In the Best Man's Bed

by Catherine Spencer

  Not in so many words, perhaps! Annoyed as much with himself as with her, for forgetting how easily sound traveled through the open shutters of the building, Ethan joined her and placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I thought I told you to stay with Solange, mon petit?”

  “She went inside to answer her phone,” he said, his gaze fixed adoringly on the face of his new friend. “She was gone a long time, and the kitten ran off, so I came to find you.”

  “You did the right thing,” the Barclay woman murmured soothingly. “It was very rude of us to leave you alone, but your father and I are finished our conversation now, so why don’t you and I play another game?”

  “No,” Ethan said, taking Adrian’s hand firmly in his. “I already made it clear he won’t be staying.”

  “And I made it clear he’s no trouble.”

  But you are, he thought. You’re nothing but trouble, and I intend to put a stop to it before you cause irreparable damage to my boy. “No,” he said again, more forcefully this time. “He comes with me. You can’t possibly attend to your work and keep an eye on him at the same time.”

  “I’m a woman,” she retorted, as if he hadn’t already noticed. “I can multitask.”

  “I’m a father, and I don’t care to have my son left to his own devices around a swimming pool, especially not with someone who doesn’t have the first clue about water rescue or life-saving techniques.”

  “Oh, rats!” She made a comical face and rubbed her nose against Adrian’s, thereby reducing him to another fit of giggles. “Father’s right again, but never mind, sweet pea. We’ll have lots of other chances to play.”

  Not if he had anything to say in the matter, as she’d discover soon enough, Ethan thought grimly, steering Adrian outside just as Solange emerged from her quarters.

  “There’s someone waiting to see you in your office,” she told him. “A Señor Gonzales from Caracas. Something to do with the oil operations, I understand.”

  “I wasn’t expecting him until tomorrow.” He pointed Adrian toward the path leading uphill. “Guess we’d better head home, mon petit.”

  “Yes, do,” Anne-Marie Barclay said, with unflattering enthusiasm. “There’s certainly nothing to keep you here.”

  “Not at this moment, perhaps,” he said, determined to have the last word, “but I’ll be back. And when I return, it’ll be to establish a few ground rules. Because you’ll surely concur that we need to arrive at some sort of harmonious understanding of who’s calling the shots around here.”

  “You haven’t left me in much doubt about that.”

  “I’d like to think not. But you don’t strike me as someone who concedes defeat easily.”

  She lifted one shoulder in a delicate but decidedly defiant shrug.

  “Precisely,” he said. “So for the good of everyone, but most especially my boy, you and I will arrive at a mutually acceptable agreement which will preclude any further clashing of wills. Because I will not subject him to any more such displays, nor will I allow our incompatibility to turn my brother’s pre-wedding festivities into a battle zone.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ANNE-MARIE didn’t see him again until that evening when, unlike the day before, dinner was a formal affair involving the whole family.

  “You look lovely,” Solange told her, as they made their way through the gardens to the Sunset Gazebo for the cocktail hour. “Is that outfit one of your own creations?”

  “Of course. I make all my own clothes.”

  “Well, seeing you tonight ought to put an end to any doubts Ethan still has about your talent. He’s sure to be impressed.”

  “I didn’t dress to please him,” she said sharply, but it wasn’t true. She’d deliberately chosen the violet chiffon dress for its dramatic neckline which left one shoulder bare, and for the way it lent her gray eyes a smoky purple depth at the same time that it emphasized her ivory-toned skin.

  I’ll knock his socks off! she’d vowed defiantly, glaring at herself in the mirror as she secured her hair in a smooth coil on the crown of her head, and swept a trace of lavender shadow over her eyelids. Before this evening’s over, there’ll be no doubt in anyone’s mind about which of us knows the most about good taste!

  But when they finally came face-to-face, she was the one left speechless. If Ethan stripped to the waist in the cool shade of morning was spectacular, Ethan in white dinner jacket and black tie, with the setting sun turning his skin to glowing bronze, was breathtaking.

