The Butler's Daughter (3 page)

Hunter nodded approvingly as he reached for the bags lying on the end of the bed. “My household doesn't stand on the same ceremony as the Collingwood household. You may address me as Hunter in private. The Guardian is addressed as sir when he's on duty. Clear enough?”

She gave him a subdued smile. “Yes, sir.”

“The chopper is waiting. You take the baby. I'll carry your luggage.”

“What about my car?” she asked as she slipped an apricot wool blazer over her sweater and transferred the Glock into one of the blazer's front pockets. From the way she handled the weapon, Hunter had no doubt she was proficient in its use. Hooking a caramel leather purse over her shoulder, she knelt down to scoop up the baby.

“I'll send one of my men to pick up your car. You won't need it where we're going.”

“We'll need Cort's car seat.”

“We'll go without it. Someone could have tampered with your car since you left it in the parking lot.”

She glanced over at him, alarm sparking in her eyes as she gently tucked a blanket around the sleeping infant. The baby cried out in his sleep and Juliana spoke softly to him, pressing a kiss onto the crown of his head.

The intimate gesture caused anger to rise inside Hunter—anger and unbearable guilt that Ross and Lexi would never kiss their son—or the daughter who'd been snatched from their lives over two years ago. All the security precautions in the world could minimize the chances, but not always prevent a determined lunatic bent on destruction.

In the hospital, all it had taken was for one night-duty nurse to be overpowered by a stun gun and little Riana Collingwood was gone. Though Hunter had vowed to do everything within his means to find the infant, chase every lead that came in over the 1-800 tips line, the grim odds were that they might never find her. Or learn the true reason for her abduction.

The timing of the explosion tonight in a rented house where the Collingwoods had planned to be reunited with their son was suspicious—especially following their daughter Riana's kidnapping. And it cast Riana's abduction and the aborted ransom demand into a whole new light.

Ross Collingwood had some powerful enemies. Men whose companies he'd ruthlessly overtaken, who had the financial means to discover his secrets and his vulnerabilities. And who might be determined to destroy his entire family and the Collingwood empire. The aborted ransom demand could have been part of the kidnapper's goal to
emotionally cripple Ross by leaving him agonizing over his daughter's fate.

Hunter knew far too keenly, far too deeply that all the money in the world couldn't protect a man's heart. Love made a man vulnerable to his enemies.

While Hunter couldn't be sure at this point, he had to assume the security measures set in place to shield Cort's identity had been breached. He needed to take countermeasures to protect the baby from another possible attack. He owed it to his friend.

Carrying the diaper bag and Juliana's carry-on bag he moved to the door, motioning for Juliana to wait while he opened the door and checked the exterior corridor to ensure the coast was clear.

“Where are we going?” Juliana demanded sotto voce as they headed out in the brisk night air, their footsteps muted on the concrete walkway.

“New York City,” he said in her ear, cupping her elbow. The scent of her hair reminded him of springtime and apple blossoms. He shook the distracting thought away and focused on checking their surroundings. He didn't know how much time they had before details of the explosion hit the news.

“Is that where you live?”

“No, but I have a residence there where I can set up a command post to deal with the police and the lawyers and whatever else needs to be done. There will be some reaction in the stock market to his death and the future of the company.” Hunter grimaced inwardly as he scanned the parking lot. Ross Collingwood had been his friend, but he didn't have time for grief. He was The Guardian. He had to do his job—protect Ross's son.

The vehicles were dark and silent. Not a sign of move
ment. They descended the stairs. “The chopper's in the parking lot of a mall just down the street.”

The street was deserted. The streetlights cast pools of light on the sidewalk.

Juliana adjusted the blanket around Cort. “Where do you call home, then?”

“A private island in the St. Lawrence Seaway. I hope you don't like crowds.”

Her arms tightened around the baby. “I can put up with anything to keep Cort safe.”

Ahead, the chopper crouched like a giant glass grass-hopper in an asphalt field. “I'm relieved you feel that way, because it's going to take some ingenuity to keep Cort's identity secret from the world. I don't think it was a coincidence that the explosion occurred tonight when Ross and Lexi would have been reunited with their child. And I can't help wondering if Riana's kidnapping and the explosion tonight are related—that someone wanted to destroy Ross Collingwood and his empire by killing him and his family. We need a strategy to protect Cort. If the media learns of his existence, there'll be a circus trying to find him.”

