Unforgettable

by Joan Johnston

  Within an hour of his arrival in Rome, Oliver knocked on the hotel room door where his mother’s assistant was staying. He was shaken, because when he’d inquired at the front desk, he’d discovered that a gentleman matching his father’s description had arrived with his mother much earlier in the evening—and hadn’t yet left.

  He couldn’t imagine what his father was doing in Rome, especially in the company of his mother, but it made him even more concerned about what kind of trouble his little sister had gotten herself into.

  Emily Sheldon answered his knock wearing a full-length, faded-pink cotton robe. Her face was devoid of makeup, revealing a face that was saved from being completely forgettable by a pair of inquisitive brown eyes. She’d tied her brown hair up in a messy knot on the top of her head, but numerous curls had escaped and floated around her face, softening an angular jaw and square cheekbones.

  He amended his earlier judgment about her forgettable features when she opened her mouth to speak. His eyes locked on her lips, which were bowed at the top and full at the bottom. It was a mouth made for kissing, although he doubted it had been used for that purpose anytime in the recent past. Quite frankly, Miss Sheldon was the most off-putting female he’d ever met. Her rigid posture, her frank stare, and her firm jaw didn’t encourage familiarity.

  She leaned forward and looked left and right down the empty hallway, then said, “How may I help you, milord?”

  “For a start, stop ‘milording’ me,” he said irritably. “And invite me in, so we can have this conversation in private.”

  She flushed, but her chin came up, and she said, “If you will wait downstairs, I will dress and meet you—”

  He stepped past her into the room and shut the door behind him. “Dressing would be pointless. I’ve already seen you in your robe and without your makeup.”

  He knew she was annoyed, even though her face stayed expressionless, because those vibrant brown eyes of hers were flashing death and destruction in his direction.

  She tightened the tie at her waist, which caused him to realize just how small a span it was. Then she crossed her arms over her breasts, which he could see were softly rounded, except where the budded nipples were clearly visible beneath the worn cotton.

  Oliver was startled to realize that his body was responding with amazing vigor to the sight of Miss Sheldon in her robe. Maybe he should have listened to her and waited downstairs while she dressed. But he was here now, so he might as well ask his questions and get out.

  “Did my sister have permission from my mother to borrow the Ghost?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Answer the question.”

  Her brown eyes darkened with disapproval, and she did something with her beautiful lips that made them completely disappear. “I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”

  Oliver wasn’t used to people telling him no. Despite her helpless appearance, Miss Sheldon was obviously more lion than mouse. “I came all the way to Rome from Argentina, because I’m worried about my sister,” he said. “Can you just tell me what’s going on with the Ghost? Is Lydia in trouble? Or not?”

  He couldn’t believe how long it took Miss Sheldon to decide to answer him. At last she said, “Lydia never got permission from the Duchess to borrow the Ghost.”

  “Son of a bitch!”

  She shot him an admonishing look and continued, “She was drugged and the Ghost was stolen from her.”

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Is she all right?

  She frowned ferociously. “Swear again, and I won’t bother to finish this story.”

  He balled his hands into fists at his sides, but he shut his mouth and listened.

  “Except for being drugged, Lydia wasn’t harmed,” she said. “The Duchess contacted Warren and Warren Investigations, a firm in Dallas, Texas, and they sent Joe Warren to Rome to help Lydia discover who’d taken the necklace.”

  Miss Sheldon looked around as though seeking a place to sit. Her room contained only a bed, a desk, and a lounge chair. Given those three options, she remained standing.

  Oliver resisted the urge to insert another question, and waited impatiently for her to continue.

  She shoved a stray curl away from her neck, and he found himself admiring her swanlike throat. When he met her gaze again, he saw that she’d followed the direction of his gaze and was frowning at him again. There was nothing bland about Miss Sheldon when she was frowning.

  “It turned out that your cousin, Gabriel Wharton, was the one who drugged Lydia and stole the Ghost,” she said. “Apparently, he and his mother have been stealing jewels at charity events for quite some time.”

  Oliver bit his tongue to prevent another foul epithet from escaping.

  “The private investigator suggested that the best way to get the Ghost back was for your mother and father to confront your cousin and your aunt and demand the return of the necklace.”

  “Did that work?” Oliver asked incredulously.

  Miss Sheldon shook her head in what seemed like disbelief equal to his own as she admitted, “I didn’t think it would work, either, but it did. Gabriel returned the Ghost on the spot.”

  Oliver let out a relieved breath. “I suppose all’s well that ends well.”

  “No one was punished,” Miss Sheldon pointed out. “Not your sister, who borrowed the Ghost without permission, nor your cousin, who drugged your sister and stole the necklace, nor your aunt, who was complicit in the theft. That doesn’t sound like a proper ending to me.”

  Oliver understood why his parents hadn’t prosecuted his cousin. It would have created a scandal to admit that Gabe had drugged Lydia and stolen the Ghost. And surely Lydia had learned her lesson after being drugged and losing the Ghost, not to mention the anxiety of needing to find the missing necklace before its loss was discovered. But clearly, Miss Sheldon wanted each of them to experience some sort of retribution. He met her gaze and asked, “What punishment do you suggest?”

