Everything but the Baby (Harlequin Superromance) (18 page)

Mark tried to catch Allison's eye, wondering when she was going to break in and announce her news. Unfortunately, for the moment, she seemed to have forgotten their mission completely. She leaned against the far counter, watching the family with that same kid-at-the-candy-store-window hunger he'd seen on her face so often.

“Mom. Dad.” Daniel, on the other hand, had not forgotten a thing. “We came down here because Allison has something to tell you. Apparently she's got some big secret.”

Stephen seemed to catch the sullen tone in his grandson's voice. He glanced sharply at Daniel, then smiled at Allison.

“Secrets are grand,” he said. “I hope yours is a happy one.”

Allison took a deep breath. “Not really,” she said. “It's complica—”

“Not happy?” Daniel laughed. “She's getting married. Shouldn't that kind of secret be pretty damned happy?”

“Daniel,” Moira and Roddy said in sharp unison. The atmosphere in the room was changing rapidly. No longer was it a laughing midnight feast. Suddenly everyone was staring at either Allison or Daniel.

Stephen, who had been standing at the counter near the sink, put down his sandwich. “Allison, darlin'. Is it true? You're getting married?”

“Sort of,” she said. Then, before Daniel could snort his disdain, she went on. “It'll take a little while to explain it all. It really is very complicated.”

“Girls,” Moira said, bustling over to where Flannery and Fiona were sitting, staring openmouthed at their cousin, displaying half-chewed bologna sandwiches. “Take your sandwiches and go to bed.”

“But I want to hear about Allison's wedding, and—”

Moira put her hands on her hips. “Now.”

Grumbling, the girls gathered up their food and
headed for the door. At the last minute, Fiona flew back into the kitchen. She ran up to Allison and hugged her tightly. When Allison bent down to return the embrace, Fiona whispered something into her ear.

Allison's smile was sad. “We'll talk about that later, okay?” She tweaked Fiona's red curls lightly and patted her backpack. “Right now, you'd better do what your mom said.”

When the girls were finally gone, Moira suggested that they all sit at the big, scarred pine table in the center of the room. Everyone did, except for Daniel, who glowered at them from his post near the door, and Moira herself, who watched over the deep fryer so that they didn't burn the place down.

“I guess I'll just start at the beginning,” Allison said as she settled herself in front of Flannery's crumbs and crumpled napkin. She glanced at Mark, and he nodded reassuringly. “Less than a month ago, I was all set to marry a man named Lincoln Gray.”

“But he's the one you've been dating down here, isn't he?” Roddy looked confused.

“Yes. It's the same man. That's really why I came to the island. You see, he stood me up the first time. He didn't show up at the church.”

“But why would he do such a thing to a dear girl like you?” Stephen slapped his hand on the table. “Is the man a fool? Is he insane?”

“He's a gigolo,” Mark cut in, knowing that Allison would find this part difficult to tell. “He locates lonely women who have a lot of money, and he preys on them. He caught Allison at a very tough time. She'd recently
buried her father, and she'd come to Sole Grande, hoping to introduce herself to you. But she lost her nerve, and that's when she met Lincoln, in the airport, while she waited for her plane back to Boston.”

Kate reached across the table and touched Allison's hand. “You should have come to us, sweetheart. We have been waiting for you to knock on that door for years.”

“I know that now,” Allison said. Her eyes looked suspiciously bright. “But I wasn't thinking very clearly at the time. I was stupid and I fell for him. It's true. I was lonely. And Lincoln can be very…very charming.”

Mark glanced over at Daniel, wondering how he was taking all this. The boy's face was still tight and unyielding.

“Anyhow, at the very last minute, my lawyer persuaded me to get Lincoln to sign a prenup, limiting his access to my inheritance. He signed it, but I never saw him again after that. He bolted.”

“Oh, the blackguard!” Stephen made a fist. “May the devil sweep his hairy soul to hell!”

Over at the stove, Moira laughed. “Oh, yes,” she said. “I knew it was time to send those girls to bed.”

She pulled the basket of fries out of the oil and set it on the drainer. Mark realized he was hungry, too. Moira was a good cook, and the fries smelled fantastic.

“That's how I met Allison in the first place,” Mark said, trying to keep the conversation linear, which was no easy task in this family of talkers. “I was looking for Lincoln, and I thought I'd finally caught up with him.
But when I got to the church, of course, he was already gone.”

Daniel roused himself a little. “Why were
you
looking for Lincoln?”

