The Third heiress

by Brenda Joyce

  his girlfriend and they still send him every possible signal. I mean, he's been handed phone numbers on slips of paper, Thomas, right under my very nose!"

  JiU was glad she was hearing this. Hopefully it would end her incipient attraction to a man way out of her league. She wondered if he was a heartbreaker himself. Hal had said he was a type A workaholic, which meant he would have little time to play the field.

  But Thomas was amused. "He's single," he said, as if that explained everything.

  "My ears are burning," Alex said, striding into the room.

  Jill was happy to see him. As pleasant as Lauren and Thomas were, there was stress just being with them. "Apparently you have most of the female population of London running after you," Jill said.

  He actually laughed as he went to the bar cart, pouring himself a vodka. "Did either of you remove the photograph of Kate and Anne from Hal's bedside table?" he asked.

  Thomas, seemed to start. "What photograph?"

  Alex sipped the icy vodka with obvious appreciation, leaning against the armoire, studying his cousins. He repeated the question.

  Thomas regarded Alex. "Why would I take that photograph? I hate to be rude, but I have no time to chase ghosts." He smiled with some degree of apology at Jill. "My interests lie in the present and the future, not in the past."

  Jill wasn't sure that she believed him. Hadn't he just spoken vehemently of the need to ensure his heritage for centuries into the future? Would not his past heritage be as important to him? She was sure of one thing, though. He would protect the Collinsworth family. It was his duty to do so. Would he also feel it his duty to protect them from resurrected ghosts with buried scandals?

  "I've never even seen that photo," Lauren said. "Who cares what happened to that photograph? Mother probably tucked it away."

  Jill wet her lips. "That photograph would be a family heirloom of sorts, for me."

  "Only if Kate is your relative," Thomas said pointedly.

  "Actually, Kate got pregnant while she was Anne's house guest," Alex said, still lounging against the armoire.

  Jill almost gaped at him. What was he doing?

  Thomas almost dropped his drink. "What in God's name are you talking about?"

  Jill couldn't help it, she saw the two men lock gazes, and she was more than dismayed, she had a distinctly bad feeling. "Alex, it's late. Shouldn't we go?"

  "Have another glass.of wine, Jill," he said. "I thought you wanted some answers."

  She gaped at him.

  "Even if this Kate Gallagher got pregnant while she was my grandmother's guest, what does that have to do with anything?" Thomas asked. He was ruffled now.

  Alex, as unruffled as Thomas was not, smiled at Jill. "Care to share your theory?" he asked.

  Why was he antagonizing his own cousins? It crossed her mind that he might be sabotaging her—then she wondered if he wasn't going for the jugular, instead. Not hers, but his cousins'—or anyone who knew the truth.

  Jill inhaled. "Maybe Anne was an accomplice of sorts to the affair-—or a go-between. Who knows? Maybe Anne was ruined by association. For a time. Then Kate disappears. Whether she ran away or something terrible happened, Anne was involved because they were good friends. I'm surprised no one in this family knows anything about it," Jill said, looking around at the three faces turned her way. "It would have been a terrible scandal for everyone involved. It's the kind of legend that is passed down through generations."

  A dumbfounded silence greeted her words. Thomas said, "I beg your pardon, and I do hate to disappoint you, but that is not the kind of legend, as you put it, which has been passed down in our family." He was angry.

  "My grandmother was a noble woman, and highly esteemed by society," Lauren said firmly. "And even if she was some kind of go-between when she was a child, what difference could it make, now or then? When she married my grandfather, she became the Viscountess Braxton." Lauren

  looked at Alex. "Anne was your great-grandmother's sister, Alex." Disapproval filled her tone.

  "I know," he said, clearly unrepentant.

  Jill looked at Lauren.

  "She became one of the preeminent women in this land," Alex said. "Preeminent and extremely powerful."

  Jill met his gaze. She could not decode it, except that he might be enjoying himself. If Lauren or Thomas knew anything, they were great actors, she decided, worthy of the London stage.

  Thomas turned to her. "Is there a reason you want to unearth a scandal about my family?" he asked very bluntly.