  “I’m not Lydia’s mother. Or Gabe’s keeper. It isn’t for me to say.”

  “But you obviously have an opinion,” he persisted.

  “Both of those young people need an occupation to engage their hearts and minds—and to keep their hands busy. Jewels should be the last thing on either of their minds.”

  “I can’t say I disagree with you. However, I’m not sure how that goal can be accomplished.”

  “That responsibility lies with their parents,” Miss Sheldon said flatly.

  Oliver realized that he was amused. “Are you criticizing your employer, Miss Sheldon?”

  Her ivory complexion turned as pink as her faded robe. “I was in Richmond on Mother’s Day, milord.”

  He scowled. “I said to cut out—”

  “What am I to call you?” she demanded.

  “Call me Oliver. It’s my name.”

  “Fine, Oliver. I was there to see the Duchess’s heartbreak when not one of her five children responded to her invitation to join her in Richmond. So yes, I think she indulged the lot of you too much. To put a point on it, you’re all spoiled rotten, selfish, and insensitive to the feelings of others, including your own mother.”

  Her expression had become as animated as her voice, and although her words stung, Oliver found himself entranced by the woman who spoke them. Still, he was unwilling to accept her assessment of him and his siblings.

  “You don’t know anything about me,” he said in a harsh voice. “Certainly not enough to condemn me with the same broad brush you’re using to condemn my brothers and sister. I haven’t lived the same life as they have. And I had my reasons for not joining my mother, as I’m sure my brothers and sister did.”

  “It was cruel to abandon the Duchess like that,” she said flatly.

  “She was the one who abandoned us,” Oliver shot back. He didn’t owe Emily Sheldon an explanation, but he offered one anyway. “A lot happened before you came into the picture three years ago. Don’t judge what you don’t know.”


  Earnest brown eyes searched his own dark orbs before she said, “I know that adults can make choices about how they behave. I know that a person can rise above the hurts he suffered as a child. I know those things because I grew up in a family even larger than yours, with parents who were never there to provide any guidance. You can’t blame your parents for the way you turned out. The responsibility is entirely your own.”

  He didn’t appreciate the sermon, even if he agreed with a lot of what she’d said. “I’m surprised you continue to work for my mother if you think she did such a terrible job raising her kids.”

  “I admire your mother,” she said. “She has tremendous strength of will. And she loves her children more than any of you can imagine.”

  “How would you know something like that, Miss Sheldon?” Oliver asked in a sharp voice.

  “I’ve spent every day with the Duchess for the past three years,” she replied. “I’ve been there to see your neglect of her. I’ve been there to see her efforts to love you all in spite of it.”

  Oliver felt a spurt of guilt for spending so little time with his mother and then felt angry with Emily Sheldon for making him feel bad about it. “If my mother wanted us around, she’d make more time for us. She’s had other things on her mind for the past ten years.”

  “You’ll be happy to know those days are over,” Miss Sheldon replied tartly.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I believe your parents have reconciled.”

  Oliver was startled into blurting, “What? When?”

  “I left the two of them in your mother’s room earlier this evening. I asked the concierge to let me know when your father left, because I wanted to check on the Duchess. He’s still there.” She took a deep breath and added, “I believe he plans to stay the night.”

  Oliver let out a shuddering breath. His parents reunited? His parents a couple again? It seemed impossible that they could have overcome ten years of animosity in a single day.

  “Why did she forgive him? How could he forgive her?”

  “You would have to ask them,” Miss Sheldon said. “All I know is that they were in accord when I left the room, and they’ve spent the better part of the evening in each other’s company.”

  Oliver realized he’d gotten everything he’d come for. It was time for him to take his leave. “Goodbye, Miss Sheldon. I’m sorry for having inconvenienced you.”

  She was flushing again, which created unflattering red splotches on her peaches-and-cream English complexion. “It was no trouble.”

  He smiled sardonically. “I was a pain in the ass. But you won’t have to worry about my bothering you again.”

  “But—” She cut herself off, frowned, shook her head, and pursed her lips.

  “Was there something else?” he asked, arching a brow.

  “Will you be coming to the Abbey for Christmas?” she asked in a rush.

  “You seem to think we’ll be having Christmas at the Abbey. We haven’t for ten years.”

  “I mean, if your parents are together,” she said.

  “If they’re together . . .” He smiled cynically. “I guess I’ll believe it when I see it. Au revoir, Miss Sheldon.”

  “Goodbye, Oliver,” Miss Sheldon said, her brown eyes bright with what he suddenly realized were tears. “I will hope to see you at Christmas.”

  He didn’t look back as he left the room. He’d seen the desolation in her eyes, the certain knowledge that she was destined to spend her life alone. He recognized the look because he’d seen it so often in his own mirror. There was nothing he could do to help Miss Sheldon. As she’d said, everyone had to make choices. He’d chosen not to give anyone the power to hurt him by making himself vulnerable. So he wouldn’t be looking for a woman to love—or a woman to love him.

