Swansea Destiny

by Fayrene Preston

  He had been holding a weapon back, Jake mused, but perhaps it was time to use the one thing that would hurt Edward even more than the ruination of his business. "I've been meaning to tell you for some time now—you can forget about having any grandchildren. Because I will never marry and I will never have children."

  Edward's jaw dropped and his eyes widened incredulously. "You can't mean that!"

  "I mean every word."

  "But you must marry. I need grandchildren to carry on the Deverell name."

  "You need," he said succinctly. "I don't, and there's nothing you can do about it." But Edward would try, Jake reflected, and he looked forward to the confrontations they would have. "You won't acknowledge me as your son, Edward. Why should I be concerned about the perpetuation of the Deverell name?"

  Edward jabbed a finger at him. "Because it's in your blood to do so, dammit!"

  "Don't you mean my illegitimate blood, Edward?"

  "Jake, you've always put entirely too much emphasis on the issue of whether or not I acknowledge you. It's not important. You should be grateful for what I have given you."

  The expression in Jake's eyes went from cool to ice cold, but his tone was utterly casual. "I do plan to be squiring Arabella around town in the next few months. I'm sure you'll be reading about us in the papers."

  Edward leaned forward, hope written on his face. "Then you do plan—"

  "To have an affair with her? Yes, most definitely."

  "An affair! Good God, Jake, she's a Brahmin. You can't just have one of your usual sordid little affairs and then flaunt it, not with a girl like Arabella Linden."

  "Why not?"

  "B-because I won't allow it."

  "You can't stop me." An unpleasant smile formed on his lips. "Face it, old man. The king is dead. Long live the king."

  Jake pulled his new custom-built red Cadillac Sport Phaeton to the curb in front of Arabella's house and switched off the engine. This was the first time he had tried to contact her since he had been back in Boston. What had happened between them in the conservatory her last night at SwanSea still bothered him, and he'd been trying to figure it out ever since. Backing away from a willing woman he was interested in was a first for him.

  Not forgetting her as soon as she left was another first.

  There was hardly an hour that had gone by that he hadn't thought of her. She'd gotten into his mind and under his skin. And perhaps most surprising was that there'd been no woman since, not because he hadn't had the opportunity but because he hadn't been interested.

  His meeting with Edward had convinced him to forget his doubts and questions and go to her. The meeting and the constant ache in his loins.

  He vaulted up the stairs and rang the bell. A maid in a drop-waisted black uniform and wearing a white pleated headband answered. "Yes?"

  "I'd like to see Miss Linden, please."

  "I'm sorry, sir, but Miss Linden is preparing to leave. Perhaps you'd care to come back another time—"

  "Who is it, Sylvia?" Arabella called, buttoning her figure-hugging honey-colored wool and gold-fox-trimmed coat.

  "I don't know, miss—"

  He pushed past the maid and stepped into the large marble entry hall. "It's me."

  About to pull on her gloves, Arabella stopped. "Jake—"

  With a smile he walked to her, took her hand, and kissed it. "You remembered my name. How nice."

  For a moment she thought she would fall apart. Her heart was racing so fast, she feared it would burst, and she didn't seem to be breathing at all.

  Lord, she couldn't allow him to see how much he affected her.

  Using sheer force of will, she compelled her breathing and heart rate back to normal. "Why wouldn't I remember you? I have a remarkable memory."

  "I knew there was something I liked about you."

  "My memory?"

  He grinned. "The fact that you're remarkable. You are, you know."

  "Jake," she began, careful to keep her tone even, "what are you doing here? It's been over two weeks—"

  "Did you honestly think you'd seen the last of me?"

  "I didn't know what to think." Jumbled and confused, her thoughts had kept her in a constant state of turmoil. And now she realized that two weeks apart from him had not resolved one doubt or uncertainty she'd had about him, nor had it dimmed her love for him.

  He stepped closer. "I'm here now."

  She straightened, meeting his gaze levelly. "And why is that, Jake?"

  "To ask you to join me for dinner tonight. I know a place—"

  She felt as if she were standing once again in the doorway of SwanSea, gazing up at him, searching for a sign that he might care for her. "No, I'm sorry, I can't."

  He put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face upward. "Dinner, Arabella. Not lovemaking."

  She'd made the wise, sensible decision to leave SwanSea and him behind. Now, seeing him again, her wise, sensible decision was fast going out the window. His presence was too forceful, too compelling. And she was too much in love. "Dinner? That's all?"

  "That's all, unless, of course, you want more."

  Kenneth walked briskly up, a leather folder in his hands. "Arabella, here are those papers—" The sight of Jake brought him to an abrupt halt. The color washed from his face. His first thought was that Jake had discovered what he had done, but quickly he realized he was mistaken because Jake was smiling. He drew a deep breath and extended his hand. "Jake old boy, what a nice surprise. I didn't know you were back in town."

  "I haven't been very long. I've come to invite your sister out tonight. Actually, I've come to court her."

  Kenneth forced a chuckle. "Get in line."

  "You know better than that." He turned back to Arabella. "I'm not any good at standing in line, but I hope you appreciate the fact that I waited until the afternoon to pay you a call."

  "That was very thoughtful of you." In fact, she'd been waking up earlier and earlier. She took the folder from Kenneth.

  Jake frowned. "Where are you going?"

  "I'm on the board of directors of the Linden Foundation. I go into the office several afternoons a week."

  A black brow rose mockingly. "Our lady of good works and baskets."

  Kenneth stiffened. "Arabella does much more than baskets of food for the poor. She's been responsible for many marvelous programs."

  Arabella smiled at her brother, touched and a bit puzzled by his defense. Usually he didn't bother, knowing she could defend herself. "As a matter of fact, one of those programs is waiting for me now. If you two gentlemen will excuse me, I need to leave."

  "I'll go check to make sure they've brought your car around," Kenneth said, striding toward the front door, leaving the two of them together. He had warned Arabella more than once about Jake and she had refused to listen. But she was on her home ground now, and if he were still a gambling man, he'd give her even odds with Jake.

  "I'll excuse you," Jake said to Arabella. "And I'll be back around nine this evening."

  She started to refuse. She was being a fool, and she knew it. But she would hate herself forever if she backed away from something as safe as a dinner with him. Besides, she would have her own home to go to after their evening was over—and her chaste, safe bed.

  He rubbed his hand over the soft ends of the fox collar. "I'm surprised to see you in something other than white."

  "I decided it was time to give colors a chance."

  He threw back his head and laughed. "That's such an Arabella thing to say." He curved his hand along her jawline. "I've missed you. Tell me you've missed me."

  Her heart skipped a beat. Yes, Lord, she had missed him. "I could tell you that, but then I would be lying."

  He smiled lazily. "So lie to me, Arabella. You tell such sweet lies."

  "I've missed you," she said, doing just as he asked and praying it did sound like a lie.

  He chuckled softly and pressed a warm kiss to her lips. "I'll be back tonight."

  A panel slid
open behind an iron grille and a frowning face appeared. Jake held up a card. The face smiled, and in a moment the door opened. "Come right in, Mr. Deverell."

  Jake guided Arabella into a posh speakeasy located in the basement of an old mansion.

  "I didn't know this was here," she said as he slipped her elaborate wrap of white ostrich feathers from her shoulders. Beneath it she was wearing a silver lame, sleeveless, V-neck dress that was trimmed with silver glass beads and glistened with every move.

  "You'll like it. The liquor hasn't been diluted and the food is excellent. And the vestibule is equipped with four alarm buttons."

  The cloakroom girl smiled at him as he handed her their coats. "Nice to see you this evening, Mr. Deverell."

  "You too, Alice."

  Up on a stage, an eight-piece band played the zesty and infectious "Charleston," and the two dozen or so people on the dance floor swung into the energetic, high-stepping dance.

  The headwaiter seated them with a flourish in a secluded corner booth. In the center of the linen-covered table, a small lamp with a fringed shade provided intimate lighting. "I'll be your waiter this evening, Mr. Deverell. Would you care to give me your drink order now?"

