Wait Until Dark (3 page)

Lindsey wished she didn't, but she saw the resemblance between them.

So did he. She read it in his expression as he studied her in amazement, assessed her from head to toe. "Lindsey Hall?"

One pale brow arched. "I think you've already guessed as much, but yes. What can I do for you, Mr. Falkner?"

He managed a wry grin. "That seems like a stupid formality, wouldn't you say?"

She couldn't dispute that. "I suppose so."

"Then let's get past it. As for what you can do for me, how about inviting me in?"

With an uncertain nod, Lindsey stepped aside. "Of course. Come in."

He stepped inside, looking off-balance and unused to being so. "This is bizarre," he blurted out. "I was half-prepared to find out you were a fraud. Not that my father makes mistakes like that. He doesn't. But one look at you . . ." He drew in his breath. "You're my father's child. My half-sister. And I never even knew you existed."

Lindsey hadn't expected this. She'd assumed Stuart had come to put her in her place, maybe to announce he meant to contest her inheritance, certainly to make sure she didn't intend to squeeze a dime more out of his family than was absolutely necessary. Emotions never factored into her thinking.

"On the other hand, you
did
know about me," Stuart added. "And about Tracy. Weren't you ever curious? Curious enough to look us up?"

Lindsey maintained her composure. "I didn't have to look you up. Anything I ever wanted to know I could read in the papers. Other than that..." She feathered her fingers through her hair. "It's complicated... Stuart."

"I'm sure it is." The scent of the casserole wafted out from the kitchen, and Stuart turned, sniffing. "I've interrupted your dinner. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's just a casserole. And it won't be ready for another twenty minutes." Lindsey gestured for him to go into the living room. "Have a seat. Our liquor cabinet is limited, but I could fix you a drink."

"Just some water would be great." He waited while Lindsey got two bottles from the kitchen fridge. He started following her into the living room, then halted when he saw Irene rise from the sofa. "This must be your mother."

Irene nodded, a kind of faraway sadness in her eyes. "Hello, Stuart. You've certainly grown since the last time I saw you. You were eight. You were just learning how to play lacrosse."

He smiled, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. Then again, how could Lindsey blame him? Irene was the "other woman" - a woman who'd slept with his father and given birth to his father's child, none of which Stuart had known about until a few days ago. "I haven't played lacrosse since college," he replied with forced cordiality. "But, yes, I did learn that summer. Forgive me, I don't remember you."

"I didn't expect you to." Putting an end to the tension, Irene headed toward the kitchen. "I'll check on the casserole. You and Lindsey stay in there and talk."

"Thank you. I'd appreciate that." Stuart waited until she'd gone. Then, he turned to Lindsey. "I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that this whole situation is damned uncomfortable, to say the least."

"I understand." Lindsey took a gulp of water and perched at the edge of the sofa cushion. "I doubt you came all this way just to introduce yourself."

"No, I didn't." He cleared his throat, lowered himself to the armchair. "I'm here about the manor."

"Just the manor, or the money, too?"

Stuart's bottle of water halted halfway to his lips. Slowly, he lowered his arm, turning to give Lindsey an incredulous look. "You think I want to challenge your claim?"

"Do you?"

He shook his head. "It's pretty obvious you're his child."

"Pretty
obvious. To a man as prominent as you, that wouldn't be enough. You'd want
definitely.
You'd want proof."

"What I want is to keep this from becoming a field day for gossip columnists. I want my father's name protected."

"In other words, you'd prefer this stay quiet. My stepping forward with proof would support your father's belief that I'm his daughter, but tarnish his image."

"Something like that, yes." A pause. "Lindsey, I'll be blunt. I want to buy you out."

Lindsey swallowed hard, as the impact of what he was saying sank in. "You're not just talking about the manor. You're talking about buying my silence. Your plan is that my paternity stay our little secret."

Stuart shifted uncomfortably. “I'm sorry if that sounds cold or conniving, but I have to think of my family. So tell me, how much would it take?"

A cool stare. "I'm not for sale, Stuart. Not at any price. I'm afraid you've driven a long way for nothing." She came to her feet with an air of finality. "If it eases your mind, I don't intend to make any public statements. In fact, I plan to avoid the press altogether. I'm not interested in proclaiming my identity to the world. If people wonder why Harlan Falkner left part of his estate to me, that's their problem. However, if the truth does manage to leak out, I'm afraid that's
your
problem. I realize you have family to consider, especially your mother. But I have to think of
my
mother. She's been denied a great deal. I'm giving the manor to her as a gift. Your father...
our
father... wanted us to have it."

