A Proper Wife

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A Proper Wife Page 4

by Sandra Marton


  Ryan clasped Bettina’s forearms and set her on her feet.

  “Hello, Bettina.” He smiled tightly as he took in the flushed, artfully made-up face, the hennaed curls, the lush body verging on ripeness. “It has been a long time, hasn’t it? But I can see you haven’t changed at all.”

  Bettina giggled. “It’s sweet of you to say so.” Her hand went to her hair; she patted it into place as she looked at James. “Hello, Grandfather Kincaid. You’re looking well.”

  “I’m still breathing, if that’s what you mean.”

  Bettina giggled again. “Such a charming sense of humor,” she said gaily. She swung around and held her hand out to her daughter. “Come and give your grandpa a kiss, darling.”

  Ryan watched with grim pleasure as the girl took a minute to pull herself together. Then she squared her shoulders and stepped into the center of the room.

  Did she think she could bluff it out?

  “Good evening, Mr. Kincaid,” she said. Her voice was softer than Ryan remembered it, but then, it would have to be, to suit the role she was playing. “Thank you for inviting us this evening.”

  “Nonsense, darling.” Bettina’s smile was as bright as neon. “There’s no need to be so formal with your grandfather.”

  Ryan saw something flash in the girl’s eyes. “He isn’t my grandfather, Mother.”

  “Why, Devon. Don’t be so silly. Of course he is.”

  “Mother...”

  Devon’s voice was low but there seemed to be a thread of warning in it. Ryan’s eyes narrowed. The game was getting interesting.

  “Leave the girl alone, Bettina. She can address me however she likes.” James smiled and held out his hand. “Come here, girl, and let me see you.”

  Ryan’s mouth thinned. Was that the plan? To contrast Bettina’s avarice with the girl’s modesty?

  He almost smiled. It was clever, but it didn’t fool him.

  Devon looked at James’s outstretched hand. She wanted to look anywhere but at the man she now knew was Ryan Kincaid.

  Damn, she thought, it’s not possible!

  Bettina had not shut up from the instant they’d gotten into the Kincaid limousine. She’d rattled on and on about how much James Kincaid had liked Devon. She’d talked about how he’d never had a daughter or a granddaughter. And, oh, she’d said, she just knew how impressed he’d been with Devon when he’d had them to dinner the previous week; he’d never taken his eyes off her.

  Devon hadn’t replied and eventually Bettina had changed the subject. Perhaps Ryan would be there tonight, she’d said, and sighed girlishly. Did Devon remember him? He’d been at the old man’s house the night Gordon had brought them there for dinner.

  Devon had said she didn’t and let it go at that. What was the point in adding that all she could remember of that night was wishing the floor beneath the dining room table would open and swallow her whole? It had been horrible, hearing the contempt in the old man’s voice each time he spoke to Bettina; it had been even more horrible, watching her mother crawl.

  And then there’d been Gordon’s younger brother who’d come in late, left early, and never so much as looked at her in between.

  Ryan, his name was, and Bettina had babbled on and on about him all the way here tonight, about his good looks and his money and his bachelor eligibility.

  “Devon!”

  She looked up. Bettina was staring at her, her eyes shooting sparks, her smile fixed and feral.

  “Grandfather Kincaid is waiting,” she said sharply.

  Devon swallowed and started forward. Ryan was standing in her way; she expected him to move but he just stood there like a rock, his eyes cold and flat as green glass, so that she had to brush past him, her shoulder and hip feathering against his.

  “It’s...it’s nice to see you again, Mr. Kincaid,” she said, and gave James her hand.

  “Such cold hands, girl.” James chuckled. “What is it they say, Ryan? Cold hands, warm heart?”

  “Something like that,” Ryan said.

  Devon looked up. She saw the faint smile on his handsome mouth, the chill in his eyes, and she stiffened. It was time for someone to make the first move, and it might as well be she.

  “Good evening, Mr. Kincaid,” she said. Her voice was steady, though her heart was thumping. “What an unpleasant surprise.”

  It was like throwing a bucket of water on a red-hot stove. There was an instant’s silence, and then, with a hiss like supercharged steam, Bettina swung toward Devon, eyes wide.

