Elizabeth had always liked Barre, even though she was consumed with her horses to the point of obsession. At one point she thought the still-lovely divorcee and her father might make a match of it, then Jonathan had been diagnosed with lymphoma and his priorities changed.
She pushed away the thought of her father and tuned back in to listen to Barre.
She could do this. She just had to keep in mind that most people at society parties like this one weren’t looking for a sparkling conversationalist so much as a listening post. If she could smile and nod and ask a few cogent questions at appropriate moments, she would get along just fine.
Barre was telling her about the struggles she had finding competent trainers when Elizabeth spotted Andrew out of her peripheral vision, heading directly toward them.
She wasn’t ready to talk to him yet. Panic shot through her like the rich scotch he liked to drink. He reached them and kissed Barre on the cheek. “Two of the loveliest ladies here, and I have them all to myself.”
Barre gave her low, musical laugh. “I was just talking dear Elizabeth’s ear off about my newest prize. You must come to the stable and see him soon.”
“I’ll do that,” he murmured.
“Will you excuse me?” Barre said. “I haven’t seen Liza Ellison in ages. I simply must speak to her.”
“Of course,” Andrew said, then turned to her, pleasure in his gray eyes.
“Elizabeth, my dear. What a wonderful surprise to see you. I wasn’t expecting you! I know how little you enjoy these things.”
He smiled at her with a genuine warmth that scorched her conscience. How could she do this? Smile and chat and act as if she didn’t know about Alex? About Andrew and Tina?
But she had to. This wasn’t the right time or place to bring it all up. She forced herself to lean on tiptoes and kissed his cheek, then looked away quickly before she could search his features for some resemblance to Tina’s son. “Happy birthday,” she murmured.
Andrew made a face. “I tried to tell Leigh I wasn’t particularly interested in celebrating six and a half decades but she insisted. I’m very much afraid my daughter is always looking for any excuse to throw a party.”
“Leigh does enjoy entertaining, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, more’s the pity. You know I’d rather be out on the yacht than have to make small talk with people I don’t know. And speaking of strangers, who is the man I saw you come in with before? The one who’s standing over there scowling at us?”
She glanced over at Beau and found him only ten or so feet away with a group of men, one of whom she thought might be a senator. Though he looked to be engrossed in the conversation, he was indeed scowling at them. Probably angry because he didn’t have his ear piece in, which was yet another reason she couldn’t bring up Tina yet.
“He’s my d-date.” Oh, she hated herself for her inability to utter the lie casually.
“He looks familiar. Would I know him?”
“Yes, I believe so. His name is Beau Riley and he’s a detective with the Seattle Police Department. He told me he has testified in your courtroom a few times.”
“Oh, of course, of course. I should have recognized him immediately.” Andrew paused and gave her his paternal, standing-in-for-your-father look, and she braced herself for the inquisition. Jonathan wouldn’t have even noticed any man she dated—except for Stephen, his hand-picked choice—but Andrew had always been a different story.
“And how did the two of you meet?”
She scrambled to come up with an appropriate lie but the truth seemed much easier. “We have mutual friends. Jack and Grace Dugan.”
“Oh, yes. Lovely people. Tell me, have you been seeing this Detective Riley long?”
Her palms began to sweat at having to expand on her dishonesty. “A few weeks.”
She did not want to get into this with him so she blurted out the speech she’d been rehearsing all afternoon. “Andrew, if it’s possible, I’d like to talk to you before the evening is over. Privately, please.”
He looked surprised. “Of course, Elizabeth. You know I’ll always have time for one of my favorite people.”
She managed to summon a smile and was deeply grateful when someone else demanded his attention. While he was occupied speaking with someone else, she slipped away and had to fight hard against the sudden harsh sting of tears.
Oh, she couldn’t bear this. Why did Andrew have to be involved in this whole ugly mess? He had always been such a steady source of love and support in her life, and the prospect of losing that close relationship left her aching, bereft.
All the people she loved were slipping away from her, one by one. First Tina, now Andrew. Who was next?
It was all too much for her suddenly. The cloying, expensive perfumes and press of bodies sent greasy nausea spinning through her. She needed air, she thought frantically.
She pushed through the French doors leading to the expansive terrace that overlooked Lake Washington. The night air was cool, moist, and she breathed it deeply into her lungs, one hand pressed to her stomach. She leaned a hip against the railing and gazed at a few flickering, boat running lights out on the water.
The sight inevitably reminded her of the day before, of the purgatory and the paradise of spending an entire day with Beau, on his boat, by his side.
In his arms.
She pressed her hand harder to her stomach, wishing she could rub away the vast, empty ache there.
A few seconds later the French doors flung open and Beau stalked out onto the terrace. “There you are. Don’t run away like that!”
“I’m s-sorry. I just needed air.”
“I was having trouble with the receiver and didn’t catch most of it. Next thing I knew, you disappeared. What did the bastard say to you?”
“He didn’t say anything. Not about Tina, anyway. I didn’t show him the letter yet. We’re meeting later in…private.”
“Then why are you so upset?”
She sighed. She would sound maudlin and melodramatic if she told him she felt as if she were about to lose one of her few close friends in the world.
