Kingsley Baby Trilogy: The Hero's Son\The Brother's Wife\The Long-Lost Heir (26 page)

Jake slanted him a glance. “Maybe it’s personal.”

“I don’t think so. Look, all I want to know is whether or not you’re working for Victor.” They reached the door and stopped. Jeremy’s permanent scowl deepened, etching crevices across his forehead. “Because if you’re not, I’d like to hire you myself.”

Jake glanced at him, startled. Jeremy’s gaze met his evenly. “I’d like for you to investigate Michael Eldridge for me. I’d be willing to double what Victor offered you.”

“I’m not interested,” Jake said, stepping out into the bright sunlight. He half expected Jeremy to follow him out, but wasn’t surprised when he didn’t. In the old days, Jeremy had never been outwardly assertive, preferring sneakier methods instead to get what he wanted.

First Northrup, then Hope, and now Jeremy Willows wanted to hire him to investigate Michael
Eldridge. Jake wondered who would be next. Pamela? Edward? It seemed everyone close to Iris Kings
ley was willing to go behind her back, and Jake suspected their reasons were not all that diverse. At least where Northrup and Jeremy Willows were concerned.

If Michael Eldridge turned out to be an impostor, Jeremy stood to inherit Iris’s considerable fortune.

And by protecting the Kingsley estate, Victor Northrup also protected the huge revenue—and his own generous draw—collected from the Kingsleys each year by his law firm.

Hope’s motive was the only one Jake couldn’t quite figure out. Was she really trying to protect Iris Kingsley from a greedy impostor, or was there another, more personal reason she was so desperate to find out about Michael Eldridge’s past?

* * *

A
T
I
RIS’S INVITATION
, Michael Eldridge spent a considerable amount of time at the mansion over the next few days, mostly in Iris’s company. Hope did her best to avoid him. When days had gone by and she’d managed not to run into him, she convinced herself that his resemblance to Andrew couldn’t be as great as she’d initially thought. It was just the shock of his turning up so suddenly that had disturbed her.

If and when she saw the man again, she would probably wonder why she’d ever considered the possibility that he might actually be Andrew. The more time that went by, the more relieved she was that she hadn’t confided her suspicions to Jake. The notion sounded crazier all the time. What had she been thinking? Dead men didn’t return from the grave.

On Friday, however, Hope found she could avoid facing Michael no longer. Iris had invited him to dinner that night and informed the entire family that she would brook no excuses. Everyone was to be present.

She even suggested to Hope which outfit she would like for her to wear—pale lilac pants with a matching camisole top and a hand-
painted gauzy overblouse in a pastel print. The outfit had been a gift from Andrew, and Hope started to protest, but then she thought, why not? If it made Iris happy, what could it hurt?

Hope lingered in her suite for as long as she could. By the time she finally came down, the family had already had cocktails in the library and were drifting into the dining room.

“Hope.” Iris clung to Michael’s arm. “You’re just in time. Michael, will you escort Hope in to dinner?”

“I’d be delighted.” He smiled at Hope, and her heart took a tumble inside her. For all the time she’d spent convincing herself over the past few days that her doubts and worries about Michael Eldridge were for nothing, she knew now as her gaze met his that no matter who he turned out to be, he was still a dangerous man.

And he still looked exactly like Andrew.

Reluctantly, Hope took Michael’s arm, and the two of them fell in behind Iris and Edward. Jeremy and Pamela brought up the rear, a position, Hope suspected, they were both overly self-
conscious about.

The table was beautifully appointed with candlelight, crystal, and china as white and delicate as snowflakes. An arrangement of white orchids in the center of the table gave a touch of the exotic to the otherwise ostentatious and somewhat somber dining room.

Iris took her place at the head of the table, with Edward on her left and Michael in the place of honor on her right. Pamela was seated next to Edward, and Hope, much to her chagrin, was wedged between Michael and Jeremy, neither of whom she would have willingly chosen to spend an entire evening with.

As the dinner progressed and the wine poured freely, Hope became aware of a subtle, cloying fragrance, a familiar scent that teased at her memory. At first she thought it was the orchids, but then it came to her with something of a shock that she was smelling Incens;aae, the spicy cologne Andrew had always favored.

