by Nora Roberts
"I pulled myself away from there, from them, because I couldn't live that way." And curled her fingers into his. "I make up my own mind, and heart."
"Then let's not worry about it." He drew her into his arms. "I love you. I don't care what anyone else thinks."
HE WANTED it to be just that simple.
He'd learned that love was the single most powerful force. It could overcome and overset greed, pettiness, hate, envy. It changed lives.
God knew it had changed his.
He believed in the untapped power of love, whether it showed itself in passion or selflessness, in fury or in tenderness.
But love was rarely simple. It was its facets, its complexities that made it such a strong force.
So, loving Dru, he faced the fact that he would have to tell her everything. He wasn't born at the age of ten. She had a right to know where he'd come from, and how. He had to find the way to tell her of his childhood. Of Gloria.
Eventually.
He told himself he deserved the time to just be with her, to enjoy the freshness of their feelings for each other. He made excuses.
He wanted her to get to know and become more comfortable with his family. He needed to finish the painting. He wanted to put his time and effort into building her boat, so that when it was done it would somehow belong to both of them.
There was no time limit, after all. No need to rush everything. Days passed into weeks and Gloria made no contact. It was easy to convince himself she'd gone again. Maybe this time she'd stay gone.
He bargained with himself. He wouldn't think about any of it until after the July Fourth celebrations. Every year, the Quinns held a huge come-one, come-all picnic. Family, friends, neighbors gathered at the house, as they had since Ray and Stella's day, to eat, drink, gossip, swim in the cool water of the inlet and watch the fireworks.
But before the beer and crab, they were due for champagne and caviar. With obvious reluctance, and after considerable nagging by both her parents, Dru had agreed to attend one of the Washington galas with Seth as her escort.
"Shit, look at you." Cam stood in the bedroom doorway and whistled at Seth in his tux. "All slicked up in your monkey suit."
"You only wish you could look this good." Seth shot his cuffs. "I get the feeling I'm going to be the artist on display at this little soiree. I nearly bought a cape and beret instead of a tux. But I restrained myself."
He began to fuss with the tie. "This rig was Phil's pick. Classic, according to him, but not dated."
"He oughta know. Stop messing with that. Jesus." Cam straightened from the doorjamb and crossed over to fuss with Seth's tie himself. "You've got more nerves than a virgin on prom night."
"Yeah, maybe. I'll be swimming in a lot of blue blood this evening. I don't want to drown in it."
Cam's eyes shifted up, met his. "Money don't mean jack. You're as good as any of them and better than most. Quinns don't take second place to anyone."
"I want to marry her, Cam."
There was a little clutch in his belly. The trip from boy to man, he thought, never took as long as you thought it should. "Yeah, I got that."
"When you marry someone you take on their family, their baggage, the whole shot."
"That's right."
"I deal with hers, she has to deal with mine. I get through tonight in one piece, she makes it though the insanity around here on the Fourth, then… I have to tell her about before. About Gloria, a lot more than I have. I have to tell her about… all of it."
"If you're thinking she'll run, then she's not the one for you. And knowing women, and I do, she's not the running type."
"I'm not thinking she'll run. I don't know what she'll do. What I'll do. But I have to lay it out for her and give her the chance to decide where she wants to go from there. I've put it off too long already."
"It's history. But it's your history so you have to tell her. Then put it away again." Cam stepped back. "Real slick." He gave Seth's biceps a squeeze, knowing it would ease the trouble on his face. "Oooh, you've been lifting."
"Cram it."
Seth was laughing when he left the house, grinning when he opened his car door. And the panic slammed into his throat like a fist when he saw the note on the front seat.
Tomorrow night, ten o'clock.
Miller's Bar, St. Michael's.
We'll talk.
She'd come here, he thought as he balled the paper in his hand. To his home. Within feet of his family. Yeah, they'd talk. Damn right they'd talk.
* * *
Chapter Sixteen
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HE REMEMBERED to tell her she looked beautiful. She did, in the stoplight-red dress that skimmed down her body and left her back bare but for a crisscross of skinny, glittering straps.
He remembered to smile, to make conversation on the drive to Washington. He ordered himself to relax. He would deal with Gloria as he always dealt with her.
He told himself she could take nothing from him but money.
And he knew it was a lie.
Wasn't that what Stella had intimated in the dream? he thought now. It wasn't just money Gloria wanted. She wanted to gouge at his heart until every bit of happiness bled out of it.
She hated him for being whole. On some level, he'd always known that.
"I appreciate your going to all this trouble tonight."
He glanced over, brushed a hand over hers. "Come on. It's not every day I get to mix with the movers and shakers at some spiffy party. Very swank," he added.
"I'd rather be at home, sitting on the porch swing."
"You don't have a porch swing."
"I keep meaning to buy one. I'd like to be sitting on my imaginary porch swing, having a nice glass of wine while the sun sets." And so, she thought, would he.
Whatever he said, something was wrong. She knew his face so well now—well enough that she could close her eyes and paint it, feature by feature, in her mind. There was definitely trouble lurking behind his eyes.
"Two hours," she said. "We'll stay two hours, then we're gone."
"This is your deal, Dru. We'll stay as long as you like."
"I wouldn't be going at all if I could've avoided it. My parents double-teamed me on this one. I wonder if we ever really get beyond the point where a parent can emotionally blackmail us into doing something we don't want to do."
Her words made him think of Gloria, and dread curled in his stomach. "It's just a party, sugar."
"Oh, if only. A party's where you go to have fun, to relax and enjoy the company of people you have something in common with. I don't have anything in common with these people anymore. Maybe I never did. My mother wants to show you off, and I'm going to let her because she wore me down."
"Well, you've got to admit, I look terrific tonight."
"Can't argue with that. And you're trying to cheer me up. So thanks. I'll promise to do the same on the way home when you're glazed and incoherent from being interrogated."
"Does it matter to you, what they think of me?"
"Of course." Amused with herself, she took out her lipstick and missed the way his jaw tightened. "I want all those people who gave me that sticky sympathy over my breakup with Jonah, all the ones who brought it up to my face hoping I'd say or do something they could dine out on the following evening, to take one look at you. I want them to think, Well, well, Dru certainly landed on her feet, didn't she? She bagged herself il maestro giovane"
Tension settled on the back of his neck, too weighty to be shrugged off. "So, I'm a status symbol now," he said, and tried to keep it light.
She freshened her lipstick, capped the tube. "Better than a Harry Winston diamond necklace. It's mean, it's petty, it's pitifully female. But I don't care. It's a revelation to realize I've just that much of my mother in me that I want to show you off, too."
"There's no escaping where we come from. No matter how far we run."
"Now that's depressing. If I believed that, I'd jump off a cliff. Believ
e me, I am not going to end up chairing committees and giving ladies' teas on Wednesday afternoons."
Something in the quality of his silence had her reaching over to touch his arm. "Two hours, Seth. Maximum."
"It'll be fine," he told her.
SETH GOT his first real taste of Dru's previous life minutes after they entered the ballroom.
Groups of people mixed and mingled to the muted background music of a twelve-piece orchestra. The decor was a patriotic red, white and blue echoed in flowers, table linens, balloons and bunting.
A huge ice sculpture of the American flag had been carved as if it were waving in a breeze.
There was a great deal of white on the female guests as well, which took its form in diamonds and pearls. Dress was conservative, traditional and very, very rich.
Part political rally, he supposed. Part social event, part gossip mill. He'd do it in acrylics, he thought. All sharp colors and shapes with bright crystal light.
"Drusilla." Katherine swept up, resplendent in military blue. "Don't you look lovely? But I thought we said you'd wear the white Valentino." She kissed Dru's cheek and, with an indulgent tsk-tsk, brushed her fingers over Dru's hair.
"And Seth." She held out a hand to him. "How wonderful to see you again. I was afraid you must be stuck in traffic. I was so hoping you and Dru would come stay with us for the weekend so you wouldn't have that terrible drive."
It was the first he'd heard of it, but he rose to the occasion. "I appreciate the invitation, but I couldn't get away. I hope you'll forgive me and save me a dance. That way I'll be able to say I danced with the two most beautiful women in the room."
"Aren't you charming?" She pinked up prettily. "And you can be certain I'll do just that. Come now, I must introduce you. So many people are looking forward to meeting you."
Before she could turn, Drusilla's father strode up. He was a striking man with silver-streaked black hair and hooded eyes of dense brown. "There's my princess." He caught Dru in a fierce and possessive embrace. "You're so late, you had me worried."
"We're not late."
"For heaven's sake, let the girl breathe," Katherine demanded, and tugged at Proctor's arm.
In an instant, Seth had the image of Witless trying to wedge his way in between Anna and anyone who tried to hug her when he was nearby.
"Proctor, this is Drusilla's escort, Seth Quinn."
"Good to meet you. Finally." Proctor took Seth's hand in a firm grip. Those dark eyes focused on Seth's face. Studied.
"It's good to meet you." Just when Seth began to wonder if he was about to be challenged to Indian-wrestle, Proctor released his hand.
"It's a pity you couldn't make time to come down for the weekend."
"Yes, I'm sorry about that."
"Dad, it's not Seth's fault. I told you—both of you—that I couldn't manage it. If I—"
"Dru's shop is terrific, isn't it?" Seth interrupted, his tone cheerful as he took champagne from a tray offered by a waiter, passed flutes to Katherine, to Dru, to Proctor before taking one for himself. "I'm sure the business aspects are complicated and challenging, but I'm speaking aesthetically. The use of space and light, the evolving blend of color and texture. One artist's eye admiring another," he said easily. "You must be incredibly proud of her."
"Of course we are." Proctor's smile was sharp, lethally so. She's my girl, it said as clearly as Katherine's tugging had done. "Drusilla is our most cherished treasure."
"How could she be anything but?" Seth replied.
"There's Granddad, Seth." Dru reached down, gripped Seth's hand. "I really should introduce you."
"Sure." He shot a beaming smile at her parents. "Excuse us a minute."
"You're very good at this," Dru told him.
"The tact and diplomacy department. Probably get that from Phil. You might've mentioned the weekend invite."
"Yes, I'm sorry. I should have. I thought I was saving us both, and instead I put you in the hot seat."
They were stopped a half dozen times on the way to the table where Senator Whitcomb was holding court. Each time, Dru exchanged a light kiss or handshake, made introductions, then eased away.
"You're good at it, too," Seth commented.
"Bred in the bone. Hello, Granddad." She bent down to kiss the handsome, solidly built man.
He had a rough and cagey look about him, Seth thought. Like a boxer who dominated in the ring as much with wit as with muscle. His hair was a dense pewter, and his eyes the same brilliant green as his granddaughter's.
He got to his feet to catch her face in two big hands. His smile was magnetic. "Here's my best girl."
"You say that to all your granddaughters."
"And I mean it, every time. Where's that painter your mother's been burning my ears about? This one here." Keeping one hand on Dru's shoulder, he sized Seth up. "Well, you don't look like an idiot, boy."
"I try not to be."
"Granddad."
"Quiet. You got sense enough to be making time with this pretty thing?"
Seth grinned. "Yes, sir."
"Senator Whitcomb, Seth Quinn. Don't embarrass me, Granddad."
"It's an old man's privilege to embarrass his granddaughters. I like your work well enough," he said to Seth.
"Thank you, Senator. I like yours well enough, too."
Whitcomb's lips pursed for a moment, then curved up. "Seems to have a backbone. We'll see about this. My sources tell me you're making a decent living off your painting."
"Quiet," Seth told Dru when she opened her mouth. "I'm lucky to be able to make a living doing something I love. As your record indicates you're a strong patron of the arts, you obviously understand and appreciate art for art's sake. Financial rewards are secondary."
"Build boats, too, don't you?"
"Yes, sir. When I can. My brothers are the finest designers and builders of wooden sailing vessels in the East. If you visit Saint Chris again, you should come by and see for yourself."
"I might just do that. Your grandfather was a teacher. Is that right?"
"Yes," Seth said evenly. "He was."
"The most honorable of professions. I met him once at a political rally at the college. He was an interesting and exceptional man. Adopted three sons, didn't he?"
"Yes, sir."
"But you come from his daughter."
"In a manner of speaking. I wasn't fortunate enough to have my grandfather for the whole of my life, as Dru's been fortunate enough to have you. But his impact on me, his import to me, is every bit as deep. I hope he'd be half as proud of me as I am of him."
Dru laid a hand on Seth's arm, felt the tension. "If you've finished prying for the moment, I'd like to dance. Seth?"
"Sure. Excuse me, Senator."
"I'm sorry." Dru turned into Seth's arms on the dance floor. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't be."
"I am. It's his nature to demand answers, however personal."
"He didn't seem to want to roast me over an open fire, like your father."
"No. He's not as possessive, and he's more open to letting me make my own decisions, trust my own instincts."
"I liked him." That, Seth thought, was part of the problem. He'd seen a shrewd and intelligent man who loved his grandchild, and expected the best for her. Who obviously concluded that she'd expect the best for herself.
And the best was unlikely to be a stray with a father he'd never met and a mother with a fondness for blackmail.
"He's usually more subtle than that," she said. "And more reasonable. The situation with Jonah infuriated him. Now, I suppose, he'll be overprotective where I'm concerned for a while. Why don't we just go?"
"Running away doesn't work. Believe me, I've tried it."
"You're right, and that's very annoying."
She eased back when the music stopped, and saw Jonah over his shoulder. "If it's not one thing," she said quietly, "it's two more. How's your tact and diplomacy holding up?"
"So far, so good."
"
Lend me some," she said, then let her lips curve into a cool and aloof smile.
"Hello, Jonah. And Angela, isn't it?"
"Dru." Jonah started to lean in, as if to kiss her cheek. He stopped short at the warning that flickered in her eyes, but his transition to a polite handshake was silky smooth. "You look wonderful, as always. Jonah Stuben," he said to Seth and offered a hand.
"Quinn, Seth Quinn."
"Yes, the artist. I've heard of you. My fiancée, Angela Downey."
"Congratulations." Well aware dozens of eyes were on her, Dru kept her expression bland. "And best wishes," she said to Angela.
"Thank you." Angela kept her hand tucked tight through Jonah's arm. "I saw two of your paintings at a showing of contemporary artists at the Smithsonian last year. One seemed a very personal study in oil, with an old white house, shady trees, people gathered around a big picnic table, and dogs in the yard. It was lovely, and so serene."
"Thanks." Home, Seth thought. One he'd done from memory and his rep had shipped back for the gallery.
"And how's your little business, Dru?" Jonah asked her. "And life in the slow lane?"
"Both are very rewarding. I'm enjoying living and working among people who don't slide into pretense every morning along with their wing tips."
"Really?" Jonah's smile went edgy. "I got the impression from your parents that you were moving back shortly."
"You're mistaken. And so are they. Seth, I'd love a little fresh air."
"Fine. Oh, Jonah, I want to thank you for being such a complete asshole." Seth smiled cheerfully at Angela. "I hope you're very happy together."
"That was neither tactful nor diplomatic," Dru admonished.
"I guess I get the calling an asshole an asshole from Cam. The restraint for not busting his balls for calling your shop 'your little business' is probably Ethan's influence. Want to go out on the terrace?"
"Yes. But… give me a minute, will you? I'd like to go out alone, settle down. Then we can make the rest of the rounds and get the hell out of here."
"Sounds good to me."