  She shook her head. "No. I don't want to hurt your family, I've already done enough. I hope there is no scandal." Her smile felt like plaster about to crack. "I believe Kate ran off with her lover and her child to live happily ever after."

  Lauren looked at her as if she had spoken Chinese. Thomas drank more scotch. Alex said, "Fairy tales." Jill caught the drift and felt Tike hitting him. Not hard, but hard enough.

  "How is Lady Collinsworth?" Jill asked instead.

  "She's gone to bed. She's okay," Alex said.

  Thomas set his drink down on an end table with a white marble top. "I told this to Jill and I'll tell it to you. Mother isn't well right now and I don't want her upset." .

  "I don't want my aunt upset either," Alex said, as firmly".

  "You never leave the office before ten," Thomas returned.

  "I didn't know we kept a time clock."

  Jill blinked, glancing from one cousin to the other.

  "If the two of you are going to argue, I'm going to bed," Lauren said. "Unless you both want to make an awful day even worse?"

  "Of course you don't have to explain yourself to me. Unless you affect the family in some way that is hurtful. How upset was my mother?" Thomas spoke as if Lauren were a fly on the wall that could not even bite.

  "She's okay. I'm sorry about that. I intend to apologize fully—and explain—first thing in the morning," Alex said.

  "Don't. I'll do it." Thomas responded in the kind of voice that was not to be brooked.

  Jill watched them. Was there a rivalry between the two of them that she had not previously suspected to exist?

  "Be my guest."

  Thomas looked at his watch again. "I have some calls to make." He turned to Jill. "Drop by my office sometime. I'll take you to lunch." Suddenly he smiled. "I apologize for the family tiff."

  Jill smiled slightly. "Okay." She was bewildered. Did he want something from her? Surely he was not asking for her company because he wanted to be friends? She had caused the accident that had killed his brother. Jill knew Thomas would never forget that fact, not until the day he died.

  She decided she must be witnessing the civility the British were so famous for. He obviously was not earnest about the invitation.

  "Thomas." Alex's tone was harsh, and it halted Thomas in his tracks.

  "Yes?"

  Alex walked across the room and stopped in front of him. His stance was rigid. "Did you delete those files?"

  Jill almost fainted. Her eyes wide, she took in Alex's hard expression and watched Thomas's gaze become as cold as ice. "No." The one single word was harsh. "Did you?"

  Alex's jaw tightened. "No."

  They stared at one another and then Thomas was gone, striding from the room.

  Her flat was ten minutes from the Sheldon mansion, but there was an accident on the road—a van had overturned—and they were sitting in stalled traffic. Jill was stiff with tension. Was Alex innocent? Or had he asked Thomas about the files in order to mislead her?

  Someone had deleted the files, but she could not tell which of the two men had done so. It had not been a power surge. She knew that now. Because if it had been, Alex would not have attacked Thomas that way.

  Jill was stinting to believe that Thomas was the culprit. He had appeared not to know about the letters until she had told him of their existence that evening. In which case, he should not have understood what Alex had meant when heM asked him if he'd deleted the files.

  B
ut he had understood.

  The hairs on her nape were prickling. Jill shivered.

  "Cold?"

  Jill looked at Alex, seated just inches away from her, relaxed in the driver's seat of the exotic car. His question had. been casual but direct. His blue gaze was as direct, but there wasn't much casual about it. It seemed brilliant.

  Jill nodded. She. folded her arms around herself and wished he'd let her call a cab. She'd asked again; he'd refused. At that moment his car was too small for them both.

  Jill forgot about the letters. She thought about him dropping her off at her new flat. And that was what he was going to do—drop her off on the sidewalk, wave good-bye, drive away.

  She reminded herself that he had hundreds of women rolling over at his feet. She reminded herself that Hal had been dead less than five weeks. She reminded herself that she was still on a low dose of antidepressant. Then she gave it up.

  His arms would be strong and for a few hours, safe. God, deep inside of herself, she still hurt. Because of Hal's duplicity. Because of her own guilt. For a few hours she could touch and taste, be touched and tasted, and she might actually forget everything.