Juliana halted in her tracks and a suspicious gleam entered her eyes. “I've done a good job protecting Cort on my own. What did
you
have in mind?”

Hunter hesitated, momentarily blindsided by the brilliant simplicity of the plan that formed in his thoughts. Sweat dotted his brow. Could it work? Juliana was pretty enough. It wouldn't be much of a stretch to feign an attraction to her. At all.

“Hide him in plain sight,” he said slowly as if his words were weighed down with lead by the decision he was making. “I live on an island. People in the surrounding community would be curious if I suddenly brought home an infant and a nanny. Bringing home a wife and a son would
rouse less suspicion. Marginally less,” he added wryly. “But less.”

Her mouth dropped open. “A wife and a son? Just what are you suggesting?”

Every muscle in his body tightened with foreboding. He'd told himself a thousand times he'd never subject himself to the state of matrimony. Sinclairs were cursed in that regard, experiencing more bitterness than bliss.

But he wasn't offering Juliana his heart, his bed or his money, he told himself rationally. There'd be a prenup. “I'm suggesting that we get married.”

Juliana stared at Hunter in mute shock. Then she got angry and said the first thing that came to mind, the wrong thing, “You are absolutely insane.”

She regretted it instantly as his eyes narrowed on her like rapier blades and his mouth flattened into a deadly line. “Given my family history, I'd say that's a foregone conclusion. What's the matter, Cinderella, you never wanted to marry a prince?”

“That remark was completely inappropriate, Mr. Sinclair, but excusable considering my own poor choice of words,” Juliana retorted sharply, feeling heat blister her cheeks. She was half out of her mind with worry about her father's condition and this man expected her to take his marriage of convenience proposal seriously. Still, caution honed from years of domestic service whispered a gentle warning in her ears. Whether she liked it or not, Ross had appointed Hunter Sinclair as Cort's guardian. If memory and gossip served her correctly, the Sinclair family owned luxury hotels. Lots of them. She was at this man's mercy and his whims if she wished to remain in Cort's life and uphold her promise to her father.

She took a deep breath. “I assure you, I intended no disrespect toward you or your family. You simply caught
me off guard. Are you sure someone will call about my father?”

“Yes. I've dispatched two operatives to ensure he receives the best medical care and personal protection. Someone will call as soon as there's news.”

“Thank you.”

One of Hunter's dark eyebrows rose. “You haven't answered my other question. Had you planned on marrying a prince?”

He was baiting her. Intentionally. Maybe even testing her. Juliana had no intention of sharing her private dreams with this intimidating man. Nor did she want to offend him. She held Cort's warm bundled body against her heart, knowing her father would urge her to do whatever duty necessitated.

After all, her father hadn't thought twice about asking her to give up her career and branding her an unwed mother to protect Ross and Lexi's son. She doubted her father would object to her skyrocketing up the social ladder by marrying a multimillionaire.

But as far as Juliana was concerned, it was a leap in the wrong direction.

Her insides trembled at the prospect of playing the mistress of Hunter Sinclair's home—and the mistress of his bed, where, in the shadowed folds of the night, he'd surely look just as intimidating as he did towering over her now.

Lexi had been the daughter of a middle-class family. She'd boldly and elegantly leaped into Ross's elite world with her grace and charm, blissfully ignorant of the rules. Juliana, by contrast, had been schooled in the rules of behavior long before she entered kindergarten. The butler's daughter did not play with the children of the Collingwoods' guests. She did not speak until spoken to. And she
did not once ever let herself think that any of Ross's fancy friends would look at her as anything more than a diversion.

She rather doubted Hunter even considered her a diversion. From his perspective he was negotiating a business merger with all the rules to be spelled out on paper in legalese. “My personal desires are none of your business, Mr. Sinclair,” she said coolly. “But allow me to allay your fears. I'm not the least bit interested in the number of zeroes in your trust fund. All I care about is this darling little boy's safety. If marrying you will achieve that, then so be it. But I want a prenup with your agreement that I shall be appointed Cort's guardian in your will. And should the marriage end in divorce, I want joint custody.”

“That's all? No zeroes from my trust fund?”

She held his mocking gaze for a long moment, convinced that behind his tight mask and the sarcasm was a man who truly cared about protecting Cort. No doubt he was as reluctant as she to enter into this absurd agreement. “Not a one. You may keep them all to yourself. I have employable skills—it's so hard to find good domestic help these days. Do we have a deal?”