  “What did you say?”

  It was Ryan who answered, his voice icy.

  “She said that we’ve met before. Isn’t that right, Miss Franklin?”

  “We certainly have. We met this afternoon, at Montano’s.”

  Bettina gave a nervous laugh. “I don’t understand. Devon, you naughty girl, you never said-”

  “I didn’t know. We weren’t formally introduced.” Devon’s smile was rimmed with frost. “I had no idea this—gentleman—was Ryan Kincaid.”

  Bettina looked from Ryan to Devon. “You mean, you sold something to Ryan today, at Montano’s?”

  Ryan gave a harsh, cold bark of laughter. Devon shot him a furious look, then turned toward Bettina.

  “No, Mother. I didn’t sell Mr. Kincaid anything.”

  James cleared his throat. “Ryan? I’m afraid I’m lost here, too. How do you and Devon know each other?”

  Ryan smiled thinly. “I went into Montano’s today. Miss Franklin works there. Isn’t that right, Miss Franklin?”

  “I worked there until this afternoon,” Devon said defiantly. “I was fired.”

  “How unfortunate.” Ryan smiled and leaned back against the edge of his grandfather’s desk. “Why not tell us about it?”

  Devon felt color rush into her cheeks. Damn Ryan Kincaid! Hadn’t he embarrassed her enough today?

  “Miss Franklin?” His voice was silky. “We’re all waiting to hear the details. I’m sure it’s a fascinating story.”

  He smiled, folded his arms over his chest and rocked back just a little on his heels. That was just how he’d looked at Montano’s, that smug, superior smile curling across his too handsome face, that arms-folded, back-on-his-heels stance that said he was far too good for the rest of the world and especially for mere peons like her.

  Devon drew a deep, deep breath.

  “It’s not fascinating,” she said, “it’s depressing. To think that a...a male chauvinist pig like you could—”

  “Devon!”

  “It’s the truth, Mother,” Devon said furiously, “and I’m not going to pretty things up just so we don’t offend the Kincaids!”

  “The truth is never offensive,” James said mildly. “Why don’t you tell us what happened, girl?”

  Devon spun toward him. “I’ll tell you what happened,” she said through her teeth. “I was doing my job and your grandson here decided to make an ass of himself, that’s what happened!” She flung back her head, crossed her arms over her breasts, and glared at Ryan. “And when I refused to let him insult me, I was fired.”

  Ryan smiled thinly. “It’s amazing, how a few details left out of a story can change it so completely.”

  “The only detail I’ve left out is my full opinion of you,” Devon retorted, “but I’ll keep that much to myself.” Her eyes glittered. “I wouldn’t want to shock your grandfather.”

  “How generous of you,” Ryan said.

  “Listen, you...you—”

  “Careful, sweetheart. Watch your language, or you’ll blow the Miss Innocent image completely.” He smiled with malice. “Actually, I think you already have. It’s probably too late to salvage anything now.”

  “Devon?” Bettina, her knuckles white as she clenched the back of a chair, stared at her daughter. “What on earth is he talking about?”

  Devon gave Ryan one last glare, then swung toward her mother.

  “He’s talking lies,” she snapped. “I told you, I was at work—”

  �
��She was coming down the steps in an ankle-length, velvet cape,” Ryan said coldly, “looking like every man’s dream, and I said—”

  “A velvet cape?” Bettina blinked. “You, in a velvet cape?”

  Devon flushed. “Montano’s does an end-of-week fashion show Fridays. One of the girls took sick and the store manager dragged me out from the perfume counter—”

  “Dragged her,” Ryan said sarcastically, “tossed her over his shoulder, stripped off her clothes, stuffed her into six inches of black silk and covered the concoction with six yards of velvet.” He shook his head sadly. “Really, Devon, you ought to report the guy to the Department of Labor.”

  “—dragged me out from behind the counter,” Devon said through her teeth, “shoved me into the models’ dressing room, and the next thing I knew I was going down the steps from the mezzanine, modeling this crimson velvet cape.”

  “Crimson,” Bettina whispered. “It must have looked lovely with your coloring.”

