Once in Paris (6 page)

 

In the weeks that followed, Brianne became Pierce's shadow. To her stepfather's dismay, she kept a mile away from his friend Philippe Sabon and spent so much time with Pierce that rumors began to abound. They were seen to
gether everywhere, fishing and swimming and just sunbathing. Mostly they did the latter at Pierce's house, but occasionally they went to the beach.

The companionship they shared was as rare as the humor that bound them together. Pierce didn't realize how necessary Brianne was beginning to be to him, but the hours he spent alone brooding over Margo were dwindling with time. He looked forward to Brianne's wry insight on the world around them, to her savvy sense of politics. For a young woman, she had a mature outlook. He was impressed with her. More than impressed. He didn't mind her constant presence in his house.

But Kurt did. Things came to a head when Philippe sailed into port on his yacht to see Brianne and she wasn't at home. Worse, his private detective had a very thorough report of where she'd been most recently.

Sabon's rage was all the more intimidating for being quiet. He glowered at Kurt, his black eyes flashing, his lean fists clenched at his side. “You know that your stepdaughter has become special to me,” he began. “I have even told you that my plans for her might include marriage. Yet you have permitted her to practically
live with Hutton. What must I do to keep her around when I wish to see her, kidnap her?”

Kurt held up a hand, his face worried. “No, you have it all wrong. You have the medical report,” he said quickly, wary of his wife's presence somewhere nearby. He didn't want her to hear this. “I assure you, the girl is fastidious, chaste, regardless of the time she spends with Hutton!”

Sabon didn't speak for a moment. His eyes caught every nuance of expression in the other man's face, from the fear that made him pale to the greed that made his eyes hot. Brauer had no idea at all of his real plans, or his true desire. He had made certain of it. The man's cooperation was essential at this point. He had to ensure it any way that he could.

“I know how badly you need my help,” he told Kurt coolly. “I have had your financial assets examined most thoroughly. If I should back out now, before the oil is discovered and processed, and replace you with someone else, you would be left destitute, would you not?”

Kurt swallowed. He was in over his head, with no way out. The man knew too much. “Yes, I would,” he confessed heavily. He drew out a spotless white handkerchief and wiped his
sweaty forehead. “I have no option but to go right through to the end. But this business about involving the United States—I don't know. I don't know if it will work.”

Sabon's thin lips pursed thoughtfully. “Of course it will.” He studied Brauer. “I have told you that I think a marriage between Brianne and myself might be advantageous for both of us. A…seal on our agreement.”

“Marriage.” Kurt's greedy eyes glittered as he turned the thought over in his mind. Sabon had millions. He was supposedly one of the wealthiest men in the world. He would certainly take care of his wife's relations. Even if the oil deal fell through, Kurt would have all the money he needed, without having to fall back on his usual means of making money—a tricky enterprise these days, with so many customers who reneged on their promises of payment. He would never have to worry about money again! He smiled from ear to ear. “What a wonderful proposition! Yes, yes, it would be the perfect seal on our bargain!”

Sabon didn't meet his eyes as he bent his head to light one of the small, thin Turkish cigars he liked to smoke. “I thought it might appeal to you.”

Kurt almost drooled with pleasure. His future was assured. Now he had to talk to his wife, quickly, to make her understand how important Brianne's acquiescence was in all this. She would back him up. She was the girl's mother, and Brianne was still a minor. She could be made to comply. And so, he thought with cold reason, could her mother.

“And you will handle the chore I require of you in America,” Sabon added.

“Of course.” Kurt waved a careless hand. “You may consider this done. It will be my pleasure, in fact. Brianne will make you a lovely wife, give you many children!”

Sabon said nothing. The thought of joining their families by marriage had turned the trick. He would have no more worries with Kurt. Briefly he thought of the young, bright Brianne in his arms and the torment almost bent him double. Brauer would sell his stepdaughter, anything he owned, in his headlong search for power. Sabon hid the contempt he felt for the unscrupulous man before him and wished, not for the first time, that he had other options, other means, to accomplish what he must for his country. Although he'd sorted Brauer out, Pierce Hutton would pose as big a threat as the
too-close enemy on the borders of Qawi. He had to keep the man at a distance before Hutton learned anything from Brianne that might tempt him to interfere.

By demanding Brianne's company, by dangling the bait of marriage with her before Brauer, he hoped to accomplish that. Sabon gave one regretful thought to Brianne, so desirable and kind, who would suffer at her stepfather's hands because of his proposal. But he couldn't hesitate now, when so much was at stake! He had to think of his people.

Kurt watched him curiously. “You weren't serious about kidnapping her?”

The more Philippe thought of the idea, the more it appealed to him. His dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “It would be one way to ensure her…cooperation, would it not?”

Kurt scowled. Brianne was an American citizen, and Hutton was possessive of her. “It could complicate matters,” he persisted.

Philippe smiled coolly. “Indeed it could.” He said no more, but there was a new and introspective look about him that made Kurt nervous. He had so much riding on this endeavor, almost too much! He simply could not afford to let Philippe double-cross him. And the best
way to accomplish that was to get in the first blow. Kurt had half the rights to the long-protected mineral wealth of Sabon's little country. If he could overthrow the government—and what sort of defense was a sick old sheikh with a small army?—he could cut Sabon right out of the loop and deal directly with the oil consortium. He'd have all the wealth he'd ever need, and he could put his shady friends on the payroll to protect his investment. He would never have to resort to arms dealing, his true business, again. The more he thought about it, the better he liked the idea. Sabon was so trusting, really. He thought he held all the aces. He would discover that he had nothing. Nothing at all.

T
he minute Philippe left to return to his yacht, Kurt Brauer went immediately to find his wife. She had told him that Brianne and Pierce had gone to Freeport on a shopping trip. She didn't know that the shopping trip had been a last-minute invention, because Brianne had seen Sabon's yacht coming into port and she'd run to Pierce's house to keep out of his way. In fact, she'd stayed there until she was sure that Sabon had sailed away.

Kurt had been impressed by Sabon's threats, and his finances were such that he couldn't afford to back out. He was between the proverbial rock and the hard place, and Brianne was
slowly crushing him with her determination to avoid Sabon.

He was upset that she wouldn't help him keep in the good graces of Sabon, and angry that she seemed determined to outflank him. He didn't know if Philippe had been serious about kidnapping her, but he was beginning to think it might be the only way to make her see sense. He spoke firmly to his wife, but he couldn't find Brianne until the next day. He cornered her in the living room of the beach house the minute he saw her and spoke to her about it.

“Philippe went away angry about the way you avoided him. He knows that I can't afford to back out of the deal, and he's talking about new partners. I don't like your refusal to help me entertain him,” he said in his faintly accented English as he glared at her, both hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. “And I especially don't like you hanging around with Hutton. You must know that he and I aren't on good terms.”

“He's my friend,” Brianne said simply. “And I like him.”

“Bosh! He's years too old for you,” he said, conveniently forgetting that his friend Sabon was the same age as Pierce. “I don't want you
spending so much time with him. It looks bad. Besides,” he added uneasily, “Philippe has heard of it, and it made matters even worse. He doesn't approve.”

“Philippe doesn't app—” she burst out.

He silenced her with a raised hand. “You don't understand how I'm placed!” he said angrily. “I can't afford to upset him in any way! Everything I have is invested in his country's oil exploration and development. I'm risking all of it!”

“You shouldn't have let him talk you into the investment in the first place,” she pointed out.

He glared at her. “I talked him into it,” he corrected her, “because I saw the chance to triple my investment. My finances are not what they once were,” he said coldly. “If I do nothing, I will lose what little I have left. This is a perfect investment opportunity, absolutely foolproof. But in order to make it work, I must remain friendly with Philippe. I cannot afford to antagonize him—or permit you to do so.” He cleared his throat, aware of the building resentment in her young face. “It is time you married,” he said harshly. “Philippe has said
that he wishes it. It will be the best way to cement our business partnership.”

“Marry…him!” she burst out, appalled. “Listen, I am not marrying your friend Philippe! He scares me to death! You must surely have heard the gossip about him, about what he does to young girls!”

He turned and looked at her down his nose. “Your mother is quite happy here,
ja?
” he asked slowly. He smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. “She and the child. You wouldn't want anything to…upset her, now, would you?”

As veiled threats went, it was a masterpiece. She felt her body going numb as she considered what he was hinting at. She knew that her mother was afraid of him and that she was deeply regretting her marriage. Brianne also knew that her mother was vulnerable with the new child. She couldn't really afford to make Kurt madder than he already was, for her mother's sake. But there was no way on earth she could marry that repulsive man, even to save her mother and half brother!

She stood there, defiant but frightened, uneasy, searching for the right words. Pierce could save her. She couldn't tell her stepfather that; her words might inflame him to the point that
he would do something desperate to her poor mother. For almost two years she'd blamed her mother for her hasty marriage and equally hasty pregnancy, but blood was thicker than water. She couldn't cause her only remaining parent to come to harm, regardless of her feelings of betrayal.

“You understand me, Brianne?” Kurt continued slyly. “You will do as I say?”

“Do I have a choice?” she replied quite calmly.

He smiled, not a pleasant smile at all. “No,” he returned. “So I think we might discuss plans for the wedding. Your mother will be happy to assist you, I am sure.”

“Not today,” she said, and searched desperately for an excuse. She squared her shoulders and came up with the perfect one. “I'm meeting a girlfriend for lunch at the Lobster Bar downtown.”

“A girlfriend?” He was immediately suspicious. “Who is she?”

Her mind would barely cooperate. “My friend Cara, from school,” she invented. “She's on a cruise and will only be in town this afternoon. I haven't see her since graduation.”

He hesitated, still not quite trusting her. He pursed his lips and thought for a minute. “Very well. But Philippe has sailed to one of the outer islands and is to arrive back here tomorrow. I will expect cooperation from you.”

“Certainly.”

She was pale and not as confident as she sounded, but she forced a smile for him and went to dress.

 

Brianne's mother, Eve, having left the baby with the live-in nurse, slipped into her room as she was changing into jeans and a green silk shirt that matched her eyes.

“Has he spoken to you?” the older woman asked quickly.

“Yes,” Brianne replied. She stared at her mother, seeing the new lines in her pretty, soft face, the new haunted look in her pale eyes. “Indeed he has.”

Eve twisted her hands together. “I had no idea that he was going to take it this far, Brianne,” she said miserably. “I know you don't like Mr. Sabon. I know what people say about him. But he's very rich and powerful—”

“And you think money is the most important thing in the world,” she replied with cold eyes.

Her mother averted her gaze quickly. “I didn't say that. He could give you anything you wanted, though. And it would make Kurt happy.”

“Making your husband happy isn't my main goal in life, Mother,” Brianne said with an unfamiliar iciness in her tone. “And if you think I'm going to marry that man to keep Kurt Brauer happy, you are sadly misinformed.”

Her mother looked horrified. “You…you didn't say that to him?” she asked with real fear.

“Of course not!” she replied quickly. “Mother, I'm not a fool. He did make certain threats about you, and the baby,” she added reluctantly. She and Eve had never been close. At times like this, it was sad, because they could have confided in each other, comforted each other. Eve had always lied about her age. Brianne's very presence, not to mention her age, was a visible contradiction. Like many pretty women, she had a hard time accepting the advance of her years.

Eve made a helpless gesture with one perfectly manicured hand. The older woman looked vaguely hunted. “Kurt has a very bad temper,” she remarked. “I haven't seen it of
ten, of course,” she said with a wary glance at her daughter. “But we argued over you, quite badly. That was one reason I agreed when he wanted to send you to school in France. Things haven't been quite calm here for some time, and especially not since he got mixed up with Mr. Sabon.” She brushed back a strand of color-tinted blond hair. Her green eyes pleaded with those of her daughter. “Couldn't you pretend to agree to marry him, just until I can think of something, anything, to do? There's Nicholas, the baby, to consider. I really couldn't bear it if Kurt…well, if he fought me for custody, Brianne. You know I'd lose. I haven't any money of my own. Please! If you won't do it for my sake, do it for Nicholas's! You must know what sort of life he'd have without me.”

The sad thing was, she did. Nicholas would grow up at the mercy of a man who had none. She frowned worriedly as she finished buttoning her blouse over her small breasts. She turned and stared at her mother with sad eyes. “You used to say that all you needed to be happy was a lot of money. Do you still feel that way?”

The older woman paled. “I was tired of being poor,” she replied bitterly. “Of having
nothing and working all hours. Your father had no ambition at all!”

“No, but he had a kind heart and a generous soul,” Brianne replied quietly. “He would never have raised a hand to you.” Her face hardened as she looked at the woman who'd raised her but never loved her or cared what happened to her. Certainly Eve hadn't treated her as she treated the baby, cuddling him and kissing him and rushing to satisfy his every whim. It was a painful reminder that she hadn't been really wanted, or loved.

“You repaid my father's love and loyalty by leaping into Kurt Brauer's arms barely a month after his funeral,” Brianne said, thinking aloud. “You can't imagine how I felt about that.”

Her mother's face was a study in shock. She put a hand to her throat. “Why…Brianne,” she said huskily. “You never…you never said a word.”

“What would have been the use?” Brianne's face was as sad as her voice. “You didn't care about my feelings, or my grief. You wouldn't wait and risk losing Kurt and all his money.”

“How can you speak to me in such a way?” Eve asked huskily. “You're my own child!”

“Am I?” she asked with real pain. She
searched her mother's brittle, beautiful face. “I don't remember that you ever cuddled me or held me when I cried, or did anything except criticize me and wish me out of the way.”

Eve, for once, didn't have a comeback. She looked confused, unsettled.

“My father loved me,” she said with icy pride. “He kissed the hurt places and took me to see art shows and concerts even when he could barely afford it. You did nothing except complain that he was spending time with me that he could have spent working his way to a promotion.”

Eve frowned, searching the face of this stranger in the room with her. “I didn't realize that you wanted to be with me,” she said uncomfortably. “You never seemed to like me very much.”

“Nor did you like me. I wasn't beautiful.” The words came out much more forcefully than Brianne meant them to, but there were years of pain behind them.

Eve swallowed. She clasped her hands at her waist, which was still a little full despite the baby's age. “If you had your hair properly styled and used makeup and wore the right kind of clothes…”

“You might love me?” Brianne asked with a hollow laugh.

Eve actually winced. She took a single step forward with her hand lifted, but it was too late. Years too late. The barely perceptible gesture of conciliation was completely ignored.

Brianne gathered her purse from her bed and snapped it shut. She couldn't think of anything else to say.

“Where are you going?” Eve asked helplessly.

Brianne glanced at her. She didn't dare risk telling her mother the truth. “My friend Cara from school is in town just for the afternoon. I promised to meet her for lunch.”

“Oh. Oh, that's fine, then,” Eve said. She forced a smile. “Now, don't worry. Everything will be all right here. It's just this business deal upsetting Kurt. He'll be fine once the pressure is off, once he's got what he wants.” She was the picture of a stubborn woman rationalizing an untenable situation. “He loves me. He does. He loves the baby, too. He won't do anything to hurt us, no matter what he told you,” she added.

“Good. Then I won't have to marry Philippe Sabon to keep you safe, will I?”

The question took all the color out of the older woman's face. She moved forward quickly, almost frantically. “Brianne, you must think carefully about this,” her mother said frantically. “You mustn't make any snap decisions!”

“I won't.” She turned her purse in her hands, all too aware that she looked like an Amazon next to her pretty little mother. Brianne had nice legs and pretty hair, but she fell far short of Eve's idea of what her daughter should be.

Eve seemed to sense that. She reached out, hesitantly, and for the first time in years, she touched her daughter, touched the long, thick, straight blond hair and felt its clean texture curiously.

“You do have such lovely hair,” she said slowly. “My stylist could do wonders for it. And you have the body for couture. I never noticed how elegant you are.”

You never noticed me at all until I could help you tuck some more pretty feathers in your nest,
Brianne thought resentfully, but she didn't say it. She stepped back and her mother's small hand fell.

She went quickly to open the door and
paused to look back at the doll-like face of her mother with sorrow and pity. “I'm only twenty and I know that happiness can't be bought. Why haven't you learned that in almost forty years?”

Her mother's pretty face closed up. “I'm barely thirty-five,” she protested with a false laugh. “And besides, I like nice things.”