  Arabella laid her silver-beaded evening bag on the table beside her and gave Jake a wry smile. "Why do I have the feeling you've been here more than once?"

  "I have no idea. What would you like to drink?"

  "Champagne." She threw an idle glance around the large, smoky room and wasn't surprised to see people she knew. She waved to a few, happy beyond belief to be with Jake once more.

  "Frank, I'll have a Scotch," Jake told the waiter, "and the lady will have champagne. For dinner we'll have whatever the chef recommends."

  "Right away, Mr. Deverell."

  She leaned toward Jake, her tone conspiratorial and confidential. "Are the owners of this place your customers?"

  He was delighted to see the sparkle of amusement in her eyes. It deepened the golden color of her eyes and was the same spark that had so attracted him the first night they had met. "Customers? Why, Arabella, I have no idea what you could mean."

  "Customers. You know… bootlegging."

  His expression registered shock. "Arabella, bootlegging is illegal. Isn't that right, Frank?" he asked the waiter, who had lived up to his promise of "right away" and returned to deliver their drinks.

  "That's what I understand, Mr. Deverell."

  "See?" he asked teasingly. "Frank knows it. Why don't you? Don't you keep up with the news?"

  She waited until Frank had given them their drinks and departed. "I think I have a right to know whether or not I'm out with a bootlegger tonight."

  He angled his body toward her and slid his arm along the banquette behind her head. "Would you be disappointed if I told you all of my activities are completely legal?"

  She gave him a deliberately flirtatious bat of her eyelashes. "Most likely I would, because it would no doubt be a lie."

  "But I tolerate your lies."

  She lifted her champagne glass to her lips and sipped. "That's because my lies are sweet. You said it yourself." Seeing him again and being with him had gone to her head. She might as well have drunk a magnum of champagne. But so far he was acting the perfect gentleman, and she found sparring and flirting with him a heavenly, irresistible experience.

  "I should have known you'd remember that. You did tell me earlier today that you have a remarkable memory."

  "Well, Jake? Are you a bootlegger?"

  He shrugged. "I wouldn't want to disappoint you, so I guess I have to say yes."

  Even though she'd known what his answer would be, she was shocked at his casual confirmation. "But why?"

  "It keeps me busy."

  "Jake, you have other things that keep you busy. Why take the risk?"

  "I see no reason not to. It's easy and it's fun."

  "I can't believe your father approves of this."

  His expression turned perceptibly cooler. "Here's Frank with our salads. They look good, don't you think?"

  Much to Arabella's irritation, she was forced to drop the subject, because after Frank served them, Randolph Bruce strolled up to their table.

  "Jake, Arabella, how wonderful to see you here tonight. Can I take it that you two are becoming an item?"

  Arabella picked up her fork, briefly considering the effect it would have as a weapon before she stabbed a carrot with it. "You can take it any way you like, Randolph, but to say that two people are becoming an item when you've seen them out together only once would be exceedingly stupid, not to mention inaccurate. Don't you agree?" With that she popped the carrot into her mouth.

  Randolph burst out laughing. "You've given me a great quote, Arabella. Jake, is there anything you'd like to add?"

  Amusement played around Jake's lips. "I think Arabella has spoken for both of us."

  "Great, great." Randolph had whipped out a notebook and began scribbling away. "By the way, how is it that Vanessa's still in town? I would imagine the studio is hopping mad about now, aren't they?"

  Jake took a sip of his Scotch. "You'll have to ask her that."

  "I've already tried. She and Lucas are having dinner over there." He pointed across the room. "As usual, neither of them is talking."

  "Vanessa believes that the public has a right to news only of her movies, and that her private life should stay private."

  "Well, she's wrong! Ask Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks. Ask Lillian Gish or Charlie Chaplin. Only one person's ever gotten away with a silent treatment of the press, and that's Greta Garbo, and Vanessa's a long way from being in her league."

  Jake absently swirled his glass of Scotch. "That's enough, Randolph."