  At least the trip had been worthwhile. He’d learned everything he needed to know—and a lot more than he’d expected. Now he wanted to see Lydia, to make sure she suffered the consequences that Miss Sheldon had said would be so good for her character. He would make it plain to Lydia that she had lost his trust. And that it was going to take a very long time—and a great deal of effort on her part—to earn it back.

  He looked at his watch. It was late. She was probably in bed. He shouldn’t bother her. But if he talked with her now, he could refuel the jet and head right back to Argentina.

  Oliver had the address of her hotel in his pocket. He might as well wake her up and read her the riot act tonight.

  Chapter Twenty

  “I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I dump this tux,” Joe said as they stepped into Lydia’s hotel room.

  “We need to talk first,” she replied, stopping just inside the room.

  Joe turned to find her leaning back against the door with her arms crossed, like a schoolmarm with a disruptive pupil. He felt his neck hairs hackle. None of this was his fault. He’d been doing his sister a favor, not that he owed Miss High-and-Mighty an explanation.

  Nevertheless, he was surprised, considering how reluctant he’d been to come here in the first place, how reluctant he was to leave. It was the girl, of course. She’d gotten under his skin. Right now she was pissed off because he hadn’t been completely honest. He could appreciate that. But he didn’t want to spend his last night in Rome fighting with her. He wanted to spend it deep inside her.

  Joe felt his body responding to the memory of holding Lydia in his arms, of kissing her breasts and watching the ecstasy in her violet eyes when she came. He took the few steps to put himself body-to-body with her and watched as an invisible “No Trespassing” sign went up, warning him to keep his distance.

  Joe ignored it.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Lydia demanded indignantly as he slid one arm around her waist and used his free hand to angle her head for his kiss.

  “Making love to you.” He teased her lips open with his tongue, searching for the delicious honey inside. He made a sound of satisfaction when she thrust her hands into his hair to pull him close as her body surged against his.

  She broke the kiss to gasp, “I’m still angry with you.”

  “I know.”

  “You shouldn’t have lied to me.”

  “I did it to help my sister,” he murmured against her lips.

  She ran her fingernail along the edge of his ear, raising gooseflesh on his body. “I need to know I can trust you.”

  “Roger that. You have my word,” he said, pressing kisses on the tender flesh at her throat, “that I will never lie to you again.”

  She quivered in his arms as she whispered, “Be sure you don’t. Not ever again, so long as we both shall live.”

  That statement seemed to presume that he would be around for a great deal more than one more day. Joe felt a surge of joy—or something very much like it.

  His body tightened as Lydia sucked on his lower lip. She made a satisfied sound in her throat as she slid her hand down between them, boldly tracing the rock-hard length of him.

  Joe had never wanted a woman as much as he did in that moment. While Lydia stepped out of her very high heels, his hands got busy pulling down the zipper on her gown and urgently shoving the silk fabric out of his way. He made short work of the merry widow she was wearing, but his eyes went wide with amusement and delight when he spied the lacy garter belt that held up her black silk stockings and the ridiculous scrap of black lace between her thighs that served as feminine underwear.

  “You really know how to drive a man crazy,” he muttered as he slowly untied the slender strings on either side that held the panties in place. The scrap of silk and lace dangled from his fingertips for a moment before it floated to the floor. Joe had no intention of removing the stockings, since they weren’t in his way.

  His fingers sought the warm folds between her legs, and he stimulated the small bud he found there, while his deep, thrusting kisses mimicked the movement of his fingers.

  Lydia moaned and arched her body toward him, shoving at his tuxedo ja
cket and pulling at the studs on his shirt in an effort to free him of the clothing that kept her naked flesh apart from his.

  Joe released her long enough to shrug out of his jacket and rid himself of his shirt and cummerbund. Then he scooped her up in his arms and strode toward the bedroom.

  He felt Lydia’s fingernails dig into his back as she grabbed hold. Her face was level with his chest, and she leaned close enough to tease one of his nipples with her teeth.

  Joe hissed in a breath, aroused by the brief, sharp pain. She immediately soothed the hurt by sucking on the nipple, and he groaned as his shaft bucked with need.

  Lydia stripped the covers back as Joe settled her gently on the sheets. He could feel her gaze on him, devouring him with her eyes as he rid himself of shoes, socks, trousers, and undershorts. She held out her open arms to him, and he willingly joined her on the bed.

  He would have played more, but Lydia seemed as impatient as he was to join their bodies. He made them one with a single, deep thrust and felt her legs close tightly around his hips as he sank into her to the hilt.

  “Joe.” She said his name as though it were a prayer of thanksgiving. She looked up at him, a plea in her eyes, and he realized he would do anything, say anything, be anything to make her happy.

  His muscular arms braced his body above her as he gazed down into her remarkable violet eyes. What was she thinking at this moment? What did she feel for him? He saw desire. And longing. But for what? The simple pleasures of the flesh? Or did she yearn for something deeper, some profound emotional connection that he would have said—before he’d met Lydia Benedict—was impossible on such short acquaintance.

  Their lovemaking was tender at first, but quickly escalated to urgent kisses and desperate touches. Joe had never made love to a woman who responded to him so avidly, who sought to give as much enjoyment as she took.