In Love Again (28 page)

“Please sign here, Lady Lydia.” He turned the registry book toward her and pointed to where she was supposed to sign. His hands were particularly elegant. Strong and confident.

She got distracted by the way he tapped the page with that long, strong finger. “Quit tapping!” she snapped.

But when she looked up, he was still smiling. He tapped one more time, just to let her know he could. She couldn’t help it. She smiled back. Maybe she’d be having a fun holiday after all.

“What’s your name?” She bounced the pen against her palm while they stared at each other.

Before he could answer, an older Bahamian man, the general manager of the resort, came out of a door behind the desk. “Alistair?”

“Yes, sir,” he answered respectfully, all hint of mischief gone.

“Please show Lady Lydia to her villa.”

“Yes, sir.”

Yes, Alistair, do show me
.

Once she had signed the registry and they were out of earshot of Mr. Grumpy Boss, Lydia asked, “So what time do you get off work? Is there any fun to be had around here?”

He shook his head. “No, miss.”

“Oh, please, don’t
no-miss
me.
No
, you don’t get off work? Or
no
, there’s no fun to be had?”

“There’s horseback riding or parasailing—”

“Stop! You know perfectly well that’s not what I mean. I’m going to be bored to tears!” She kept trying to get his attention, to force him to look at her instead of keeping his back so straight and the set of his jaw so firmly forward. “Look,” she continued, “the nearest relative to my age is that goody-two-shoes Sarah James, and even though she’s only about six years older than I am, she acts like she’s the most mature woman in the world. Boor-ring.”

“This way to your villa, Lady Lydia.”

“Oh, why thank you,
Lord
Alistair,” she answered in a mimicking tone.

He repressed a smile.

“Seriously!” She blocked the path, now that they were out of sight of the main hotel building and she wouldn’t get either of them in trouble if she were seen impeding his duties. They were hidden in one of the winding narrow paths that ensured everyone had privacy. He stood still, waiting for her to let him pass. He raised his eyebrows and looked over her shoulder.

“Take me out on the town,
Alistair
.” She liked saying his name. It sounded all buttoned-up, but she suspected—she hoped—there was a very unbuttoned Alistair lurking very close to that all-business surface. “Come on. There must be some fun to be had in Nassau. It’s like a prison here at the hotel.”

He looked up at the bluest blue sky and then over his shoulder at the most turquoise of turquoise seas. “Some prison.”

“You know what I’m saying.”

He shook his head. “Honestly, I really don’t.” His voice had changed. He was no longer the luggage-toting, registry-tapping employee. He was a confident man. “What
are
you saying?” he challenged.

She inhaled, having a moment of shock, thinking of words her grandmother would have used, words like
impertinence
and
insolence
. And then she paused, because for once in her life, she didn’t want to deliver a setdown. She wanted this tall, strong, beautiful man to like her. Her heart started pounding, and she turned away. “Oh, never mind. Which way to my luxurious cell and golden handcuffs?”

“This way, please.” He was back to being an officious member of staff.

She followed quietly and tried to shake off the feeling that he saw right through her. When they reached the pale pink bungalow a few minutes later, he held the door open for her. “Your room is to the left.”

Lydia tried not to visibly shudder when she turned sideways to pass by him in the doorway. He was about six inches taller than she was, and broad. His muscled chest was…right there…in her face…
How was she supposed to
not
notice it
? she wondered. Her inhale was probably superfluous, but he smelled divine.

She exhaled when she was fully inside.

There was a central living room and small kitchen, all white clapboard with lovely, lazy fans spinning in the high rafters. He walked toward the bedroom where she was going to be staying. One of the other porters had already set all of her bags near the closet and on the luggage racks. Claire and Ben were going to take the larger suite on the other side of the communal space.

“Ugh.” She dropped her handbag on a chair with a disappointed toss.

The room was gorgeous
, thought Alistair. Not that he was being boastful, but it had just been used for yet another magazine photo shoot. So Lydia’s existential boredom with it all simply made him laugh.

She turned quickly, like she was going to scold him. Then, surprising them both, she laughed as well. After a few seconds, she flopped into one of the oversized chintz armchairs. “I’m terribly spoilt, am I not?”

Alistair set the room key down on the armoire near the front door, dodging the question. “Please let the front desk know if you need anything else.”

“You know I do. Relief from boredom.”

He dipped his chin and started to leave.

“But in the meantime,” she raised her voice slightly to stay him, “I’ll start with a pitcher of rum dums.”

“Very well.” He bowed more formally and left.

Something in his voice made her feel chastised, then, very quickly, defiant.

As he walked back to the main building, Alistair tried to figure her out. Initially, he’d dismissed her out of hand as one more worthless heiress come to complain about the bad cell phone reception and the tedium of having
nothing
to do. Sure, she was a little immature and petulant, but…

But nothing. Despite himself, after a few paces along the shady path, his mind was circling back to her eyes. Pale, pale blue, so frosty and distant, until she focused on him and he thought he saw her blasé shell crack a bit. That moment when she was signing the register, then again, right there on the path when she’d tried to block his way, he saw something spark to life in her, something more than the low simmer of aristocratic boredom, and he was damned if he didn’t want to get in there and bring her up to a rolling boil.

Ludicrous. He shook his head to dismiss any thought of
Lady
Lydia. He passed a waiter on the way into the main building. “Pitcher of rum dums to Lady Lydia Barnes, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

When he crossed back to the front desk, his uncle was checking in Lydia’s grandmother. “Oh, Alistair,” he called. “There you are. Please come introduce yourself.”

“Oh my!” the former Duchess of Northrop—now Mrs. Jack Parnell—said. “You look so much like your father.”