  It was unbelievably tempting.

  Jill suddenly realized that he was staring at her. "Why are you staring at me?"

  "You know why," he said softly.

  Something inside Jill turned over, far from unpleasantly. "I don't even want to know what you're talking about."

  "You don't have to be scared," he said in that same low murmur.

  She flinched, refusing to look at him. Not about to rebut. But she was fully aware of sitting like a rigid, frozen block of

  ice beside him, stiff with tension, afraid of herself more than she was afraid of him.

  "You're more uptigfit now than ever. Why does being alone with me make you nervous?"

  Jill felt a flaring of anger. She thought he might be more than coming on to her, and his seduction made her feel trapped, cornered, pinned down. And afraid. "Maybe it's because I hardly know you, and I cannot decide whether to trust you or not."

  "But you trust Thomas?" He smiled.

  Jill jerked. "Hardly."

  He spoke without rancor. "There's far more to Thomas than meets the eye."

  "So?"

  He smiled again, faintly. The traffic was moving on the other side of the road, and the glare of oncoming headlights were reflected onto his face. "I saw the way you were looking at him. I see the way all women look at him. Most women never get past those movie-star looks. Then you add in the title. It's a flashy package, hard to resist. Most women don't have a clue who he really is. Thomas is a complicated man. With an agenda."

  "Most people have agendas," Jill said. She had no intention of getting into a debate over her feelings for Thomas. Not just because it was nobody's business but her own, but because they remained highly ambivalent.

  "But his is hidden," Alex said. His hands moved over the steering wheel once before gripping it. Jill didn't know if it was deliberate or not. "I think there's another reason I make you as jumpy as a cat." He twisted to face her.

  She lifted both brows. If her expression was cool, it was a miracle. "What could that be?"

  He smiled. "I'm a man . .. you're a woman. Yin and yang. It's pretty ancient stuff."

  She inhaled. "I wouldn't give a damn if you were Paul Newman when he was forty." Did he have to be so direct? "Are you trying to say that you think there's some attraction between us?" She intended to lie until she was blue and deny it. She was not going to do anything ra§h. Not now—not ever.

  He gave her the most disbelieving of looks. "I'd say there is. Fd say there's a helluva lot of yin and yang going down about now." He smiled again.

  As if he liked her. As if he was confident of the outcome of the situation. Jill stared back at him, breathless and recognizing what that meant.

  "I loved Hal," Jill said, enunciating every word very clearly, as if being succinct might make her love come back, might make him go away. This was the worst possible time for her hormones to be flowing. Worst time, worst place— worst object of affection.

  "Hal is dead. Ghosts make poor lovers."

  Her eyes widened. "Lovers? How did we get on the subject of lovers?"

  "I don't know," he said. He was not smiling. "Maybe I do have telepathy after all."

  She stared. Had she been sending signals all night long without even realizing it? "I'm going to walk," she decided, reaching for the door handle.

  "As I said, as jumpy as a cat." He reached across her and prevented her from opening the door. His hand was large, firm—unyielding. "I want to give you some advice," he said very softly.

  "I'm sure I don't want to hear it," Jill said, meaning it.

  "I'm giving it anyway." He met her gaze. His was, as usual, far too penetrating. "Timing is a funny thing. Sometimes chances present themselves only once. The brave know when to seize the moment."

  "I'm not brave."

  "No?" He smiled, and it was genuine. "That's a crock, Jill."

  She looked away from him. His arm remained extended across her chest, his hand remained on her door. She wasn't brave. He was wrong. She was a coward, because he was different from Hal in every way, and she was afraid, afraid of a one-night stand, afraid of more, afraid to get involved, afraid to trust and be hurt. "Damn it," she breathed, feeling close to tears. "May I please get out of the car?" she asked.

  "No. I'm taking you home. And you can go to bed all by your lonesome, if that's what you want."

  "That's what I want," she shot back, faster than any machine gun.

  "Yeah?" Skepticism filled his tone. And his easy smile appeared again.

