.”
She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you,” he said, and chuckled. “Anyway, you have or make enough money to afford good clothes. Those classic Italian pumps you were wearing go for about two hundred and fifty at department-store prices. And you had silk underwear. I’d say the silk undies and the unicorn follow the same pattern. You like to be a little daring under the traditional front.”
She was just managing to close her gaping mouth. “You went through my clothes? My underwear?”
“What there was of them, and all in the name of investigation. Great underwear,” he told her. “Very sexy, simple, and pricey. I’d say peach silk ought to look terrific on you.”
She made a strangled sound, fell back on silence. There was really nothing to say.
“I don’t know the annual income of your average gemologist or jewelry designer—but I’ll lay odds you’re one or the other. I’m leaning toward the scientist as vocation, and the designer as avocation.”
“That’s a big leap, Cade.”
“No, it’s not. Just another step. The pieces are there. Wouldn’t you think a diamond like the one in the safe would require the services of a gemologist? Its authenticity would have to be verified, its value assessed. Just the way you verified and assessed it yesterday.”
Her hands trembled, so she put them back in her lap. “If that’s true, then it ups the likelihood that I stole it.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Impatient with her, he tapped the pencil sharply against the pad. “Look at the other facts. Why can’t you see yourself? You wouldn’t steal a stick of gum. Doesn’t the fact that you’re riddled with guilt over the very thought you might have done something illegal give you a clue?”
“The fact is, Cade, I have the stone.”
“Yeah, and hasn’t it occurred to you, in that logical, responsible, ordered mind of yours, that you might have been protecting it?”
“Protecting it? From—”
“From whoever killed to get their hands on it. From whoever would have killed you if he had found you. That’s what plays, Bailey, that’s what fits. And if there are three stones, then you might very well know where the others are, as well. You may be protecting all of them.”
“How?”
He had some ideas on that, as well, but didn’t think she was ready to hear them. “We’ll work on that. Meanwhile, I’ve made a few calls. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow. The police artist will come over in the morning, see if she can help you put images together. And I managed to snag one of the undercurators, or whatever they’re called, at the Smithsonian. We have a one o’clock appointment tomorrow.”
“You got an appointment on a holiday?”
“That’s where the Parris name and fortune come in handy. Hint at funding, and it opens a lot of musty old doors. And we’ll see if that boutique opens for the holiday sale hunters, and find out if anyone remembers selling a green suit.”
“It doesn’t seem like we’re doing enough.”
“Sweetheart, we’ve come a long way in a short time.”
“You’re right.” She rose, walked to the window. There was a wood thrush in the maple tree, singing its heart out. “I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am.”
“I’ll bill you for the professional services,” he said shortly. “And I don’t want gratitude for the rest of it.”
“I have to give it, whether or not you take it. You made this bearable, more than that. I don’t know how many times you made me smile or laugh or just forget it all for little spaces of time. I think I’d have gone crazy without you, Cade.”
“I’m going to be there for you, Bailey. You’re not going to be able to shake me loose.”
“You’re used to getting what you want,” she murmured. “I wonder if I am. It doesn’t feel as if that’s true.”
“That’s something you can change.”
He was right. That was a matter of patience, perseverance, control. And perhaps wanting the right things. She wanted him, wanted to think that one day she could stand here, listening to the wood thrush sing of summer while Cade drowsed in the hammock. It could be their house instead of his. Their life. Their family.
If it was the right thing, and she could persevere.
“I’m going to make you a promise.” She followed the impulse and turned, letting her heart be reckless. He was so much what she needed, sitting there with his jeans torn at the knee, his hair too long, his feet bare. “If, when this is over, when all the steps have been taken, all the pieces are in place to make the whole…if I can
and you still want me, I’ll marry you.”
His heart stuttered in his chest. Emotion rose up to fill his throat. Very carefully, he set the bottle aside, rose. “Tell me you love me.”
It was there, in her heart, begging to be said. But she shook her head. “When it’s all over, and you know everything. If you still want me.”
“That’s not the kind of promise that suits me. No qualifications, Bailey. No whens, no ifs. Just you.” “It’s all I can give you. It’s all I have.”
“We can go into Maryland on Tuesday, get a license. Be married in a matter of days.”