  “I’m delighted you decided to join us,” he said, as if there was even a remote possibility that anyone would have the nerve to refuse a Beaumont invitation. “Allow me to introduce my aunt and uncle, Josephine and Louis Duclos. This,” he said, drawing her toward the couple waiting to the rear, “is Solange’s friend, Mademoiselle Anne-Marie Barclay.”

  “Enchanté, Mademoiselle,” Louis Duclos murmured, kissing her hand with old-world gallantry. “Welcome to Bellefleur.”

  “Indeed,” his wife said, with a cool smile, and tapped him on the shoulder. “That’s enough, Louis! Release Mademoiselle Barclay’s hand, if you please, before you swallow it whole, and allow her to make my acquaintance. Mademoiselle, you may sit with me under the canopy.”

  Issuing orders under the guise of invitations must be a Beaumont family trait, Anne-Marie decided, accepting the proffered seat. And with the exception of her eyes, which were the same dark brown as Adrian’s, Josephine’s striking resemblance to Ethan marked her as a Beaumont born and bred.

  “Tell me about yourself,” she commanded, her gaze raking over Anne-Marie with daunting candor. “I know nothing about you except that you and Solange are old friends. How did that come about, given that she is French and you’re Canadian? Were your parents also members of the diplomatic corps?”

  “No. My parents died in a boating accident when I was eight.”

  Josephine’s gaze softened marginally. “I’m sorry. That was a grievous loss for such a young child to endure. Were you left completely alone?”

  “Not quite. My mother had a brother who became my guardian. But he was a bachelor in his early twenties. He hadn’t the first idea how to cope with a little girl who cried every night for her mother and father. So he sent me away to boarding school where I’d at least be with other children my own age, and eventually to the Swiss finishing school where Solange and I met.”

  “And became friends because you had so much in common. Not that she was orphaned, of course, but she might as well have been since her parents so seldom showed interest in her.”

  “They didn’t really abandon me, Tante Josephine,” Solange said, leaping to their defense just as she always had, no matter how often they forgot her birthday or canceled plans to meet her during school vacations. “It was just that my father’s work in the Consulate was very demanding and involved a great deal of travel. The only reason I spent so much time in boarding school was that he and my mother wanted to maintain some sort of continuity in my education. But they always made sure I attended the very best schools.”

  “Rationalize it any way you like,” Josephine replied, “but the bottom line is, they farmed you out to an institution and left someone else to bring you up while they partied their way through Europe. You’re just too nice a child to speak as plainly as I do.”

  “I met Solange’s parents on several occasions, and they always struck me as very caring people,” Anne-Marie said, knowing how devastating Solange would find such blunt criticism.

  “I’m sure they were, and are,” Josephine Duclos replied. “They care a great deal about their own pleasures.”

  “They were always extremely kind to me.”

  “I’m not saying they were deliberately cruel, young woman.” Josephine spared Ethan a telling glance. “Merely self-involved to the exclusion of those around them, like someone else we once knew.”

  “Let’s not air our dirty linen all at once,” he said mildly. “Mademoiselle Barclay’s opinion of us is already tarnished eno
ugh.”

  “I don’t know why you’d assume that,” Anne-Marie replied, accepting a glass of champagne from Louis Duclos. “Adrian is adorable.”

  “But I’m not.” Although his tone remained cheerfully uncaring, Ethan’s smile held more than a touch of irony and caused a minor upheaval in Anne-Marie. Even when he wasn’t trying to be charming, she found him attractive, so what sort of fool did that make her?

  “No,” she said, striving to match his insouciance. “You’re thoroughly obnoxious!”

  At that, Solange visibly cringed but, surprisingly, Josephine let out a squawk of laughter. “I think you’ve met your match, Ethan,” she crowed. “And as for you, child….” She tapped Anne-Marie on the arm. “I do believe I might like you!”

  “From which you’ll no doubt gather that my aunt doesn’t confer approval on too many people,” Ethan said dryly. “Would you care for more champagne?”

