Leslie LaFoy (35 page)

“Oh, Jack,” she whispered. “I'm so sorry. So very sorry.”

He nodded and then looked up from the carpet to meet her gaze. She watched his eyes and saw him close away the painful memories.

“I'll let you have that one without paying the penalty,” he said with a wan smile.

“As punishments go,” she countered, sniffling and managing a smile in return, “I can think of far worse than your kisses, Jack. I think you misjudged the effect they'd have.”

“I've misjudged a lot of things in my time, Lindsay,” he countered, sobering and sitting up straight. “But the past is over and done and all I can do is keep from making the same mistakes again. I don't want you added to the list of my regrets. You need to know how I'm thinking and feeling about the two of us and you need to hear it in plain, blunt terms so that there isn't the slightest chance of a misunderstanding. I'm going to shoot straight from the hip with you, Lindsay, whether it bruises your sensibilities or not.”

“You think I have tender sensibilities?” she asked, chuckling quietly. “After a lifetime of enduring Henry and Agatha?”

“The way I see it,” he said, determined to avoid being sidetracked, “there's pure physical desire, being in love with love, and then real love. One doesn't necessarily lead to another.”

He paused, considering the truth and knowing it for that. “Being in love with love is for the young and the hopeful. Ten years ago I managed to survive it. I'm too damn old and battered to tumble into it anymore. And giving someone a piece of my heart isn't something I ever intend to do again. Putting it six feet under hurts too badly. What's left for me is physical desire. Nothing more, nothing less.

“I won't lie to you, Lindsay. I've never been a monk. There were women before Maria Arabella and there have been women since she died. I treated them all well and kindly, but being with them was physical and nothing more.

It's not ever going to lead anywhere beyond that. I won't let it. I hope you can understand that and why it has to be that way. It doesn't have anything to do with you.”

“I understand completely,” she answered. “And I appreciate your honesty. Truth be told, Jack,” she added, “I'd have serious questions about your sanity if you
were
willing to risk your heart. It seems to me that only a fool would ask to be hurt like that again.”

He nodded and pursed his lips as he stared unseeingly at the far wall.

“Jack?” she asked softly, tentatively.
“Do
you desire me?”

His smile returned, and when he looked at her his eyes sparkled. “To be real honest, sweetheart, I haven't wanted a woman as badly since I can't remember when. I get around you and my blood heats, my heart races, and my good intentions get trampled in the dust.”

“You do the same to mine,” she admitted, greatly relieved. “And when you touch me, you take my breath away and make my knees go weak. I never felt any of that with Charles. It makes me wonder about what else I might have missed with him.”

Jack smiled, thinking that if she didn't mind being celibate, then she'd missed a helluva lot. “You know what they say about curiosity and the cat,” he reminded her with a wink. “You might want to keep that in mind.”

“I have no good reputation to protect, Jack,” she confidently rejoined, obviously undaunted by the warning. “And I have no prospects for marriage. It seems to me that curiosity is all that I
do
have and that there isn't a price for it that I haven't already paid.”

Damn. He hadn't thought about that. He suspected there were a lot of facets to his relationship with Lindsay that he hadn't given the consideration they deserved. “I'm hearing this tiny voice in the back of my head; common sense, I think.” He rose to his feet, adding, “It's saying that I ought to get out of here and give it all some serious thought before we set fire to any bridges.”

“Then I'll wish you a good night, Jack,” she said, rising from the window seat. “Thank you for barging in here and
making me think things through. I appreciate it very much. You can't know how much I wish that I'd known you five years ago.”

If he'd been around then, Charles Martens wouldn't have gotten within a mile of her. “Just so you know,” he said, his hand on the doorknob, “I kissed you before I ever heard the name Charles Martens. And if I kiss you again, it won't be because I think you might give me what you gave him. I'll kiss you because I like the way you taste; because I like the feel of you in my arms, and I like the way you kiss me back. And if I end up losing the battle with good judgment and seducing you, then you damn well better leave Charles Martens outside the bedroom. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she answered, not hesitating for so much as a blink. “And you need to understand that if I decide to go to your bed, it's not because I'm motivated by business interests or because I have illusions of there being a forever for us. It will be because I want my curiosity satisfied. I don't expect anything of you beyond that. It'll be that simple.”