He could see it. The two of them, giddy in love, rousing some sleepy-eyed country J.P. out of bed in the middle of the night. Holding hands in the living room while an old yellow dog slept on a braid rug, the J.P.’s wife played the piano and he and the woman he loved exchanged vows.
And sliding the ring onto her finger, feeling her slide one on his, was the link that would bind them.
“There are no blood tests in Maryland,” he continued. “Just a couple of forms, and there you are.”
He meant it. It staggered her to see in those deep green eyes that he meant nothing less than he said. He would take her exactly as she was. He would love her just as she stood.
How could she let him?
“And what name would I put on the form?”
“It doesn’t matter. You’ll have mine.” He gripped her arms, drew her against him. In all his life, there had been no one he needed as much. “Take mine.”
Just take, she thought when his lips covered hers. Take what was offered—the love, the safety, the promise. Let the past come as it would, let the future drift, and seize the moment.
“You know it wouldn’t be right.” She pressed her cheek to his. “You need to know as much as I do.”
Maybe he did. However much the fantasy of a reckless elopement appealed, creating a fake identity for Bailey, it wasn’t the answer either one of them needed. “Could be fun.” He struggled to lighten the mood. “Like practice for the real thing.” He pulled her back to arm’s length, studied her face. Delicate, troubled. Lovely. “You want orange blossoms, Bailey? A white dress and organ music?”
Because her heart sighed at the image, she managed to smile. “I think I might. I seem to be a traditional soul.”
“Then I should buy you a traditional diamond.”
“Cade—”
“Just speculating,” he murmured, and lifted her left hand. “No, however traditional your soul, your taste in jewelry is unique. We’ll find something that suits. But I should probably take you to meet the family.” His eyes lifted to hers, and he laughed. “God help you.”
Just a game, she thought, just pretend. She smiled back at him. “I’d love to meet your family. See Camilla do pirouettes in her tutu.”
“If you can get through that and still want to marry me, I’ll know you’re hopelessly in love with me. They’ll put you through the gauntlet, sweetheart. A very sophisticated, silk-edged gauntlet. Where did you go to school, what does your father do, does your mother play bridge or tennis? And by the way, what clubs do you belong to, and did I run into you on the slopes last season at St. Moritz?”
Instead of making her unhappy, it made her laugh. “Then I’d better find out the answers.”
“I like making them up. I took a cop to Muffy’s tenth-anniversary bash. Couldn’t get out of it. We told everyone she was the niece of the Italian prime minister, educated in a Swiss boarding school and interested in acquiring a pied-à-terre in D.C.”
Her brows drew together. “Oh, really?”
“They all but drooled on her. Not nearly the reaction we’d have gotten with the truth.”
“Which was?”
“She was a uniformed cop who grew up in New York’s Little Italy and transferred to Washington after her divorce from a guy who ran a pasta place off Broadway.”
“Was she pretty?”
“Sure.” His grin flashed. “Gorgeous. Then there was the lounge singer in Chevy Chase who—”
“I don’t think I want to know.” She turned away, picked up her empty glass and made a business out of rinsing it out. “You’ve dated a lot of women, I suppose.”
“That depends on your definition of ‘a lot.’ I could probably run a list of names, ages, physical descriptions and last known addresses. Want to type it up for me?”
“No.”
Delighted, he nuzzled the back of her neck. “I’ve only asked one woman to marry me.”
“Two,” she corrected, and set the now sparkling glass on the counter with a snap.
“One. I didn’t ask Carla. That just sort of evolved. And now she’s happily married—as far as I can tell—to a corporate lawyer and the proud mama of a bouncing baby girl named Eugenia. So it hardly counts, anyway.”
She bit her lip. “You didn’t want children?”
“Yes, I did. I do.” He turned her around, kissed her gently. “But we’re not naming any kid of ours Eugenia. Now what do you say we think about going out for dinner, someplace quiet, where we can neck at the table? Then we can watch the fireworks.”
“It’s too early for dinner.”
“That’s why I said we should think about it.” He scooped her up. “First we have to go upstairs and make love again.”
Her pulse gave a pleasant little jump as she curled her arms around his neck. “We have to?”
“It’ll pass the time. Unless you’d rather play gin rummy?”
Chuckling, she traced a line of kisses up his neck. “Well, if those are my only choices…”
“Tell you what, we can play strip gin rummy. We can both cheat and that way— Hell.” He was halfway up the stairs with her, and nicely aroused, when the doorbell sounded. “Hold that thought, okay?” He set her down, and went to answer.