“Because Allison isn't Lincoln Gray's first victim. He defrauded my sister, Tracy. She was another of his lonely, wealthy conquests. He married her six months ago. He took her money and her jewelry, not to mention her happiness and her pride.”

Moira poked a steaming French fry into her mouth, apparently too outraged to remember her diet. “You mean the rat divorced her after only six months of marriage?”

“No,” Allison broke in, her voice tense. “No. He didn't divorce her. It's even worse than that. He's still married to her.”

Everyone murmured some version of shock. Even Daniel stirred himself to an upright position while he processed the information.

Stephen shook his head, confused. “Help me. Do you mean to say that this…this
insect,
he planned to…to trap my granddaughter in a bigamist marriage?”

“I'm afraid so,” Mark said. “But that's why we're here. We have a plan.”

Stephen snorted, sounding a lot like his grandson. “Does this plan involve feeding Lincoln Gray's entrails to the seven terriers of hell?”

“Dad!” Roddy rolled his eyes.

“Sorry, Stephen,” Mark said, chuckling. “Frankly, that was my first impulse, too. But Allison talked me out of it. She's got something better in mind. She's going to
marry him. Apparently the date's been set for next Saturday. So while we may not be able to disembowel him, if everything goes as planned, we just may be able to—”

Moira made an excited sound. “Put him in jail!”

“That's right,” Mark said, meeting Allison's gaze with a congratulatory smile. “We're going to put the insect in jail.”

“A
LLISON
,
wait! Ribbon emergency!”

Allison had just stepped out into the courtyard, on her way to her car—so close to escaping the chaos in the Hideaway behind her.

But she couldn't just ignore the call, which sounded frantic. Stifling a sigh, she turned and saw Moira bustling toward her. The twins trailed along in their mom's shadow. All three had their hands full of multicolored ribbons that flew out behind them like wisps of rainbow.

“Oh, Moira, they're all beautiful,” Allison said. “But right now I've got an appointment I can't miss. Besides, I've already told Kate I don't care. She can pick whatever colors she likes.”

She didn't offer the details of her “appointment.” Although the family had come together like a well-trained militia to pull off the wedding preparations in one week flat, there were still some things she wasn't ready to share.

The fact that she and Mark were planning to break into Lincoln's house today, in search of the Travers Peacock, was one of them.

“I know,” Moira said with a wry grin. “But Kate says she simply
cannot
make such an important decision by herself.”

“Don't sound so sarcastic, Mom. Grandma's right. It
is
important. Even a fake wedding has to be beautiful.” Fiona had a fistful of ribbons, all of which were shades of blue. She plucked one and held it up. “Fannie and I have some great party dresses that match this one exactly.”

Moira and Allison exchanged glances over the little girl's head. They had all been surprised by the passion Fiona and Kate had brought to this project.

Forget any hope that the wedding could be simple and fuss-free. Kate had immediately launched into her field-marshall mode, ordering new plants, a three-tier fountain and an arbor for the courtyard, then planning cakes, bouquets, centerpieces, food and flowers for the ceremony and reception afterward.

“If we're going to pull this off, it has to look real,” she'd said with a haughty sniff when her husband had dared to suggest she might be going overboard. But Stephen had explained later that Kate had always wanted to hold weddings at the Hideaway, and this was her chance to show what she could do.

Fiona just seemed caught in the romance of it all. It didn't bother her one bit that her dad had explained—in age-appropriate terms—that the wedding was just make-believe, and Lincoln Gray wasn't really going to be the newest member of the O'Hara clan. Fiona had spent the past five days picking out the ideal Irish music for the bridal march and looking on the Internet for in
formation about what the perfect flower girl should wear and say and do.

“I love blue,” Allison said, surprised that the little girl had selected a color that almost exactly matched the blue satin chair covers Allison had chosen for the “real” wedding at the Revere. Too bad she didn't have all that stuff now. She could have saved a fortune.

Fannie scowled. “I was thinking pink,” she said, picking irritably at her own fistful of pink, rose, coral and cherry-colored ribbons. “I look better in pink.”

“Allison! Don't leave just yet!” Kate came rushing up to them with a catalogue in her hand. “You absolutely must pick out a cake topper.”

At almost the same moment, Allison saw Mark heading toward her from the other direction. He must have been waiting in the parking lot and finally lost patience.

