by Janet Dailey
“That’s good.” She sank into a leather armchair and reclined against its thickly cushioned back with a kind of graceful exhaustion. “I had the most bloody awful day. Two of my workers didn’t show up this morning, leaving me dreadfully shorthanded. And I had these two huge trees that absolutely had to be planted. It took all of us to do it. The instant the last one was in place, I dashed to my car and flew here, so you can imagine the state I was in when I arrived. My blouse, my trousers, I had smudges of dirt everywhere. I certainly wasn’t a fit sight to be seen by your guests.”
Sebastian listened without interrupting. Helen, his junior by two years, always had a tendency to babble nonstop when she was nervous. And her day had obviously been a stressful one.
“I noticed when I drove in that the grounds looked immaculately groomed,” she rattled on. “I must remember to compliment Leslie and his crew on a job well done. I had hoped to arrive early enough to inspect everything, but that simply wasn’t to be. Although I did notice there were no flowers in the front urns. That needs to be rectified. I hope your guests didn’t remark on it.”
“I doubt they noticed.” Sebastian idly swirled the gin and tonic in his glass, then lifted the glass to her in an affectionate salute. “Thank you for the use of your crew in tidying up the grounds. I was remiss in not saying that before now.”
“It’s important that the old place look prosperous even if it isn’t. If not for your guests, then for . . .” She paused, her glance flying to him, her eyes dark with worry. “It is so utterly awful that you have been put in such a difficult position. Losing Charlie and Sarah—and the children, too—it was so dreadfully painful. And now for you to be faced with this . . .”
“No one ever claimed that the fates are kind, Helen,” he said in a voice that was gentle and resigned to the situation.
“They have been horribly unkind to this family,” she declared and took a quick swallow of her drink, then looked at him again with quiet concern. “Are you quite certain you want to go through with this? Isn’t there some other way?”
“Believe me, I have explored every possible alternative.” He smiled to deflect her concern.
A heavy sigh slipped from her. “Naturally you have,” she acknowledged and went quiet for a moment, then sat forward, clasping her drink in both hands, an earnestness in her posture. “I love this old place as much as you do, Sebastian, but I can’t bear the thought of you being unhappy the rest of your life.”
His smile widened. “You haven’t met her.” He raised a finger. “Let me correct that. You have seen her before.”
“When?” Skepticism riddled her question.
“Every time you looked at that painting.” He pointed to a portrait, one of several that hung on the only wall in the room with shelves.
Swiveling in her seat, Helen glanced at the wall, then sharply back at Sebastian. “Are you referring to the portrait of Lady Elaine?”
He nodded. “In many respects the resemblance is almost uncanny.” The distant clatter of the elevator coming to life made its way into the library. “I believe our guests are about to descend on us.”
Helen gave no sign that she had heard either his remark or the ancient elevator. Her attention had returned to the portrait of an elegantly gowned woman somewhere in her early thirties.
She turned to Sebastian with a frown. “Wasn’t it Lady Elaine who was an American?”
“As I recall, yes.”
She cast another considering glance at the painting. “She was quite beautiful.”
“So is Laura Calder,” he stated and added with a remembering smile. “She is also intelligent and audaciously charming.”
Her head lifted in sharpened attention as she gave him the look of a sister who well understood her older brother. “Do I detect a note of interest on a personal level?”
“You do,” Sebastian confirmed, aware of the chatter of voices that grew steadily closer.
“That’s reassuring.” Her smile showed a new ease with the situation. “Perhaps this will work satisfactorily after all.”
“You speak as if it is all but accomplished. It isn’t,” he said and paused for effect. “I have a rival.”
“Ah.” She relaxed against the chair back. “Is this the reason you were so insistent that I be present this weekend? You invited him as well, didn’t you? And you want me to keep him—shall we say—otherwise occupied?”
“Yes, yes, and yes,” he admitted, eyes twinkling.
