The Knight, the Waitress and the Toddler Read online

  “Ah,” he said, congratulating himself on his brilliant repartee. She was obviously too spellbound by his brilliance to chance another try at mundane conversation. He couldn’t blame her.

  They came to the curb and looked out over a virtual sea of black asphalt standing in as much as two inches of water in the lowest places. He thought of her shoes and, irrationally, the matching handbag. A sensible, cohesive plan burst into his thoughts. Without preamble he thrust the umbrella into her hand, bent and swept her up into his arms. She gave a small, truncated yelp. Her free arm landed behind his neck and across his shoulders. She was a light, comfortable weight. Liking the feel of her in his arms, he stepped off the curb.

  The umbrella wobbled precariously overhead. “What are you—” She had it figured out before the sentence ended. “I didn’t mean…” The umbrella stabilized, the steady rain again sounding a measured pitty-pat against its taut shield. “They’re only shoes, Edward.”

  He smiled to himself and, looking straight ahead, said, “I like them.”

  She lifted a slender leg and pointed her toe, eying the subject of discussion. “Really? I would think you’d hate them.”

  He looked at her then and as a result waded through a deep area that he could have just as easily gone around. “Why would you think that?”

  “Well, because you’re not quite the fashionable sort.”

  “I’m not,” he admitted. “I just don’t have the knack, but I admire those who do.” He realized suddenly that he meant it. She gave him a look that seemed to ask if his head hurt. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d laid a hand across his brow in order to check his temperature. She knew him better than he’d realized, and for some reason that made him smile. “Maybe you can give me some tips later.”

  She cocked her pretty head. “You’d like that?”

  “Why not? You were right about the haircut.”

  He might have given her roses, so wide was her smile. She looked over his head with proprietary smugness. “I was at that”

  He laughed, feeling absurdly lighthearted, and set her on her feet She tugged a skirt that couldn’t have wrinkled unless the skin beneath it did. “Thank you, Sir White.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Bowing at the waist, he unlocked the passenger side door and opened it. She handed him the umbrella, smoothed that skirt that fit like second skin over her nicely rounded bottom, turned slightly and sat down on the edge of the seat He watched as she drew her legs in after her, pivoted gracefully on the seat and planted her feet. His pulse was racing as he hurried around to the driver’s door and awkwardly got into place, fighting the umbrella and a sudden gust of wind that blew rain into his face. Impatient, he tossed the closed umbrella into the back seat, only to have it open again with a fhwup, one of the spine tips poking him in the back of the head. Twisting in his seat, he made a grab for the handle and missed.

  “Let me,” Laurel said, humor in her voice. Releasing the safety belt that she had just buckled, she twisted fully in the seat until she was resting on her knees, her back to the windshield. Her firm, delicious little bottom presented itself as she bent over the back of the seat and grappled with the stubborn umbrella. Edward closed his eyes and gulped, but he couldn’t keep them closed. His hands had fashioned new grips in the steering wheel before she had twisted back into her seat, tugged at that damnably short skirt again and began rebuckling her belt.

  He jammed the keys into the ignition, rumbled a thank-you and concentrated his entire being on getting the car out of the parking lot and into moving traffic, telling himself over and over again that this was business—and that she was nothing whatsoever like Kendra Sugarman, not at all the sort of woman to interest him.

  Chapter Five

  Laurel stared through the windshield and clasped her hands together in her lap. He liked her. She had seen it in his eyes when she’d stepped out in this dress, had felt it in the gallantry with which he’d swept her off her feet and the tension he’d radiated when she’d so stupidly decided that she could better wrestle that umbrella than he could. She had felt—-felt—his hands on her backside, the way they would slide up her thighs and beneath her skirt to cup her. She shivered with the thought of it. He really liked her, and just the idea of it made her heart do funny things. But she couldn’t afford an erratic heartbeat.

