by Karen Welch
“Be our guest. Here, I’ll make you a proper dance floor.” He moved away, shoving tables and chairs aside as he went, and Peg rose, draping her wrap over the back of her chair.
“Well? Would you dance with me?”
He had a momentary flash of that night in County Carlow and the little girl he’d waltzed around in the dark. Without a word, he held out his arms and Peg, definitely no longer a little girl, moved into their frame, her head tilted to one side and a dreamy look darkening her eyes. For just this moment, he decided to allow himself to enjoy her, to take in the smooth curve of her neck, the soft sheen of her skin, to inhale that combination of lemon and warm earth that would forever be her unique scent. If they’d met in another lifetime, under different circumstances, he would not hesitate to take this beautiful girl to bed and show her the kind of pleasure she deserved.
“Kendall?” Her voice was slightly breathless, cutting gently into his fantasy.
“Yes?” He smiled, wondering what she had been thinking.
“You were looking at me just then. . .but I don’t think you were seeing me. Who were you thinking about?”
“No one in particular,” he lied.
“Can I ask you something?” Her gaze dropped, focusing on her hand where it rested on his shoulder.
“Of course.”
“Are you in love with anyone? I mean, do you have a girlfriend in London?”
He automatically responded as he’d trained himself to do. “Good heavens, no! I haven’t the time or energy for a girlfriend. Why would you ask such a thing?”
“I just thought, when you were looking at me, that you must be thinking about someone you loved.”
“Ah. No, I was just listening to Strauss. Romance personified.” He twirled her once more around the narrow space. “Now I’m ready for that whiskey, I think. Shall we?” Another minute with Peg in his arms and he doubted his self-control would hold. Giving in to his urges here and now would only lead to apologies and regrets, something Peg certainly did not deserve.
Chapter Ten
He slept the sleep of the dead, waking only when the sun cut a warm swath over his pillow. His watch read nine o’clock and for an instant, he panicked at the thought that he had missed some important appointment, although he couldn’t recall where he was or what he was supposed to be doing here. In answer to his desperate groping through the fog of memory, Peg’s face drifted into focus, smiling up at him outside his door only a few hours ago. “Good night. It was a wonderful night, once it got started. Thank you.” Rising on tiptoe, she’d laid a gentle hand on his chest and kissed his cheek, sending him to his bed wishing he’d had the audacity to take her in his arms for the kind of kiss she inspired.
“Dear God in heaven! Give me strength!” he moaned into his pillow. Thirteen more days under the same roof with Peg Shannon, and he would leave New York a blithering idiot. “Come on, Gregg, old man, get a grip. You’ve got a long road ahead of you.” Rolling on his back, he stared up at the ceiling. What had she said about her plans this morning? Something about a dress. Maybe that meant he would have some time to himself, time to practice, even take a walk, work off some of the pressure before she brought on more of the same. If only he hadn’t agreed to dance with her that last time, hadn’t held her so close and let her lay her head on his shoulder, hadn’t allowed himself to rest his cheek on her hair. . .
He leapt from the bed, throwing off his pajamas as he made for the shower. “Discipline, Gregg! Now!”
Showered, shaved, and dressed in his most comfortable clothes, he ventured downstairs. What one did to get breakfast here, he had no idea, but there was definitely an appetizing aroma wafting up the stairwell. It was well past ten yet there was no indication anyone was around. In fact, the house seemed to echo with emptiness.
Following his nose led him toward the kitchen, where he detected sounds of life. Pausing in the doorway, he was greeted by a startled cry. At the range, a short, plump woman of indeterminate age stood with spoon raised defensively, before her face relaxed into a grin. “Oh, good morning sir! I didn’t think anyone was about, except for Miss Peg, of course.” Back to her stirring of what appeared to be eggs in a skillet, she said amiably, “Have a seat, if you like, sir. I’m fixing enough here for two, if scrambled is the way you take your eggs.”
Beyond the bay window, he spotted Peg in conversation with a man he assumed to be the gardener, judging by his canvas overalls and battered straw hat. She was wearing a pale blue sundress, her braids again pinned at the back of her head. Lit by the morning sun, everything about her seemed to glow, her hair a warm burnished brown, her skin near the color of the golden stone wall behind her; even her dress took on the hue of a summer sky. Reluctantly tearing his eyes from her, Kendall headed for the coffee pot on the counter, pouring a cup and drinking deeply, scalding his throat. That discipline he’d ordered up was rapidly evaporating, any thought of practice vanishing along with it.
Her conversation ended, Peg caught his eye through the window. Mouthing a hello, he watched her walk the pathway to the kitchen door, noting that her smile set something in his chest bouncing along with her quick, graceful strides. He took another draft of the bitter coffee, the jolt of caffeine hitting him full force at just the instant Peg walked in, bringing with her the scent of warm lemons. Kendall clenched his jaw, a breath away from greeting her with “God, but you smell good!”
“Good morning! Are you the only one up?” was the poor substitute.
“Oh, no! Dad and Uncle Patrick have already gone to meet Uncle Sean and Aunt Maureen at the train station. I haven’t heard a peep out of your mother, though.” She went to the counter and poured a glass of orange juice, taking a sip before going on, “I wouldn’t be up this early, but there were things to do. Did you get some rest?”
“Yes. Thank you.” He turned his gaze toward the gardener, now digging ferociously in the courtyard, anything to keep his eyes from lingering on the shimmer of moisture on her upper lip. “A grip, Gregg, get a grip!”
“What?” Too late, he realized he’d uttered the words under his breath.
“Nothing. Just admiring the garden. How did you sleep?”
She shot him a curious little glance as she took the chair opposite. “Fine. What would you like to do today?”
“I’d thought I might get in a little practice. Why? Did you have something in mind?”
“I have an appointment this morning with a seamstress. I was kind of hoping you’d come along with me for moral support, and then we can do something fun, see the sights or whatever you’d like to do.”
He hesitated while the voice of caution pointed out the risk in accepting such an offer. “All right, you talked me into it, as long as there’s a little fun in there too. But why would you need moral support for a meeting with a seamstress?”
With a sigh, she took a seat across from him. “I have to have a dress made for the symphony opening. Dad gave them a huge donation, or the foundation did, and we’re being recognized. You know, we have to stand up while they put a spotlight on our seats, that kind of thing. And there’s a reception afterward. Dad gave me this incredible necklace for my birthday, and he wants me to have a dress made to go with it. I’ve never met this woman, and I’m not crazy about being measured and poked and pinned, even by someone I know. Anyway, I could use a second opinion. I have no idea what kind of dress I should have. I suppose nothing too fussy, so the necklace gets all the attention.”
He chuckled. “I’m no expert on women’s fashion, Peg. Maybe you should ask my mother or some other female to go with you.”
“No. I really want you to go. At least you sort of know me, which is more than I would say for your mother or even Aunt Maureen. Would you mind too much? I’ll be as quick as I can.”
He was touched at her confidence in his knowledge of her, as though they’d shared more than a few days in Ireland and a few hours in the past twenty-four. “Since I’m such an authority on you, I suppose I’ll have to, won�
��t I? But shouldn’t I change first.”
She tilted her head, accessing the open collar and short sleeves of his shirt. “No, you look yummy, not so buttoned up. Why do men always think they need to wear a coat and tie whenever they leave the house?”
Stunned by the word “yummy,” he scowled. “Do we? And precisely what do you mean by comparing me to a pudding?”
Her face stretched into a delighted grin. “That’s not what I meant, but ‘good enough to eat’ fits. I still want to show you off. Maybe we’ll go someplace for lunch where there’ll be lots of people I know. Or maybe we’ll just walk in the park and everyone will wonder who that gorgeous man is walking with me.” She paused, the grin abruptly replaced with a frown. “You don’t mind do you, when I talk like that? I don’t mean it in any but the best way. You must know how good-looking you are. It can’t come as a surprise that other people think so.”
“My word, Miss Shannon, you do make me blush. But perhaps it could be our little secret that you find me all those things? It hardly seems proper to introduce me to your friends as ‘my cousin the pudding,’ now does it?”
The grin returned, along with a low, warm chuckle. “I love it when you’re so very, very British, you know? I always have the feeling you turn that on to cover what you really want to say. Like you’re just pretending to be stuffy but you’ve really got your tongue in your cheek.”
“You, Peg Shannon, are too perceptive. If I’m not careful, you’ll be reading my mind before these two weeks are up. Now when is this appointment of yours? Do we at least have time to do justice to this lovely breakfast Mrs.. . .” he glanced at the woman by the range, now plating their eggs and bacon with toast points and garnishes of strawberries and orange slices.
“Oh, I’m sorry! Mrs. Leary, this is my cousin Kendall from London. Mrs. Leary’s been our housekeeper ever since I was born. She knows exactly what I like.” Peg bestowed a glowing smile on the woman as she set the elegant plates before them. “Thank you, this looks wonderful. And don’t you agree that he’s yummy, Mrs. Leary?”
The woman smiled indulgently. “If you say so, dearie. I’d have to agree he’s not so hard on the eyes.” Turning to him, she chuckled. “You’ll have to forgive her, sir. We’ve always encouraged her to say whatever was on her mind. And you must know by now she has a very lively mind at that.”
“Oh, yes, Mrs. Leary. I had the good fortune to play nursemaid to this girl once upon a time. I learned very quickly that I was no match for that ‘lively mind’ of hers. But that’s one of the things we love about her, isn’t it?”
The three of them laughed, but he thought he detected a startled glint in Peg’s eyes before she turned them to her breakfast.
“Really, Peg, I think I’d be more comfortable with at least a jacket.” Breakfast over, Peg pointed out the need to leave within the half-hour.
“Oh, all right, but no tie!” She went to a door leading off the kitchen, rapping lightly as she turned back to shoot a little scowl over her shoulder.
When her knock was acknowledged, she motioned to him to join her. “There’s someone else I want you to meet.”
In what appeared to be an office, the tall, spare man who’d greeted his arrival the previous day looked up from the ledgers spread on a large desk. “Adamson, I need my birthday necklace from the safe, please. And I want you to meet my cousin, Kendall Gregg.” The man rose, nodding without moving a facial muscle to alter his mildly disapproving expression.
“Actually, we met yesterday, Peg. Mr. Adamson was kind enough to lead me to my room before I fell asleep standing in the entryway.” He returned the nod with the sinking feeling that Adamson would be far more difficult to charm than Mrs. Leary had been.
“Good morning, Miss. Mr. Gregg.” When he shifted his gaze to Peg, his face instantly softened. “You’ll also be needing Simon to drive you, Miss. It won’t do to take a cab carrying that necklace in your handbag, you know.”
“I hadn’t even thought of that. Thank you, Adamson.” She turned to say over her shoulder in a stage whisper, “Adamson’s been with us since before I was born. I’d never want him to hear me say this, but without him, this house and everyone in it would be in shambles in no time flat.” She laughed softly as the butler passed her the slim velvet box he’d removed from beneath his desk, responding to her comment with an out-and-out smile. “Thank you. I promise I’ll try not to lose it. Can I just send it back with Simon when I’m done with the seamstress? That way Kendall and I can ramble on our own without the car tailing us all over town.”
Once again he felt the man’s distrustful stare. “I suppose that would be acceptable. But please pay attention to which direction you ramble, Miss Peg. Your father would much prefer you keep the car close by, you know.”
“I promise I’ll be careful, and I’ll have Kendall to protect me.” She snapped open the box to reveal a necklace of sapphires and diamonds which Kendall felt sure was worth several decades’ rent on his flat.
“Good lord! Are you sure we don’t need an armed guard for that thing?”
“No, silly. Who’s going to know it’s in my purse, anyway?”
Adamson was still eyeing him warily, as though he would be considered a likely suspect in the event the necklace went missing. “When will you be ready for Simon, Miss?”
“Oh, fifteen minutes. Come on, Kendall. If you insist on wearing a jacket, I suppose I should grab a sweater, too. I’ll meet you back downstairs in a few.” She scurried away, leaving him alone beneath the butler’s steely gaze.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Adamson. And I promise, I’ll watch out for her.”
“Thank you, sir.” His expression softened as he stared at the spot Peg had just vacated. Kendall had the impression he was talking to himself when he went on, “She bears watching, I’m afraid. She’s become far too independent in the past few months. I shudder to think what sort of chase she’ll lead us when she starts college.”
Pondering the butler’s remarks, he went upstairs long enough to brush his teeth and grab a jacket from the closet where someone, Adamson he presumed, had hung it when he’d discreetly unpacked his bags at some point yesterday. He’d never known the luxury of servants beyond a girl who’d come in to help his mother several mornings a week when the budget allowed. Peg, on the other hand, had grown up beneath the watchful eyes of those in her father’s employ. It was obvious they were both fond and protective of her. That was a comfort, anyway. When he was gone, back to his real life, at least he could picture Mrs. Leary and Adamson fussing over her, much the way he would likely fantasize about doing himself.
Back downstairs, he looked around for Peg. When he poked his head into Michael’s study, he was drawn in by the towering bookcases and the striking portrait above the mantel. A young woman, blonde with blue eyes much like Peg’s, stared down on him, a flirtatious little smile on her full lips. Dressed in a short, clinging gown of blue satin and draped in a silver fur, she might have stepped off the page of a fashion magazine, albeit one of at least two decades earlier. He moved closer to admire the graceful lines of her ultra-slim body, noting that her legs reminded him of the pair he’d seen yesterday beneath that swinging tennis skirt.
“You’ve met my mother, I see.” He started at the sound of Peg’s voice.
“She’s very beautiful.”
“Was. That was painted from a photograph taken just before she and my father were married. Mary Margaret ‘Molly’ O’Shea Shannon. She was only twenty-six when she died.”
He was struck by the absence of emotion in her voice, as though she had no relationship with the woman in the painting. But when he turned to her, he caught the fleeting grimace twisting her face.
“You have her eyes.”
“So I’ve been told. Are you ready? We shouldn’t keep Simon waiting too long. He has a tendency to take his impatience out on the other drivers.” With a toss of her head, she started for the front door. “Oh, and in case you didn’t notice, I also have my mother’s legs. T
hey’re my best feature, I think.”
He followed her to the car with the daunting reminder that his thoughts were far from his own with Peg in the vicinity.
Chapter Eleven
Simon dropped them in front of the little dressmaker’s shop, assuring Peg that he would be waiting where he could keep an eye on the front door.
“Is he also your bodyguard?” Kendall only half-joked as he held the door for her.
“Not technically, but Simon’s been driving me since before I started to school. We’ve been through a lot together, I guess. He worries I’ll be kidnapped, or at least have my purse stolen, so very often, when I’ve sent him home, he’ll still be trailing me a block or so behind. He thinks I don’t know and I wouldn’t want him to think he’s a failure at undercover surveillance.” Eyes twinkling, smile flashing, she passed him with a sideways glance that left him momentarily breathless. In the car, he’d had difficulty maintaining a conversation due to the fact that she’d left very little space for him on the seat and they’d sat hip to hip for at least twenty blocks. It would have been so natural to slip an arm around her shoulders, but the impulse had been stayed by the burly chauffer’s cautionary glances in the rearview mirror.
“Nice to know he’s so devoted to you,” he muttered as she breezed into the shop. And wise to remember he’d most likely murder any man who laid so much as a finger on her.
The dressmaker burst from her workroom at the rear of the shop, approaching Peg with an eagerly effusive welcome. He wondered if she was accustomed to being fawned over wherever she took her trade. She certainly took it in stride, allowing the woman to gush for a few minutes before turning the discussion skillfully to the matter at hand.
“. . .nothing frilly, only solid colors and nothing too bright. Most importantly, it has to set off this piece of jewelry my father gave me for my birthday.” She opened her purse and drew out the velvet box.