To Love a Stranger (5 page)

“Y
ou kissed him?” Lysandra screeched through the phone. “Are you feeling okay? What possessed you to do something stupid like that?”

“Please,” Madeline moaned. “One question at a time. I've obviously misplaced my brain somewhere.”

Lysandra fell silent for so long, Madeline had to check whether she was still on the line.

“Yeah, I'm still here. I just don't know what to say. I thought you hated Russell?”

“I did. I do, but…”

“Yes?”

Madeline gave up searching for logic and shrugged against the phone. “I can't explain what happened.”

“Well…does this mean that you think he
is
Russell?”

“That's just it, I still don't know.”

“Even after kissing him?”

Again, logic escaped her. “Russell has always been a master kisser. It's what made him popular with the ladies.”

“Second to his money?”

“I guess it's all relative—but…when I kissed him, it was the same—but totally different. I can't explain it any better than that.”
Other than he swept me off my feet.

Lysandra released a loud sigh. “Well, you set out to discover the truth. I guess this was one way to go about doing it.” Silence, and then, “I just wouldn't make kissing him a habit.”

Good sound advice.
Madeline nodded against the phone.

“Are you still there?” Lysandra asked.

“Yeah, I'm here.” Madeline stood from the bed and paced. “It's him,” she finally whispered. “No way this guy is an actor. As crazy as his amnesia story is, I think…I believe him.”

“That's not good news,” Lysandra said.

Madeline stopped pacing and reviewed the kiss in her mind for about the hundredth time in the last ten minutes. What she remembered now and what she tasted then was possibility.

Can a bad boy be reprogrammed?

Madeline laughed at the question. There were way too many women crazy enough to think that changing a man was a possibility. Sure you can get them to take the garbage out every now and then and you're one of the lucky ones if you could train them to keep their clothes off the floor, but change a playboy into husband material?

Been there. Tried that.

“You're right, Lysandra.” She nodded. “I need to stay focused. “If he's my husband, I just need to keep the peace until after the fashion line launch. I haven't come this far to lose everything now.”

Despite what Shaw thought, Denitra wasn't dumb. In the past twenty-four hours in the Stone estate, she'd experienced a level of luxury she'd never known existed. Why settle for half the reward money when there was obvious so much more available?

The idea of marrying shifty-eyed Shaw became less appealing and the handsome, amnesia gold mine Russell Stone became her new golden ticket—especially since the reunion between him and the missus looked more like the beginnings of a new world war.

However, she was hardly in the same class as Madeline Stone. The woman exuded elegant style.

“Baby, what's wrong?” Shaw finally stopped huffing and puffing above her to actually notice she wasn't participating.

“Actually—” she sighed “—I do have a bit of a headache.”

Shaw's three-minute hard-on deflated and Denitra rolled her eyes, as well as her body off their silken-sheeted haven and made a beeline toward the bathroom.

“Hey, what the hell has gotten in to you?” Shaw asked, trailing behind her. “You've been trippin' since we got here.”

“Oh, please. You're imaging things.” She turned on the shower. “See if you can get me some aspirins or something. We're expected at dinner in a few minutes.” Denitra tuned Shaw's babbling out as she assessed her figure in the mirror. She definitely had the figure to capture Russell Stone's attention—now she needed the polish.

Just thinking what she should wear next to men and women who only wore top-of-the-line, designer clothes really did threaten to give her a headache. She wished she could be more like them.

She'd have to learn and learn quickly if she wanted a man like Russell Stone to notice her.

Russell stood before the bathroom mirror and took one last long look at his thick moustache and scruffy beard and then reached for the electric razor Coleman had brought him. At first, he felt like an invalid trying to maneuver the gadget, but within minutes he had the hang of it. When he finished, he roamed his hand across his now smooth skin and finally saw what everyone else did—Russell Stone.

Coleman returned and proved to be one hell of a barber. Dinner didn't call for an Armani suit, but Coleman had selected a black and gray Valentino number that draped his toned six-foot-two physique like an actor on the red carpet.

“Are you pleased, sir?” Coleman asked.

Russell kept turning before the bedroom mirrors, marveling at the transformation.

“Sir?” Coleman prompted again.

“Yes, yes,” Russell answered at last. “You did a good job, Coleman.”

A smile lit Coleman's eyes, but it didn't touch his lips. Russell found the older gentleman an interesting oddity, but he liked him.

“What time is dinner served again?” Russell asked, eager to see his wife again.
Wife.
When had he accepted that notion as fact? Probably the moment he laid eyes on her and started wishing it to be true.

“Dinner will be served promptly at seven, sir.”

“Coleman, it's not necessary to keep calling me ‘sir.'”

“Then what shall I call you?” he asked, maintaining his stoic expression.

