The Butler's Daughter (9 page)

He silently handed her a diaper and Cort's sleeper, watching as she expertly dressed the baby. “There,” she said, snapping the last fastener, “all ready for a bottle, a story and bed.”

He reached for Cort. “I'll read him his story tonight.”

Hesitation reared in her eyes. “Don't you have something more important to do?”

Hunter held out his hands like a scale. “Let's see, read a story to my new son, have dinner with my bride-to-be, or save the world. Tough choice. But I'm taking all three and in that order. Princes can do things like that.”

Juliana bit her lower lip and settled Cort in his arms. Hunter let his gaze drop to that bit of tender pink flesh caught between her teeth and felt the gnaw of an answering hunger that didn't wish to be denied. It was a shame neither Marquise nor Valentina were passing in the hall. It would have been all the excuse he needed to kiss her again.

 

H
E WAS DELIBERATELY
baiting her, Juliana thought, wringing her hands beneath the linen-covered table as she waited
for Hunter to join her in his bedroom for their private dinner. He'd insisted on putting Cort to bed himself. She hadn't heard a peep of protest out of Cort at this variation in his nighttime routine. But she worried that Hunter's decision to take care of the baby had been a subtle demonstration that she was not irreplaceable, rather than an effort to play the role of a devoted father in front of the servants.

She bit her lip and studied the wooden sleigh bed and the matching tables and armoires that dominated Hunter's room. The dark-green walls gave the room the feeling of an isolated glade. Visitors were seldom, and not welcome.

Deep down she suspected that all his talk of Cinderella and princes was his way of reinforcing that he thought of her as a servant masquerading as a princess, masquerading as his wife.

Which was all the more reason to strictly adhere to the rules of their marriage arrangement and not let herself fall prey to his azure eyes and his cynical smiles and those very thorough kisses. She was not going to be separated from Cort by doing anything so foolish as becoming too attracted to Hunter Sinclair.

She still couldn't quite bring herself to believe that tomorrow this sexy, bewildering, larger-than-life man would be her husband. Her heart squeezed in awe and wonder as Hunter entered the room, followed by Marquise pushing a serving cart.

Pride lit Hunter's features. “So far, so good. No roars. Cort's on his tummy with his bum up in the air.”

“That's his favorite sleeping position,” she shared, feeling almost as if she were giving precious secrets to the enemy.

Hunter dismissed Marquise with a wave of his hand as the butler removed the wine chilling in the ice bucket and
presented it for inspection. “That will do for the night. Leave the cart. We can manage.”

A smile twitching his lips, Marquise withdrew with a discreet bow.

Juliana laced her fingers together on the edge of the table as the door clicked softly closed. She felt a new tension arc from Hunter's broad shoulders like an electric charge.

“How subtle,” she remarked dryly. “The poor man is probably envisioning an orgy with food.”

Hunter laughed as he expertly uncorked the wine. “How inventive. We'll save it for later in the evening.”

“We will not.” Juliana rose to hide the sudden spurt of her pulse and peeked under the silver domes covering the food. She placed the garden salads and the basket of rolls on the table. “I'm worried about Investigator Bradshaw interviewing my father,” she continued, returning to her seat. “Do you think the investigator seriously considers my father a suspect?”

Hunter fingered the stem of his wineglass and Juliana was moved by the lines of fatigue etched in his face and the stern inner fire of determination lighting his gaze. He pursed his lips, his gaze laser-sharp enough to peel the skin off her nose.

“What would you say if I told you that Ross left your father two million dollars in his will?”

Two million dollars? Juliana managed to keep her salad fork from slipping through her fingers and clattering to the table. With great care she placed the fork on her plate, aware that Hunter was watching and evaluating her reaction.

Despite the fact that he'd kept his word in naming her Cort's guardian in his will, she could see now that the trust in this arranged marriage was solely one-way. She should have realized it earlier this afternoon when Marquise had
told her that he was very sorry, but on Hunter's orders he couldn't allow her to take Cort for a walk in Central Park. She'd thought Hunter was just being protective.

Now she realized, he didn't trust her alone with Cort. And she suspected that the operatives posted at her father's side had more to do with making sure that she and her father weren't conspiring together, than protecting her father from the Collingwoods' killer.

Hunter's gaze continued to mock her. If she weren't so angry she might have dared to ask him what had happened in his life to make him so distrustful. As it was, she couldn't bring herself to ask him whether he'd advised Investigator Bradshaw of Ross's generosity. No doubt Investigator Bradshaw already knew and was champing at the bit to interrogate her father. The very idea that her father could have killed Ross and Lexi was insulting. Her father would be outraged—and hurt—by the insinuation.