“What a devilishly clever strategy,” Helen declared with an approving smile. “Beat the opposition by never giving him an opportunity to win.”
“Desperate situations require desperate measures,” Sebastian replied on a slightly serious note as the sound of voices mingled with the footsteps in the outer hall. He raised his glass in a toasting gesture. “Wish me luck.”
In an athletically fluid motion, Helen rose from the armchair and crossed the distance between them to clink glasses. “Only good luck,” she said. “This family has already had its share of bad.”
As they took a sip of their drinks, the butler Grizwold appeared in the open doorway, paused, and made a sweeping gesture, signaling his charges to precede him into the room. Brother and sister turned as one to greet their arriving guests.
Max Rutledge was the first to roll into the library, with Tara walking beside his wheelchair. Sebastian’s glance skipped over them to Laura, elegantly stunning in a dress of raw silk that flattered her feminine curves. The only sour note was the sight of her on Boone Rutledge’s arm, laughing up at him in that seductively provocative way she had. Sebastian felt the stirrings of possessiveness. The heat of his feelings took him aback.
After the obligatory introductions were completed, Grizwold unobtrusively determined the drink preferences of the rest of the party. The entire time, Helen had difficulty taking her eyes off Laura.
“I didn’t entirely believe you, Sebastian,” she said, sliding him a quick glance. “But it is true. The resemblance is quite amazing.”
“Shortly before you joined us,” Sebastian explained to Laura, “I had remarked to my sister that your likeness to Lady Elaine was so striking that one would almost think that you are a reincarnation of her.”
“Where is the portrait?” Laura asked. “I for one am curious to see it.”
“Directly behind you, on the wall.” Taking her by the arm, Sebastian turned her toward it, effectively separating her from Boone.
Laura’s gaze went unerringly to the painting. Even she was surprised by the resemblance that went beyond merely sharing the same hair and eye color. It was like looking at her mirror image, the same high cheekbones, straight nose, cleanly angled jaw, even the same enigmatic smile curving femininely lush lips.
“It’s almost eerie,” Laura marveled.
“I never dreamt the resemblance would be so strong,” Tara declared. “It has to be more than a coincidence that Laura is virtually a replica of both Lady Crawford and Madelaine Calder. They had to be the same woman.”
“It would seem so,” Sebastian agreed, standing just behind Laura’s right shoulder. He tipped his head in her direction. “Now here you are, Laura, standing in Crawford Hall just as your ancestor may have done all those years ago. It almost makes one believe in destiny.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” she said thoughtfully, then slid a backward glance at him, a provocative gleam in her dark eyes. “Although I’m here merely as a guest, while this was Lady Elaine’s home.”
“True,” Sebastian conceded with a slight smile. “Though it does make one wonder if you aren’t meant to follow in her footsteps.”
“I’ll have to think about that,” Laura replied coyly, intrigued by the possibility yet too wise to commit herself to anything.
Oblivious to their conversation, Tara continued her study of the portrait. “Do you realize, Laura, that if your hair was styled like hers, you would look identical?”
“You know, you could be right.” Boone’s voice intruded as he
moved to Laura’s side.
As if prompted by Tara’s remark, he tunneled a hand under her hair and lifted its loose length up and away from her face, holding it in a rough semblance of the ringletted style worn by the woman in the painting.
“You really could be her double, Laura,” Boone stated.
“I could, couldn’t I?” Her chin came up a little higher, echoing the proud tilt the artist had captured on canvas.
Max Rutledge rolled his chair forward to join them. “How much is that painting worth, Sebastian?”
His shoulders lifted in a vague shrug. “The work is by an obscure artist, so its value is mainly sentimental.”
“Name your price and I’ll pay it,” Max stated, making it clear he was accustomed to getting what he wanted.
Sebastian deflected the offer with a smooth smile. “That is extremely generous of you, but as I said, its value is sentimental. I wouldn’t consider taking advantage of a guest in such a manner.”
