The Men of Pride County: The Pretender (16 page)

A shadow of a smile touched Deacon’s mouth. “Maybe I could.”

In that brief exchange, Deacon changed a boyish impulse into an adult decision.

And Garnet simmered.

How dared he instruct her son? How dared he ignite an adoration in one small boy after destroying what he’d once similarly evoked in her?

Deacon Sinclair was nowhere to be found when she grew heavy with child and consequence. He wasn’t there when William came squalling into the world after twenty-three hours of exhausting and agonizing labor on a cold New England night in October.

He hadn’t shared the pleasure of the baby’s
first real smile of recognition or the dreadfully long months ruled by noisy colic. He hadn’t gone sleepless when the child suffered his first harsh breathing attack, weeping and praying in terror as coughing spasms threatened the life of one tiny frightened soul. Nor had he known the anxiety that had her cosseting the boy so he wouldn’t fall ill again or fretting over every sniffle or sneeze.

Having done none of those things, having shared none of those burdens, how dared he step into her child’s life and win instant affection without doing a darned thing to earn it?

It took more than paternity to make a man a father. She knew. She’d had a wonderful example in her own: a man of honor and involvement, of caring and dependability. Deacon Sinclair expressed none of those traits, yet William smiled up at him as if he were responsible for the sunrise each day.

And her father was dead.

She finished her meal in silence, chafing in jealousy and alarm. William was a little boy, too young to realize that men like Deacon Sinclair didn’t know how to give affection. They only knew how to demand, not return.

She tried not to think of herself as an overindulgent mother. She loved her child. She would do anything for him—her arrival at the Manor proving that. If she fussed over him more than she should, if she protected him more than was warranted, it was because she cared so
much and had reason to worry. He was a delicate boy, sensitive and sheltered from harshness.

He was all she had in the world.

The big house, the fancy clothing, the society nods meant nothing when compared to the happiness of her father’s namesake. Which was why she’d gone through such extreme measures to keep him safe from a truth he couldn’t know—not yet. Not until she was sure.

But how could she be sure, when she couldn’t take an objective stand? She couldn’t seem to distance herself from the sizzle of response whenever her first … her
only
lover was nearby.

She would have to be stronger. She would have to hold firm against the treacherous undertow of desires.

For William.

For Deacon Sinclair’s son.

The music drew him.

Soft, sorrowful tones played not on a piano, as he at first had assumed it to be, but on a harpsichord.

As he stood in the doorway to the parlor, he closed his eyes, imagining himself back where and when the innocence of the melody still had the power to move heart and soul. And on a quiet sigh, he lost himself to the moment, to a sense of peace long missing in his life.

Abruptly the notes ended, jarring him from his musings by a discordant silence. Garnet stared at his reflection in the window behind the
instrument. Her expression was too complex for even him to read.

“Did you want something?”

How to answer that. What did he want? He wanted to hold onto those precious seconds where the world felt right again. And he wanted to hold on to the only woman who had ever brought him such contented bliss.

Instead, he told her with a flat brusqueness, “I need to talk to you about Fairfax.”

Garnet swivelled on the stool to regard him suspiciously.

“What about him?”

With her hands folded in her lap, she looked like a prettily composed daughter of the South awaiting praise for her recital, until one looked into her eyes. They held a maturity of experience and pain in sharp contrast to her serene appearance. Deacon knew who’d put the pain there, and thinking of where else she’d gained the experience, twisted a shaft of jealous envy through him.

“You’d be a fool to trust him.”

“I’ve placed my trust foolishly once before. I am more cautious now. I know what Tyler Fairfax is.”

Smarting under her accusation, he said, “I don’t think you do. If you did, you wouldn’t go into business with him. He’s not what he seems on the surface.”

“Oh, and you are an expert on that, I know.”

Grinding his teeth, Deacon fought the urge to leave her to her fate. But if she failed, the Manor
would fail. Neither of those scenarios was acceptable to him.

“Tyler Fairfax is a dangerous conniver. He’s motivated by greed and hate and he doesn’t care who he hurts.”

“The pot casting slurs at the kettle, sir?”

Deacon crossed the room in long, angry strides. Taken by surprise, Garnet shrank back against the keyboard, the press of her elbows issuing a squawk of unpleasant sound. If he read her expression right, it wasn’t a fear of him that had her alarmed, but rather her fear of her own reaction to him. And he meant to use that fear to its fullest.

He didn’t touch her. He didn’t need to. With palms gripping the polished wood on either side of the keyboard, he corralled her between the brace of his arms and intimidated with his proximity. He could hear her breaths hurry in short, jagged bursts even as her stare continued to challenge him.

God, he loved her bravery.

He leaned in close, his voice lowering to a threatening caress. “Pay attention to what I’m telling you. Pay close attention. If I hadn’t fallen prey to Fairfax’s scheming, you wouldn’t be here to torment me.”

He saw her swallow frantically, but there was no waver of distress in her words.

“My being here has nothing to do with Tyler Fairfax’s ability to take advantage of the desperate.
It has everything to do with your willingness to do exactly the same.”

Being compared to Fairfax hit hard and with an astonishing truth. But Deacon pressed on relentlessly.

“He likes to play games with people’s lives just for the enjoyment of seeing them ruined. If you think he’ll honor any vows he’s made to you, think again. If you put your future in his control, he will take everything you have just because he can, not because he needs it or even wants it. I made the mistake of taking him at his word and he stripped me of all I held dear. If you think he’s going to allow you that same pleasure, you’re wrong. He’ll use you to get at me for as long as it amuses him, then he’ll turn on you, too. I won’t have my properties and my home wagered as pawns in his little dramas.”

Her features went pale. Against that soft sea of white, her eyes were enormous, her lips even more luscious. “So that’s behind your concern, the land, the house.” She had been foolish to think, just for a moment, that it might have been concern for her. She pulled an anguished breath and let fire flare in her eyes. “Well, you need not worry about what is no longer yours.”

She tried to stand, meaning to push him back so she could escape him, but he didn’t move. She found herszlf imprisoned by the appeal of his nearness, drawn to his heat, his scent, to the havoc of memories he stirred inside her. She
gasped slightly when his hands cuffed her elbows.

“Why are you here?” he hissed down upon her bowed head. She couldn’t look up, terrified that he’d unmask her heart. “Is it revenge? Is it retribution? What?”

She spoke into the crisp whiteness of his shirt front, struggling to keep the emotion from quavering through her words. “You gave me a picture once, a dream to hold on to. I’ve come to claim it. You’ve only yourself to blame for the fact that you’re no longer included in it.”

“What’s mine, I keep. Remember that.”

Wildly disturbed by that fiercely issued claim, she whispered, “Please excuse me,” shoving hard to win her release. Then she ran to the door without gauging his response.

Had she turned, she would have realized how close she was to her goal. For just that moment, she could have seen his soul stripped bare to all but longing and loss. She would have reaped the satisfaction of recognizing his defeat. But instead, suffering for her own, she could only run away from the source of her misery. From the dream she’d wanted so desperately.

And still wanted with all her heart. If only such things were possible.

Montgomery Prior wasn’t the distracted fool he pretended to be. He saw right though Garnet’s fragile greeting to the anguish beneath it.

“What has the bastard done, my darling?”

From the enveloping care of his embrace, Garnet fought to contain a scrap of dignity when the temptation to dissolve into tears wore mightily. “Nothing, Monty. Nothing.”

“I told you, lovey. I warned you that it would not be easy to hold against his pretty face and cold manner. He’s a harmful addiction to you, my girl, and I’ll not allow him to hurt you again. Or am I too late, already?”

“Why am I so weak when I need to be strong? For my father, for William.”

“For yourself, Garnet. Be strong for yourself, my girl, for the suffering he’s forced upon you with his indifference.”

“I’m trying, but it’s … it’s so hard.” So hard not to give into her yearning for the same man who had betrayed her. Weakness wasn’t the term to describe it. A helpless self-destruction came closer to naming her need to fall into the same flame that had already seared her once.