Jackson chuckled. “Sweetheart, nothing about you is simple. Good night. Sweet dreams.”

The door closed soundlessly behind him and Lindsay sank back down onto the window seat, her legs too shaky to hold her upright.
She
was complicated? Not compared to Jackson Stennett. He was far more vulnerable than she could have ever imagined, far more emotionally battered that anyone could have guessed. Her mother would have called it a weakness and demanded that it be exploited for the benefit of the MacPhaull Company. Richard would have been less strident in his exhortation, but his words would have been an echo of her mother's just the same.

Use him before he has a chance to use you. All's fair in love and business. And there's no such thing as love in business.

Lindsay shuddered and shook her head, studying the door connecting her room and Jack's. Jack wouldn't use her. He was better than that. And she wouldn't deliberately add to his pain for all the money in the world.

There was no denying that she was physically drawn to him. She liked the way she felt when in his arms. But to talk
confidently about bedding a man was one thing. Actually sliding under the sheets with him was another matter entirely. She knew that from bitter experience. And she knew the risks of abandonment and public humiliation that could go with it. With a sigh, Lindsay rose from her seat, blew out the oil lamp on the vanity, and then crawled into bed knowing that in the scales of decision, the past still weighed heavily. For her. And for Jack.

J
ACKSON DRAPED HIS TROUSERS
and shirt over the back of the chair in front of the window, then turned to look at the door separating him from Lindsay. God, he was tempted to walk over to it, knock, and ask her if she'd be interested in spending the night with him. His room or hers, it didn't matter to him one way or the other.

What did matter, though, he reminded himself as he turned toward his bed, was accomplishing the task that had brought him to New York. Becoming Lindsay's lover would complicate the hell out of making decisions, and neither one of them needed it to be any more difficult that it already was. And then there was Henry's tendency to insult. To provide the man with ammunition was unthinkable. Added into the ugly mix was the likelihood of social condemnation if word got out that Lindsay had involved herself in another short-term affair.

Jack raked his fingers through his hair and sank down on the edge of his bed. He didn't want to leave Lindsay with more battles to fight than she already had. Of the two of them, he had the clearer perspective on the risks and consequences of becoming lovers. That meant that he was the one who was going to have to exercise self-discipline and restraint. The best way of keeping to that narrow, safe track was to focus all of his energy on business, on figuring out who had been stripping away the MacPhaull Company assets.

He fell backward onto the soft bed and stared up at the ceiling, forcing his mind to analyze what he knew of the Byzantine maze that was Lindsay's world. It was so much less painful than remembering and dealing with the shadows of his own.

L
INDSAY CROSSED THE FOYER
at an angle that allowed her to see into the dining room well before she arrived there. She saw Abigail Beechum at the buffet, putting silverware back into the velvet-lined storage chest. There was no sign or sound of Jack, and Lindsay felt a curious mixture of relief and disappointment.

“Ah, breakfast smells good,” Lindsay said, sweeping into the room. “How are you this morning, Mrs. Beechum?”

“Fine, thank you. And yourself, Miss Lindsay?” “I had a restless night,” she admitted, settling into her place at the table. “I think I went to bed with too much on my mind.” Taking the silver cover off her plate and putting it aside, she noted that hers was the only breakfast on the table. “Where's Mr. Stennett's place setting?” “He's eaten and left for the office already.” “My, he's certainly the early bird this morning.” “He said he was pressed for time and that he had much to do. He also asked me to relay a message for him.” She paused just long enough that Lindsay knew she needed to
mentally brace herself. “Mr. Stennett requests that you pack a bag for traveling and prepare to be gone for the better part of a week. He suggested that you might want to take simple, comfortably fitting clothes.”

Lindsay's mind whirled with possibilities. As with his absence this morning, she felt an unsettling combination of emotions; some exhilarating and some deeply troubling. Telling herself that it was foolish to presume and react before ascertaining the facts, she mustered enough poise to casually ask, “Did he happen to say where I'm going?”