“I’m not going to try to talk you into it. But the offer stands if you should change your mind in the future,” Max replied, choosing not to make an issue of it, for the time being at least. Instead he shifted his attention to Boone and Laura. “I rather fancy the idea of that painting hanging above the fireplace in our living room back home, don’t you, Boone? ’Course I’d gladly settle for having the real McCoy instead.”
Laura shook her head at him in mock exasperation. “Max, I know you are used to controlling everything. But you remind me of a trick horse in those old western movies, always nudging the cowboy into the girl’s arms. Stop nudging.”
“What’s wrong with helping things along a little?” Max argued. “After all, you’re the one who claimed Boone was your hero.”
“He is my hero.” Laura slanted Boone a look that was half-teasing and half-serious.
“Your hero?” Sebastian’s eyebrow arched in sharp challenge.
His reaction briefly startled her, then realization dawned. “Of course, you don’t know anything about the incident last night,” she said and proceeded to tell both Sebastian and his sister about the attempted theft of her casino winnings that Boone had thwarted.
When she finished, Helen gazed at Boone with frank admiration. “How astute of you to notice what was going on and catch the man in the act. He must have been desperate to escape, yet you managed to subdue him. How very brave of you.”
“I didn’t do anything that someone else wouldn’t have done in my place,” Boone stated with an easy modesty.
“I disagree,” Helen protested with vigor. “Most of the men I know would never have observed the theft in process. And the few who might have noticed would likely have shouted an alarm. I can’t think of any who would have actually struggled with the thief, let alone come out the victor. Have you had training for such situations? In the armed forces, perhaps?”
“Most men raised in Texas have found themselves in a fight or two somewhere along the line. That’s just the way it is.” His big shoulders lifted in a dismissive shrug.
“That’s one thing I could always say about Boone—he’s handy with his fists,” Max declared, rearing back his head to gaze up at his son with approval. “He wasn’t much more than fifteen when one of the ranch hands started hazing him. Boone didn’t take it too kindly and proceeded to make his feelings known. Needless to say, that cowboy got his walking papers—along with a busted nose and a black eye. You didn’t suffer anything worse than a cut lip, did you, Boone?”
“That and a bruise or two,” Boone replied. “But that was a long time ago.”
“How fascinating,” Helen murmured, all her attention centered on Boone. “Do forgive me for being so curious, but I can’t help wondering what prompted you to be suspicious. Casinos are often crowded. It isn’t at all uncommon to be jostled by another patron.”
Watching her, Sebastian couldn’t help smiling to himself. Rare was the person who didn’t enjoy talking about himself, and his sister had a natural flair for encouraging an individual to do just that.
With Boone otherwise occupied by Helen, his way was now clear with Laura. He took advantage of it. “I am relieved to learn that you are none the worse for your adventurous evening.” He kept his voice low, strictly for Laura’s hearing, to avoid attracting the attention of others to their conversation.
“Thanks to my knight coming to my rescue,” Laura replied easily, her glance centering on Boone.
Sebastian flicked a glance at his rival. “I can’t say that his armor is all that shiny.”
She laughed softly. “I don’t know of many cowboys who are polished.”
“The son of Max Rutledge is a bit more than a cowboy,” he corrected dryly.
“They’re both cut from the same cloth, and it’s a rough one,” Laura stated with the certainty of one who had been born and raised with their kind.
“But you are different. You are silk, not denim.” As expected, his remark drew the fullness of her attention.
Laura was quick to recognize the veiled attempt to persuade her that she didn’t belong with the likes of Boone Rutledge. But what Sebastian didn’t realize was that a daring woman would have no qualms at all about pairing silk with denim.
Tara joined them, preventing any further opportunity for private conversation. Within minutes the butler informed Sebastian that dinner was ready.
“That was a damned fine meal, Dunshill,” Max declared as they all took their coffee in the manor’s sitting room. “A helluva lot better than most of the tasteless food I’ve had since we’ve been here.”