“Then step away, child. Put the means of your vengeance into the hands of another and come back to England with me. Isn’t it enough knowing that he’s humbled without having to be there to see the deed done in person?”

“No.” Purpose steadied her voice. No, what was between her and Deacon was personal, very personal, and turned over to another, the effect was gone. She had to be there to judge the degree of his remorse, to bend him to the power of regret. Until she saw more than fleeting apology in his eyes, she had to exert all pressure possible
to make him realize the error he’d made in playing fast and loose with her future.

“But darling, you’re risking more than you know.”

“What else could he take from me?”

Monty remained wisely silent, fearing the answer. It fortified his own role in her charade. “Garnet, my dear, I made a promise to your mother to see you lacked for nothing, to see you achieved happiness. I can’t make good on that vow if you insist on staying here, taunting fate a second time.”

“I’m not young and innocent any more, Uncle Monty.”

“Perhaps not, dear one, but you are still a woman, a woman who has shared a bed and a child with the same man you now plan to ruin. Be careful that you do it for the right reasons.”

The right reasons. Garnet considered them in a whirl of confusion. What were the reasons that had brought her into this deception, asking her mother’s brother to play along in a deadly serious game?

To hit back hard for her losses: for that of her home, her happiness, her father, her dreams. That’s what she’d claimed. But because she knew all Monty said was true, because she understood her own weaknesses too well, she’d been wise to place a barrier between her child and the man who’d made him with her upon a bed of lies.

Deacon Sinclair would never gain the knowledge
to destroy her. He would never learn that William was his son.

Not unless he proved himself to be worthy.

Of her love and William’s trust.

She’d had to tell her uncle her motive was revenge. That was something he could understand, something that would bind him to her quest. If he’d known her real reason, he would never have agreed. He would never have brought her here to court danger. She couldn’t have gained control of Sinclair Manor on her own, not without a “husband” to give legitimacy to her plans. She wanted to place Deacon Sinclair in a position where his true spots would show, to pressure him into revealing his heart and mind. A woman from his past and a child with no legal name couldn’t force him out from behind his cold facade.

The land, the house, those were the things Deacon held dear. Well, William was her soft spot, and she could not allow him to become a pawn. So she’d asked her uncle to play her husband to protect her child. And to make her less vulnerable. It was as simple as that. And with William safely removed from the struggle for truth, she could explore the depths of Deacon’s character. A darker, more dangerous task, she’d never imagined. But what she would eventually find would make all the difference to the little boy who slept in the room across the hall, unaware of the conflict swirling about him.

And that’s the way she would keep it, by keeping Deacon at arm’s length.

If she could.

His fingers lingered over the keys, but the issuing sound was nothing like the poignant melodies Garnet coaxed from them.

Damn her. Why did she have to be the one to steal his future?

Against any other, he could have stood firm and acted ruthlessly. He could have treated any other with a cold ferociousness that had served him well in war. He would have sunk to any low, used any weakness to his full advantage. Without thought. Without hesitation. Had it been anyone else.

What was it about this one woman that so completely stymied reason? Her courage, her beauty, her resolve? Or was it the paradise they’d shared so briefly between them? Even now, her scent filled his head, muddling his mind, clouding his resources like fine drink.

She wanted to reduce him from manor-born gentry to menial store clerk. And he let her. He allowed her to step on his pride, to grind her heel and kick it aside like something without value. But then, perhaps his pride was no longer the issue.

He didn’t have to stay under this roof with the minute-by-minute reminder of all that he’d lost. But he took a perverse pleasure in doing so,
because it meant being close to her, to the one woman he would have taken as his own. He might tell himself it was to retain a foothold in his home, to restore his properties yard by yard, but that wasn’t the truth. The truth was what Patrice had guessed.

He couldn’t leave the past alone. He couldn’t walk away from this woman he’d loved.

His splayed fingers wrought a wince of noise from the keyboard.