Promoted to Wife (Destiny Bay)

by Conrad, Helen

  He shook his head. “She was telling Daddy.” He shrugged and started off. “My koala needs a mommy too,” he added wisely as he disappeared from the room.

  Terry watched him go, frowning. Little boys shouldn't have to search for mothers.

  But she didn't want to think about that. She'd been gliding on happiness lately. Thinking about reality would bring her down off that cloud.

  In the time since Terry and Rick had spent their day at the marina, she'd tried to keep her mind on only two things—the charity ball—and Rick. They didn't have many opportunities to be alone, but they grabbed every chance they got. And whenever that happened their time together made up for all the loneliness in between.

  One of the first things she did when they got back was get rid of Angelina. That doll had been a thorn in her side from the first, and now that she knew how she felt about Rick, she was ready to take action.

  She'd knocked determinedly on his bedroom door.

  “Come in,” Rick had called.

  Opening the door, she found him leaning back on his bed with a book in hand.

  “Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” he'd said, putting down the book. “How long can you stay?”

  “Only long enough to take care of business,” she'd replied, marching right up to the chair that held Angelina. With one deft flick of her thumb, she released the valve at the back of Angelina's head. With a whoosh, the doll flew into the air and began to sail around the room like a spent balloon, hair flying, dress falling to the ground. In no time she was nothing but a wrinkled piece of hair and plastic.

  “There,” Terry said with satisfaction. She turned sparkling eyes toward Rick. “And let that be a warning to any other woman who tries to get in my way.”

  His eyes were shimmering with laughter, but he pretended outrage. “Angelina!” he cried, bending down to pick up what was left of her. “What have you done to my Angelina?”

  “No more than what she deserves. Flagrant hussy!”

  His eyes were filled with tragedy. “First you try to drown Caren. Now this.” He shook his head. “What am I going to do with you, lady? You're lethal.”

  “Keep that in mind,” she snapped out smartly, walking up and pulling his head down for a quick kiss. “Don't mess with me, honey,” she warned mockingly as she drew away. “Take a message from Angelina.”

  “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, falling back down on the bed, arms open wide. “I'm your man. Do what you will with me.” His grin was devilish. “Come on. Torture me with kisses. Insult me with your body. See how much I can take.”

  It would have been tempting to take him up on his challenge, but there were others in the house and she didn't dare. Throwing him a mock glare over her shoulder, she went to the door. “Just watch your step,” she warned him. “Or I'll be back.”

  His laughter followed her down the hall, warming her. She only wished she had the right to warn off her rivals in earnest. For the time being she was going to have to be happy with defeating inflatable dolls.

  It was only a day later that Julia dropped her bombshell. She and Terry were sorting linens and chatting.

  “Oh, by the way,” Julia said suddenly. “We'll have to get a spare bedroom ready. Caren is arriving tomorrow.”

  “Caren?” Terry froze. Things had happened so quickly between her and Rick since the last time Caren was here, she'd forgotten all about her. “How long is she planning to stay?”

  “Just the one night, I believe. Although you never know.” Julia smiled. “Rick may be able to convince her to stay longer.”

  Oh boy, Terry thought with a touch of sarcasm. What a delightful prospect. It really was beyond her how Julia could urge a woman like Caren on Rick. Couldn't she see what a disaster Caren would be as a mother to the children? Or perhaps, she thought a bit bitterly, that didn't matter. The important thing was that Caren was of the right class and upbringing to be a Carrington. Gritting her teeth, she shook away that unworthy thought and got back to work.

  Rick came in a few moments later and she watched him closely as Julia told him about Caren's visit.

  “Caren?” he said casually. “Oh. Great.” Then he caught Terry's glance and grinned. “Let's see if we can keep her dry this time, shall we?”

  Terry's answering smile was wan. Suddenly she felt threatened.

  That night she accidentally overheard Julia lecturing Rick in the sitting room. She was on her way in with coffee and she'd stopped outside the room to rearrange the tray.

