The Butler's Daughter

“That explains the nursery. How old are they?”

“Mackensie is eight and Parrish is three. They’re rascals.” Hunter frowned, thinking of his nephews’ dubious futures and the way Juliana had her arms drawn over her breasts as if she thought he might pounce on her. Of course, she’d been somewhat underdressed when they’d awoken this morning. And the glimpse he’d had of one sleep-warmed, pearly breast and its rosebud tip had been so disconcerting he’d practically pole-vaulted out of the room to attend to Cort.

Even now, in that typical chic black New York getup, her wild tangled hair and the circles under her eyes, there was a freshness in her clear skin. An honesty dwelling in those rich brown eyes and a sweet sensuality to her curves that made the prospect of marrying her doubly alarming.

He’d never once considered taking a wife. His sister’s three disastrous marriages had cemented that resolve. And thankfully, had produced the requisite heir and a spare to the Sinclair family coffers.

Hunter had no illusions that he’d be any better than his sister or his father in choosing a soul mate.

How many times had he cautioned his clients about marrying in haste? Rushing into a relationship based on physical desire or—especially among the wealthy—an attraction to an individual’s net worth. He’d been worried when Ross had told him Lexi was pregnant and they were getting married.

But Ross had assured him he’d learned his lesson from their Harvard days when women were eager to fall into his bed, and more than one had tried to trap him into marriage. Lexi was different.

And Hunter acknowledged the truth of that. Even though her parents had been pushy and middle-class with aspirations of grandeur for their daughter, Lexi had been Ross’s soul mate in every way. Even after Riana’s abduction, a tragedy that would have destroyed many relationships, the core of love between them had remained rock solid. The looks they exchanged excluded everyone else around them because Ross and Lexi had a private world unto themselves. Ross would have moved heaven and earth for his wife’s happiness, even asking the butler’s daughter to raise their precious son.

And Hunter could understand Ross’s reasoning. He’d met Juliana’s father and knew how highly Ross had regarded Goodhew, who’d looked after Ross like a second father after J. Ross Collingwood had died of a massive heart attack when Ross was barely out of college.

Goodhew knew how J. Ross had run the Collingwood empire, knew which senior executives and which board members could be trusted and which were sharks circling for a meal. While he’d brushed suits and laid out Ross’s Oxford button-down shirts and silk ties, he’d dispensed advice. And Ross had taken the Collingwood empire further than his father had ever dreamed.

Cort playfully drummed his heels against Hunter’s forearm, vocalizing his little heart out with chirps and coos. Hunter smiled down at his godson, feeling a laugh trying to burst its way to the surface.

The tender look he caught on Juliana’s face as he stole a glance at her told him they were at least on the same page when it came to Cort’s care. Her fierce loyalty to the baby was obvious.

Hunter had no intention of dishonoring Goodhew’s daughter, or ruining a perfectly good business arrangement by letting lust creep into his marriage and muddy the waters. A man in his position had the means to discreetly deal with his physical needs.

Since Juliana’s arms were still folded like bars across her body, he decided there was no time like the present to clarify their arrangement. “About my being in your bed this morning,” he began, finding it more difficult than he expected to broach the subject with her. “It was only for show…. You shouldn’t expect a physical side to our marriage. Or children.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. “Oh.”

Hunter wished he could interpret the thoughts flickering behind her dark polished eyes. She was relieved. He was sure of it. “I wanted that to be clear before we proceeded with the ceremony,” he continued, “in case it altered your decision.”

“Hardly.”

Hunter looked with renewed interest at his self-sacrificing Cinderella. Judging from the way she lovingly cared for Cort, he’d assumed that she was the type of woman who would want children of her own. She probably did, but she wasn’t going to admit it. His admiration for her went up another notch. “Do you feel up to coping with the world? I’ll have Valentina prepare breakfast.”

“I’d like to call the hospital again. Check on my father.”

“Of course. I have the number in my study.”

“I’m going to call the Collingwoods’ household manager, too. Let him know of my father’s condition and that he’ll need to supervise the preparations for the funeral. Annette won’t know what to do or the protocol involved—” Juliana broke off suddenly. Her palm tapped her forehead. “Annette. I completely forgot about telling Lexi’s sister! She’ll be devastated. Lexi was her only family. I don’t think Annette is seeing anyone whom she could lean on to help her get through this. She was engaged when Lexi was planning her wedding to Ross, but the engagement was called off for some reason.”

“I already called her. One of my operatives was dispatched to collect her and put her up in a nearby hotel as a safety precaution.”

“A safety precaution? You think she’s in danger?”

“If someone knows of Cort’s existence, it’s logical for them to suspect that Lexi’s sister would know where the baby is.”

Juliana ran her fingers through her tangled hair. “Yes, of course, you’re right. Annette must be terrified.”

“She’s being well guarded.”

Her pointed gaze threw his words of reassurance back in his face. He knew she was thinking he hadn’t protected Ross and Lexi. He couldn’t blame her, not when he was thinking it himself. Why hadn’t he considered that Riana’s abduction might have had deeper, darker roots, especially after the abandoned ransom demand? He set his jaw. He couldn’t second-guess himself. There was no way to be certain that first ransom demand had been genuine.