She wiped her mouth with her napkin, fully aware that Hunter was still awaiting her reply. “I don't feel I need to explain or justify Ross's decisions or his relationship to my father. If you'll excuse me, I'll leave you to enjoy your dinner. I've lost my appetite for the company—and the conversation.”

To Hunter's mute astonishment, she rose from the table with dignified grace and marched to the door that connected their suites in a cloud of swirling black silk. The door gave a disturbing, final-sounding click as it closed behind her.

Hunter took another swallow of wine and watched the door, almost certain she'd return momentarily and apologize. She needed to understand no one was above suspicion. Not her father. Not even herself.

He was debating whether he should attempt to apologize—he could have phrased the information about her father's inheritance a tad more tactfully—when the door ad
joining their suites suddenly opened. Good, she'd come to her senses. They could resume their dinner and he could solicit her opinion about the timing of the takeovers of Sable Holden and Phillip Ballard's companies. Then he could present her with the engagement ring he had tucked into his pocket. Marquise would notice in the morning if she wasn't wearing it.

A feminine hand snaked around the door, a cascade of black silk trailing from it. She sent it sailing toward him. Hunter realized to his shock it was her dress. Then two scraps of black lace arced through the air. Her panties landed smack-dab in the basket of rolls and her bra snagged his shoulder.

He hooked a finger through a strap.

It was still warm from her body, and the scent of talcum powder and apple blossoms clung to it.

He grimaced, trying not to imagine how Juliana's breasts would fill the flimsy peekaboo lace cups. He failed miserably.

He crushed the bra in his palm, his heart hammering. He couldn't take his eyes off the half-open door. What did she think she was doing?

What would
he
do if she stepped into the room now, without the dress, without the filmy underwear?

Without warning, two missiles sailed around the door aimed straight for his head. He ducked, then eyed the weapons. Her shoes.

He shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. He was beginning to see that his Cinderella was not the demure, acquiescent creature he'd first assumed.

Juliana barely slept, her thoughts consumed by concerns that her father would be seriously implicated in Ross and Lexi's murders and that she'd made a fatal error by walking out on Hunter last night. Today was supposed to be their wedding day, not that it felt like a joyous occasion when Ross and Lexi were going to be buried tomorrow. Would Hunter tell her to pack her bags? Her father would never forgive her if she didn't stay with Cort.

But her fears were alleviated when she saw the velvet box from Tiffanys and a dove-gray envelope resting on the pillow beside her. Hunter had entered her room last night, and she hadn't been aware of it.

The thought that he may have watched her sleep made her tremble. With unsteady hands she opened the envelope first. On his personal stationery Hunter had written, “For Cinderella on our wedding day. Yours always, Hunter.”

Yours always. It sounded like a promise.

And it sounded permanent.

Juliana felt a glow like the first colorful wink of a Christmas tree bulb illuminate inside her. He intended to go through with the wedding, after all. And she could only hope that given time they might come to trust one another completely.

She opened the box and gulped.

Oh, dear.

A huge teardrop-shaped diamond glimmered up at her. Juliana was no expert, but judging from her past experience with brides, she was guessing it was in the six-to eight-carat range.

He shouldn't have. He really shouldn't have. The more modest diamond-studded wedding band she'd picked out for herself would have sufficed. But the fact that he'd concerned himself with this detail at all when he was so busy with the investigation gave her reason to believe that Hunter would prove to be a thoughtful husband. And a thoughtful father.

The engagement ring fit her finger perfectly.

But she still felt like a fraud.

 

H
AD SHE CHANGED
her mind about marrying him?

Hunter shifted Cort to his other arm and glanced impatiently at his watch as the baby used his three-hundred-dollar silk tie for a burping rag. He paced the length of his living room, gently thumping Cort's back. Where was Juliana? Should he knock on her door?

He'd had enough of this nonsense about it being bad luck to see the bride before the wedding. Marquise and Valentina had barred his earlier attempt to see Juliana. She'd taken a breakfast tray in her room.

Was she still angry about last night? Or was this her way of creating a little prewedding atmosphere for the servants? Valentina had dressed Cort for the occasion in a tuxedo-style sleeper with black velvet tails, which gave Hunter hope that the wedding would take place as planned.

But he couldn't blame Juliana if she'd changed her mind about going through with the ceremony. Especially after the way she'd walked out on him last night.

He wasn't about to offer any apologies for asking questions about Ross's bequest to her father. Two people were already dead and his godson's life was at stake.