Silence, and then softly, “Russell. For the time being you can call me Russell.”

At last, a smile curved the butler's full lips. “As you wish.”

Madeline expected Christopher to host another large dinner, this time for the curious, family and friends who'd missed the main event the night before. Instead, the table was set for seven.

“This should be cozy,” Cecelia commented. “Less company means we'll have more of opportunity to grill this impostor.”

Madeline glanced at her overly bejeweled mother. “You think he's a fake?”

“Of course he is. Did you see that disgusting beard and moustache—and those clothes? The horror!”

“Mother—”

“I know what I'm talking about. Good breeding stays in the bones, amnesia or not.”

Speechless, Madeline shook her head. She wondered for the umpteenth time why she had invited her mother.

“Where shall we sit?” Cecelia asked.

“Anywhere is fine,” Madeline said, drawing back the first chair she approached.

Her mother's hand wrapped around her arm like a steel vise and prevented her from sitting down.

“I want you to sit next to him—
the fraud.
”

Madeline didn't like that idea. Despite her earlier bravado on the phone with Lysandra, she was certain, she needed a bit of distance from Russell in order to think clearly. “That's not necessary, Mother. We're going to be here all weekend. There will be plenty of opportunity to get up close and personal.”

“I—”

“I can't see how anyone could forget a house like this,” a woman's low husky voice filtered into the dining room seconds before a curvaceous woman wrapped tightly in hooker spandex appeared in the doorway.

Her familiar face teased Madeline's memory and before she had a chance to figure out where she'd seen the girl before the shifty eyed private investigator burst onto the scene. He wrapped his arm around the woman's curvy waist in silent possession. His arm candy looked none too pleased with him or at seeing Madeline.

“Speaking of bad breeding,” Cecelia said icily.

“I see you're still here,” Madeline said with disdain dripping from her voice.

“Until the check is written.” Shaw winked, and then added, “I'm more surprised to see you here. That was quite a performance last night. Very Dynasty-esque.”

Madeline clamped her jaw tight until the urge to sock the P.I. in the face passed. It was going to be a long night, she thought.

Cecelia stepped forward to fill the room's sudden silence. “I take it then that you are the man who found this Russell look-alike?”

“He's the genuine article.” Shaw dropped his arm from his spandex goddess. “I stake my reputation on it.”

Cecelia's eyebrows soared to the middle of her forehead. “Well, excuse me if that doesn't exactly cause me to sleep better at night.”

Tiffani and Christopher glided into the dining room next. While Christopher wore a smile to rival the sun, Tiffani looked bored.

“Hello, everyone,” Christopher greeted as his eyes scanned the room. “I see that our guest of honor hasn't arrived yet.” His gaze settled on Madeline. “Given how chummy you two were this afternoon I thought you would do the honors of escorting him down to dinner.”

Shaw was off the hook and Christopher now replaced the punching bag in her mind.

“Again, my apologies for interrupting your afternoon delight.”

“What?” Her mother and the spandex queen gasped.

“What's it to you?” Shaw questioned his date.

“Nothing,” the woman answered. “I'm surprised is all.”

“Nothing happened,” Madeline lied.

Suddenly, Russell's smooth baritone floated into the room. “I thought something happened,” he said.

Everyone whipped around and made a collective gasp at the polished GQ ghost of Russell Stone. He stepped through the archway, eyes locked on Madeline.

Everyone, except his wife, crowded around him in approval of his transformation.

Everything about him was exactly the same…except for the eyes. Still a rich sable, but the soul within was damaged. For the first time Madeline wondered what the past six years has been like for him. To be lost. To not know who you were.

Russell smiled.

Madeline smiled back.

Madeline assessed in his low-cropped hair, his creamy milk-chocolate skin, his broad, but lean physique and finally came to terms with the truth—Russell Stone was back. Brick-by-brick, the walls of her defenses crumpled to the ground. And in that moment, Madeline realized she'd never been more scared in her life.

A
chivalrous Russell pulled out his wife's chair at the dinner table and then smiled at her in a way that made her skin tingle.

“You look lovely this evening,” he said quietly by her ear. The sound of his deep voice sent a tingle to each of the nerve endings along her spine.

“You clean up pretty good yourself.” Madeline managed to say.

“I was trying to impress you,” he said with an adorable crooked grin.

“Mission accomplished.” She couldn't bring herself to admit she missed the scruffy beard and mustache.

Russell winked and then walked to the other side of the table.

Caught blushing like a silly teenager with her first crush, Cecelia leaned toward her and spoke with a note of awe. “I stand corrected. It
is
him.”

No, Madeline thought. This was a better version of Russell.

Everyone took their seats, leaving the chair directly across from Madeline free for Russell.

