After the Night (47 page)

Yolanda and Guy had made secret plans. And now, after all these years, she knew that her lover hadn’t deserted her. Guy was sincerely mourned by someone other than his children, after all.

It was late that night before all of the sympathizers ran out of excuses to stay any longer, and Gray had a private moment with his family. He sipped his Scotch as he studied Noelle, who was infinitely more cheerful now after burying her husband than she had been during the twelve years he’d been missing. He needed Faith, he thought. He wanted to be with her. Seeing her at the cemetery had made the hunger even sharper. Sexual hunger, emotional hunger, mental hunger. He simply wanted her, in all the ways possible. He remembered the way his heart had swelled in his chest when she’d told him she loved him, remembered the moment of blinding joy. Like a fool, he hadn’t yet told her that he loved her, too, but that was an oversight he intended to rectify as soon as they could be alone.

Right now, he had something to say to his mother and sister.

"I’m getting married," he said calmly.

Two startled pairs of eyes looked back at him. He saw Monica’s dismay, saw it quickly change to acceptance, and she gave him a tiny nod.

"Really, dear?" Noelle murmured. "I’m sorry, I haven’t been keeping current with your social life. Is it someone from New Orleans?"

"No, it’s Faith Devlin."

Calmly Noelle set her glass of wine aside. "Your joke is in extremely bad taste, Grayson."

"It isn’t a joke. I’m marrying her as soon as it can be arranged."

"I forbid it!" she snapped.

"You can’t forbid anything, Mother."

Though he said it calmly, Noelle reacted as if he’d slapped her. She rose to her feet, holding herself as erect as a queen. "We’ll see about that. Your father may have associated with trash, but at least he never brought it home and expected
me
to associate with it!"

"That’s enough," he said, his tone soft and dangerous.

"On the contrary, if you lower yourself to marry that slut, you’ll find it’s just beginning. I’ll make her life here so miserable – "

"No, you won’t," he interrupted, slamming his glass down so that the Scotch sloshed over the rim. "Let me make your position plain, Mother. I know what’s in Dad’s will. He left you enough money to keep you in style, but he left everything else to Monica and me. If you behave yourself, and treat my wife with every courtesy, you may continue to live here. But make no mistake, the first time you upset her, I’ll escort you out the door myself. Is that clear?"

Noelle shrank back, her face pale, her eyes livid as she stared at her son. "Monica," she said, her voice abruptly frail. "Help me to my room, darling. Men are so uncivilized…"

"Put a sock in it, Mother," Monica said tiredly.

"I beg your pardon." The words were freezing.

Monica visibly braced herself. She was as pale as Noelle, but she didn’t back down. "I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. But Gray deserves to be happy. If you don’t want to come to his wedding, fine, but I’ll be there with bells on. And while we’re on the subject, I’m getting married, too. To Michael McFane."

"Who?" Noelle asked, her face blank.

"The sheriff."

Disdain curled Noelle’s lip. "The sheriff! Really, dear, he’s – "

"Perfect for me," Monica finished firmly. She looked both scared and exhilarated at finally having stood up to Noelle. "If you want to come to my wedding, I’ll be pleased, but you can’t stop me from marrying him. And, Mother – I think you’ll be happier if you move to New Orleans."

"Good idea," Gray said, and winked at his sister.

The next morning, Faith drove down to New Orleans for Mr. Pleasant’s funeral. She had hoped Gray would call her, but understood why he hadn’t. She had pestered Sheriff McFane mercilessly about doing what he could to get Mr. Pleasant’s body released, and he had told her that Gray was embroiled in the process of having Guy’s will probated, using his influence to hurry the process. The legal difficulties of a forged letter of proxy, under which he had been governing their financial holdings all these years, were mostly negated since Guy’s will had left everything to Gray and Monica anyway, but there were still problems to handle.

Margot flew down to New Orleans to be with Faith, somehow discerning over the telephone that she was more upset about Mr. Pleasant than she had let on. The brief funeral service was attended by only a handful of people: some neighbors, herself and Margot, the little blue-haired lady from Houston H. Manges’s law office. To her surprise, Detective Ambrose came by, wearing what looked like the same fatigued suit. He patted Faith’s hand, as if she were Mr. Pleasant’s family, and all the while his cynical cop’s eyes never left Margot’s face.

Too tired to drive home, Faith got a hotel room for the night. Margot decided to stay overnight too – no surprise there – and went out with Detective Ambrose.

"I don’t sleep with men on the first date," Margot said the next morning, chattering nervously. "I mean, I just don’t. It’s too dangerous, and tacky besides." She couldn’t sit still as they ate their breakfast at the room service cart in Faith’s room; she fidgeted with her napkin, her silverware, her clothes. Her gaze flitted around the hotel room; hers was connecting, and virtually identical, but she seemed to find everything of immense interest. "I may be old-fashioned, but I think sex should wait at least until there’s a commitment, and waiting until marriage would be even better. Women risk too much by sleeping with men who aren’t their husbands – "

"So was he any good?" Faith interrupted, sipping her coffee.

