Oh, well. Everybody had his secrets.
Including her.
Maybe Noelle would take her near-disaster to heart and find some new friends who were nice and sensible.
A pair of familiar faces came into the garden, and Amanda’s bowels knotted up.
The maid of honor and her father.
The de Graffens had been in the box with Callaway that night in Houston. She’d actually met Miles. What if one of them recognized her? Why, oh why, had she come here today? She was a fool for not sending Melissa.
Father and daughter followed the rock walk without noticing Amanda. Lynette de Graffen, in the jonquil-yellow attendant gown that flattered her dark eyes and skin, said, “I don't understand why you’re so against him.”
Her father was blunt. “He's after your money.”
“You have no reason to think that.”
“I know it. Believe me. Please. He's not someone you want to get mixed up with.”
The girl's face clouded. “Dad...”
“Trust me in this, sweetheart. Please.”
Lynette looked away.
“I love you too much to see you hurt.” Miles touched her shoulder gently. “Think about it.” He looked over her shoulder and heaved a sigh. “There's Robert waiting for me. I'll see you at home later. We'll discuss it then.”
Lynette lowered her head, a mulish look on her face.
Uh oh, that girl wasn’t about to listen to her father.
She’s not my problem, thank heavens.
When Lynette wandered along the path toward Amanda's haven, Amanda picked up her punch cup and fled, following the flagstones round the hedge into an adjoining garden with a small gazebo on one end. Choosing a vantage point on one of the gazebo's wooden benches, she tried to enjoy the vista of meadow and sparkling pond in the distance but found herself continually monitoring the entrance to the garden for intruders.
She was in turmoil, and had been ever since Callaway McIntyre walked into her shop.
No, she'd been in turmoil since long before then.
From the time he'd grasped her wrist in the theater box and every nerve in her body had jolted to life.
She wouldn't think of her body's betrayal now. She had to stay out of sight. There was no sense in flaunting her presence in front of people who might remember her.
Would the day never be over?
* * * *
Christ, the day would never end.
In between greeting guests, Cal found a moment alone with Claire.
She grasped his elbow. “At breakfast, did you mean you've found out something?”
“I'll know by the end of the day but it looks promising. We’ll talk later. Robert looks like he could murder me.”
She glanced over to where he stood watching them. “He's under a lot of pressure right now.”
“Yeah. He thinks once this audit's over, the Board's going to name him CEO.”
“Cal, let's not discuss it now. He's been really pleasant this morning, almost as nice as he used to be.”
“He's coming this way and so is Miles. Two people I don't want to talk to. I'll catch you later.”
“Sonny!” he heard Robert call. “Where've you been? Do you know where I left the file on the Las Vegas project we were going over this morning? Miles might have a tenant for one of the spaces.”
Sonny, Sonny, Sonny! It's always Sonny.
Immediately after the thought, Cal laughed at himself. He was jealous because Sonny played an important part in the business while he was—yeah, might as well face it—a screw-up.
Claire did her usual tactful thing. “I saw the file up in the sitting room, Robert. I'll get it for you.”
Sonny, neat in a navy pinstripe suit and maroon tie, with a smiling Lynette on his arm, wandered up in time to hear. “No, no, I'll go, Claire. I'm sure you're needed here.”
“Yes.” Miles's grim eyes swept past Sonny to his daughter. “Let Sonny get them, Robert. In fact, why don't I walk upstairs with you, Sonny? All I want is a quick look at the estimates.”
Cal turned his back to the men and Claire, and found a group he could hide in.
* * * *
Amanda hid at the fringe of the crowd.
It had to be past time for Johanna to change into her going-away outfit.
Where was Callaway? Ah, over there dancing with a lively bridesmaid and, from their raucous laughter, enjoying himself immensely.
Amanda’s stomach lurched and her temple gave the little twinge that signaled a headache coming on. She moved far away from Cal, toward the protection offered by a rose-trellised patio.
A familiar voice caught her ear. “So everything's okay with our contract? I told you you'd be pleased, Miles.”
She turned, recognized Lynette's father with another man heading toward her.
Merciful heavens, could she never escape those people from Houston? Even Claire’s husband had turned out to be one of them. Was she doomed to keep running into reminders from that horrible night? Was this some sort of purgatory?
As she hid behind a column of ferns, she heard de Graffen say, “We're good there, you've done the job. But I want to talk to you about Lynette, Sonny.”
Only when they went into the house did she realize the younger man's voice was the same one that had subtly threatened Senator Swift.
Another man from Callaway’s box.
Wonder what he's doing trying to blackmail the senator?
Johanna had her groom in tow and was beckoning to Lynette de Graffen.
The newlyweds were finally going inside to change clothes. The end of her nightmare was in sight.
Thank goodness.
* * * *
About time.
Cal watched Johanna and her groom disappear inside the house. The afternoon had been interminable.
Claire was near to collapse. She’d always been the strong one, buffering him from their mother and standing up for him when he failed, as he had always failed, to meet Lila's expectations. Since Claire had protected him all his life, it hurt to see her this way because of his damned weakness for redheads.
Never mind. He would make it right.
He whirled the girl in his arms around and around, teasing and flirting until he barely knew what he said. It didn't matter. She'd had too much of the champagne punch to care whether he was coherent or not. When he remembered the last time he'd danced with a woman, rage threatened to overwhelm him.
