A Silken Seduction

by Yvonne Lindsay

  He could barely remember exchanging vows with her yesterday but he had a vivid picture in his mind as the solemnity of the promises they’d exchanged hit home while he’d eased her wedding ring on her finger. He lifted her hand now, looking at the ring that evidenced the bond forged between them. He hadn’t even given that bond a thought when he’d chosen it. He’d been so stupidly naive.

  When he’d asked her to marry him he’d said he cared for her. Cared for her! God, what had he been thinking? This feeling, this overwhelming need for her and to protect her, it had been there right from the start. She was the one. His one. How had he never seen that?

  He knew how. He’d been so focused on getting her to agree to sell, and on getting his hands on Lovely Woman he’d ignored what his heart was telling him about the lovely woman in his arms.

  Thinking about it sent his mind spinning in circles, forcing him to ask questions of himself and examine those answers with an honesty he wasn’t ready for. Didn’t know if he’d ever be ready for. So, for now he’d hold his feelings for his wife deep inside, where they could do no harm. To her, or to him.

  Marcus pried himself from Avery’s embrace, despite her sleepy protests. Married or not, weekend or not, he had work scheduled for today. The Cullen Collection was supposed to have arrived overnight and he had promised Avery he’d be there to oversee it being unpacked.

  Three quarters of an hour later he was occupied with the time-consuming task of supervising the uncrating and cross-checking the inventory list of the collection. Time passed quickly and he was on the verge of directing the staff to take a break when his cell phone rang.

  He checked the caller ID and, not recognizing the number let the call go to voice mail. Clearly the caller wasn’t satisfied with that because less than a minute later the phone started up again.

  “Hey, guys, why don’t you head out for some lunch and meet back here in about an hour, okay?” Marcus directed. It was time they all had some air, anyway.

  As the two men who’d been assisting him left the storeroom he accepted the call with a clipped greeting.

  “Dalton Rothschild here, I’m glad you could take my call.”

  Marcus looked around to make sure the staff had left and closed the door to the storeroom. He didn’t want anyone eavesdropping on a conversation with the head of Waverly’s biggest competitor. It was too easy for a few casually overheard words to be misconstrued. Although why Rothschild wanted to speak with him had him burning with curiosity.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, injecting just the right note of insolence. To be perfectly frank, despite Rothschild’s handsome and urbane exterior, Marcus thought the man was a snake and he knew Rothschild wasn’t above manipulating other people for his own ends. The planting of one of his assistants as a spy within Waverly’s being a perfect case in point.

  “I have a proposition to put to you, Price. Meet me for dinner so we can discuss it.”

  Marcus allowed himself a grim smile. Hardly an invitation. More like a summons. But there was something about the word proposition that intrigued him. What the hell was the man up to now? Marcus had no doubt Ann would be equally as fascinated to find out. Maybe this time they’d catch the latest rumor early, giving them a chance to refute it before it could blow up in their faces. He didn’t want to sound too eager, though.

  “Mr. Rothschild, I’m sure you know the ramifications if I’m seen dining with you. The rumor mill will work overtime, especially given the current trend of useless speculation about Waverly’s.” Speculation Marcus believed Rothschild had been feeding to the media like kindling on a fire. After all, as Waverly’s key opposition, Rothschild stood to gain the most if Waverly’s went to the wall.

  “Which is precisely why we need to meet. Six o’clock, tomorrow evening, Price. At my apartment since you’re so determined on privacy.” He rattled off his address and hung up before Marcus had time to react.

  * * *

  Avery was none too happy to be left to her own devices for the second day in a row after her marriage. Second day? Second night, more like, she thought as she faced another long evening alone. She’d been asleep when Marcus had come home from Waverly’s last night and then this morning, Monday, he’d left early for the office again. His kiss had been perfunctory at best when he’d said goodbye. She understood he had to make up for the time he’d recently spent in London with her, but his air of distraction, as if he was occupied by something far more important to him than his new wife, had her worried.

  And she knew exactly what that something was. The Cullen Collection. Just thinking about it made her stomach lurch. Had this been what he’d wanted all along? Why had she never questioned what lengths he’d been prepared to go to procure the paintings for sale? Had he even been prepared to go so far as to marry her? No, now she was being ridiculous. She’d already agreed to let Marcus represent the collection long before he’d proposed to her. Long before they’d discovered they were about to become parents.

  She pressed a palm to her belly. Was that what it was, then? Was he regretting she was pregnant? Did he regret marrying her? They’d been husband and wife for all of two days and, aside from their time in bed, he’d spent scant minutes with her awake. They’d rushed into this, she knew, but she’d been so certain in her heart of hearts that she’d made the right decision. Had she been totally naive and gullible all over again? Was this a repeat of the pattern that had plagued her all her life when it came to friends and relationships?

  He didn’t strike her as the kind of man who just wanted her for her fortune. She’d learned, the hard way, to recognize those types. No, Marcus’s hot button was definitely art and he had already achieved what he wanted to with her father’s paintings.

  All except Lovely Woman.