Her heart started to pound. She couldn’t tell whether the fragrance was coming from Michael or from Jeremy. She had never noticed Jeremy using any kind of cologne or after-
shave at all, but Michael
Eldridge wearing the same scent Andrew had preferred was just too much of a coincidence. It
had
to be Jeremy.

She glanced in his direction and found him gazing at her quizzically, as if he’d sensed her inner distress. “Is anything wrong?” he asked, leaning toward her.

Hope shrugged. “What could be wrong?” He
was
wearing the cologne, she thought in relief. The scent had become stronger when he’d bent toward her. But in the next instant, her relief fled. Why was Jeremy wearing Andrew’s fragrance?

“So what do you think of the prodigal son?” Jeremy asked. He had a wrinkle across the bridge of his nose that always made him look dour, as if his thoughts were dark and gloomy and not something Hope would want to be privy to.

She glanced at the end of the table, where Iris and Michael had their heads together like two long-
lost friends. Hope had never seen Iris look so animated, so happy, and she wondered again what would happen if Michael Eldridge turned out to be an impostor. A clever, handsome, charming impostor. It struck her with something of a shock that that was exactly what Andrew had been. His outward facade had been nothing like the complex, troubled man lurking deep within.

She turned back to Jeremy. “Iris seems convinced he’s her grandson. I’ve never seen her so happy.”

If possible, Jeremy looked even gloomier. His gray eyes reminded Hope of a rain cloud, all dark and dank and full of dread. He leaned toward her again, lowering his voice so as not to be overheard. “I’ve thought of hiring an investigator.”

Hope looked at him in surprise. She’d never known him to go against Iris’s wishes. “Who would you hire?” she asked innocently.

“I’ve talked to Jake McClain.”

Hope tried to keep her voice neutral. “What did he say?”

Jeremy hesitated, then shrugged. “He declined. But I think he’s holding out for more money. He’s fallen on some pretty hard times lately.”

“So I heard.”

“When I think about the way he and Andrew used to strut around the grounds, both of them so damned arrogant and sure of themselves. It’s ironic—isn’t it? Almost funny, really, how far they both fell.”

Hope said coolly, “I don’t see anything funny about a man losing his life and another losing his job. Your sense of humor escapes me, Jeremy.”

A faint blush colored his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I know how that must have sounded, but I didn’t mean it that way. I really didn’t. It’s just that…when we were all kids, Jake and Andrew, especially Andrew, weren’t all that kind to me.”

Hope suspected that much was true. Jake and Andrew would have been two of a kind in so many ways back then—both lively and adventuresome and full of the devil. Of course, that was before Andrew had been instructed not to play with the gardener’s son. That was before he’d developed his own sense of superiority. Jake had never said so, but Hope knew he’d been hurt by Andrew’s rebuff. To have his friendship rejected solely because of who and what his father was would have wounded Jake’s pride terribly.

But Jake’s pride, Hope reminded herself, was no longer her concern. It hadn’t been for a long, long time.

“I’m sorry, Hope,” Jeremy said. “That really was thoughtless of me.”

“It’s all right,” she replied, longing for the dinner to be over and done with so she could escape to her room. But before she could do that, there would be coffee in the library and more polite, stilted conversation. Jeremy would drift off to a corner, Edward would break open the brandy, and Pamela’s shrill laughter would become as nerve-
racking as fingernails scraping a chalkboard.

But no one, including Hope, would dare leave until Iris retired for the night. In the ten years Hope had been married to Andrew, the evenings at the Kingsley mansion had not varied one iota. Andrew and Iris were the only ones who had ever remotely enjoyed themselves. After his death, Iris had continued the nightly ritual, but she would linger no longer than half an hour or so before calling it a night.

Tonight, however, as Hope watched Michael escort Iris back into the library, she knew a reprieve would be a long time in coming. Iris would not be anxious to relinquish Michael’s company. The evening would wear on forever.

“That’s a beautiful outfit, Hope.”

Startled, she found herself face-
to-
face with Michael Eldridge. He had finally left Iris’s side and was standing directly in front of Hope, too close for comfort. She fought the urge to step back from him.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

His dark blue eyes deepened approvingly as his gaze slipped over her. “That’s exactly the color I would have chosen for you myself.”