Christopher chuckled and the sound melted the smile off of Madeline's face. When she made a cursory glance around the table, all eyes were on her.

Cecelia leaned over again. “What's wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” the whispered lie slipped from her lips. “I was just being…friendly.”

The night's menu consisted of Russell's favorite Italian foods—fried calamari as an appetizer, chicken scarpariello for the main course and crème brûlée for dessert.

Madeline suspected the meal was Christopher's attempt to jar some nugget of memory loose in Russell's head, but Russell just gave the meal a perfunctory compliment and returned to gazing at her.

“So when do we get to hear your side of things?” Cecelia asked, her boredom of the idle chatter echoed in her voice. “You don't remember who you are, but what do you remember? There had to be a story before this Bozo—” she indicated Shaw “—popped up and told you who you were. What were you doing?”

“Mother!” Madeline was mortified.

“What? It's a perfectly good question,” Cecelia replied.

True, Madeline thought. It was way past time for a more in-depth explanation of Russell's story, but she couldn't halt this newfound protectiveness. “Can't it at least wait until after dinner?”

“It's okay,” Russell interrupted the budding argument. “I don't mind answering. I don't have anything to hide.”

The table fell silent as all eyes fell on him.

Glancing around, Russell cleared his throat. “Actually, Mrs—?”

Eyes shifted around the table.

“Currently, Ms. Howard. I've had a couple of marriages since the last time I saw you, but if you are whom you claim to be then I'm also your mother-in-law,” Cecelia said.

“Ah,” Russell said. “I assumed sister-in-law given the striking resemblance.”

To everyone's surprise, Cecelia's face blushed a deep burgundy from the compliment. She flashed Russell a genuine smile.

Smug, now that the tables had turned, Madeline leaned toward her mother and asked, “What in the world is wrong with you?”

Cecelia's smile evaporated. “Please do go on with your story…Russell.”

Russell set aside his napkin and retold the same story Shaw related the night before.

Denitra took the spotlight with a broad smile. “I was the one who saw the article first. It ran with a grainy black-and-white photo. Despite the beard and the moustache, I knew there was something familiar about the shape of his face,” she said.

Cecelia gave the young woman a withering smile. “Very good, dear. You can read.”

“Then she brought the article to me,” Shaw interrupted. “And I went and checked it out.”

Denitra's hands flew to her hips as she glared at her partner. “We went and checked it out,” she said.

“Well,” Christopher leapt in before the argument escalated. “We're grateful to both of you,” he said.

The detective and the tramp clammed up and forced smiles on their faces for their host.

“It's certainly an intriguing story,” Cecelia said. “It's just too bad about the amnesia part. It leaves a lot of questions unanswered.”

Madeline's gaze dropped to her half-eaten meal.

“You know the answers to more questions than I do,” Russell said. “There's nothing I can do about the past, Ms. Howard. All I can do is ask for forgiveness and move on.”

Madeline didn't look up, but she felt the weight of his stare. Could she ever forgive him
or
forget about their past? She wrestled with the question while playing with her food. By the time everyone excused themselves from the table, she was no closer to an answer.

Christopher pounded a hand against his brother's back. “What do you say we share a smoke in my study? I just so happen to have a new box of cigars we can share over a nice glass of Brandy.”

Russell frowned. “I don't smoke.” He thought for a second and then added, “Do I?”

Everyone shared an awkward chuckle, even Madeline couldn't help but join them. “Another one of your disgusting habits.” She regretted the words the moment they flew out of her mouth. “Sorry,” she added after a glance at his wounded expression.

“Don't be.” He turned to Christopher. “Perhaps another time? I hoped Madeline would join me for a walk outside?”

Again, all eyes shifted in her direction. “Well, I, uh—”

“Would it help if I said ‘please'?”

His eyes implored her and more bricks tumbled from her wall of defense. “Sure. Let me just go up and get my jacket.” When Madeline left the dining room, Cecelia followed fast on her heel.

“What exactly is your plan?”

“Plan?” She rushed up the stairs, hoping to shake her mother. Of course, she had no such luck.

“Don't play games with me. What are you going to do now that your husband has returned from the dead?”

“There's nothing to do. I'll have to return the life-insurance money and give up my stake in Stone Cold Records and the fashion line.”

“Oh, is that all?” Cecelia asked, matching Madeline's tone of nonchalance. “Are you going to divorce him? What about the prenuptial agreement?”

Madeline rolled her eyes as she breezed into the guestroom. “I don't have a firm plan, Mother. I just know I don't want to do anything that may jeopardize
House of Madeline.
The way things are going, the only way to finance the project is with Russell's money. If I was dealing with the old Russell—”

“You wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell,” her mother conceded, and smiled as Madeline slid into her fur coat. “Sounds like a firm plan. I keep telling you we're so much alike.”