  A chill ran down her back, radiating out to immobilize her whole body in its frozen grip. Was that what it was? One painting? Had he married her just to get hold of that one painting? Avery tried to push the thought from her mind, telling herself it was stupid but in her mind’s eye she could still see Marcus’s face when he’d seen the canvas for the first time. He’d wanted it, bad.

  The phone rang, and she was thankful for the interruption because she didn’t want to pursue those thoughts. They had to be too ridiculous to give credence to.

  “How’s my favorite wife?” The sound of Marcus’s voice chased away her fears. He was real, he had feelings for her, she knew it. It was there in his tone and in the way he made love to her. She tried to grab on to that thought but, for some reason, it slipped through her metaphorical fingertips.

  “Last time I checked I was your only wife, or are you holding out on me?”

  Despite her best efforts there was a note in her voice that bordered on unease.

  “Are you okay, Avery?”

  She closed her eyes and squeezed the handset of the phone tight, forcing herself to draw in a steadying breath before she spoke again.

  “Of course I’m okay. Just missing you, that’s all.”

  She heard him sigh on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry but you’re going to have to miss me a bit more. I have to work late. I’d rather be home with you but it’s unavoidable.”

  Avery caught her lower lip between her teeth and bit hard. She wasn’t going to beg him to come home. She wasn’t.

  “Oh? That’s a shame. When can I expect you, then?”

  “I’m not sure. Look, don’t wait up, but promise me you’ll eat. Order something, okay?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of myself. I’m used to it.”

  “Avery, don’t be like that,” he said quietly.

  “Like what? I am used to looking after myself, Marcus. Seriously, don’t worry about me.”

  “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  She disconnect
ed the call and wandered over to the large window that looked out at the view and suddenly felt overwhelmingly homesick for her garden in Kensington. Her father would be proud of the garden were he still alive. But would he be proud of her, too? She wrapped her arms around her middle and held herself tight and, despite the little person she knew was growing within her, she felt more alone than she ever had in her life.

  Avery jumped when her cell phone rang. Her heart raced, hope building in her chest that it was Marcus calling to say he’d changed his plans and would be home after all.

  “Hello?” She sounded breathless, needy, but she didn’t care. If it was Marcus she just wanted him here.

  “Avery? Is that you?”

  Hope dashed into a million tiny fragments at her feet. She recognized the man’s voice, and it certainly wasn’t her husband.

  “Peter. I didn’t expect to hear from you again. How did you find me?”

  “I heard through the grapevine that you and Marcus Price got married last weekend. Is that right?”

  “That’s right,” she answered cautiously. It hadn’t taken long for news to travel but it didn’t explain why he was calling her.

  “Look, there are some things you really should know. Things I don’t want to disclose over the phone. I’m in New York for meetings with the boss but I’m free tonight. Can you get away, maybe meet me somewhere?”

  Avery’s initial instinct was to bristle and refuse Peter Cameron’s request point blank. What could he possibly have to tell her that was worse than what he’d tried to put her off Marcus with back in London? Caution made her hold her tongue. Caution and her own fears about why Marcus had married her.

  “I might be able to manage that, where were you thinking of meeting?”

  He named an Italian restaurant only a couple of blocks from the apartment.

  “Okay. I’ll see you there in an hour.”

  “Thanks, you won’t regret it.”

  She had a suspicion that she’d regret it deeply, but her own fears drove her to change into a pair of dark trousers and boots and to throw on her warm coat to ward off the evening chill as she walked to the restaurant.

  Peter was already seated at a booth when she arrived. She eased herself onto the bench seat opposite him.

  “I thought we could order first, then talk,” Peter said, passing her one of the two menus on the table.

  Remembering her promise to Marcus, Avery scanned the menu and made her selection, requesting sparkling mineral water with her meal. Thankfully their meals arrived promptly, negating the need to make small talk.

  As Avery lifted the first forkful of carbonara to her mouth, Peter began to talk.

  “So, congratulations on your marriage,” he started. “But maybe I should be congratulating Marcus instead.”

  “Why not congratulate us both?” Avery asked, confused.

  “I kind of think he’ll be getting more out this than you imagine.”

  “How so?” she demanded, putting her fork down on her plate. This had been a bad move. She should never have come.

  “Well, you remember me telling you about his parents?”

  “Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything. Marcus is who he is and he’s worked hard to get where he is.”

  Peter gave her a sly look. “Did he work hard on you?”

  Avery started to rise from her seat. “I don’t need to listen to this.”

  “Please, sit down. It’s important.”

  She hesitated a moment before settling back down. “Get to the point.”

  “Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked, gesturing to her plate.

  “Actually, I’ve lost my appetite. What do you mean Marcus will get more out of our marriage than I imagine?”

  He shrugged and swirled up more of his spaghetti, taking his time chewing and swallowing before speaking again.

  “You didn’t get him to sign a prenuptial agreement, did you?”

  Of course she didn’t. She loved him. She believed their marriage would work, or at least she had believed that. Her silence prompted Peter to continue.

  “He must be pretty thrilled to be a joint owner now of Lovely Woman. It is what he wanted all along. Did you know that?”