Hope didn’t like the note of familiarity in his tone. Nor did she like the way he looked at her with proprietary eyes. Andrew’s eyes.

She shivered. The French doors were open to the April night, and a breeze drifted through the room, stirring the scent of jonquils and narcissus, and tinkling the teardrop crystals of the Waterford chandelier.

“Why do I get the impression,” Michael said softly, “that I make you uncomfortable?”

Because you do,
Hope thought. Instead she said, “Maybe it’s your imagination.”

One dark brow cocked. So like Andrew. “Is it?”

The cloying scent of Andrew’s cologne drifted to her again, and Hope realized she must have been mistaken earlier. It hadn’t been Jeremy wearing Incens;aae. It was Michael Eldridge. And the coincidence, on top of everything else, was almost too stunning to bear.

He leaned toward her and the fragrance filled her senses. Sparked her fear. “Do I look that much like him, Hope? Is that why you’re afraid to be alone with me?”

“I’m not,” she protested, her hand inching to her throat. The walls of the library felt as if they were closing in on her. Hope wanted nothing more than to get away from this man, to get away from this house, to get away from her past. But she stood rooted to the spot by some horrible fascination, by some dreaded premonition of events yet to unfold.

“You do look like Andrew,” she finally admitted. “Very much.”

“Is that painful for you?” His gaze intensified. “It must be, if you were in love with him.”

The last was said almost in accusation. Hope drew herself up, bristling at his tone. “My marriage is really none of your concern.”

He looked immediately contrite. “Was I prying? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s just that I’m curious about you. I’m curious about everyone.” He turned to sweep the room with a brief glance. “Jeremy, Pamela, Edward. And dear, sweet Iris.”

Hope thought his words sounded facetious, but his eyes held no trace of guile. “Those are adjectives not usually associated with Iris Kingsley,” she said.

“Why not? She’s a pussycat.”

“To you, maybe.” And to Andrew. But to everyone else she could be a merciless tyrant, although Hope had always managed to stay in her good graces. Iris had once told her that she’d felt an immediate bond with Hope the moment Andrew had brought her home. Hope reminded Iris of herself when she was young, she’d said wistfully, and Hope had been flattered. What twenty-
two-
year-
old wouldn’t be? A charming, sophisticated, worldly woman like Iris Kingsley comparing herself to a kindergarten teacher who’d never traveled farther from home than Nashville.

Michael turned back to Hope, drawing her attention away from Iris. “You fascinate me more than anyone, though.”

Hope tried to keep her tone casual. “Why?”

He shrugged. “The others are so easy to read. Jeremy, with his inferiority complex and resentment, Pamela with her greed and ambition, and Edward with his spent mind and self-
destructive demons. Even Iris with her thirst for power and her need to control holds no mystery for me. But you’re different. I can’t quite figure you out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out.”

“That’s not true. For instance, why are you still living in this house? Your husband’s been dead for over five months.”

“It’s my home,” Hope replied, trying not to sound defensive. After all, she didn’t owe Michael Eldridge any explanations. She didn’t have to justify herself to him just because he looked like Andrew.

“I don’t think so,” Michael said. “I don’t think this is your home. In fact, most of the time you remind me of a caged bird waiting for the chance to escape.” His gaze darkened slightly. “You never liked it here, did you?”

His tone sent a chill up Hope’s spine. His insight made her shiver with dread. “Who are you?” she whispered.

He pretended not to hear her at first, then he smiled slowly, and the chill deepened around Hope’s heart. “You know who I am, Hope. My name is Michael Eldridge…at least for the time being.”

* * *

A
LITTLE WHILE LATER
, Michael went to kiss Iris’s cheek and bid her good-
night. The whole room seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief when he left. Everyone except Iris, who, all of a sudden, looked fragile and delicate and extremely vulnerable.

As Hope had anticipated, Jeremy had grown more withdrawn as the evening wore on, Pamela’s laughter had become more false, and Edward was now working on his fourth brandy. He didn’t appear to notice as his mother struggled to her feet and summoned Hope to help her upstairs.

Iris’s steps were even slower than usual as they ascended the curved marble stairway with its silk runner and carved mahogany banister. She clung to Hope’s arm for support, and in spite of herself, Hope couldn’t help remembering her mother’s words.
“You may not see her manipulations, but I certainly do.”