  What had happened this evening, him insisting on coming to her apartment and then showing up before Fancy had a chance to get there, proved how unlikely she was to get through this without him knowing. And once he knew everything, once he understood all about Barry, he wouldn’t like her anymore. No matter how hard he’d gripped that. steering wheel tonight, he wouldn’t see her with anything but contempt once he knew. It wouldn’t matter that she had no choice. A man like him, an honest man with only honestly held intentions would never understand how she could do what she was doing, and he would never forgive her for using him to do it. But she had no choice. For Barry’s sake—and for her own; she wouldn’t lie to herself about that— she really had no choice.

  The thought of Barry with Fancy made guilt rise up. She gulped it down and said to Edward White, “I can’t be out late tonight”.

  He didn’t look at her, just nodded and answered, “Sure. We both work tomorrow.”

  And Barry will go to the sitter, she thought. She wondered how she could pay for dinner. Maybe a simple salad, a glass of water. She mentally counted again the one-dollar bills folded away inside her purse. A tiny voice in the back of her mind suggested, Maybe this is really a date.

  Was it her imagination or did he slow down the car? She glanced at him, and he sped up again. She made herself relax.

  He said, “Technically, I suppose we’re both working now. At least I am.”

  She felt a crushing sense of disappointment. But that wouldn’t do. Oh, no, that wouldn’t do. She smiled. “Technically.”

  He shifted in his seat, one arm draped over the steering wheel in a pose of relaxation. What made him nervous, she wondered. Was it her or was it something on his mind?

  “I had a meeting with Abelard Kennison.”

  Something on his mind. She turned her head to look out the side window, not wanting to chance that he could see her foolishness on her face. “I see.”

  He made her wait a moment before he came out with it. “Kennison’s going to claim that you’re incompetent.”

  Why was she surprised? For the same reason that her skin turned cold and her stomach turned over. The fear was so strong that it swelled inside her, threatening to burst free. She made herself breathe deeply and calmly.

  After some time, Edward said, “He told me about the sanitorium.”

  “Sanitorium?”

  “The hospital, um, after the kidnapping.”

  She shook her head. “He called it a sanitorium? It was a hospital, and after that a reform school, a private reform school for wayward teenagers with funds.”

  His glance was enigmatic. “Tell me about the hospital.”

  She shrugged and watched out the windshield. “They did some tests, brought in a psychiatrist. He said there was nothing wrong with me that a little counseling couldn’t cure. Problem was, he wanted to give the counseling to Grandmother. She had me moved at once and threatened to see his license revoked. He tried to have me removed from her control. My grandmother inferred that I had seduced him. He lost his position at the hospital, but not, thank God, his license to practice. A judge barred him from any contact with me. I went to the reform school.”

  “And ran away with a groundskeeper,” Edward said softly.

  She laughed, but she wanted to cry. She lifted her chin. “He was twenty-four,” she said, “tall and very handsome. He’d taken advantage of several girls there, but I didn’t know that until afterward. All I knew was that he said he loved me and that he’d take me away from there. I hadn’t seen or heard from my grandparents in nearly two years. I found out later that my grandfather didn’t even know where I was, hadn’t known all a
long. He thought I was happily ensconced in the boarding school and spending holidays with my many imaginary friends. Derek—that was his name—he took me to a motel. Then he told me that he had arrangements to make so we could be married as quickly as possible. He kissed me, and he left. I never saw him again.”

  Edward pushed a hand over his face. “Ah, let me guess. He called your grandmother and offered to tell her where she could find you—for a fee.”

  She nodded wryly. “Grandmother wasn’t going to pay him at first, but it turns out that Derek was a reporter for a tabloid and he’d located Dr. Murray.”

  “The psychiatrist.”

  She nodded again. “Now you know the whole story.”

  “Not quite,” he said softly.

  She looked at him then, at the light that slashed through the window across the strong lines of his lower lip, jaw and chin.

  “Did you love him?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she answered without blinking, “him and Dr. Murray, a lab technician at the hospital, the older brother of a casual friend, a history teacher, a Paris designer, a classmate who turned out to be gay, anyone who showed me the least attention since I was about thirteen. Now, did any of them love me? No, of course not”

  He was irritated enough to snipe at her. “Did you propose marriage to any of them?”

  “Each and every one,” she lied.

  He huffed as if she’d insulted him, so she turned away. How could she insult him? How could she dare? She wanted to laugh. Instead, she cried, the tears clinging precariously to her lashes until the sheer will to survive stubbornly dried and locked them away. She would endure this evening and return to the world she had built—was building—for herself and Barry. Just let them try to stop her. Just let them try.

  They caused a sensation. Edward looked around the opulent room and noted the heads that turned in their direction, the hands that came up to cover whispering mouths. He mentally chastised himself for not expecting it. She was Laurel Heffington Miller. He should have realized that showing up here with a man other than Bryce at her side would make the grapevine hum. He began to stare them down, until he realized that Laurel had no intention of acknowledging the interest their appearance generated. She held her head up and strode gracefully through the dining tables, her shoulders squared, her hips gently swaying. He felt a burst of pride, realized the stupidity of that, and occupied himself by looking with a new eye at their surroundings.

  The chrome tables were covered with heavy, starched table linens, a layer of crimson topped by a layer of white, gold napkins folded like small crowns and placed among heavy brass charger plates cradling carefully contrived combinations of expensive china, tall crystal goblets and graceful flutes etched and carved in intricate patterns, heavy gold and silver flatware, fresh flowers in unusual vases and bowls, tall white tapers flickering with tiny flames sheltered behind gleaming globes. Scattered among the tables and chairs upholstered in plush crimson velvet were lush, strategically situated plants in huge brass pots and a number of large statuary, most of it modern art and none of it blocking the view of the glass dance floor, which allowed the true exhibitionists among them to gyrate over an enormous well of deep blue water that flowed and undulated around a fanciful garden of white stone carved in fanciful shapes, steps that led nowhere, arches covering nothing, columns tumbled about enormous bones and fake coral. He saw again the beauty of the place, the imaginative brilliance of its decor, a perfect play place for those who could afford it. He’d never felt really comfortable here, but the food was excellent and many of his clients expected to be wined and dined at the most “in” places. For the first time, he saw it as a nest of vipers.

  The maître d’ stopped at a table in the midst of things and pulled out a chair for the lady.

  “Thank you, Wallace,” she said, folding herself elegantly into the chair.

  He bobbed his head in a deferential bow, spreading a look from her to Edward. “Mrs. Miller,” he said, “Mr. White. Welcome and enjoy.”

  A waiter appeared, menus bound in crimson leather in one hand, water pitcher in the other. A beverage cart followed at his heels. “Cinnamon coffee for Mrs. Miller, Scottish ale for Mr. White?”

  “Thank you, Benjamin.”

  “If I may say so, ma’am, so glad to see you again.”

  “Yes, It’s been a while. Forgive me for not knowing, are you married yet?”

  “Six weeks now.”

  “And the wedding was everything your fiancée had hoped for?”

  “Everything.”

  “I’m so glad.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He looked at Edward, his manner everything proper. “Just signal when you’re ready to order.”

  Edward opened his menu. As usual, it contained only four entrées. He was torn between the sea bass and the prime rib, assuming that Laurel would choose either the prairie hen or pasta with clams for their smaller portions. But when he closed his menu, he knew that she had never even opened hers.

  “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Not really, but I know you are. Let’s go ahead and order.”

  He barely lifted a brow before the waiter was there again, hands clasped behind his back.

  “I’ll have the prime rib.”

  “Very good, sir. How would you like the potato?”

  “Baked.”

  “Garlic butter and the Edam dressing?”

  “You never forget a patron’s preference, do you, Benny?”

  “I try not to. And what can I bring you, ma’am?”