  “Stop trying to make her tipsy. I’m not yet finished quizzing her.” Brown eyes snapping with lively curiosity, Josephine turned back to Anne-Marie. “What else about you is interesting, child, beside the fact that you’re refreshingly outspoken?”

  “Very little. My work keeps me too busy to pursue much in the way of hobbies.”

  “I’m not talking about what you do! It’s who you are inside that I want to hear about—your thoughts and opinions. How, for example, do you feel about Solange marrying a Beaumont?”

  Dusk was descending rapidly. Already, the shot-silk blue of the sea had deepened to rich plum. But the squat pillar candles encircling a bouquet of scarlet hibiscus on the table threw out enough light for Anne-Marie to be vividly aware of Ethan’s gaze sliding from her face to her bare shoulder, dipping slowly all the way to her ankles, then returning to dwell on her face as if he were trying to penetrate her mind and discern her most private thoughts.

  He made her wish she’d worn something a little more conservative. Something that didn’t reveal quite so much of her. She wanted to hug her arms over her breasts, smooth away the gooseflesh suddenly pebbling her skin. Turn away from that probing regard.

  Instead, she found herself hypnotized by it…by him. His hair, dark as night, lay smooth against his skull. Except for his eyes which, even in the fading light, gleamed blue as lapis lazuli, he was a study in tones of sepia, black and white. He lifted his glass in that negligently graceful way with which he appeared to do most things, his hand and wrist tawny against the snowy cuff of his shirt. He blinked slowly, and the charcoal shadow of his lashes flickered over the polished bronze of his cheekbones.

  His mouth lifted in a slow smile. “We’re all waiting to hear your answer, Mademoiselle,” he said softly. “Do you think Solange is insane to throw in her lot with a family such as ours?”

  “I hope she isn’t,” she said forthrightly. “I hope Philippe lives up to her expectations.”

  “But you have doubts that he will?”

  She hesitated, hating how he was putting her on the spot, and wishing he hadn’t so accurately pinpointed the reservations she’d kept from Solange. The Philippe she remembered was charming and attentive, but he didn’t possess a fraction of his brother’s strength of character. Solange was emotionally fragile, though. She needed a strong man by her side.

  “I haven’t seen Philippe in almost eight years,” Anne-Marie said, choosing her words with care. “I expect he’s changed, so I prefer to withhold comment until we become reacquainted.”

  Ethan, though, wasn’t about to let her off the hook so easily. “Changed from what?” he persisted.

  “From the way he used to be, of course—a boy barely out of his teens, playing at being a man of the world. I expect he’s grown up somewhat in the time since.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” Josephine Duclos muttered. “Louis, hand me my wrap and escort me back to the house. My stomach tells me it’s time I ate.”

  Even as she spoke, the telephone beside Ethan rang. Lifting it, he strolled to the edge of the gazebo and carried on a brief, low-voiced conversation before turning back to announce, “Your stomach is right on time as usual, ma tante. And you, Solange, will be happy to know Philippe arrived home half an hour ago, and will be joining us for dinner.”

  “He’s here already? I wasn’t expecting him until much later.” She sprang to her feet, her face illuminated with joy. “Will you excuse me if I run ahead?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Go welcome him back.”

  She raced off, light-footed as a gazelle, and since Josephine and Louis also had already started back, Anne-Marie was left with no choice but to walk with Ethan.

  “So,” he said, cupping her elbow in a firm, warm grasp which made it clear he wasn’t about to let her wriggle free from his hold or his questions, “now that we’re alone at last, tell me exactly what you really think about this marriage between your best friend and my half brother.”

  “I have mixed feelings, Ethan. Philippe struck me in the past as being very likable but rather spoiled. If he hasn’t matured, I’d worry about how ready he is for something as permanent as marriage. On the other hand, I never thought his relationship with Solange would last more than one summer. I take it as a very good sign that it’s survived nearly ten years.”

  “There have been other women in between, you know.”

  “And Solange has dated other men. Yet, in the end, no one could come between her and Philippe. They always found their way back to one another.”