“Hi, everyone.” He smiled at the O'Hara women and accepted Fannie's exuberant hug. “The courtyard's looking good, Kate.” Then he turned to Allison. “It's quarter to three. Don't we need to get going?”

“She can't leave until she picks out a cake topper. It won't take long. There aren't many we can actually get on such short notice.” Kate held the catalogue out where Allison could see it. “We can get this gold heart, here, though gold is kind of tacky, don't you think? Or maybe these doves?”

“Kate, really I—”

But Kate was too absorbed to hear Allison's protest. “Some of these figurines aren't too bad.” She thumbed to another page. “They have this one with
the couple facing each other and this one with the groom kneeling down—”

“Do they have the one with the groom in handcuffs?” Mark winked at Allison.

Kate frowned, flipping pages. “Actually, they do have one with the groom wearing a ball and chain, but it's so demeaning to—”

Moira laughed and put her hand over the catalogue. “Mark's kidding, Kate,” she said. “And they're in a hurry. You should decide. You're the one who is insisting on making this such a big deal. Allison has already said she's willing to go with a sheet cake from the grocery store.”

“Not in this hotel she won't!” Kate shuddered, but she closed the catalogue in resignation. “All right, off with you two, but if your wedding is a terrible disappointment, you've only yourself to blame.”

Allison hugged her. “I'm sure it'll be lovely. Besides, it couldn't be any more disappointing than the last one, could it?”

“I suppose not.” Kate turned toward the courtyard border garden, where Daniel was kneeling, planting a wheelbarrow full of white impatiens. “No, no,” she cried out in anguish. “Not so close together! You'll run out of flowers before you get halfway round!”

“This is our chance,” Mark whispered, and with a grin and a wave to Moira and the girls, he took Allison's hand and led her quickly to the parking lot.

She loved his strong, warm grip, and held on to it as long as she could. When they reached her car, of course, she had to let go and immediately felt the loss.

On the way to Lincoln's house, no more than a five-minute drive, they reviewed the plans. Lincoln would not be home. Last night, over dinner, he had asked Allison's permission to follow through on a promise he'd made weeks ago to Janelle. He had promised to be her partner in a Mangrove doubles tennis tournament and he hated to leave her in the lurch.

Allison had granted permission without hesitation. She adopted a noble, generous air, but in truth she was thrilled. The less she saw of Lincoln before the wedding, the better.

This, then, was the perfect time to play Nancy Drew. She should be able to get in and have the run of the place, at least for a while.

She was right. Mrs. Jerrald's caretaker, Thomas, though in his seventies had a soft spot for young women. He smiled warmly when he saw Allison at the door.

“Miss Cabot! I'm so sorry. Mr. Gray is out.”

“I know,” she said with her best smile. “He's got a long tennis match, but I—” She ducked her head. “I was feeling a bit lonely and thought I'd wait for him here. That way I can see him the instant he gets back.”

Thomas opened the door wider. “Of course,” he said. “Would you like to wait in the library?”

She breathed a sigh of relief. The plan had looked good on paper, but it was nice to see that it had worked. And the library was perfect. It was directly across the foyer from the study.

“That would be great.” She moved into the house, still smiling. “I've been wanting to look at the books. I'm a big reader and that'll make the time go faster.”

She wasn't sure Thomas, who was a bit deaf, heard all that, but he could tell from her demeanor that she was pleased, so he led the way to the library. With an internal grin, Allison noted that beneath his dignified suit he was wearing Michael Jordan sneakers. Apparently when Lincoln was away, Thomas liked to relax.

“Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, thanks.” She moved to one of the shelves and pulled down a book, then held it up merrily. “Don't let me bother you. I'll be just fine.”

Thomas's room was at the back of the house and Lincoln had once complained that the old guy spent most of his free time watching CNN with the volume so high Lincoln could even hear it out by the pool.

Allison was counting on that.

She waited about three minutes after Thomas left, just in case he might feel obligated to bring her a Coke. She stuck her head out into the foyer and when she heard the CNN reporter start talking about the price of gasoline, she tiptoed to the front door.

Mark, who had been waiting in the car, saw her immediately. He climbed out smoothly, then sauntered up the front walk with the same air of utter confidence and belonging that he brought to all his movements. No neighbor watching through the curtains would be the slightest bit suspicious.

“In here,” she whispered, taking his hand again and leading him past the huge, shining gold and silver statues and vases, into the study.

He stood a minute in the doorway, evaluating the situation.