  “You're a grown man and it's time you did something about taking care of those children,” Julia was saying.

  “Fine,” he said impatiently. “Why don't we put an ad in the Sunday Times? 'Woman wanted. Object, matrimony. Must be able to put up with decadent bachelor, two obstinate children, and one irascible, meddling aunt.'“

  “Don't be silly. You don't have to advertise. The solution to your problem is sitting right under your nose and you know it.”

  “Right under my nose, is she?” Rick began, but he broke off when Terry entered with the tray.

  The two of them stared at her, halting their conversation, and she flushed, feeling like an interloper. Rick's eyes looked hard, almost angry, and Terry didn't understand why.

  “Maybe you're right, Aunt Julia,” he said slowly, his gaze on Terry. “Maybe it's just a matter of choosing the time and place.” He straightened. “When did you say Caren was coming?”

  Terry fled, her cheeks hot, her temper rising. He didn't need to taunt her with Caren. She was jealous enough as it was.

  Just a few nights before Rick had told her he was beginning to take Julia's advice more seriously. They'd been alone together on the veranda. The children and Julia had already gone to bed, and Rick had gone out to sit under the stars. When the coast was clear, Terry had joined him.

  “Aunt Julia's right, you know,” he'd said at one point. “It's not fair to the children to leave them motherless. I'm going to have to do something about that soon.” His fingers were teasing her hair. “Too bad you're not in the market for marriage,” he'd added softly.

  Her face was turned away from him and she closed her eyes and steadied her voice before she spoke. “We career butlers like it footloose and fancy-free,” she lied.

  “Right,” he answered wryly. “I guess I'll just have to keep looking for a wife.”

  “Like you've done all your life?” She turned and flashed him a quick smile meant to reassure him that she was only joking. “You've auditioned so many women for the part, you ought to be an expert by now. Not to mention having a cast of thousands on call.”

  He chuckled. “Bit of an exaggeration there,” he admitted. He leaned closer, put an arm around her shoulders, and began to sing “The Girl That I Marry” very softly, near her ear.

  She'd closed her eyes and dreamed that he was singing about her, wishing, longing ... and now she knew he'd had Caren in mind all along.

  She slammed down her tray in the kitchen, heedless of Anatole's stare, and marched out again, mumbling curses under her breath. Good old Terry Yardley was fine for a roll in the hay, but when it came to the real stuff, only a woman of Caren's caliber would do—even if she hated children! The unfairness of it all made Terry furious.

  Caren arrived at noon the next day, but without her usual bravado. In fact, she looked downright nervous.

  “Is Rick around?” she asked before Terry had a chance to greet her.

  “No, I'm afraid he took the children out to the ranch. ...”

  “Good.” She sighed with relief. “I want some time to relax and get freshened up before I see him.” She looked at Terry, suddenly seeming to remember who she was. “I'm sure you've been taking good care of our Rick while I've been gone,” she said coolly. “But don't worry, dear. I can take over now. In every department.”

  Terry raised an eyebrow as she took the woman's wrap, but said nothing.

  “I've decided to go all out over this,” Caren continued firmly. “I'm even going to play with the
children. What do they play, do you know? It won't be in the dirt, will it?”

  Terry ignored the question. “Does Rick know about your change of heart?” she asked. “It may not fit in with his plans.”

  Caren's gaze hardened. “I usually do find a way to get what I want. And I want him.”

  It was on the tip of Terry's tongue to tell her, “So do I!” but she held it back.

  Rick came back later in the afternoon and Julia took the children into town to have a dinner with their Aunt Shelley, Rick’s youngest sister, leaving Rick and Caren to dine alone. Terry was forced to serve for them at the small, intimate alcove table rather than the larger, formal table in the dining room.

  Serving for them was pure torture. She tried to glide around the table in classic, invisible servant style, but in order to do that a server needed to keep her mind on the task at hand. Terry's mind kept wandering.