Maybe it had been cowardice to leave the engagement ring on her pillow. Not that there had been anything easy about seeing how beautiful and vulnerable she'd appeared, her Cinderella hair fanned over her shoulders and her body tightly coiled on the edge of the bed as if wishing she could escape the circumstances she'd been caught up in.

And maybe a part of him hadn't wanted Juliana to read anything more into the ring's significance than was intended. He couldn't find fault with the wedding band she'd picked out. It was lovely. But a man in his position could well afford an engagement ring to please his bride.

He paused in midstride as Cort elicited a tiny ungentlemanly burp that thankfully didn't leave any more residue on his tie. Is that what he'd been doing when he'd instructed Marquise to select a suitable engagement ring for Juliana? Had he been trying to please her—thinking that an expensive diamond ring would make their marriage somehow more palatable to her?

He stifled a groan.

Judging from the way she'd reacted to his questions about her father's integrity, she probably thought he was attempting to buy her loyalty with the ring.

Hunter eased his tie from Cort's grasp before the infant strangled him. This was precisely the reason he had no business getting married. Ever. It involved too much uncertainty and risk. Saying “I do” the day before a funeral had to be a bad omen.

But he was doing this for Ross. For Ross's son.

His anxiety multiplied as he heard a door open down the hall and Marquise's and Valentina's murmured exclamations. She was ready. Finally!

Hunter prided himself on his ability to remain emotionally detached and objective in the most trying of circumstances. But there was nothing detached or unemotional about his reaction to Juliana when she appeared in the doorway to the living room.

She looked gorgeous.

Be-still-my-heart gorgeous.

Hunter sucked in his breath as the dazzling impact of Juliana in that short ivory satin dress hit him in the solar plexus, as well as other parts. Her dress was simplicity itself—as if the designer knew that the woman inside was the ornament, not the garment. In her left hand she held a bouquet of blue violets and white roses that kept him from learning whether she'd accepted the ring he'd left on her pillow last night.

He gazed hungrily at the swell of her breasts pushing gently against the bodice, the lithe curves of her legs that were a fantasy unto themselves and the tumble of blond curls escaping from an artless do and felt his body tremble with trepidation.

Juliana had transformed herself into a flesh-and-blood Cinderella, minus the tiara. She was the most delectable woman he'd ever seen.

Never in his life had he felt less like a prince.

Suddenly the prenuptial agreement and his insistence that this marriage be in name only seemed like an incredible joke.

On him.

He could almost hear Ross's laughter.

Color infused her cheeks like late-blooming summer roses as she shyly met his gaze. “Well, what do you think?”

“I can't think,” he said honestly, determining that it
would be absolutely appropriate to cross the room and kiss her again. For the servants' benefit, of course.

Marquise and Valentina, both looking jubilant, stood hand in hand in the doorway. Ironically, Hunter found himself wondering whether there would be moments in his marriage to Juliana when they could share the good and the bad with the press of a hand. The idea held a much stronger appeal than he'd ever have believed possible. Right, next he'd be believing in a large furry bunny that left baskets of eggs on doorsteps.

“You look wonderful, Cinderella.”

He took several steps toward her, intending to prove to himself that feeling those pink lips soft and pliant beneath his was something he could master, not be mastered by, but Valentina intercepted him and shook a reproachful finger under his nose.

“No kisses until after the wedding, Hunter. Is bad luck before, yes? Marquise, come, take a picture of the happy couple. And the baby.”

Hunter's disappointment was far too genuine. The frustration he felt stiffly real. He scowled, unable to take his eyes off Juliana, whose cheeks were blooming scarlet now.

“Are you sure, Valentina? It seems like incredibly bad luck on my part not to be able to kiss her now.”

Valentina scolded him in Spanish and Hunter consoled himself with slipping his arm around Juliana's waist for a photograph.

Juliana wiped a dab of drool from Cort's face with her thumb, then self-consciously lifted her gaze to meet his. “You both look very handsome. Cort's joining us for the wedding, I hope?”

Hunter couldn't refuse the soft plea in her eyes. Maybe she needed Cort present as a reminder of the promises they would make to one another today. It occurred to him that
perhaps he did, too. He'd alert the security team to the change in plans. He gave her waist a gentle squeeze, all of his nerves alerted to the spark of friction generated by his touch. “Of course. It wouldn't be right without him. He's unequivocally our best man.”

Juliana's smile brought a glow to her face and cast a crack of sunlight into the dark cavern of cynicism harbored deep beneath Hunter's ribs. “Thank you. And thank you for the ring.” She held out her left hand, where the ring sparkled like a star upon her finger as Marquise snapped another picture. “It was very thoughtful of you. I'll treasure it always.”