One peek through the side panel of wavy glass framing the door had him groaning. “Perfect timing, as always.” With a hand on the knob, he turned, looked at Bailey. “Sweetheart, the woman on the other side of this door is my mother. I realize you expressed a mild interest in meeting my family, but I’m giving you this chance, because I love you. I really do. So I’m advising you to run, hide, and don’t look back.”
Nerves fluttered, but she straightened her shoulders. “Stop being silly and open the door.”
“Okay, but I warned you.” Bracing himself, he pulled the door open and fixed a bright, welcoming smile on his face. “Mother.” As was expected, he kissed her smooth, polished cheek. “What a nice surprise.”
“I wouldn’t have to surprise you if you’d ever return my calls.” Leona Parris stepped into the foyer.
She was, Bailey realized with a stunned first glance, a striking woman. Surely, with three grown children and several grandchildren, she had to be at least fifty. She could have passed for a sleek thirty-five.
Her hair was a lush sable brown with hints of golden highlights and fashioned in a perfect and elegant French twist that complemented a face of ivory and cream, with cool green eyes, straight nose and sulky mouth. She wore an elegant tailored bronze-toned suit that nipped at her narrow waist.
The topaz stones at her ears were square-cut and big as a woman’s thumb and earned Bailey’s instant admiration.
“I’ve been busy,” Cade began. “A couple of cases, and some personal business.”
“I certainly don’t want to hear about your cases, as you call them.” Leona set her leather bag on the foyer table. “And whatever your personal business is, it’s no excuse for neglecting your family duties. You put me in a very awkward position with Pamela. I had to make your pathetic excuses.”
“You wouldn’t have had to make excuses if you hadn’t set it up in the first place.” He could feel the old arguments bubbling inside him, and he struggled not to fall into the familiar, too-predictable traps. “I’m sorry it put you in an awkward position. Do you want some coffee?”
“What I want, Cade, is an explanation. At Muffy’s garden party yesterday—which you a
lso failed to attend—Ronald told me some wild tale about you being engaged to some woman I’ve never heard of with a connection to the Princess of Wales.”
“Bailey.” Because he’d all but forgotten her, Cade turned, offered an apologetic smile and held out a hand. “Bailey, come meet my mother.”
Oh, good God, was all that came into Bailey’s head as she descended the stairs.
“Leona Parris, meet Bailey, my fiancée.”
“Mrs. Parris.” Bailey’s voice trembled a bit as she offered a hand. “How wonderful to meet you. Cade has told me so much about you.”
“Really?” Attractive, certainly, Leona mused. Well-groomed, if a bit understated. “He’s told me virtually nothing about you, I’m afraid. I don’t believe I caught your full name.”
“Bailey’s only been in the States for a few months.” Cade barreled in, all cheer and delight. “I’ve been keeping her to myself.” He slipped an arm around Bailey’s shoulders, squeezed possessively. “We’ve had a whirlwind courtship, haven’t we, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” Bailey said faintly. “A whirlwind. You could say that.”
“And you’re a jewelry designer.” Lovely rings, Leona noted. Unique and attractive. “A distant cousin of the Princess of Wales.”
“Bailey doesn’t like to drop names,” Cade said quickly. “Sweetheart, maybe you ought to make those calls. Remember the time difference in London.”
“Where did you meet?” Leona demanded.
Bailey opened her mouth, struggling to remember if they’d spun this part of the lie for Ronald. “Actually—”
“At the Smithsonian,” Cade said smoothly. “In front of the Hope Diamond. I was researching a case, and Bailey was sketching designs. She looked so intent and artistic. It took me twenty minutes of fast talking and following her around—remember how you threatened to call the security guard, sweetheart? But I finally charmed her into having a cup of coffee with me. And speaking of coffee—”
“This is just ridiculous,” Bailey said, interrupting him. “Absolutely ridiculous. Cade, this is your mother, and I’m just not having it.” She turned, faced Leona directly. “We did not meet in the Smithsonian, and the Princess of Wales is not my cousin. At least I seriously doubt it. I met Cade on Friday morning, when I went to his office to hire him. I needed a private investigator because I have amnesia, a blue diamond and over a million dollars in cash.”