  “And then this... this man said something awful and I heard it. Everybody heard it! So I went over to tell him he ought to get his brain washed out with soap and... and one thing led to another, and—”

  “She said...” Ryan said pleasantly, turning to James, “that I was a goat. A jackass. A baboon. And a caveman—or was it a Neanderthal?” He shrugged his shoulders. “I really can’t remember.”

  “I said he had no manners, and I was right,” Devon snapped. “And then...then the crowd got into it. People laughed, and...and—”

  “And I tried to apologize,” Ryan said with an innocent smile.

  Devon slammed her hands on her hips. “He tried to kiss me,” she said, her lips curling.

  “It was a joke.”

  “Some joke!”

  “Yes, well, apparently Miss Franklin doesn’t have a sense of humor, Grandfather.” Ryan lifted his hand to his jaw and gently touched the faint purple smudge. “Because that was when she slugged me.”

  There was complete silence in the room. Then, like the distant wail of a siren, Bettina sobbed out Devon’s name.

  “Devon,” she said. “Oh, Devon, you didn’t!”

  Ryan kept his eyes on his grandfather.

  “Did you hear what I said? Your sweet-tempered, old-fashioned, demure, well-mannered gem of deportment hit me with a right hook to the jaw that would have put George Foreman to shame.”

  Something that was impossible to read flickered in James’s eyes.

  “Interesting,” he said calmly.

  Ryan nodded. “I thought you might think so.”

  “Devon,” Bettina said in a hushed whisper, “how could you?”

  Lord, Devon thought, how different the story sounded coming from Ryan Kincaid’s mouth.

  “It wasn’t like that! If you’d heard him—if you’d seen him...” Devon looked wildly at the three people facing her. Bettina was staring at her in horror; James was looking at her with no expression at all. Ryan, damn him, was smirking. “I just wish I’d hit him harder!”

  Bettina rushed toward Devon and flung an arm around her shoulders.

  “It’s the stress she’s been under, my poor baby! She’s spent her life among people of a certain class, and now—”

  “Don’t make excuses for me,” Devon said angrily.

  “And now, through a quirk of fate, she’s been forced to associate with riffraff! Oh, what terrible times these are, that my Devon should have had to take a job as a salesclerk to put food on the table!”

  Devon stared at her mother. That was nonsense! She’d been working as a salesclerk for three years, supporting herself in the tiny apartment she shared with another girl. It had been the only job she could get; the boarding school Bettina had insisted on sending her to had specialized in preparing its graduates for a silly, boring world that no longer existed.

  “No,” Devon said, “that isn’t—”

  “She should never have had to take such a menial position,” Bettina said, her voice quavering. “It’s just that our financial situation is so desperate. Oh, if only darling Gordon hadn’t left us so unexpectedly. We all know how he was, always leaving things till the last minute.” Despite her soulful expression, she couldn’t keep a sudden hard glitter from her eyes. “For instance, he told me a dozen times how he planned to change the deed to our house so it was in my name and not his, but he never got around to it.”

  Ryan shot a triumphant look at James. There it was, the reason for Bettina’s sudden appearance. She wanted the house; Devon was to have provided the distraction that would secure it for her.

  He brought his hands together in slow, exaggerated applause.

  “Brava, Bettina. What a performance! Worthy of the Broadway theater at its best.”

  That was precisely what Devon had been thinking, but hearing Ryan say it was quite different. Her eyes flashed him a warning as she broke away from Bettina’s encircling arm.

  “And you should have been taught some manners when you were little! Stop insulting people, dammit!”

  “Enough,” James said, his voice sharp with authority. “All of you, calm down and we can talk like reasonable people.”

  Bettina snapped open her purse, drew out a lace handkerchief, and dabbed it gently at her eyes.

  “I should hope so,” she said in a tremulous whisper. “Ryan, that was cruel.”

  “Nonsense.” James’s tone was brusque. “It was the plain truth. Gordon’s actions were quite deliberate. He meant to cut you off without a cent, and he did.”

  “We had a teeny misunderstanding, that’s all. He’d have changed his will again if he’d only had the chance. Gordon adored me. He’d never have wanted me penniless. And he’d certainly not have wanted me to give up the home we so happily shared together.”