Margot clapped her hand to her chest and rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh my Gawd, was he!" She jumped up and
began to pace the room. "I couldn’t
believe
what was happening, I just don’t
do
that, but that man had made up his mind and it was like being on a roller coaster, there was just no way to get off. Well, that’s not exactly what I mean. About getting off, that is, because I did – " She stopped and turned dark red. Faith almost choked on her coffee, she was laughing so hard.

"He wants to see me tonight, but I told him I have a flight back to Dallas, and he should call me at home if he wants to see me again." Margot looked anxious. "Do you think there’s any way I can slow this down and get back on the right track?"

"Maybe," Faith said, but she had seen Margot in love before, and doubted anything could slow her down.

They spent the morning shopping, replenishing Faith’s wardrobe from the chic New Orleans boutiques. She left the city about two o’clock, giving Margot both the privacy and time for another meeting with Detective Ambrose.

She arrived back at the motel, her temporary home, at four. Reuben waved to her, and came out to help her carry in her purchases. Then, hungry from the exertion, she drove downtown to Halley’s cafe.

She chatted with Halley for a while, then ordered the chicken salad sandwich that had become her usual supper. She was sitting in a booth with her back to the door, and her sandwich had just been placed in front of her, when she heard the door crash open behind her, and an abrupt silence fell over the cafe.

Startled, she looked up and found an enraged Gray Rouillard towering over her. Reuben must have called him, she thought absently. His black hair was loose, tangled around his shoulders. "Where the
hell,"
he barked, "have you been?"

"New Orleans," she replied in a mild tone, though she was acutely aware of the breathless interest of everyone in the cafe.

"Would it be asking too much of you to let me know where you’re going to be?" he snapped.

"I went to Mr. Pleasant’s funeral," she said.

He slid into the booth opposite her, some of the fury
fading from his face. Beneath the table, his long legs clasped hers, and he reached across to take both her hands in his. "I was scared sh – spitless," he confessed, quickly adjusting his first word choice to something more socially acceptable. "You hadn’t checked out, but Reuben saw you put a suitcase in the car. I even had him open your room to see if any of your things were still there."

"I wouldn’t have left town without telling you," she said, secretly amused that he thought she might have left town at all.

"You’d better not," he muttered. His hands tightened on hers. "Look," he began, and stopped. "Ah, hell, I know this isn’t the best place to do it, but I’ve still got tons of paperwork to wade through and I don’t know how long it’ll be before I see daylight. Will you marry me?"

He had succeeded in surprising her. He had gone beyond surprising her. She sat back, stunned into speechlessness. Gray wanted to
marry
her? She hadn’t dared let herself even think of it. With their tangled pasts… the thorny situation with his mother and sister… well, it just hadn’t seemed to be an option.

Evidently he took her reaction as rejection, and his dark brows drew together. Being Gray, he immediately took ruthless measures to get what he wanted. "You have to marry me," he said, loudly enough that everyone in the cafe could hear him. "That’s my baby girl you’re carrying. She’ll need a daddy, and you need a husband."

Faith gasped, her eyes rounding with horror.
"You fiend,"
she shrieked, scrambling out of the booth. She wasn’t pregnant and she knew it, her period having arrived right on time, three days before. She had a confused, dizzying impression of a room full of avid faces, staring at her, and Gray wore a ruthlessly satisfied look on his face as he smiled at her, enjoying her sputtering, incoherent fury. Maybe he saw something in her eyes, a split second of warning, but it wasn’t enough. Her hand shot out for her glass of iced tea and she dashed it full in his face. "I am
not
pregnant!" she yelled.

Gray climbed out of the booth, wiping tea from his eyes
with Faith’s napkin. "Maybe not now, but if you want to be, we’d better get married."

"Marry him," Halley advised, leaning over the counter. She was grinning hugely. "And make his life hell. He deserves it, after this stunt."

"Yeah," he said positively. "I deserve it."

Faith stared up at him. "But – what about your mother?" she asked helplessly.

He shrugged. "What about her?" Faith opened her mouth to yell at him again, and he grinned, holding up his hand. "I told her and Monica that I intended to marry you. Mother went into her acute disapproval syndrome, but Monica told her, literally, to put a sock in it. Funniest thing I’ve ever seen. Well, except for one." His eyes glittered at her, outrageously reminding her of the courthouse. "Monica gives us her best wishes; she and Michael are getting married next week. She strongly suggested to Mother that she move to New Orleans, which she’s always liked better than Prescott, anyway. So, baby, I’m going to be rattling around in that big house all by myself, and I need my own personal redhead to keep me company."

He meant it. Faith swallowed, once again unable to speak. Gray’s head tilted as he smiled down at her, dark eyes full of desire and tenderness. "There’s something else I’ve been meaning to tell you," he murmured. "I love you, baby. I should have told you sooner, but things started happening."

She thought of hitting him. She thought of snatching someone else’s tea to toss in his face. