The Butler's Daughter

Cort let out a grumpy wail. Gratitude and awkwardness spilled through Juliana. It felt alien to have someone anticipate 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.

“THANKS, 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.

“Hello?” Annette York’s voice had the breathless, disoriented quality of someone roused from a deep sleep.

Hunter introduced himself as The Guardian.

Lexi’s sister woke instantly, wariness rippling into her voice. “Why are you calling?”

“I’m afraid I have some difficult news.”

“Is it Riana? Have you found her?”

Hunter’s stomach tightened into a lead ball. “No. It’s Ross and Lexi. There’s been an explosion. I wanted you to know before it hit the news. They were both killed. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, my God! Are you sure? There’s no chance you’re mistaken?” The shred of hope clinging to her voice nearly obliterated his self-control.

“There’s no mistake.” He gently told her about the rented house in the Adirondacks and the suspicion that the explosion was caused by a bomb.

“But I talked to Lexi two days ago. She didn’t mention they were going,” Annette protested in numb disbelief.

Hunter selectively chose what information he could share with her. He saw no point in informing Annette of the purpose of the trip. Or that Juliana and Cort had narrowly missed being caught in the explosion.

“Perhaps the decision to go away was made last minute,” he said tactfully. “Ms. York, I realize this is a terrible shock, but you must listen to me carefully. Ross gave me instructions to protect Cort in the event something like this should occur. Someone killed your sister and her husband—quite possibly the same person who abducted Riana. You and Cort could be next on the list.”

Dead silence greeted his explanation.

He forged ahead. “It would be prudent to act with extreme caution. We must be very careful not to let slip any information about Cort. I want you to pack your bags. I’ve sent a car for you. You’ll be brought to a hotel here in New York where I’ve registered you under another name. I don’t want any reporters finding you. You can issue a family statement to the press via Ross’s lawyers.”

“What about Juliana and the baby? Where are they?”

“They’re safe. For your nephew’s protection, I’d rather not tell you any more than that until we have a chance to speak privately. I’m sure you understand.”

“No, I don’t understand. My sister and her husband are dead. I want to know where my nephew is now.” Her shrill voice scraped his ears like a blade cutting glass. “I’m his aunt—his only living relative. You have no right to keep him from me.”

“On the contrary, Ms. York. I’m acting on Ross’s wishes and at the specific request of the infant’s legal guardian, whom Ross and Lexi appointed in their wills. You’ll be informed of Cort’s whereabouts and a visit will be arranged when his guardian feels it’s safe to do so.”

“Just who did Ross and Lexi think was fit to raise their son—the butler’s daughter? Or someone in that damned company?”

Hunter genuinely felt sorry for her. He knew what it felt like to have your family shattered and suddenly be set adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Her hurt and disappointment that her sister hadn’t chosen her to rear Cort were obvious. Anger was only one of the emotions she would be experiencing in the painful days ahead. “I regret that I’m not at liberty to reveal that information.”

“I’ll go to the media,” she threatened.

Hunter felt the beginning pound of a headache. “Ms. York, take a deep breath. You’re upset. You’re not thinking clearly. Going to the media could endanger your life, as well as Cort’s. I’ll contact you at the hotel and we’ll discuss this privately. Is there anyone you’d like to stay with you? The next few days are going to be very rough.”

“No,” Annette said very softly. Quietly. “Our parents died just after Riana’s abduction. And Lexi was my best friend.”

Hunter’s chest tightened with the dull ache of his own heavy heart. “I’m very sorry for your loss.” Somehow the words seemed inadequate.

He hung up the phone, promising himself that he’d find out who had done this. Make them pay for destroying a family. And he’d do his best to be the kind of father Ross had wanted for his son.

Hunter made a couple more quick phone calls, checking on the increased security measures he’d put in place on the Collingwood estate. Apparently, the press was already gathering at the gates. One of the operatives he’d dispatched to the hospital called with Goodhew’s doctor on the line. Hunter convinced the doctor he was Goodhew’s son-in-law and listened grimly to the doctor’s report on the extent of the elderly man’s injuries. At least he was expected to recover.

Feeling much older than his thirty-three years, Hunter made his way down the hall to Juliana’s room.

If she was sleeping, he’d let her rest.

His knock went unanswered, but the sound of the shower running in the bathroom told him she wasn’t sleeping. He entered the room. The bed hadn’t been touched.

The door to the ensuite bathroom was closed, steam escaping the crack at the bottom of the door. Hunter frowned. How long had she been in there? Concerned, he rapped briskly on the door. “Juliana?”

There was no answer. Beneath the rhythmic drum of the water, he thought he heard a sob. Was she crying?