She would? She sounded so sincere Hunter doubted she'd said it for the servants' benefit. And he doubted a woman who didn't fawn over zeroes would fawn over carats.

Hunter studied her bent head. There she went confusing him again. Surely she knew he
hadn't
taken the time to pick the ring out himself.

Too late, he wished he had.

 

J
ULIANA HELD HER TEARS
at bay as she and Hunter stood in the chapel of the city clerk's office where a deputy clerk for the city of New York officiated over the ceremony. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass window as if valiantly trying to add a note of jubilance to the occasion. Hunter had been so silent and unapproachable during the limo ride, his arm draped across the back of the seat, his strong fingers resting protectively on Cort's head. His profile etched with an air of sadness Juliana shared.

Thoughts of Lexi and Ross weren't far from her heart as she and Hunter solemnly exchanged vows and exchanged rings. Cort, perched on the crook of Hunter's arm, chirped and cooed through the ceremony like a songbird, making
them laugh through their sorrow. Hunter's lawyer served as their witness.

Juliana's one regret was that she hadn't been able to talk to her father this morning. She'd called the hospital twice and the nurse had told her that her father had spent a restless night, but seemed to be sleeping more soundly this morning.

Juliana took his restlessness as an indication that her father was regaining his faculties. Was remembering, perhaps was even experiencing nightmares about the explosion. She'd never felt so far away from him.

But the firm touch of Hunter's strong fingers on hers, the strength of his voice and Cort's wide-eyed innocence gave her courage. She wasn't alone in protecting Cort. She had no doubt that Hunter would do everything in his means to keep them safe. She only found herself foolishly wishing for the unthinkable when Hunter gazed down at her with his piercing azure eyes and promised to love her.

In the quiet beauty of the chapel, with Hunter standing handsome and resolute beside her in a sinfully tailored black Armani suit, Cort secure within the circle of his arms, the truth stole into Juliana's heart. She'd fallen in love with this man. Completely.

She wanted to share his life with him fully, as a real wife would.

She nearly jerked her hand from his at the realization, then let it remain clasped between his. He was flawed and stalwart. She loved his fierce determination. Loved his selfless dedication to helping others.

Of course, he could never know.

No one could.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride,” the deputy city clerk finished with a dramatic flourish.

Rising up out of the grief and horror of the last few days, Juliana's heart fluttered on hope-filled wings as Hunter cupped her head with one hand. Any sense of pretense in her shattered as his lips claimed her mouth, branding her with the taste and the scent and the feel of him.

She melted into the warmth of his kiss, abashed by the fierce passion with which she welcomed and returned the seeking, velvety thrusts of his tongue. No one would ever kiss her as he did. The thought of sharing his home and sharing the child he held in his arms made her ache for what could not be.

 

W
HAT THE HELL HAD
happened to his apartment? Moreover, what the hell had happened to his life? Hunter wondered, shell-shocked, as Marquise opened the door to what he knew
must
be his apartment that had somehow been transformed during their absence into an enchanted forest.

He wordlessly transferred Cort into Marquise's waiting arms. First he'd had to deal with Juliana in that dress, then that insatiable white-hot kiss in the chapel, which had nearly had him shrugging out of his clothes and taking her right there before his lawyer and the deputy city clerk, and now
this.

The hallway to their right, which led to the master bedroom, had been darkened and lined with potted trees ablaze with twinkling lights. A footpath of burlap strewn with white long-stemmed roses wound between the trees bordered by banks of purple and blue violets. The aromatic scents of evergreens, roses and violets tinged his every breath. Hunter felt his blood slow and start to drum at his temples.

Through the forest of trees, the glow of candlelight could be seen flickering from his room like a lantern in a window guiding a lost voyager home.

He stood rooted to the marble floor, his mind and his heart waging war over the wisdom of walking down that path with Juliana. With each passing day he was learning that she had many facets to her character beyond courage, an acquiescent smile and beauty. Despite the clarity of their written agreement, she was quietly and thoroughly turning his life upside down and inside out.

He was trapped in a purgatory of his own device.

His body stilled as Juliana's fingers curled around his hand, delicate and feminine. He could feel her fingers trembling. Was she afraid of his response? Afraid she'd gone too over the top in trying to make their marriage seem genuine?

Hunter swallowed hard. Not for a moment could he hurt her. She'd done her job so well a part of him wished it truly was all just for him.

“Since I couldn't tear you away from work for a honeymoon just now, I decided to surprise you with one here,” she explained in a bright tone to mask the uncertainty he saw creeping into her beautiful eyes. “Marquise, is everything prepared?”

“Yes, madam. Valentina will see to this young man's whims. Your honeymoon awaits.”