  A fist clenched tight in her chest. “Stop beating around the bush, Peter, or I’m leaving now.”

  “No, you’re not. You want to hear this probably about as much as I want to tell it to you.” He gave her a half smile. “As I said before, you know what happened to Marcus’s parents and how his grandfather raised him.”

  “Yes, I know all that.”

  “You might be interested to know that his grandfather’s mother was Kathleen Price—née O’Reilly.” At Avery’s blank look he kept going. “If my sources are correct, Kathleen O’Reilly was the model in Lovely Woman and, if I’m not mistaken, your great-great-uncle’s lover. How’s that for a coincidence? But you see, it gets more interesting. Apparently one of Baxter Cullen’s old notebooks, on loan to The Old State House museum in Boston, shows that the painting was gifted to someone with the initials K.O. I’d say that someone could only be Kathleen O’Reilly, who then left it to her only son when she passed away. Quite a legacy, wouldn’t you say—a Baxter Cullen original?

  “But clearly not enough of a legacy for her son, because twenty-five years ago he sold the painting, and your father had the good sense to buy it. Marcus approached your father several times to buy it back before he died. Did you know that?”

  Avery felt her face pale, felt hope drain from her to be replaced by a sickening numbness. She shook her head in response to Peter’s question, not that he needed one, because he continued to spread his poison.

  “You’ve got to hand it to him for ingenuity. A whirlwind romance and sudden marriage, so romantic—until you look at his motivation. In marrying you, Marcus has finally found a way to get the painting back. Rather clever, don’t you think?”

  Clever was definitely not the first word that came to mind. In fact, no words came to mind. Only a long, painful, silent howl of pain from deep, deep inside. There was a chance Peter was lying, but she doubted it. Everything fit together too well and it wasn’t as if he had anything to gain by telling her.

  She’d thought Marcus was different but he’d used her just like everyone else had, except his betrayal was the worst of all.

  * * *

  Marcus arrived at Dalton Rothschild’s apartment building, surprised to be greeted by name by the concierge. Still, he supposed, nothing about Dalton Rothschild ought to surprise him. When talk of collusion between Ann Richardson and Rothschild had been bandied about last month, after Ann had been rumored in the media to be romantically linked with the man, Marcus had no doubt where those rumors had originated. Rothschild was not the kind of man who would take being publicly dumped lying down. He was, however, the kind of man who would seek revenge.

  Was this another of Rothschild’s attempts to undermine Waverly’s? Even though the talk of collusion had included his name as much as it had Ann’s, he’d still managed to come out of everything smelling like roses—while Ann continued to be pilloried by an unforgiving media. Did Rothschild plan to try wooing away senior executives and staff to weaken Waverly’s position even further?

  In their industry, reputation counted for a lot, and Ann, the board and the rest of the staff were all committed to protecting what was left of Waverly’s. Loyalty was everything right now.

  The journey up in the elevator was smooth and swift, not unlike Rothschild himself, Marcus thought privately. A neatly suited man waited for him as the doors opened on Rothschild’s floor.

  “Good evening, Mr. Price. I’m Sloane, Mr. Rothschild’s assistant. If you’d come with me?”

  Marcus followed him down the thickly carpeted corridor to a set of double doors at the end. Sloane ke
yed in a code, then pressed his thumb against a scanner. Marcus was impressed with the security and he understood why it was necessary as they entered the foyer of the apartment. Priceless antiques were everywhere—from the richly jewel-toned carpet on the floor to the light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. It was like walking into a museum. A very tastefully furnished museum that was lived in. Marcus briefly admired a cloisonné enamel plaque on the wall. If he wasn’t mistaken, it dated back to the twelfth century. He’d only ever seen pictures of one before, but this was something else.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Rothschild’s voice interrupted Marcus’s assessment of the piece.

  “Indeed,” Marcus agreed, shaking the hand offered.

  “Thank you, Sloane, I’ll look after Mr. Price from here” Rothschild dismissed his assistant and gestured to Marcus to follow him through to the sitting room. “Drink?” he asked, moving toward a sideboard.

  “Thanks, whiskey, straight up.”

  “Hard day at the office?” Rothschild asked, a sly smile pulling at his lips.

  As if he’d admit to that. “No more than usual.”

  “I hear congratulations are in order,” his host continued, after pouring two whiskeys and handing one to Marcus.

  “Congratulations?”

  “On your marriage and on acquiring the Cullen Collection.”

  “News travels fast,” Marcus said noncommittally.

  “Oh, yes, if one cares to listen. Tell me, was marrying Avery Cullen part of the deal?”

  Anger clawed at Marcus’s throat, demanding he tell Dalton Rothschild exactly what he thought of his offensive remark, but reason prevailed. He wanted to find out why he’d been summoned here, so he could report back to Ann in the morning. She’d been surprised when Marcus had told her of the invitation, and just as curious as he was as to Rothschild’s intent.

  “With all due respect, my marriage is none of your concern,” he answered stiffly.

  The other man just smiled, a calculating expression in his eyes. “I like you, Price. It’s not every man who’s prepared to go above and beyond the call of duty like that.”