  Jake's cool tone stole a portion of the color from Randolph's face. "Sure thing, Jake. Oh, by the way, I have a tip that this place is going to be raided at midnight."

  "I know. I heard the same tip. We'll be gone by then."

  As soon as Randolph sauntered away, Arabella turned to Jake. "You didn't tell me you'd brought me to a place you know is going to be raided."

  "What would be the point? I intend for us to be long gone before midnight. Unless, of course, you'd like to stay."

  One brow arched wickedly. "Is there a back way out of here?"

  "There are several."

  "Then let's stay until we hear the alarm."

  He grinned. "Ah, Arabella, you do entertain me."

  She made a sound of affront. "You refer to me as one would a trained seal in a circus act."

  "Trust me, Arabella. It's never entered my mind to think of you as a trained seal. Perhaps, though, now that I think about it…"He leaned toward her and pressed a finger to her skin at the lowest point of the V of her dress.

  Her breath caught. Touching her between her breasts was an erotic, outrageous thing for him to do, and she couldn't for the life of her gather the strength to brush his hand away. "What?"

  "Now that I think about it, you're like one of those pretty ladies who dance along a high wire. You're fearless, and sometimes when I watch you, I feel like my heart is in my throat."

  The heavy muscles of his trousered leg pressed against hers, and his voice held a caressing quality that skimmed over her skin, heating her. "Why?"

  "Don't you know?" he asked huskily.

  She shook her head.

  Briefly, quickly, his finger dipped beneath the dress, sliding over her breasts and bringing her heart to a temporary stop. "I don't know either."

  Even with the blood rushing hotly through her veins, distorting her perception, there was no way she could doubt his sincerity—his honesty was ringingly clear both in his tone and expression. Was it possible that he was as confused as she about their effect on each other? The thought gave her hope and sent her mind whirling. She wanted to pursue the subject they had inadvertently started, but found herself suddenly shy. "No?"

  "No," he said softly, his gaze on her lips.

  She waited to see if he would say anything more.
When he didn't, she went in search of something innocuous they could talk about that would slow down her pulse and cool her blood. "You were right about the salad. It's wonderful. Why haven't you eaten anything?"

  He pushed his plate away and pulled back from her. "I misjudged my appetite. I'm not really that hungry."

  Missing his nearness, she curved her body toward his. "I've never seen you eat. Even when we have dinner together, I eat and you don't."

  "Perhaps," he said evenly, "I've never been hungry the same time as you."

  "Perhaps. But the afternoon of the skating party I heard Vanessa say to Marlon, 'You know he won't eat' in reference to you."

  "Think about it, Arabella. I couldn't maintain my weight if I didn't eat."

  "But—"

  "I'm sure you misunderstood Vanessa. Ask her if you like."

  She had a sudden image of Lucas and Vanessa on the stairs while Jake tried to purge himself of his private demons with an excessively violent game of handball. Tired as she obviously had been, it hadn't occurred to Vanessa to get up and go to bed. Instead, she had stayed where she was on the hard marble step, eventually falling asleep with her head in Lucas's lap. No, Arabella thought. Vanessa would never tell her anything Jake wouldn't want her to know. The loyalty the three shared made them close ranks fast. She shook her head. "Vanessa doesn't like me."

  "Vanessa has had a hard life."

  He said it as if it explained everything and as if he intended to explain no more. "If Vanessa has had a hard life, that means you have too."

  He tugged at a fairylike white-gold curl. "You do have a lively mind, don't you?"

  "Well? It's the truth, isn't it?"

  After a brief hesitation he said, "She was a girl. It was harder on her."

  "How—"

  "Would you like to dance?"

  Cole Porter's lovely ballad "I Concentrate on You" was being played, and Arabella knew the invitation to dance meant the end of the subject. She sighed.

  He put two fingers over her lips, feeling the sweet warm breath as it escaped. "I want to hold you in my arms."

  What could she do? Though he didn't know it, he held her heart, and it had reached the point where there was very little she could deny him. "All right."