  She pushed at his arm; he dropped it.

  "Of course," he said softly and the traffic finally started to move, flagged on by two policemen, "this is one of those times in life when the opportunity is not limited. If you know what I mean."

  Jill twisted to meet his eyes. "I'm not your type."

  He started and laughed. "Like hell you're not."

  He had turned his attention back to the road. With both dread and anticipation, Jill saw that they were not far from Lexham Villas. Oh, shit. If only he hadn't spoken with such utter conviction.

  "You know," Jill said, squirming to the farthest comer of her seat, "you spoke about everyone's agenda but yours."

  He steered the Lamborghini smoothly around the comer and to the sidewalk in front of her flat. The engine purred; he cut it and faced her. "Damned right I have an agenda," he said. And he was staring right into her eyes. "And mine isn't hidden, now is it?"

  Jill stared back.

  Neither one of them moved.

  Eleven

  1 HE NIGHT WASBLACK AROUND THEM. JiLL DIDN'T BREATHE

  and she didn't move. But neither did he.

  Now what? Jill thought, her heart hammering against the walls of her chest. Should she ... or shouldn't she? And why was she even having an internal debate?

  "Jill."

  She had to look at him. His tone had been half question, half command. Their eyes met and held. "I've gotta go," she blurted, and then, unthinkingly, she leaned across the small distance separating them and she kissed his cheek.

  Not a peck. But a caress of her mouth on his beard-roughened skin.

  He smelled great.

  Jill pulled away, fumbled with the door, thrust it open, and leaped out of the car. She slammed it closed, waved, and dashed across the sidewalk up the path to her house, as if her clothing were on fire.

  As she fumbled with her keys, shaking, she heard the Lamborghini's engine roar to life. But the sleek monster car did not pull away. Jill was aware of it idling on the street behind her.

  She finally shoved open her door, stepping inside while hitting the lights, and as quickly closing it. As she locked the door, she glimpsed his night-blackened silhouette inside the sports car through the tiny window and parted curtains. Only then did she hear him drive away.

  She leaned her forehead against
the smooth wood. Now why in hell had she done that? Like a fool, she was sending the wrong signals, all right, she was leading him on and just asking for trouble.

  Worse, her flat seemed more than empty. It felt lonely, too.

  The following morning was bright and clear. As Jill made herself a huge plate of scrambled eggs, she refused to think about what had happened last night, instead trying to decide how to resume her search for Kate Gallagher. Maybe she would go back to Uxbridge Hall. Lucinda would probably have some suggestions about how she should begin.

  But one question haunted her. Who had stolen the Gallagher letters? In the light of day, she thought both men had good cause for not wanting to let a skeleton out of the Collinsworth closet.

  "And that is just too bad," she said to Lady Eleanor, who had appeared in the kitchen and was now waiting patiently for her food, sitting on the kitchen counter, her eyes on Jill. "Because Kate has a story to tell and I am going to tell it."

  Lady E. began daintily cleaning her paws.

  Jill only hoped, and fervently, that Kate's story was a happy one.

  The telephone rang. Jill couldn't imagine who would be calling her, except perhaps for Lucinda. She started when she recognized William Sheldon's voice.

  He was brief and to the point after a polite but restrained good morning. "I was wondering if you could come by the house. Miss Gallagher. I would like a word with you and I will be at home until noon."

  Jill went on alert. She could not imagine what he wanted. "I would be more than glad to." She was afraid to ask what this was about. Had he heard about her disturbing his wife last night?

  "Can you stop by this morning?" Lord Collinsworth asked. "You are in Kensington, are you not? Would eleven be convenient?"

  Jill agreed. As she darted back upstairs to change, her breakfast half-eaten and forgotten, the ringing of the phone

  halted her in her tracks again. Alex's image came to mind as she quickly picked it up. "Hello?"

  "Jillian, are you all right?" KC cried.

  Jill gripped the phone. "I'm fine. Is something wrong, KC? Is Ezekial okay?" It was the middle of the night in New York, but KC was not big on sleep. Jill could hear her TV in the background.