Those azure eyes transformed, thawing with sudden warmth. “Deal. The helicopter is waiting. The performance begins now. We can't have anyone suspecting we aren't in love—especially the hired help. You know how they gossip below stairs.”

Before she could stop him or think to protest, he brushed a kiss along her cheek, then nuzzled her jaw as if she were a delectable offering. Juliana stood paralyzed inhaling the scent of him, mesmerized by the seductive play of his lips over her skin and the moist heat of his breath. He was so big, so hard, so utterly dangerous her pulse fluttered on tiny wings. What on earth had she gotten herself into?

Shyly, tentatively, she let her lips touch the corner of his
mouth. Felt the firmness of those lips and the prickle of stubble on his cheek.

Oh, my. Her stomach did a free fall to her toes as his lips settled, coaxing and demanding, over hers. Juliana clutched Cort to her, aware of his precious slumbering body between them as Hunter skillfully swept his tongue into her mouth and kissed her as she imagined all rich boys kissed. Thoroughly. Powerfully. As if the world and her body were his for the taking.

And they were. Her bones threatened to disintegrate beneath the onslaught of sensation.

It was only when she felt the cold imprint of the night air on her face did she realize Hunter had pulled back and was gazing down at her beneath half-lowered lids. The intensity gleaming in his eyes sent a tremor rippling through her. “We'll tell everyone I met you in Europe. That you only told me recently I'd fathered your baby,” he said.

Juliana told herself that if he kept looking at her as he was looking at her now, as if he'd been interrupted during a favorite meal, no one could possibly doubt that he'd fathered Cort. This crazy scheme might work. “Where in Europe?” she said breathlessly. “People will ask.”

“Germany. The Black Forest. They'll believe that. We camped at adjoining campsites. Everyone knows I never stay in hotels, especially my own hotels.”

“I know absolutely nothing about camping.”

“Which is why I came to your rescue, Cinderella, out of fear that you'd light your clothes on fire.”

She ground her teeth behind clamped lips, subduing the urge to insist he stop calling her Cinderella. She forced her lips into a smile. “How complimentary.”

“I'm glad you approve.” He gripped her elbow again
and hurried her across the parking lot toward the chopper. Juliana felt as if she were leaving one world and entering another.

 

T
O HIS CREDIT
,
THE MAN
she'd just agreed to marry was solicitous to a fault during the chopper ride to New York City. For the limousine ride to the penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park, Hunter thoughtfully closed the privacy window between them and the driver. Juliana tried not to let her grief over the Collingwoods' deaths or her fears over her father's condition show in her face. What was happening with her father? Why didn't the doctor call?

The apartment was as enigmatic and masculine as Hunter himself. An oasis of muted earth colors on the walls, comfortable leather furnishings, and artwork that probed to the soul.

Juliana restrained herself from offering an apologetic smile to the middle-aged butler and housekeeper who'd obviously been roused from their beds and awaited them in the foyer, with appropriate smiles of welcome.

“Juliana, darling, this is Marquise and his wife Valentina, who make life much simpler in the Big Apple,” Hunter said warmly, slipping the stiff band of his arm around Juliana's shoulder and dropping a kiss on Cort's downy head. “Marquise, Valentina, this handsome young man is my son, Cort. And his beautiful mother is going to be my wife as soon as we can arrange a quiet wedding. Please make them comfortable. They're both exhausted from their trip.”

Juliana blushed as Marquise, a short man with a precisely trimmed goatee and velvety black eyes, bowed slightly. “Very good, sir. And congratulations. A crib has been set up in the nursery for the little one.”

Cort let out a grumpy wail. Gratitude and awkwardness spilled through Juliana. It felt alien to have someone antic
ipate her needs before she'd thought of them herself; she was used to the shoe being on the other foot. “Thank you, Marquise. The baby's not feeling well. I'm sure he'll rest better in a comfy bed.”

“You follow me, please, madam,” Valentina said in heavily accented English. Hunter excused himself to take care of some phone calls. Neither Marquise nor Valentina seemed to think it odd that he would be making phone calls at 4:00 a.m. Juliana prayed that one of those phone calls would bring news about her father's condition. Please, let him be all right.

Unpretentious and quiet, Valentina led the way down a thickly carpeted hallway to the nursery. Even though the lights were turned low, Juliana could see this was a room used by children. Boys, she presumed from the twin set of race car beds and the buckets of blocks, trucks and action figures neatly arranged on the shelves near the window.