“I don’t want to do this,” she finally said.
“You don’t have to. This was a crazy idea, anyway. I told you I’ll go at him another way.”
“No. I might not want to talk to him about Tina but I need to. I…have to know.”
He studied her for a moment, then he nodded and dropped the subject. They stayed out on the terrace in silence with the cool, wet breeze a soft caress and the sweet, pure notes of the string quartet murmuring through the lovely evening.
Gradually her shoulders began to relax and she closed her eyes, savoring the music and the night, enjoying herself for the first time all evening, probably because she was out here alone with Beau.
“You’re not big on parties, are you?” he said.
She jerked her eyes open and gazed at him. Was she that pitifully obvious?
“No,” she finally admitted. “I’m not really…comfortable with big crowds.”
“So it wasn’t personal?”
“What?”
He sent her a sidelong look. “That first time. At Gracie’s benefit thingie. You walking away from me before I could even use the line I’d just spent a half hour polishing.”
She hitched in a breath, wishing she could lie and agree with him. It would be so much easier than the truth. But it would also be cowardly.
“I wish I could say it wasn’t personal but…it was.”
In the twinkling lights, she could see a muscle jump in his jaw. “I see,” he said after a pause. “That’s sort of what I figured.”
She wanted desperately to change the subject, but she knew she had to explain. She couldn’t leave things unsettled between them. “Beau, crowds make me nervous.” She took a deep breath. “You…terrify me.”
He looked startled. “Why? What did I ever do to you?”
He deserved the truth about this, at least. “It’s nothing you did. It’s just me. You
make me uncomfortable. I’m not very good at the whole man-woman thing. To be honest, I’m attracted to you and I don’t know how to handle all these feelings you…you arouse in me.”
She blushed, mortified both at her frankness and at her unintentional word choice. No, it wasn’t the wrong word, she admitted. It was exactly the right one—he aroused her in every possible way.
She refused to look at him—how could she?—but even so, she couldn’t miss the sudden thick tension radiating from him in hot, tight waves.
Had her words done that? Was he angry? She forced herself to finish this and then she prayed he would let the matter drop.
“You make me feel out of control and I…don’t like it very much,” she admitted in a small voice. “Control is important to me. I don’t quite know how to respond when I feel it…slipping away.”
“So you run.”
She winced. Bluntly put but accurate. “Yes. Sometimes. So you see, it is about you but it’s also about…me. I’m s-sorry if I hurt you.”
She waited for his reply, but when nothing was forthcoming, she finally risked looking at him. He was watching her out of green eyes that seemed brighter, even more intense than usual, in the subtle lights.
The breath caught in her throat at the expression in them—desire and need and what she thought might even be tenderness.
“Beau,” she whispered, not sure what else she wished to say.
His smile was soft as he grabbed her hands, holding her in place. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Elizabeth. Ever.”
She did. Oh, she did.
Right now, for instance. Now would probably be an excellent time to run. But she could do nothing as he leaned forward, his breath warm and smelling sweetly of chocolate and raspberries. She was frozen into place, anticipation swirling through her.
As if to prove his words, his kiss was almost painfully gentle. His mouth settled over hers with the softest of touches, barely brushing his lips against hers, his arms held her as carefully as a small boy carrying his mother’s favorite vase.
Her lashes fluttered down and she settled closer, her hands on the lapel of his jacket. Heaven. Oh, heaven. How could she have known a strong, powerful man like Beau could be so sweet?
He didn’t deepen the kiss but kept it slow, easy, until she thought she would weep from the gentleness of it. And then he eased away from her, just enough to give one of those smiles she loved so much.
Her heart pounded as the truth slammed into her, just about knocking her to her knees. She didn’t just love Beau Riley’s smile. She loved him. She was head-over-heels, completely, thoroughly in love with a man she could barely talk to.
She was such an idiot. He would break her heart into a thousand tiny pieces and probably never even realize it.
Before she could say anything—or even put some desperately needed space between them—she heard the click of high heels on terra cotta tile. Over Beau’s shoulder she saw Leigh Sheffield approaching, her mouth pursed as if she’d just taken a swallow of something nasty.
Elizabeth stepped away from Beau’s arms quickly, steeling herself for another unpleasant encounter, but Leigh surprised her by straightening her expression into a warm smile instead.
For Beau’s benefit, she realized suddenly. Leigh would never waste politeness on her. Her eyes widened as she watched the other woman smile up at him like a Siamese cat ready to pounce on a patch of catnip.
This was just like when they were children. Leigh had always been this way—if she wanted something of Elizabeth’s as a child, she would find a way to take it for herself. Either she would tell Jonathan in her completely manipulative way how much she admired it—and more often than not he would simply give it to her because Elizabeth had never been able to voice an objection—or else Leigh would simply take whatever caught her fancy.
Whenever Elizabeth learned Leigh and her parents were coming over, she and Tina would go through her room ahead of time, gather up all Elizabeth’s favorite things and hide them in Luisa’s apartments.
Only this time Leigh wanted something a little larger than a Cabbage Patch doll.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she purred to Beau, ignoring Elizabeth as if she were one of those marble statues scattered around the garden. “I just wanted to let everyone who might be out here on the terrace know we’re serving dinner now.”
“Um, thanks.”
Beau’s polite smile looked pained around the edges, and Elizabeth had to admit she relished his obvious discomfort at Leigh’s flirtatiousness. Most men had a far different reaction to Leigh’s sensual beauty. She’d seen her reduce an entire room of professionals to gibbering idiots.
Though Elizabeth had no idea why Beau seemed oblivious to the other woman’s allure, she couldn’t help but be grateful.
“We’ll be right in,” he told Leigh, his voice cool, distant.
“You don’t want to miss it. The caterer is incompetent at organization but divine in the kitchen. I’m sure a big, strong man like you needs plenty of fuel to keep those muscles running in fine form.”
That was a little over the top, even for Leigh. Beau, poor man, was even blushing a little.
Elizabeth decided she’d had enough. She’d come a long way from that little girl silently watching all her best toys disappear.
She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Yes, darling,” she murmured, smiling up at him. “By all means, let’s go inside for dinner. We must make certain you can keep your…energy up.”
For once her pause was completely intentional. Beau gave her a startled look as if he couldn’t quite believe she’d murmured such a double entendre, then with a strangled cough he turned and led her back into the party.
Chapter 13
The opportunity to speak with Andrew came shortly after dessert was removed by the black-clad army of waiters Leigh had hired. The guests began to mill about again, drinks in hand. She and Beau had been cornered by Colby Carr, a yacht-mad high-tech guru who had sailed with both her father and Andrew.
He and Beau were comparing the merits of various hull designs when Andrew approached, shadowed by Mikhail. He and Colby greeted each other warmly and he offered his opinion with the same gravity he pronounced a sentence in his courtroom.
He didn’t give the men a chance to argue with him but turned to her. “Elizabeth, my dear, I must show you the new Jackson Pollock I purchased as a birthday gift to myself. I know how much you enjoy his work. Gentlemen, will you excuse us?”
This was it. He was providing her the perfect opening to talk to him about the entire reason they were here. She sent a slightly panicked look to Beau.
His expression didn’t change but his eyes sent her a silent message, one she could read clearly. You can do it. I know you can.
She drew a shaky breath, heartened by that silent message, then followed Andrew through the crowd and down a hallway to his vast library lined with shelf after shelf of law books.
“Sit down, Elizabeth. You said you wanted to speak with me. How may I help you?”
Now that she was here, she didn’t have the first idea how to begin. Embarrassment and uncertainty settled like thick mud in her throat. How could she possibly speak casually about sexual affairs and blackmail and murder with the man who had always been a kind and loving father figure in her life? It was impossible. She couldn’t.
But she had to.
Andrew settled in one of the leather wing chairs in his library and gestured to the matching chair. She swallowed and perched on the edge, wishing she could see Beau. She knew he was nearby, that he must have switched on the receiver by now and should be able to hear the entire conversation.
The idea of Beau listening to her stuttering, clumsy attempts to converse with Andrew should have made her feel awkward, inept. Oddly, she found it comforting instead, and drew a strange kind of strength and courage just knowing he was nearby.
“What’s all this about, Elizabeth?” Andrew asked, with just a hint of impatience coiling
through his deep, modulated voice that had earned him such respect during his years as a trial attorney. “Are you in need of legal advice? Perhaps a problem with your father’s estate?”
She couldn’t delay further. “No. Nothing like that. I…I need to show you something and I’m just trying to figure out the best way to do it,” she admitted.
“I hope you know there’s nothing you can’t talk about with me.”
“Don’t be so sure,” she muttered, then felt heat soak her cheeks as she remembered Beau listening to even her private asides. She could do this. He believed in her, she reminded herself. It was just the push she needed to delve into her small velvet clutch and extract the copy of Tina’s letter she’d brought along.
She unfolded it and held it out to him. “This. This is what I wanted to ask you about.”
With a puzzled frown, Andrew took the letter from her. He scanned the first few lines, then dropped it against his leg. Other than sudden tight lines around his mouth, she could see little reaction.
“So you know.” Like his features, his voice was flat, expressionless.
“I’m not sure what I know. Did you write that letter?”
“You must have known I did or you wouldn’t have come here and shown it to me.” Was that anger in his voice? He seemed much colder than usual—but perhaps he was only embarrassed.
“I suspected,” she answered. “I recognized the…the type of stationery you used. But I wasn’t sure until just this moment.”
Questions flapped through her mind like silvery streamers in the wind, but she focused on her own hurt and anger.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He raised one white eyebrow. “Because I didn’t think it was any of your business.”
“How could it not be my b-business? Your son is living in my house! I’m helping his grandmother to raise him!”
He had no answer to that, only a drawn-out sigh. He looked older, suddenly, she thought. Not as vibrant as when they walked into the library together.
“How long have you known?” Andrew asked.
“A few days. That’s all.”
“Then she didn’t tell you before she—” He paused, and a spasm of some emotion she couldn’t identify twisted his mouth. “Before she committed suicide?”
The Quiet Storm Page 14