Fran looked at the sky and took her umbrella out to be ready. “But I wouldn’t mind if he stole the picture of the fourth countess. I feel like she’s giving me the evil eye every time I dust her.” She waved her umbrella and walked down the walkway.
Sure enough, Jacqueline found Sebastian standing in the gallery, hands behind his back, studying one of his ancestors. He looked much better than when he’d arrived. Fran’s care was working, because he looked less gaunt, more healthy, and rested.
He turned when he heard her footsteps, smiling. “Did Franny send you to keep an eye on me?”
“Yes, although she wouldn’t mind if you stole that painting.” She pointed to the fourth Countess of Amberlin.
Sebastian chuckled. “The painting looks cursed. Franny is a smart woman.”
“I’ve been lucky she stayed with me all these years.” Without Fran, she had no idea what would have become of any of them. “Fran is the one who really raised the girls while I was busy being the countess.”
Arching his brow, he studied her. “Was it that bad?”
“No, but if I had to do it all over again, I’d change my priorities.”
He nodded solemnly. “Family is sacred.”
“You don’t talk about your family.”
“There isn’t anyone to talk about.” He smiled sadly. “My mom passed away when I was a freshman in college and Dad followed shortly after of a broken heart.”
Her heart bled for him, picturing a young man thrust into life on his own. Hand on his arm, she asked, “You had no other relatives?”
“None. Not until I received the letter from the lawyer.” He put his hand over hers and escorted her out of the gallery. “I’d never thought about it one way or the other, but now I get the value of family. There are times in life when you really need them.”
She wondered what he’d gone through that he’d come searching for them. Impulsively, she tugged on his arm. “Are you busy? Perhaps you’d care to have tea with me while we chat?”
He lit up. “I’d love to, as long as you’re sure I won’t disrupt your schedule. You look like you’re on your way out to wherever you sneak off to every day.”
She tipped her head. “You’ve noticed?”
“Fran isn’t the only one with keen senses.” He gave her a lopsided grin.
“I’ve, in fact, returned from where I snuck off to and I have no plans for the afternoon, so I’m yours.”
“Awesome. You can tell me about the man you’re obviously seeing,” he said as they headed to the kitchen.
“There’s no man,” she lied, hoping convincingly. “I’m just trying to reshape my life.”
“How’s that going for you?”
“Better than I’d hoped, actually.”
Sebastian glanced at her. “Maybe I should talk to you then.”
“Are you unhappy with your life?” She thought about what she knew about him and blinked in surprise. She didn’t know anything about him or who he was.
He gave her a wry smile. “I didn’t think earls were allowed that luxury.”
“You’re more than an earl here. You’re family.” She hugged his arm. “For better or worse.”
He stopped and stared at her. “You mean it.”
She wanted to weep for the loneliness and hope in his expression. But she smiled instead and kissed his cheek. “With all my heart.”
Chapter Twenty-one
What had she done?
Summer paced in her room, holding Jon’s torn tuxedo shirt closed over her body. When she’d snuck out of his room, it’d been her only option for cover. Gigi’s dress was in tatters and she couldn’t creep back to her room naked, no matter how close it was. It was scandalous enough that she was in a man’s dress shirt.
Not just any man—
Jon’s
.
She moaned, covering her mouth so no one would hear her. So Jon wouldn’t hear her and wake up. She couldn’t face him yet.
Something had happened last night.
She’d woken up late. The sun had been streaming into his room. She’d been curled up against him, warm and cozy, his arm across her body like she was his favorite teddy bear. A lovely happiness flowed through her veins—until she’d realized what she’d done.
She’d made love to Jon Smith.
She wasn’t even sure if that was his real name. She pressed her palms over her eyes. She shouldn’t think about it. Stripping off his shirt, she pulled on her own clothes—the blandest, blackest clothing she had with her. Black was safe. Look what had happened when she put color on.
Kicking Gigi’s dress under the bed, she paced some more, rethinking the situation. She came for the prince and kissed the frog instead.
It turned out she liked the frog. A lot.
How had that happened? She shook her head.
When
had that happened? She’d been so determined to stop him. She’d come here expressly to keep Ryan safe. She just hadn’t meant to distract Jon with her body.
She stopped moving and remembered last night. It’d been really good. Magic and fairy dust. She
liked
him, the kind of like that for most people ended with sex and babies, and sex had already happened.
No—don’t imagine babies
. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think about taxes.
She needed to go for a walk.
Checking the hallway, she quickly hurried through the house and through the woods that surrounded the manor. She gathered her hair back into a ponytail as she walked. She saw the hunter’s cottage and groaned.
She’d made love with Jon, the most un-prince-like man ever.
Not love—
sex
.
What she needed was a voice of reason. She felt a pang of sorrow, missing her mother. Tabitha always had something wise to say.
Yes, but you have sisters now, she heard her mother’s voice whisper in her head.
She did. Summer pulled out her mobile from her pocket and called Rosalind. Before Rosalind could say anything, the moment she answered the phone Summer said, “Gigi’s dress worked.”
“Fabulous!” her sister exclaimed.
“On the wrong man, which is why I called you.” She winced. “I should also state that the dress is no more.”
“What happened to the dress?”
She pressed her fingers to her temple. “Casualty of war.”
“Did we win the war?”
“We don’t know yet, but we’ve definitely lost the battle.”
“Oh, Summer. What happened?”
“In short? I slept with the wrong man.” She shook her head. “And before you say anything about that, let me just state that, no, he wasn’t masked and, yes, I knew exactly who I was getting in bed with. I may have even initiated it, although I’m loathe to admit that at the moment.”
“I have questions to ask, but it’s probably best that I don’t in front of your brother.” There was the low rumble of Nick’s voice and then Rosalind said to the side, “I’ll tell you later. I’m talking to your sister right now.”
Summer winced. “You won’t really tell him, will you?”
“I know better.”
The smile in Rosalind’s voice reassured her. But then she remembered the night before and she started to pace again.
“Maybe you need to rethink who your Prince Charming is,” Rosalind said.
She shook her head. “Jon is no Prince Charming. He’s more like the antichrist.”
“You wouldn’t have slept with the antichrist.”
“I didn’t mean to sleep with him.”
“Didn’t you say you initiated it?”
She groaned. “Did you have to remind me?”
“It can’t be that bad, right? Can’t you chalk it up to a fling? You did it once and then you left him, right?”
“Define once,” she said, remembering the entire night of delicious lovemaking.
No—
not
lovemaking. She winced. Just sex. Dirty, hot, passionate, soul-shattering sex.
“What have I done?” she moaned.
“Maybe you need to rethink your idea of what your prince looks like,” Rosalind suggested.
“Jon has absolutely no princely qualities.”
“He must have something for you to succumb to him.”
Actually, he was loyal to his friends and kept his word. He had honor, and he was kind even though he pretended he wasn’t. He’d risen from ashes to make a successful life that worked. That in itself was admirable. “He’s pretty to look at.”
“That may be true, but looks aren’t what drive you. You like talking with people, so you must have good conversations with him.”
She frowned. “He’s always arguing with me.”
“You’re a lawyer. You like discussion.”
“He’s selfish.”
“So he didn’t focus on you or your pleasure?”
He had, actually. He’d been so focused on her that she had the feeling if he hadn’t climaxed himself he wouldn’t have cared. In his arms, she had the feeling that only she’d existed—not Ryan, not the island in Thailand, not the past.
“Summer?”
“I’m thinking.”
“Maybe it’s time to stop thinking and to just go with what you feel.” There was a rumble in the background and then Rosalind said, “Nick says that thinking’s never worked for you, because it tends to get you into trouble, so you should try a different tack.”
“Nick is a busybody.”
“Yes, but we love him,” Rosalind said, the affection warm in her voice.
Summer looked up, realizing she was back at the manor house. “I have to go.”
“When will you be home?”
“Later today I think.” Unless Jon said something to change her plans.
Summer shook her head. She couldn’t believe she was thinking of changing her plans for him. “I have to go,” she said to her sister.
“Call me later.” Rosalind paused. “Just go for it, Summer. What’s the worst that can happen?”
She hung up and went inside. What was the worst that could happen? That Ryan really was The One, but she missed him because she’d been so focused on Jon.
What if Jon was The One?
She glanced at his door as she headed for her room. Maybe she should kiss him again and see if he turned into a prince.
Truthfully, she just wanted to kiss him again—period.
Taking a deep breath, she turned around and knocked on his door. There was no answer, so she tried the doorknob. Peeking inside, she said, “Jon?”
There wasn’t any sign of him. He’d been back though; his bed was made and, on his bed, his bags were packed.
She blinked. Was he leaving already?
The only reason he’d leave was if he’d found proof of Ryan’s guilt.
Summer swallowed thickly, looking at the bag. He’d found it—she knew that without a doubt.
Going to the bed, she unzipped the bag. She probably shouldn’t do this, she told herself as she took the items out one by one.
In the middle, between a pair of jeans and his tuxedo pants, was a black notebook.
Dread making her chest heavy, she pulled it out and opened it. Rows and rows of numbers, written in uniformly neat handwriting. It didn’t take much scanning for her to deduce that it was a record of what Ryan was skimming from his clients.
The bottom should have fallen out of her world, but somehow she wasn’t surprised to find Ryan was stealing from people. He hadn’t been at all who she’d thought him to be. He was everything she’d wanted on the outside, successful and gentlemanly, but on the inside he was rotten. There was nothing princely to him.
The thing she felt the worst about was not believing Jon. He’d insisted, and she’d opposed him at every turn, insisting on a fairy tale that didn’t exist. What a fool she was.
Was Jon going to leave without telling her he found his proof?
Hurt stabbed at her. Of course he didn’t trust her—if she’d grown up the way he had, she wouldn’t trust anyone either.
And that was better than what she was—
too
trusting. She glared at the notebook. What a sucker she’d been, not seeing Ryan for who he was. She remembered Rosalind saying Ryan sounded a lot like their father. Rosalind had been right, because their father had been a cheater, too. Summer thought about her mother and Reginald, and then her delusion about Ryan. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
This meant Jon was leaving for Thailand.
She sank onto the bed, not sure what she was most upset about: Ryan’s perfidy or Jon leaving her.
The latter. Definitely.
He probably wouldn’t say goodbye. She touched the tuxedo pants. He’d gotten what he wanted, and that was that.
Getting up, she went back to her room and got the pink underwear. Returning to his room, she wrapped it around the notebook and put it back in his bag, taking care to return everything back in the order she’d taken them out. When he took it out, he’d have a colorful trophy of everything he’d won.
Everything she lost.
And then she sat on the bed and waited.
Chapter Twenty-two
It was the sound of laughter that drew Jacqueline toward the study.
She stopped in the hallway and listened for a moment. Was there a greater sound than your daughters’ happiness echoing in the halls? For too long all their voices had been silenced by Reginald’s censure and stern disapproval.
So much had changed since he’d died—for the better. The study for one. She stood in the doorway and took it in. It used to be Reginald’s office, off limits to everyone. When he died, she’d decided to reclaim it. Less heavy wood and more color and soft fabrics, and it’d been transformed into the perfect cozy area for the girls to gather.
Like Rosalind and Gigi were doing now. Smiling, she knocked on the open door. “Can anyone join?”
“Not anyone, but definitely you, Mother.” Gigi held her hand out from the cushion on the floor where she reclined. She looked like a modern-day Veronica Lake, with her cascading blonde hair and full lips, but there was intelligence behind her beauty and a heart of gold.
Jacqueline joined them in front of the fireplace. Instead of a fire, they’d placed a couple candles.
“Ambiance,” Rosalind said when she saw Jacqueline looking at it.
“Laziness,” Gigi added with an indolent smile, stretching out. “Neither one of us wanted to go through that much trouble.”
Jacqueline kicked off her shoes and settled on her own nest of pillows. “I thought Summer would be in here with you. Hasn’t she returned yet?”
“Not yet I think.” Rosalind turned to Gigi, putting her hand on her arm. “By the way, you know that turquoise Kate Spade dress you had?”