An Heiress on His Doorstep

He opened his mouth to retort when his mother walked into the room.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“Mission accomplished,” the mystery woman said, holding up her now naked wrist.

Audrey stood beside him. “I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s a dangerous prospect,” he said.

“Don’t be disrespectful, J.P. I brought you into this world. I can take you out.”

“Yes, Mother.” He thought it wise to hide his grin.

“As I was saying, we can’t keep calling our guest ‘hey, you.’ Until you remember your name,” she said to the woman, “I think we should call you Jane Doe.”

“Don’t tell me,” he said. “That’s what all the books and movies do.”

Audrey shrugged. “Well, it is.”

“Jane works for me,” said the mystery woman.

“Good.” Audrey nodded with satisfaction. “J.P., why don’t you show Jane upstairs to the window seat room. I think you’ll be comfortable there, dear. You can clean up. Everything you’ll need is there, and I’ve left some clean clothes on the bed. You’ll probably want to rest so I’ll send up a light supper for you.”

“Please don’t go to any trouble on my account,” Jane said, absently rubbing her wrist. Or was it nerves making her do that?

“It’s no trouble. I want you to relax and feel safe.”

“You’re very kind,” Jane said.

J.P. moved toward the kitchen doorway. “Follow me.”

He thought about blowing her cover, pointing out the flaws in her plan. Then he figured there was no point in a confrontation since she would be gone by morning. And he wouldn’t upset his mother. But “Jane’s” comments about princesses, palaces and precious stones proved that she was no different from all the other women who had gone to great lengths to meet him.

It wasn’t him she was after him. It was all about his money.

The next morning Jordan left her lovely room. Audrey was right. She’d been very comfortable tucked away there, although she’d felt like the princess in The Princess and the Pea, in a bed that seemed as if it was several stories off the ground. She’d had to climb a wooden step stool to get in it. But the velvet curtains at the beveled-glass windows, heavy, carved cherry-wood furniture, gold fixtures in the attached bath—it was all very wonderful.

She marveled at the rest of the house as she came downstairs. It made her interior decorator’s heart beat a little faster. The graceful arches and stained-glass windows high in the brick walls were spectacular. Twin oak staircases curved from the main floor to the second story. Reverently, she touched the bannister as she descended. Then she used it for real to keep from tripping. Audrey had loaned her a T-shirt and sweatpants that were too long. If she wasn’t careful, she’d go down the hard way. How would J.P. explain her broken neck to her father?

There was a certain irony in the fact that her father was throwing her at J. P. Patterson, a man who lived in a castle. She’d become an interior decorator over her father’s protests. Now, she would give her eyeteeth to redo this place; what a plus for her resume. But if she’d gone into the oil business with her father, he wouldn’t be so insistent she marry a man who could run it when he was gone.

She walked into the kitchen and found J.P. sitting at the table with coffee and a newspaper. What was his game? she wondered. Last night she’d been ready for his come-on. But he was barely civil when he’d removed the handcuffs. Then he’d made no protest when she’d gone upstairs right after dinner.

She’d expected him to suggest a walk in the garden. A visit to her room under the pretext of making sure she was comfortable. Something. But she hadn’t seen him again. Was he trying to lull her into a false sense of security before he slithered in for the kill? There was an aura of intelligence about him, and she reminded herself to be on her toes. Until the sheriff arrived.

He would be there sometime this morning. J. P. Patterson didn’t know her father’s rent-a-thug had spilled his guts to her about everything. In just a little while, she would expose him for the snake he was in front of local law enforcement. The prospect made her decidedly cheerful.

“Good morning,” she said.

He looked up. “Good morning.”

“Where’s your mother?”

“I’m not sure. If you’re hungry, there’s a buffet set up in the dining room.”

“Why aren’t you in there?”

“I prefer the kitchen.”

So did she. And Jordan found she was hungry. She went into the room, which had a table long enough to land a 747 on, and picked up one of the two remaining plates on the sideboard. Then she lifted lids on the array of chafing dishes. She took some scrambled eggs, a Belgian waffle with strawberries and a dash of cream, a slice of ham and some fruit. There was a lovely silver carafe of coffee, and she settled a delicate china cup beneath the spigot then pushed back the handle to let it flow. It smelled wonderful.

When she sat down across from J.P. in the kitchen, he glanced at her plate. “I see yesterday’s ordeal hasn’t affected your appetite.”

“Nothing like a kidnapping to stimulate a girl’s palate,” she said.

“I would expect someone who can’t remember their own name to be more agitated.”

If it wasn’t Mr. Happy. She studied his narrow-eyed expression and thought about his distrustful tone. Was this the best he could do? If his goal was to make her dislike him, he was wildly successful.

“I sense a lack of trust. Are you suspicious by nature? Or merely projecting your own character onto others?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my character. But I don’t trust you,” he admitted.

“Really?” This was good.

“Look, I’m going to be honest with you.”

“Honesty is the best policy,” she said virtuously. His eyes darkened a fraction, and she knew he’d caught her sarcasm.

“You noticed that I’m a wealthy man.”

“Yeah. Like I said, the castle is a clue.”

“Because of that, women throw themselves at me.”

“You mean they’re not attracted by your looks and sensitivity?” she asked sweetly.

“It started in high school and escalated from there.”

He was probably telling the truth. She was an heiress; she knew all come-ons weren’t sincere.

“Women do outrageous things to be noticed,” he continued.

“So do men,” she said pointedly.

“They do things like staking out the road to my home and pretending to be a victim,” he finished, staring at her.

“Then why did you stop yesterday?” she asked, trying to trip him up.