Later
, he promised himself as he towed the bridesmaid toward the gate where the bride and groom would be leaving. Later, he'd deal with his anger and the woman who'd caused it.
As the bridal couple reappeared in travel clothes, Johanna kissed Tip and Claire, and then Cal.
Amanda Jane would be upstairs, packing up the wedding gown and getting ready to leave. He would see Johanna off and go to his cottage.
The bridal bouquet reeled toward Lynette de Graffen, who caught it, looked directly at Sonny Kirkman, and turned pink. Cal tossed his birdseed at the couple rushing to the limo.
Keep your cool
. This was not the time or place to make a mistake. He'd soon have little Miss Scarlet-Amanda in hand and then he could give way to anger.
He intended to savor every minute.
* * * *
Every moment brought Amanda more assurance. It was going to be all right.
The clock hands were both past four before she went down the stairs with her tool case. The afternoon sun slanted through the mullioned windows in the back of the house and laid a rich golden gossamer over the hardwood floors and oriental runner.
With the burdens of the world off her shoulders, she practically danced out to the minivan.
She’d made it. She could leave Claire’s dress and get out of here, go home and try again to reach Noelle. Callaway McIntyre might have seen the black dress but it hadn't led him to her and with luck, it wouldn't.
As she rushed to load up paraphernalia, she would have sung if she’d been able to carry a tune.
Her ordeal was over.
Chapter Eight
No intimation of danger emanated from the deep pink rhododendrons and azaleas ringing Callaway McIntyre's neat cottage. Beyond them Amanda could see the gate marking her escape route from Fair Meadows.
Soon as she dropped off the dress, she’d be gone. Far, far away where she’d never have to see Callaway McIntyre again.
A cobbled path led to the door, unlocked as promised.
Still no hint of anything wrong.
In the vacant house she headed toward the closet door beyond the sofa. She’d hang up the dress and get out. Pronto.
Not until she passed the field-rock fireplace did a creaking door make her pivot.
Callaway McIntyre, coat unbuttoned, filled the entry. His face was no longer easygoing. He looked more like a rampaging bull.
He slammed the door. Its crash reverberated.
A dead bolt key, its ominous click filling the room, turned.
Amanda's mouth fell open. “I-I-I... What are you doing?”
No, no! He doesn't know. He can't know!
One corner of his lips turned up in a half-smile neither polite nor pleasant. “Getting back what's mine, Scarlet.” The key slid into his pants pocket.
Scarlet. He knows.
Sanity fled. She backed away, tongue dry, ears pounding. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Eyelids narrowed to slits, he parted the front of his morning coat as if readying for combat. The smile that wasn’t a smile stayed in place.
How could he possibly know? He couldn’t. Why was...?
His coat slipped off. He balled it up in a deliberate movement defying comment and torpedoed it to the side. Then he marched toward her one step at a time. “Where is it?”
Amanda retreated toward the hall.
The first door led into a closet, the second into a bedroom. She whirled but too late.
He was at her elbow, his hand shooting out to imprison her wrist. She yelped.
“You sure can find your way to the bedrooms, can't you? Strange house or not. Guess you've had plenty of practice.” His tone was level, he still wore the tiny smile, but his eyes flashed. “All right, Scarlet. You've got a hell of a lot to explain.”
“Get away.” Amanda backed away. No matter how she tried, she couldn't yank her wrist free.
He followed, step for step, through the short hallway.
She reached a wall.
He blocked her in, so close she could smell the champagne punch on his breath. “Where's the journal?”
Something, a small hard object, punched her between the shoulder blades. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
Wrenching to one side, she escaped the gouging thermostat but not him. He held her fast.
“I d-do know you're going to be in big trouble for this,” she stuttered.
Infuriated, he caught her chin, trapped her head against the wall. “What did you do with the things you stole from me?”
“I didn't steal anything!” This couldn't be happening. No man had ever gotten physical with her. She abhorred violence. Especially after Tommy...
“The hell you didn't. Where are they?” He held her against the sheetrock. “Where. Are. My. Things.”
When she writhed to the side, his chest pushed her back. The muscles against her breasts radiated anger.
“You bastard! I never stole anything from you.” Taking Noelle's ring wasn't stealing. Not really. “I didn't.”
He grabbed her wrists, pulling them over her head. His body kept her pinned to the wall. “A thief and a liar.”
The air whooshed out of her. Her arms were stretched too far. “You’re hurting me.”
“But I knew what you were, didn't I? Listen to me, Scarlet. You’re going to tell me where my things are and you’re going to tell me now.”
“Let me go.” She struggled, but he was too strong.
“I don't like being made a fool of. I hate it almost as much as being lied to.” He gritted his teeth. “Now. One more time. Where are the things you stole? Where is that book?”
Don't fight him. Go along with him until you can escape
.
She went limp. His body was all that held her upright. “I don't have your book.” The ruffles of his shirt pressed into her cheek. Woodsy aftershave mingled with a musky masculine odor. Buttons cut into her skin. She couldn’t breathe, caught between him and the wall. “I didn't steal—”
He jerked her wrists higher.
She whimpered.
He released her so abruptly she would have fallen except that he caught her by the shoulders.
“Where's the book?” Fury smoldered beneath the control, a fury that, once unleashed, would roll over her and obliterate her. His fingers on her shoulders tightened, dug into the bones.
She wouldn’t cry, she wouldn’t. She’d keep her head upright, look him in the eyes. “I don't know what you're talking about.”