“I’m pleased you enjoyed it,” Sebastian replied with a host’s easy pride.
Coffee cup in hand, Boone wandered over to the room’s elaborate marble fireplace. Laura covertly kept an eye on him, noting the air of restlessness about him and recalling how quiet he had been during dinner.
“No offense to tonight’s meal,” Max began in preface, “but if you want to taste some really good cooking, you’ll have to come to Texas.”
Boone spoke up, “Don’t mind my father. A week away from home is about all he can handle before his mouth gets to watering for some of that down-home Texas food.” His gaze fastened on Laura with riveting intensity, making it almost impossible to look away even if that had been her wish. “Ever had cabrito, Laura?”
“No. But I’ve heard it’s good.”
Max snorted at that. “Good! It’s a helluva lot better than good. Cabrito is the best-tasting food you’ll ever have.”
“Cabrito is a specialty of the Slash R,” Boone stated, referring to the Rutledge home ranch. “You’ll have to come to the ranch sometime and we’ll fix it for you.” There was an invitation in his dark eyes that went beyond his words.
“Are you extending a formal invitation for me to come?” With lips in a playful curve, Laura cocked her head at him, her own dark eyes alight to the look in his.
“I am,” Boone confirmed, smiling back.
“In that case”—rising, Laura took her cup and made a leisurely stroll to his side—“I just might take you up on it.”
“Please excuse my ignorance,” Helen inserted, “but I have never heard of cabrito. What is it?”
“You may not want to know,” Tara warned.
But Max didn’t give her a chance to retract her question. “It’s a kid. After you’ve dressed it out, you bury it in a pit full of embers and roast it slow all night.”
“A kid,” Helen repeated with a slightly horrified expression.
“A young goat,” Tara was quick to explain.
“Oh,” Helen said. “For a moment I thought—never mind what I thought,” she added with a self-conscious laugh.
But it was obvious to everyone what she had thought, which gave them all a good chuckle—and led to a discussion of more exotic fare that could be found on foreign menus.
Food wasn’t a topic that particularly interested Laura. She let her attention wander to the ornate design of the marble fireplace.
“It’s beautifu
l, isn’t it?” she remarked idly, touching the smooth, cool stone.
Boone made a disinterested sound of agreement. “An old house like this, I’ll bet it’s cold and drafty in here come wintertime.”
Laura sensed at once that his remark was more than idle observation. “Why would you think about that?” she asked in light challenge.
His expression was serious, with just a touch of irritation and uncertainty flickering in the depths of his eyes. “You wouldn’t be the first woman who could get caught up in the idea of marrying into the titled nobility.” He injected a trace of sarcasm in the latter phrase. “The reality usually turns out to be a lot less appealing.”
He almost sounded jealous, but Laura suspected that Boone was the kind of man who hated losing above all else—even if he didn’t particularly want the prize. His highly competitive nature was one of the things that attracted her to him.
“You surprise me, Boone. Brotherly sounding advice isn’t something I expected to hear from you,” Laura replied, her smile lightly mocking him. “But I wouldn’t worry if I were you. As you can see, both my feet are planted firmly on the floor. No one has swept me off them. At least not yet,” she teased.
“Dammit, I’m serious,” His low-voiced retort rumbled with impatience.
“Are you?” Laura countered, giving his statement another meaning. “I’m not sure about that yet.”
He drew his head back, a wariness leaping into his eyes. “What’s this? A game of hard-to-get?”
“You misunderstand.” She lightly ran her fingertips under the lapel of his suit jacket. “I’m not really hard to get, but I am very hard to keep.” Laura caught the startled look that flashed into his expression as she turned back to face the others.
At that moment, Tara spoke. “I’m really curious to see the rest of the house. Would it be rude of me to ask if you could give us a tour, Sebastian?”
His attention was on Laura, and she knew that he had noticed her talking to Boone. With an effort he shifted his focus to Tara.
“Not at all,” he replied, smoothly gracious. “We could go now if you like.”