Lines of tension tightened Stuart's mouth, and he, too, stood. "You mean he wanted your mother to have it. Well, you're wrong. If that were the case, he would have transferred title to her years ago. The place has been vacant for ages. We never use it."

"Then you won't miss it." Lindsey set down her water with a thud. "I'm sure you think I'm being spiteful. I'm not. But, with all due respect, a scandal pales beside a lifelong injustice. You have a name, financial security, established family ties. You've never done without. Not a day in your life. I have. More important, my mother has. She's scrubbed floors for twenty-six years to make enough money to provide for the child your father helped create."

"I'm prepared to offer you millions. When you add that to the millions Father left you, you can buy your mother two mansions and a staff of servants for each, then hand her a pension the size of Connecticut. That's a great deal of financial security."

"You haven't been listening. This isn't only about money." Lindsey hesitated, choosing her words carefully. She wasn't about to divulge the intimate details of her conception. "My mother has a special fondness for that manor. Your father knew that. That's why he made it part of my inheritance. That, and the fact that he found out I love restoring old mansions." A sudden thought struck. "Are you aware that Nicholas Warner wants to buy the house and tear it down to build condos?"

A muscle in his jaw flexed. "I'm aware of it."

"Of course you are. And you'd sell it to him in a New York minute before you'd let me have it." She pressed her lips together. "Well, unfortunately, you don't have that option. I'm keeping the manor."

The finality of her words sliced the air, and Stuart made a frustrated sound, averting his gaze as he did. Lindsey could have sworn she saw a flash of panic there, but it was gone by the time he looked back at her. "I respect your feelings," he said evenly. "I'm asking you to respect mine. Your appointment with Leland isn't for three days. Use that time to think."

It was no surprise that Stuart knew her timetable for returning to Providence. Lindsey had the feeling the Falkners knew everything that concerned them. "I'll think over what you said. But, I'm giving you fair warning. I don't expect to change my mind."

"I hope you do - for everyone's sake."

4

LELAND MASTERS WASN'T ALONE
when Lindsey arrived at his office that Friday. Pacing near the windows was a tall, slender woman in her early thirties. Her chin-length blond hair was cut in a blunt, fashionable style, her slate gray eyes were highlighted with just the right amount of makeup, and she was wearing a suede suit that screamed money.

Tracy Falkner.

"So you're Lindsey."

It didn't take long for Lindsey to deduce her half-sister's state of mind. Tracy marched over, scrutinizing her as if she were a piece of jewelry being considered for purchase.

"Yes," Lindsey replied coolly. "And you're Tracy."

Mr.
Masters rose from behind his desk. "I agreed to delay our appointment for five minutes," he informed Lindsey, silently conveying that their transaction, when it was held, would indeed be private. "But Tracy wanted to meet you."

"That's fine." Lindsey nodded.

Tracy smoothed a strand of hair off her forehead. "Stuart was right. You do resemble Father, in a fragile sort of way." She gave an offhanded shrug. "As for why I wanted to meet you, it was to stop this ridiculous idea you have of taking title to the Newport manor. You work in Connecticut. The commute would be impossible. You'd be gone fifteen hours a day. That would leave your mother virtually alone. The house is over ten thousand square feet, with thirty rooms. She'd get lost in it."

Pausing, Tracy walked over to the chair, pulled some papers out of a briefcase she'd placed there. "According to my private investigator, you owe two thousand five hundred thirty dollars in various loans," she announced, scanning the pages. "Your car still isn't paid off. Your mother earns a daily sum of one hundred twenty dollars - and that's if she doubles up and cleans two houses a day rather than one. As for you, your salary is laughable. You should be earning four times what you do. You would be, if you worked in Stamford or Greenwich, rather than that poky little town you live in. Actually, you have the talent but not the resources to start your own architectural firm."

Lindsey was shaking with anger. "You had me investigated?"

"Of course." Tracy sounded surprised she'd be asked. "Did you honestly think I'd just accept you as my sister, no questions asked?" She tossed the papers aside without waiting for an answer. "When Stuart came to see you, he didn't mention a figure. I will. Eight of them, in fact. How does ten million dollars sound to you? Enough to make you walk away?"

Leland Masters was on his feet. "Tracy, for heaven's sake..."

She waved away his protest. "I won't cut into your time, Leland. My business with Lindsey is almost over."