“Where does that lead?” He pointed toward a pair of French doors half-covered by long, heavy drapes patterned with hunting scenes—inappropriate for a beach house, but in keeping with the rest of the pretentious decor.

“I don't know.”

He moved deftly into the room, heading first for the doors. Without a sound, he twisted the brass handle and opened the door just enough for him to slip out.

She waited, confused. He was back in ten seconds.

“Side yard,” he said. “No alarm. No gates.” He smiled at her quizzical expression. “It's never a good idea to sneak in if you don't have a way to sneak out.”

“Cat burglar in another life?” She raised one brow. “Or do you have to escape from a lot of irate husbands?”

He didn't answer, of course. Unnecessary conversation was foolish. He grinned, shrugged, then gestured for her to show him the safe.

She walked up to the big, showy seascape and put her hands on the lower right corner of the frame, hoping there wasn't some trick to shoving it aside. She would hate to have brought him here for nothing.

Up this close, she could see that on the far horizon of the stormy sea, a ship was capsizing. Nice, she thought. Just what she'd like to look at every day.

Luckily, though, it glided to the left with no hitch, no sound. She felt the click as it locked into the “open” position. The safe lay exposed.

She curled her fingers to call Mark over. He took one look at the safe, then turned to the desk. She'd
already explained that Lincoln had checked this desk's center drawer to refresh his memory about the combination.

They both knew this was the trickiest part. Lincoln might have moved it. Or he might have changed it. Even if the numbers were still here, they might not open anything.

But before they could even begin to open the drawer, Mark put his hand hard on Allison's arm. She froze, frowning. She knew better than to speak or move, but she couldn't tell what he was reacting to. She hadn't heard anything.

Two seconds later, she realized that was exactly the problem. She hadn't heard anything. CNN no longer droned softly in the background.

Mark pointed silently toward the foyer. She nodded, then hurried back toward the library. She was only halfway across the foyer when she saw Thomas, standing in the hall that led to his quarters.

“Oh, Thomas, good,” she said. “I feel like a fool but I can't remember which door leads to the bathroom.”

He gestured toward the third door. “It's that one,” he said. “I didn't mean to interrupt. I just wanted to mention that I'll be out of the house for a few minutes. I've got to get to the shipping office before they close.”

“Oh, of course,” she said nervously, hoping he wouldn't glance into the study, where the seascape still hung askew, like a neon sign blinking Thieves In The House.

“I'll be fine,” she said, moving toward the bathroom so that, out of courtesy, he'd have to turn and face that
direction, too. “Lincoln should be home in a few minutes anyhow, don't you think?”

He looked at the gold rococo clock that hung above a gold-leafed armless Venus. “Within the hour, I'd think. It really depends on how many sets they play.”

“Yes, of course.”
Rats
. Allison had forgotten to factor that in. According to Lincoln, Janelle wasn't a very strong player, so the match might not last as long as she'd been hoping. “Well, you go ahead. I'll just read till he gets here.”

Thomas nodded, then disappeared down the hall. Shortly afterward she heard his car start up and back down the drive. She watched it turn out onto the street, then dashed into the study.

Mark was nowhere in sight.

She went to the French doors and opened them. “Mark?” She leaned out and scanned the garden, which was thick with red ixora, pink hibiscus and the long green trailing branches of ficus trees. “Mark?”

Out of nowhere, a strong arm wound itself around her waist. She gasped as she lost her balance and fell backward into Mark, who must have been standing behind the heavy drapes while she talked to the caretaker.

The instant her body recognized his, her heart began to pound. Her legs softened and began to tremble.

“Mark,” she said, trying to sound natural. “You scared me.”

“Did I?” He was still whispering, although he must have known that they were alone in the house. He made no move to leave the strange, shadowy seclusion of the drapes.

“Yes,” she whispered back, though she wasn't sure why. She swiveled in his arms and faced him. His dark hair and eyes made him almost invisible in the shadows.

She put her hands on his chest. “Yes. You scared me.”

“I suppose that's only fair,” he answered slowly, his voice no longer a whisper, but a husky, throaty sound that was one of the most sensual things she'd ever heard. “Because you scare me, too.”

“Why?” She moved her fingers to his collarbone, which was the first inch of bare skin she could find beneath his shirt. His skin was warm. In response, his arms tightened around her waist.

“You know why,” he said.

Then, so carefully she knew they didn't disturb a single fiber of the thick fabric that enfolded them, he bent his head to hers.

And he kissed her.