  Laurel touched the tips of the fingers of one hand to her throat “Does the chef still make that lovely little green salad with Gorgonzola?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’ll have that with a touch of lemon and a dark grain roll.”

  “Very good, ma’am.” But Benjamin’s very blank face did not conceal his surprise.

  Edward knew instantly what was going on. He sent a stern look at the waiter. “Ms. Miller will have the range hen with her salad,” he told the waiter, “and the pasta, I think, or…You’ll know her preferences better than I do.”

  Laurel reached to touch his wrist discreetly. “Really, I’m not very hungry.”

  He cut her an impatient glance and looked back to the waiter. “Make it quick, Ben, I’m starving here.”

  “At once, sir.” The waiter smiled with satisfaction and backed away.

  Laurel frowned. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

  He smoothed the napkin across his lap. “Did you think I’d make you buy your own dinner?”

  Laurel smoothed her own napkin. “It isn’t a date.”

  Edward lifted an eyebrow at that. “I’ll expense it”. She said nothing. He looked again around the room. “Do you know that couple at the second table over?”

  “Yes.”

  “Smile. They’re heading this way.”

  Laurel smiled and returned the effusive greeting, letting her cheeks be kissed at and her fingers squeezed. “You look marvelous. Divorce must agree with you”

  “Definitely. Allow me to introduce Edward White.”

  It was the beginning of a parade. By the time the entrée arrived, Edward had met half a dozen new faces whose only interest in him concerned how he’d wound up with Laurel Miller nee Heffington on his arm. He sensed beneath the broad smiles and gushing greetings an avid desire to know the latest dirt on the haughty Heffington’s only living heir. For the first time, he understood what Laurel’s divorce had cost her—not just the money and her home, but the position she had given up in exchange for her freedom.’ And then Tyler May arrived.

  He was fairly harmless looking, wan and reed thin with hair black as night and dark brown eyes that moved languidly behind lenses framed in silver. His teeth were too large but perfectly straight and white as snow, his features thin, his Adam’s apple prominent. He wore pale blue and. black beneath a pearl gray suede jacket and somehow managed to look as though he wore a fortune. Tyler looked down his nose at Edw
ard following an introduction that just missed the graciousness of those previous and extended a slender hand so smooth that it bordered on reptilian. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he said, dismissing Edward as unimportant. “Honestly, Laurel, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Where have you been keeping yourself?” His thin lips quirked into a smile that positively dripped venom.

  Edward, who had released Tyler’s hand almost the same instant in which he had touched it, felt an immediate spurt of annoyance.

  “Oh, I’ve been around,” Laurel said lightly.

  “Around where?” Tyler prodded. “I gather even Bryce doesn’t know where you’re keeping yourself. Tell me, how did it happen that Bryce got the house?”

  The color drained from Laurel’s face, but she relaxed back into her chair and smiled secretively up at the slime. Edward knew that she had a perfectly civil, uninformative answer all prepared for the jerk, but Edward didn’t let her deliver it.

  “Miller didn’t get the house,” he said smoothly, “and he’s not going to.”

  She looked squarely into Edward’s eyes, silently pleading for him to say no more. Tyler frowned on Edward then turned his damning gaze back to Laurel. “I thought the divorce was all settled.”

  “You thought wrong,” Edward told him.

  Tyler May lifted both brows. “Oooh. And I thought we’d missed all the fun.”

  Laurel lowered her eyes, then lifted them again. They were sad but resigned. “Say hello to your mother for me, Tyler.”

  He smiled dazzlingly. “Oh, I will. But tell me, darling, is it true that the dear departed Virdel was so scandalized by certain behaviors of yours that she left the monies to that nobody Bryce?”

  Laurel’s smile would have withered plants if any had been in the line of fire. “How absurd. These things get sticky, that’s all. You should know.” She leaned forward, her eyes speaking volumes at Edward. “Tyler’s been through a number of failed relationships. His poor mama has despaired of him ever marrying.”