"Correction," Lindsey returned, so outraged she could scarcely think, much less speak. "Our business
is
over - now. I don't want your money. I don't want your approval. In fact, I want nothing from you. So, if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting scheduled with Mr. Masters."

Tracy's jaw dropped. "You still intend to go through with this?"

"Without batting an eyelash."

Before Tracy could retaliate, Leland Masters intervened, his tone stiff. "It's time Miss Hall and I got started, Tracy. I'll be in touch later today."

Twin spots of red stained Tracy's cheeks, and Lindsey had the distinct feeling no one had ever refused her anything before now. "Fine. You can reach me at Stuart's house." An icy stare. "I'm not going back to Boston until this ludicrous situation is resolved."

She whisked out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Mr. Masters gave an awkward cough. "I apologize for that scene. Tracy is used to getting what she wants."

"So I gathered," Lindsey returned dryly. Her chin came up, and she met Mr. Masters's gaze. "I'm ready to sign those papers now."

Two hours later, Lindsey turned onto the private road leading to what was now her estate. She was still bristling from the altercation with Tracy, the drive to Newport having done nothing to quiet her outrage.
Relax,
she chided herself as she made her way down the winding driveway.
There's a lot of work to do and no time to dwell on the tantrums of a spoiled snob.

She'd purposely chosen a Friday to take title and ride out to the manor. It gave her a whole weekend to spend taking notes, making detailed sketches, and placing the necessary phone calls to contractors. She'd already made a huge dent in the process. Her sketchbook was brimming with potential floor plans she'd burned the midnight oil drafting over the past three sleepless nights. Not only that, but her mother's European trip was booked, her itinerary set. She'd be leaving in ten days, and spending a month abroad - two weeks in Paris and a week each in Rome and London. If Lindsey had her way, Irene would get back to find her new home well on its way to completion.

As if on cue the manor came into view, and Lindsey felt a surge of anticipation as she studied it. The exterior was mostly stone and brick, needing only the most minor repairs to renew it. And the interior, a great portion of which was mahogany and oak, needed only a good cleaning and polishing to restore its natural beauty. After that came the redesigning, the minor structural changes, and the -

Abruptly, Lindsey's thoughts broke off, and she frowned as she spotted another car parked in front of the door - the
open
door. She didn't have to guess who the car belonged to. She recognized the silver BMW from when she'd stormed out of here the last time.

Nicholas Warner.

He appeared in the doorway as she turned off her ignition and climbed out of the driver's seat. "Hello again," he said, descending the steps, his navy sports coat and crisp open-necked shirt indicative of the fact that he was in the middle of a business day.

"What are you doing here?" Lindsey asked, her voice tight.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks, his hooded gaze flickering over her, then settling on her lace.

She'd forgotten how intense those probing blue eyes were.

"Looking for some papers I had with me last time I was here. I have a key; I thought I'd mentioned that."

"Did you? I don't recall. But it won't matter after today. I'm having the locks changed." Lindsey wasn't feeling in a charitable mood - not after her earlier scene with Tracy.

Nicholas's brows rose. "Aren't you overreacting a bit?"

"Why? Because I want to make sure only my mother and I have access to our home?"

"No, because you're taking my head off. I'm a friend of the family, checking to see if I left my notebook here. You're acting like you just found a thief ransacking the place."

"Maybe that's the way I feel." Lindsey broke off, realizing she sounded irrational. True, she didn't like what Nicholas Warner stood for, whom he associated with, or what his plans had been for this manor. But that didn't justify venting the fury she was feeling toward the Falkners at him.

"I'm sorry" she said, feathering a hand through her hair. "I'm taking my foul mood out on you. It's been a rough couple of days."

"So I gathered. Is this all the result of your inheritance?"

She gave him a measured look. "More or less. Let's just say I'm making a tough transition." A wary pause. "I assume you know I took title to the manor today?"

"Now how would I know that?"

"Do I really need to answer that?"

A corner of Nicholas's mouth lifted. "Are you always so difficult?"

The blunt question caught Lindsey off guard and, despite her tension - or maybe because of it - she found herself giving a rueful laugh. "I never thought so. But when it comes to the Falkners, yes, I guess I am."

"Then let's not talk about the Falkners. Let's talk about something else - like that cup of coffee we never had." He slipped easily into the role of social orchestrator, studying her intently as he did. "I know a place that serves great cappuccino, iced or hot. And a great sandwich, too, if you happen to be hungry."

Which she was, Lindsey realized suddenly. She glanced at her watch, surprised to see that it was nearly one o'clock. As if to confirm that fact, her stomach gave a purposeful growl.

Nicholas chuckled. "Ah, I see I've struck a chord. I might not measure up to your principles, but I managed to appeal to your more basic instincts. Come." He gestured toward his car. "I'll feed you."

Lindsey hesitated, as uneasy as she'd been at their first meeting,
and
as uncertain of Nicholas's motives. True, she'd turned him down flat on his offer to buy the manor. That didn't mean he'd given up trying. This second conversation was no less highly-charged than the first, fluctuating from tense to friendly to adversarial, ricocheting from one to the other like a stray bullet. Okay, so part of the reason for that was her defensiveness toward him - who he was, his relationship to the Falkners. But part of it was also skepticism with regard to his sincerity. What exactly was he after? Had he really given up his notion of buying the house? He seemed genuine enough, as if his only goal was to make her transition easier. So was it just his natural magnetism speaking, or did he have a more backhanded agenda, like softening her up for the kill?

She stopped in her tracks, eyeing his car but not making a move toward it. "I really can't take the time for lunch. I have so much to do, so many details to work out. I've only got a few days."

"You can't work on an empty stomach," he reasoned, and Lindsey noticed he didn't ask for any specifics about her initial restoration plans. Could that be because he didn't expect them to happen?

It was time to check out her suspicions.

"True" she agreed. "But we can accomplish both - filling my stomach and letting me get started. I could stay here and work. In the meantime, you could ride into town, buy me a sandwich and a cappuccino, and bring them back. Now
that
would be a godsend."

Silence.

"Not what you had in mind, is it?" she asked, a caustic edge to her words.

“No," he returned flatly. "Its not."

"And
why's
that? Could it be because you want an hour to try winning me over again? Could you be looking for another chance to convince me to sell you the manor?"

Nicholas's jaw set.

Lindsey sighed, massaging her throbbing temples and feeling overwhelmingly weary. "Let's not play games, Nicholas. I'm not up for it. Just lay your cards on the table. I deal much better with honesty than with manipulation. Is all this about charming me into selling you the manor?"

"In part. Most of it is about charming you into bed."

Her head snapped up, and she stared at him in amazement, wondering if she could possibly have heard him right.

The watchful expression on his face told her she had.

"A bit too honest, huh?" he murmured. "I'm not surprised. I got the feeling you weren't exactly used to the direct approach."

For the life of her, Lindsey couldn't think of a thing to say.

"Are you offended, furious, or still convinced I'm playing games?"

Visualizing the number of women she'd seen draped on his arm in newspaper photos, Lindsey slowly shook her head. "None of the above. I'm just stunned. Then again, I shouldn't be. I might not be your usual type but, then again, maybe that's the appeal. A conquest from the other side of the tracks; variety is the spice of life, and all that. I guess it's ridiculous for me to be surprised. Picking up women is standard operating procedure for you."

For the first time he looked rankled, tiny sparks of anger darting in his eyes. "Thanks for the assessment. Do you know, for a woman who keeps herself at arm's length so no one will get too close, you have no trouble inserting yourself in other people's lives. You don't want to be judged, but you're pretty quick to judge others."

Lindsey was taken aback, not only by his annoyance but by his appraisal of her. It was true she kept herself at arm's length, but she normally wasn't intrusive or judgmental. Yet here she was being both. And as for the touchiness he'd picked up on... "What makes you think I'm concerned about being judged?"

"The fact that you're so incensed by the Falkners' reaction to you. The defensive way you're responding to the knowledge that you're Harlan's daughter. The way you're sheltering your mother like she's some eighteenth-century mistress who's being whispered about at quilting bees. This is the twenty-first century, Lindsey. No one cares that your mother had a child out of wedlock, or that that child happens to be Harlan Falkner's. The tabloids will have a field day, sure, but they have a field day with everything concerning the Falkners. It'll blow over. It always does."

Lindsey drew a slow breath and turned away, feeling unnerved and off-balance, and not totally certain why. "You're probably right. But I'm a lot more provincial than the crowd I assume you're used to. My values are different. So are my priorities. I'm not used to being the center of a scandal, or to subjecting my mother to one."

"I guessed as much."

Lindsey stared at the ground, pondering his original admission. "With regard to the manor, I'm not going to change my mind. It's not for sale."