“No. I inquired and he—very apologetically, mind you—told me that your destination must be kept a secret for the time being. And I think I should mention that you aren't traveling alone. Mr. Stennett's accompanying you. His bag is already packed and is to be brought down when yours are. He said that since John is injured, he'll make arrangements to have a hack come by the house for you at ten-thirty this morning.”

“At which point I'm to be standing in the foyer, sweetly obedient to his command,” Lindsay observed sardonically, her ire the easiest of her tumbling emotions to grasp.

“I believe that's an unfair characterization of the situation, Miss Lindsay.”

Her housekeeper's gentle rebuke stung, but Lindsay wasn't going to abandon her pique without putting up a bit of struggle to defend it. “How else would you state it, Abigail?” Even to her own ears she sounded peevish. Why was she in such a difficult mood this morning? The night before certainly hadn't been the first relatively sleepless one she'd had in recent weeks and months.

“I think that Mr. Stennett has a plan of sorts formulated. I have no idea what it is, of course, but I feel it there under the surface of things. He was very firm and deliberate when he gave me the message. I can't help but think that he's given the trip a great deal of thought.”

“Do you think this plan of his centers around the proposal of a romantic affair?” Lindsay posed, deliberately trying to lighten her tone of voice.

“Does it matter which of you makes the first overture?”

As usual, Abigail had cut to the heart of the matter and
left Lindsay with no other choice but to face the situation honestly and squarely. Her appetite gone, Lindsay laid down her silverware and pushed her plate away, saying gloomily, “I haven't been very discreet, have I?”

“I don't think it's so much a lack of discretion,” the older woman consoled, “as it is your lifelong inability to hide your feelings about anything.”

Lindsay sighed and turned in her chair to meet the housekeeper's gaze. “Could we pretend that we're in your room and sharing a pot of tea?”

Abigail smiled and got herself a cup of coffee from the silver pot on the buffet.

“I'm uncertain about what to do, Abigail,” Lindsay admitted as the housekeeper took a seat beside her at the table. “On the one hand, there's the expectations of propriety. And while my reputation isn't sterling in that regard, I can at least claim that my past stumble was both a single occurrence and the result of being young and naive. Society might eventually grant me a small bit of forgiveness for it.

“On the other hand …” Lindsay considered the tangle of feelings and thoughts ensnaring her and then sighed. “Oh, what a mess,” she declared. “It's easier not to think about it and just do what's expected of me.”

Gently, but firmly, Abigail countered, “But the easiest way out of a situation isn't necessarily the best course, Lindsay. Sometimes we need to consciously choose to muddle along on the rougher road.”

Lindsay couldn't believe her ears. “Are you saying that you think I ought to have an affair with Jack?”

“Oh, Lindsay, my dear child,” the other woman said, softly laying her hand on Lindsay's forearm. “Let's begin with an ugly and bitter truth: Society doesn't forget and it never forgives. You can live like a nun, hiding inside these walls and behind your office desk for the rest of your life, and it isn't going to earn you so much as a sliver of social redemption.”

“So what you're saying is that I might as well accept my fate and whatever romantic opportunities come my way,” Lindsay summarized, again surprised by Abigail's stance on the matter.

“You enjoy Jackson Stennett's company, don't you?”

“Yes, very much.”

“And if I'm not mistaken, you find him physically attractive,” Abigail pressed.

“I do indeed.”

“He strikes me as being a good man, Lindsay. I simply can't see him treating you as Charles Martens did.”

The memories surged to the fore, but she shoved them aside, determined to deal with the present situation calmly and rationally. “I can't help but wonder if perhaps he might not be using my attraction to his business benefit. If I'm consumed by thoughts of becoming his lover, it's time and effort I'm not expending in blocking any actions he wants to take.”

“It would be very callous, Lindsay. Mr. Stennett doesn't seem to me the sort of man who would use a woman that way. Maybe it would ease your mind to know that he was genuinely concerned for you after the dinner debacle last night. I believe his feelings for you are sincere and would be the same regardless of your particular circumstances.”