She didn't ask Valentina what boys used this room. As Hunter's fiancée, it would be expected that she know this. Did Hunter have children from a previous marriage? Was that why he'd seemed so sarcastic about the subject of matrimony? Had his first wife relieved him of some of his much prized zeroes?

Although she'd successfully hidden Cort's existence from the world for the last five months, Juliana was overwhelmed by the enormity of what the task now entailed. It was one thing to pretend to be a single mother living on her own. Quite another to find herself suddenly married, pretending to be in love with a stranger. A large, intimidating stranger.

While Juliana changed Cort's diaper, Valentina helpfully warmed a bottle for him, then unpacked the diaper bag. Juliana experienced a flicker of alarm, wondering if the
housekeeper found it odd that there was only a few days' worth of clothes in the bag.

Hunter had been right, they couldn't have the servants talking, thinking there was anything remotely suspicious about their wedding or Cort's parentage. “I had most of the baby's clothes sent to the island,” she extemporized. “And I planned to do some shopping—for the wedding and for him while we're here in New York. He's growing so fast.”

Valentina laughed. “Marquise will drive you to find what you need. He knows all Brook's favorite stores. She comes many times with the boys to visit their fathers and to shop.”

Fathers?
Juliana distractedly absorbed this information, wondering if it was a grammatical error on Valentina's part and still uncertain as to who Brook could be. Cort whimpered and snuffled as Juliana changed his diaper, her fingers fumbling with the snaps of his sleeper. Had the news of the explosion reached the media yet? “There, there, everything's going to be fine,” she whispered to Cort, rubbing his back until he quieted. Then she lowered him into the crib and covered him with his favorite blanket.

With any luck, he'd sleep for a few hours.

Valentina waited outside in the hall, her dark-ginger eyes eager to please as she led Juliana to a room across the hall that was distinctly feminine in tones of ivory and powder-blue. A bedroom fit for a princess, with dainty upholstered furniture and a bed draped with yards of powder-blue velvet, ivory satin and gold-tasseled cords. Not a bed fit for the butler's daughter.

Resentment and anger teemed inside her. This pampered luxury was not her life. It rightfully belonged to Lexi and Ross. She wanted to scream.

Valentina was gazing at her in concern. “Hunter say to
prepare this room. His room is adjoining, yes? He gets lots of phone calls in the night. No good for a new mother who needs her sleep.”

Juliana reminded herself to play her role. “How thoughtful of him, although I doubt anyone's going to get much sleep with Cort in the house,” she murmured ruefully. With a practiced eye she sought out the details she'd been trained to note: the bed neatly turned down, the fresh flowers, the spotless tabletops that would pass a white glove test. “The room is very comfortable, Valentina. Thank you.”

The housekeeper bobbed her head and beamed. “Hunter not bothered by crying babies. He love babies—very good with babies. I unpack your bag for you, yes?”

Juliana felt woozy, as if she couldn't hold herself together a moment longer. “Please. I'm so exhausted I can't think straight. Our flight was delayed for hours. Leave my robe out. I'll have a shower before I turn in.”

Escaping into the bathroom, she removed her jacket, wondering what to do with the gun in the front pocket. Where could she hide it from Valentina's prying eyes? She tucked it between the folds of a plush towel stacked in a basket on the handsome wood vanity until she could return it to her purse. Violet smudges cut beneath her eyes as she stared at herself in the gilt-framed mirror. The situation was absurd. She didn't look anything like a happy bride-to-be. Just the thought of pretending to be in love with Hunter Sinclair made her shiver.

Shedding her clothes, she turned on the water in the large marble-tiled shower. Here, at last, was privacy beneath the veil of steam and the pulsing drum of the water. Juliana sagged against the cool marble wall and let the sobs come.

 

“T
HANKS, KEEP ME POSTED
.” Hunter hung up the phone and massaged his temples, holding his grief at bay through
sheer force of will. From his study window, Central Park was a dark abyss with a halo of fire rising along the horizon, the sun dawning on a terrible day. The fire department had recovered two bodies from the house in the Adirondacks. Autopsies would be done later today or tomorrow to identify the remains. Hunter had contacted the Collingwood lawyers, then alerted the senior vice president of the Collingwood Corporation. Coverage of the explosion was already hitting CNN on one of the TVs on the opposite wall.

Hunter dialed Lexi's sister's number again, wishing he could deliver this news personally. But Cort's safety was his top priority.