  “Does she know how you feel—that you’re not sure she’s made the wisest choice?”

  “No. Solange’s confidence is easily crushed and I wouldn’t dream of saying anything which might undermine her at this stage of the game. If she’d asked me six months ago, I might have been more candid.”

  “It strikes me as strange that, for such good friends, you don’t confide in one another more readily. I’d have thought you’d be the first person she’d tell when she became engaged.”

  “I’m the person she turns to when things go wrong, Ethan. When life’s treating her well, the people she shares her happiness with are her parents, because she knows they don’t have either the time or the inclination to involve themselves in her troubles. The only news they’re interested in hearing is the good news.”

  “So my aunt’s observations weren’t far off the mark?”

  “Sadly not.”

  “It makes me wonder why some people bother having children in the first place,” he said, the note of savagery underlying his tone echoed in his almost bruising grip on her elbow.

  “Do you have any regrets about fathering Adrian?”

  “Good God, no! What sort of question is that?”

  “One prompted by the fact that you’re practically pulverizing my bones!” Wincing, she extracted herself from his hold. “To some men, a child is a sort of status symbol, a mark of their masculinity, if you like.”

  “And to some women, a child is a toy to be cast aside when they grow tired of playing with it!”

  “Are we talking about your ex-wife now?”

  “Yes, though I can’t imagine how she merits being included in the conversation. She was, if you’ll forgive my speaking plainly, a living bitch, and undeserving of a son like Adrian.”

  “Abandoning a child is completely contrary to a woman’s natural instincts. I think she must have been desperately unhappy to resort to such action.”

  “Are you suggesting I’m the one who drove her away?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything, merely expressing an opinion I believe in. Normally, it goes against the grain for a mother to abandon her young.”

  “There was nothing ‘normal’ about Lisa! The pity of it is, I didn’t recognize the fact sooner. If I had, I could saved everyone, particularly my son, a lot of heartache.”

  And what about your pain, Ethan? she wondered, hearing the ragged edge in his voice. Does it still eat at you when you wake up alone in the night? Is Adrian the only one who misses her? “If she were to ask to come back, would you let
her?”

  They had emerged from the path into a clearing swathed in moonlight. The drugging scent of flowers filled the still air but not a sound disturbed the silence—except for his uneven breathing. “Yes,” he said from between clenched teeth, and it was as if his reply had been torn from his very heart and left him mortally wounded. “Yes, I would let her. How could I not?”

  She shouldn’t have cared. But his anguish flowed out and entrapped her like a living thing, filling her with an inexplicable, illogical sense of having been robbed. Yet how could that be, when she had nothing to lose in the first place?

  When they arrived at the house, they found Josephine and Louis admiring an urn full of gardenias at one end of the dining room verandah, and Philippe and Solange at the other, locked in the kind of uninhibited public embrace which was their habit.

  Either his annoyance showed on his face, or else he made an involuntary sound of disapproval because, as they approached, Anne-Marie flung him a scornful glance and said quietly, “What’s the matter, Ethan? Jealous?”

  “Not in the least,” he muttered. “But there’s a time and place for everything.”

  “Not in their case. You’ve made sure of that by keeping Solange and Philippe apart as much as possible, so who can blame them for making the most of whatever opportunity presents itself?”

  “Not you, apparently,” he said dourly. “Should I take that to mean you exercise no restraint in your own…affairs?”

  “You make ‘affairs’ sound like a dirty word, Ethan, as if you think men line up around the block, eager to sample whatever sexual favors I choose to bestow.”

  As though drawn by a powerful magnetic force, his gaze lingered a moment on the graceful sweep of fabric draping itself from her shoulder and across the swell of her breasts to her tiny waist. “I could hardly blame them, if they did.”

  A delicate peach blush ran over her face. “I’m not sure whether I should be flattered or insulted by that remark.”

  He was spared having to answer by Philippe who, having finally noticed them, crossed to where they stood and swept Anne-Marie into a hug which struck Ethan as being considerably more enthusiastic than the occasion called for.