“Nice to see you again, Mrs. Parnell.” Alistair’s father had been one of the youngest members of parliament in the Bahamas and was now the minister of foreign affairs. He’d gone to Eton with Mrs. Parnell’s first husband, the eighteenth Duke of Northrop, long before there’d been any indication either man would amount to anything. Alistair had been his late-midlife child.

“And how is your mother?” Mrs. Parnell asked.

“She’s very well, thank you. I’ll tell her you asked.”

“Please do. I’d love to see them both if they are here.”

“Yes, they’ll be here tomorrow for Christmas lunch. I’ll make a point of finding you.”

“Very well. That sounds lovely.” She leaned down to sign the guest registry. “Alistair, your uncle tells me you’ve completed your studies.”

“Yes, Mrs. Parnell. I received my degree in hotel management from Cornell.”

“So the political life is not for you?” She set down the pen.

“Well, I told my father that running a hotel requires its own form of diplomacy.”

“Quite so,” she said.

“He’s keeping up the tradition from his mother’s side of the family,” his uncle said proudly, as he turned the registration book back around.

“Very true,” she said on a smile, then she looked around the lobby with aristocratic inspection. “Has everyone else arrived?”

“Everyone except the marchioness,” Alistair’s uncle replied.

“Not the marchioness for much longer. At this rate, none of us will have a title anymore.” She looked up at her untitled husband and laughed lightly. “The things we do for love, right, darling?”

Jack touched her cheek. “Right, my dear.”

Just then, another van pulled in from the airport and Claire stepped out, followed by her tall, attractive companion.

“My, oh my,” Sylvia whispered.

“He’s much too old for you, darling,” Jack teased.

“Stop. He’s quite divine. Look how happy Claire looks. I’ve never seen her…” Something sad and brief passed over Sylvia’s face, then she was forcing a smile again.

“She does have something more about her, doesn’t she?” Jack agreed, facing in the same direction.

In a simple white T-shirt and pale green trousers, Claire reveled in the warm sunshine of the West Indies, looking up to the clear sky to feel it on her face before turning from the front of the hotel to enter the familiar main building. She supposed she should have been worn out from the flight from Philadelphia, but instead she felt energized. She was excited to see Sarah and Bronte. She was really excited to see Lydia. She was even excited to see her mother, who was there waiting by the front desk when Claire and Ben crossed the lobby.

“Claire, dear!”

“Mother!” She was trailing her wheelie bag behind her with one hand and holding Ben’s hand in the other.

“Where’s the rest of your luggage?” Sylvia asked.

“This is it!” Claire beamed, as if even that small victory was something she treasured about her newfound self-sufficiency. Letting go of the handle and releasing Ben, she reached out for her mother and pulled her into a firm hug.

“Oh my!” Sylvia reached up to prevent her wide-brimmed sun hat from falling off. “What was that for?”

Claire shrugged. “Just happy to see you, I guess.”

Ben and Jack had already introduced themselves to one another, both staring at the two beautiful blond women in front of them.

“What?” Sylvia and Claire both said at the same time, reaching up to adjust a stray bit of blond hair in exactly the same way.

Claire laughed at their unconscious, identical gestures, then turned and said, “Mother, please allow me to present Dr. Benjamin Hayek.”

Ben extended his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mrs. Parnell.”

“We’re so glad you could join us. Please call me Sylvia. I’ve heard so much about you, Ben.”

“Thank you again for including me.”

Claire hugged her stepfather as well.

“So much hugging,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” she said in an equally subdued voice. “I’ve become a hugger. Who could have known?” Her smile felt like it was radiating all of her joy.

They agreed to meet up for cocktails in the main lobby at half past six, then Sylvia and Jack said their temporary good-byes and walked toward their villa.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Claire asked quietly, more to herself than to Ben.

He pulled her in for a quick kiss. “Wasn’t bad at all. She’s so much more relaxed than you led me to believe.”

Claire reached for her bag and turned to Alistair. “You don’t need to show us out. I remember where it is.” She smiled, and he nodded. Claire had been coming to Lyford her entire life and knew every inch of the place. Even some of her rare happy times with Freddy had taken place here.

Ben walked beside her as they headed back out into the bright tropical sunshine. “My mother’s changed,” Claire said softly. “In the best possible way.”

“I have to admit…”

“What?”

He shrugged. “I guess I always sort of blamed your mother for your abrupt departure that summer in France. I thought she got wind of our little romance and was there to put a stop to it.”

Claire took a deep breath. “She probably was. But it wasn’t anything to do with you, per se.”

“How could breaking us apart not be about me?”

She looked up at him and they both stopped in the turn of the path. It was shady and a light breeze rustled through the palm fronds. “Ben.” She reached up one hand to his cheek and he closed his eyes.

“It still hurts sometimes,” he said. “All the time we lost. I want to blame someone. Usually myself, for not trying harder, for not believing it was real—”

“Ben, stop,” she interrupted, then stood up on the tips of her sandaled toes and kissed him lightly, barely tracing his lips with hers.

He moaned into her, wanting more, but she pulled away gently. “Ben?”

He opened his eyes. They were stormy with a mix of desire and something harsh or angry. “Like even that,” he said with mild irritation. “We could have been doing
that
for the past twenty years. Don’t you ever feel it boil up in you? I get…angry—”

She smiled and licked her lips, repressing a laugh.

“What? That’s funny?”

“Sort of.”

“Why?”

She shook out her long blond hair then met his eyes again. “Because I think we both know you
get angry
and it’s not just because we were star-crossed lovers torn asunder by the wicked witch.”