He had to focus on the situation as he knew it now. On keeping Cort safe and hidden. On playing this role with Juliana of a man eager to wed the mother of his child.

He held Cort out to Juliana. “Take him. I need to shower and change. I’ll meet you at the table for breakfast. I talked to my lawyer last night, he’s preparing the prenup. We’ll need to apply for the marriage license Monday. There’s probably a waiting period. We’ll need rings, and you’ll need clothes—”

“The waiting period is one day in New York. I know because I helped Lexi plan her wedding, remember? And I worked as a wedding planner before I got drafted as the nanny. How about I handle the details for the wedding, and you concentrate on finding out who did this horrible thing so Cort will be safe?”

Hunter looked at her, surprised, remembering how magical Ross and Lexi’s winter wedding had appeared in the video. She’d had her hand in that? He felt a prickle of guilt. A civil ceremony in the Manhattan city clerk’s office would be a far cry from whatever dreams she’d spun of her own romantic wedding. Well, they were both making sacrifices.

He’d suddenly had enough of the conversation and the cacophony of thoughts and emotions driving him in cross directions. “Consider yourself hired,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, grateful for her offer and already turning his mind to the tasks demanding his concentration as he headed back to his room.

“Hunter?” Juliana called after him. “One more thing.”

He paused in the doorway and looked back at her; Cort was tucked in her arms, hungrily gnawing on a tiny fist shoved in his mouth. “Yes?”

Her pink lips parted in a faint smile that seemed apologetic, contrite, and made him wonder how she would taste if he kissed her. Really kissed her. Sweet, like a perfectly ripe peach? Or tangy like dry white wine?

His blood pounded in waves to his brain.

Color dusted her cheekbones. “I’ll need a credit card,” she said. “I suspect Hunter Sinclair’s wife has a higher credit limit than the butler’s daughter. It would probably be safer if I weren’t flashing my own credit card around, too. Credit cards can be traced, can’t they?”

He let his gaze twine with hers, felt his body’s stiffening response to her simple beauty and the intelligence embedded in her eyes. What the hell was the matter with him?

Shock. Loss. And the fact that Juliana was more intriguing than his ego was willing to admit. “Yes, they can be traced. And, in this case, your paranoia is good. Brook has a personal shopper for each of her major haunts. Marquise will make the necessary arrangements with each store for your purchases to be put on my account if you feel up to venturing out today. I’ll see that you receive your own cards as soon as possible.”

“Thank you. Since visiting my father isn’t an option for the time being, I might as well do something useful or I’ll go absolutely crazy. I’ll bring my cell phone with me so I can keep in touch with the hospital. Cort will need clothes and a new car seat. Do you have a crib for him on this island of yours?”

“Yes, there’s a nursery. You’ll both need warm, comfortable clothes for the island. And plan to pick up something for the funeral while you’re at it. The butler’s daughter will be attending it…under close surveillance.”

“I am?”

“Yes, and you’re going to keep your eyes and your ears open, especially to what’s being said in the servant’s quarters.”

Her eyes narrowed on him, glassy as marbles. “The servant’s quarters? Are you suggesting that someone on the Collingwood staff was involved in this?”

He shrugged and glanced down the hallway to ensure their conversation was not being overheard by the servants. “It’s a possibility we can’t afford to overlook. Think about it. How did someone find out the details of the reunion in Severance? You said your father made the arrangements himself. So someone either overheard him make the booking by phone or searched his quarters and found the information. Reason suggests someone in the house may have been involved.”

Cort let out a discontented squawk, reminding them he was hungry. Juliana rocked him against her hip, her body swaying with gentle motion. “Maybe the house was bugged,” she argued. “An estate that size requires constant upkeep. Maintenance people coming and going fairly frequently, deliveries being made. My father would know if—” She broke off, biting her lip. Tears swam in her eyes. “I really should call the hospital. See if he’s regained consciousness. Maybe he saw or heard something that will help.”

The determination that seemed to glow from her skin with translucent fire melted one more barrier in Hunter’s resistance. She’d had a lot to deal with in the last ten hours and he wasn’t making it easier. If she gave him the same loyalty she devoted to Cort, he’d at least have a wife who was more loyal to him than his mother had ever been to his father. “Give me this little man,” he said more gently. “He’s about ready to swallow his hand. I’ll have Valentina prepare him a bottle while you call the hospital. You can use the telephone in your bedroom. Marquise will bring you the number.”

The scent of her hair and the delicate softness of her hands impacted his senses as she transferred the baby back into his arms.

“You’re in good hands, pumpkin.” The soft wool of her sweater grazed Hunter’s side as she rose on tiptoes to kiss Cort’s cheek, reminding Hunter of visits his mother had made to the nursery when he was a boy. He remembered his mother’s fragrance—as exotic and elusive as the flowers she’d tended in her private greenhouse—and her light kisses that felt like a feather against his cheek.

He remembered the sting of her betrayal.