  “Perhaps,” James said, ignoring Ryan’s snort of disgust, “and perhaps not. The only thing I know for certain is that my grandson died before he could make provision for Devon.”

  “For me?” Devon said, startled.

  Bettina dug a sharp elbow into Devon’s ribs. “I’m not surprised to hear it. Whatever problems Gordon and I might have had,” she said, blithely changing tactics, “Gordon loved Devon as if she’d been his own child.”

  Devon saw Ryan looking at Bettina as if he expected her nose to start growing like Pinocchio’s. It was hard to blame him. Her stepfather had seemed to be a decent man but she’d hardly known him. She’d spent her summers in camp, once Bettina had Gordon’s money to pay for it, and only come home for Christmas and Easter.

  “Gordon wanted his little girl to have the best,” Bettina sighed, dabbing at her eyes with the hankie. “It would pain him terribly if he knew she was living in poverty.”

  “Mother, I’m not-”

  “Hush, Devon.” Bettina’s smile was sweet but her eyes snapped with warning. “Let Grandfather Kincaid finish what he was about to say.”

  James cleared his throat. “It seems that one of my grandson’s last expressed desires was to see Devon properly cared for.”

  Bettina beamed happily. “How nice.”

  “In fact, Ryan and I were discussing that very topic when you arrived.”

  “What topic?” Devon said. “You mean you were talking about me?”

  James nodded. “Yes. We were formulating a plan for your future, weren’t we, Ryan?”

  Ryan, who had almost forgotten James’s shocking “last request,” remembered it now and frowned.

  “A nonsensical plan,” he said, “don’t you agree, Grandfather?”

  James smiled. “Are you sure of that, my boy?”

  “I damned well am! And you should be, too, now that you’ve been treated to this display of sweetness and charm!”

  Devon put her hands on her hips and glared from one man to the other.

  “What’s going on here? You can’t discuss me as if I weren’t even in the room!”

  Ryan ignored her. “I would prefer we continue this discussion in private, Grandfather.”

  James nodded. “I con
cur.”

  “That’s it!” Devon’s chin tilted up at a proud angle. “I’ve had enough.”

  “Devon,” Bettina whispered harshly, “don’t be a fool!”

  “Goodnight, Mr. Kincaid. I’d thank you for your hospitality but I don’t really think there was any to thank you for. Mother, I’ll wait for you outside.”

  Without a glance in Ryan’s direction, Devon strode past Bettina, never pausing until she reached the privacy of the musty foyer. There, she fell back against the wall and took a deep, sobbing breath.

  What a horrible scene! The old man, watching her with those unblinking eyes; Bettina, spewing those phony tears and even phonier stories of familial bliss. And Ryan Kincaid, commenting on her as if she were a commodity. The louse. The arrogant, insensitive bastard—

  She cried out in shock as a pair of hard, merciless hands fell on her shoulders.

  “Just where in hell do you think you’re going?” Ryan snarled as he turned her toward him.

  “Anyplace where I don’t have to see a Kincaid face,” Devon said furiously. “Let go of me!”

  “That was one hell of a performance you just gave, sweetheart.” Ryan’s face was harsh, his eyes chill. “You’re almost as good an actress as your mama.”

  “I—said—let—go!”

  “The righteous indignation,” he growled, his hands tightening as she struggled to twist free. “The outraged innocence—”

  “Let go, dammit! You’ve no right to—”

  “I’ve every right. You can’t really think I’m going to let you and your mother pull this swindle on a sick old man!”

  “I don’t want anything from your grandfather. Not one miserable thing!”

  “Of course, you don’t,” Ryan said with chill sarcasm. “That’s why you’re dressed like Miss Prim, why you spoon-fed him all that crap about what a well-educated, well-bred little girl you are.”

  “I didn’t tell him anything.”

  “No. You let Bettina do it, while you just sat there looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.”

  “Listen, Mr. Kincaid, I don’t like you any more than you like me, so if you’d just take your damned hands off me, I’ll see to it we never have to lay eyes on each other again.”

 

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