  In the first place, they were sitting much too close. Instead of using the two settings she'd placed for them, across the table from each other, they pulled their place mats and chairs around so that they could eat and talk side by side, elbows touching. And most of their conversation was made in such soft voices, they had to bend close to hear, and Terry missed most of it herself.

  She almost spilled soup on Caren's silk sarong, but Rick caught the bowl in time, scooping it out of the air in spectacular fashion, to Caren's enthusiastic applause.

  As he handed back the bowl his look was questioning, but Terry refused to show any embarrassment.

  “Clumsy of you, Yardley,” he drawled.

  Her eyes were cool and level. “It won't happen again, sir.”

  “Won't it?” His grin was skeptical, but he sat back down and seemed to forget all about her. She went on serving, cursing her own clumsiness, cursing butler-dom in general, and most of all, cursing Caren.

  Rick laughed much too hard at Caren's quips and Caren leaned much too close to him every time she had something to say. Holding the serving plate while they each took their share of the shrimp rosemary, Terry decided she understood what drove some murderers to their evil deeds.

  At last the awful dinner was over and she had only to serve the after-dinner drinks and coffee before she could escape. She brought in the liqueur in the tiny crystal glasses, and as she left, Rick rose and followed her to the door.

  “That will be all, Yardley,” he said. “We can manage from here.” Leaning out where only she could hear, he added, “Do you remember how I asked you to help shield me from the women Julia brought around?”

  She nodded, eyes wide and hopeful.

  He grinned. “Well, as of now, you can cancel that order. I think I can handle this one all by myself.”

  She fought hard to keep her disappointment from showing. “Great,” she said through clenched teeth. “I was hoping for an early night.” Whirling, she marched away.

  The next few hours stretched endlessly. She tried going to bed, but she couldn't lie still. Slipping across the hall, she borrowed Erica's iPod and earbuds, but when she got back to her room she found she couldn't isolate herself that way. She had to know what was going on in the house.

  Moments later she was sorry she hadn't wrapped her head in noise. First there was a scraping in the hall, then a distinctive giggle. Rick and Caren were coming upstairs.

  She waited, breath held, for him to leave Caren at the bedroom Terry had prepared. But they walked right past it. They were whispering, but not softly enough.

  “Oh Rick, you sly dog...” came through clearly, and then more giggles.

  Terry was suspended, not breathing, not hoping. She heard Rick's door open, then a shriek of laughter from Caren, an outburst that was quickly stifled, as though he'd covered her mouth with something, and then the door was firmly closed and there wasn't another sound.

  Terry let her breath out in a gasp and reached for the iPod, jamming the earbuds in and turning to the loudest rock-and-roll tune she could find. Mind-blowing oblivion was better than facing what was going on in the room down the hall.

  The next morning she was up before anyone else. There was no point to staying in bed. She couldn't sleep and she decided she might as well be doing something constructive. She was downstairs when a motorcycle arrived. Hurrying to the door to forestall the visitor from ringing the bell and waking everyone in the house, she found herself confronted by a uniformed delivery boy.

  “Message for Mr. Rick Carrington,” the teenager said, holding out a sealed envelope.

  “Thanks,” Terry said, rummaging for money in her pocket. “I'll put it on his breakfast tray.”

  “I need a response immediately,” the boy insisted. “I was told to wait for the reply and take it back with me right away.”

  Terry looked at him, then at the envelope, wondering if it was from Rick's grandfather. There was no evidence of where it had come from. “He's asleep,” she said.

  The boy stood his ground. “The message is most urgent,” he said. “Please wake him.”

  Terry hesitated. She had no idea who the message was from. And she didn't relish the prospect of barging into Rick's bedroom. Chances were that Caren was still there.

  “Please,” the boy said again, and she bit her lip.

  “All right,” she decided at last. “Wait in the kitchen.”

  Taking the envelope, she raced up the stairs, then stood outside Rick's bedroom, steeling herself. She knocked sharply on the door. “Mr. Carrington?” she called.

  There was no answer.

  She knocked again. “Mr. Carrington? There's a message for you.”

  Still no answer. She would have to go in.

  She took a deep breath. If it had to be done, it might as well be done quickly. She turned the handle, flinging open the door and striding inside. Without glancing at the bed, she went straight to the drapes and pulled them open, letting the first rays of sun stream into the room.

  “Mr. Carrington, I have a message that was just delivered for you. It's said to be urgent and requires a reply.”

  “Where is it?” growled a sleepy voice from the depths of the covers.

  She continued to stare out the window. “I'll put it here on your dresser. ...”

  “No.” His voice was stronger now, in command. “Bring it to me. Bring it here.”

  She couldn't go any nearer. What if Caren was with him? “Please, Rick,” she began, but he cut her off.

  “Close the door,” he said coldly, “and bring it here.”

  She did as he'd ordered, too confused to think about what she was doing. “Here it is.” She held the note out, not looking at him.

  “Open it,” he said.

  “Rick...”

  “Open it,” he said again. “And read it to me.”

  Her gaze flashed up and she saw, with a surge of relief,

  that he was alone. Involuntarily she glanced toward the

  bathroom.

  “No, she's not there either,” Rick said quietly. “Read me the message.”

  With shaking hands, she unfolded the paper. “Good morning, Terry,” it read. “This is a ploy to get you into my bedroom at an opportune time. Clever, aren't I? Love, Rick.”

  She looked up at his grin, more confused than ever. “But... where's Caren?”

  “Gone.” He lay back against his pillow, his hands behind his head. “I brought her up last night to see Angelina....” He pointed out the doll, who seemed to have recuperated. “Then we had a long talk. I explained that, though we'd always be friends, we could never marry.” He grinned. “She was heartbroken, of course, but revived very quickly when I told her I'd wrangled an invitation for her to the hunting lodge of an earl we both know in England; He has three marriageable sons. She's leaving first thing this morning.”

  After what she'd gone through for the last twelve hours, it was a bit much to take. “Rick,” Terry said weakly, and then her knees buckled and she sat with a thump on the side of the bed.

  “That's the idea,” he encouraged, reaching for her
. “I wanted you alone, so I set up the message to get you here.” He pulled her to him and kissed her forehead. “Were you jealous?” he teased, beginning to pull at the tails of her shirt to free them from her skirt.

  “No,” she insisted, trying to tuck everything back that he'd pulled out, but quickly falling behind in the battle. “Not for a moment.”

  “No?” He began to work on her buttons, popping them open very cleverly, with only one hand. “That's disappointing. I was working so hard to make you jealous.”

  Despite all her efforts, he already had her blouse half off. Pulling her lower on the bed, he leaned forward and dropped a kiss in the valley between the two sides of her rib cage. “Weren't you, just a little?” he coaxed huskily.

  She was squirming, trying to get away, but his hands seemed to be everywhere. His tongue tickled its way across her stomach and then began a sensuous exploration a bit higher up.

  “Maybe just a bit,” she admitted breathlessly. How could she ignore the rocketing fireworks his touch set off in her?

  “Good.” He sounded infuriatingly smug. Her blouse was gone, her skirt was falling, and his thumb was hooked under the strap of her bra, pushing it slowly down to the curve of her shoulder. “Make love with me, Terry. It's been too long.”

  “Oh, no, Rick,” she protested, but without much conviction. “We can't.”

  “Yes,” he said firmly, his hand curling back the cup of her bra to reveal the full, creamy breast, “we can.”

  “No, no, we can't. ...”

  But they could. And they did.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN:

  The Night They Were Dancing….

  The day of the Waltz Away Ball finally arrived. Terry was nervous, but satisfied. She'd worked hard and all that effort had paid off. She was confident the ball would come off without a hitch.

  “How many extra servants have been hired?” her father asked as she made her last call to check with him.

  “Plenty,” she assured him. “Most of them are arriving before noon, so I'll be prepared to drill them all.”

  “Be sure you take care in their room arrangements,” he commented. “You won't get decent work out of anyone who thinks he's being slighted.”