Madeline froze.

Cecelia sobered. “What?”

“Nothing,” Madeline lied, and then marched out of the room.

“Are you sure you don't want me to send someone to act as a bodyguard for you?” Christopher joked while they waited for Madeline. “Your wife has been known to have one heck of a right hook.”

“That much I know.” Russell rubbed his jaw. “I'm still feeling the one from last night.”

Christopher nodded, opened his mouth but then quickly closed it.

“What is it?”

“Huh?”

“There's something you want to tell me,” Russell said, observing him. “Tell me.”

Christopher glanced toward the empty staircase and then back at his brother. “It's about you and Madeline. I, uh, don't know exactly how to tell you this but, uh…” another glance at the staircase “…before your…accident. Things between you two weren't all that good.”

“Yeah. I gathered that was the reason for the right hook last night. That and my…the lady, Ms. Crowne, I crashed with.”

“That's just it,” Christopher said solemnly. “It wasn't just one lady.”

Russell frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…you were known to be quite the ladies' man.” He cleared his throat. “We actually have that in common.” While Christopher paused to let his words sink in, Madeline appeared at the top of the staircase.

“There were more?” Russell asked.

“We can talk about it later,” Christopher promised and then beamed up at Madeline. “That was quick!”

Madeline took one look at Russell's slack jaw and asked, “You can talk about what later?”

“Everything,” Christopher supplied. “The business, family, you name it.”

Suspicious, her gaze swung between the brothers. Russell looked stricken and had yet to meet her eyes. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“Y-yes,” he croaked, and then cleared his throat. “Are you ready?” He reached for the front door. “I'm depending on you to be the guide.”

“It's pretty hard to get lost,” she said, crossing the threshold and into the cold night. She tugged her collar around her ears and burrowed a portion of her face into the warm Chinchilla. “Maybe this isn't such a good idea. It's freezing out here.”

Russell closed the door behind them and surprised her by wrapping an arm around her waist. “I can keep you warm, if you like?”

Madeline's knees buckled as thin white clouds of her frozen breath puffed out in front of her. By some miracle, she found the strength to ease out of his embrace. “I can manage.”

An awkward smile wobbled onto Russell's face. “Sorry. I-I…forgive me.” He offered his arm. “How about that walk?”

Drawing a deep breath, she slid her arm through his and then led him down the stone porch.

Instantly reminded of their brief courtship, Madeline piled a few more bricks back onto her wall of defense and prepared for anything. Instead, while they walked around the perimeter and entered the Stones' winter garden, Russell remained silent.

Stealing a sideway glance, the man at her side appeared lost in his thoughts as he measured his steps, staring at the ground. Grateful for the opportunity to watch and study him more freely, Madeline failed to find anything amiss in his profile.

“Do I pass inspection?” Russell asked, suddenly.

She jerked her gaze away in embarrassment.

Russell laughed. “It's all right. I'm getting used to being stared at.”

Madeline looked at him again. “It's just that it's all so…unbelievable. A miracle, really.”

“It's not a good one for you, I take it?”

Should she lie?

“I have to tell you,” he said. “I'm not as confident or as certain as everyone else about this whole thing.” His gaze returned to the ground. “I feel like a fraud in these clothes.”

Madeline continued to silently stumble her emotional labyrinth continued and she chose to remain quiet.

“I want to remember.” He turned toward the house. “Heck, who wouldn't want to remember a place like this?”

“Actually, you didn't live here,” she said, forgetting her decision to not talk. “Our house is a few minutes north of here.”

He turned toward her, his face washed in silver moonlight. Madeline's heart skipped more than a few heartbeats.

“Tell me about it.”

“Well,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to pull her gaze away. “It's a little bigger than Christopher's place.”

“Bigger?” He frowned. “How much room do we need?”

She blinked, once again thrown off guard. “Uh, actually, you and Christopher have always had this sort of competition. You know, houses, cars—”

“Mistresses?”

The rest of Madeline's words died on her tongue.

Russell attempted to smile, but it hung awkwardly on his lips. “Christopher said I stole you from him. Was it because of a burning attraction between us…”

“Or a strategic chess move?” she asked for him.

He nodded.

“Only you can answer that question,” she admitted and feared his next question, but it came anyway.

“What was it for you?”

A calculation for the best lucrative marriage edged by a small spark of physical attraction.
“It was combination of things.”

He nodded but his gaze seared straight through her. “Mind if I ask you a question?”

“You just did.”

He finally flashed a genuine smile, however, it didn't stay long. He seemed to struggle with his next question. “Madeline, did you marry me for the money?”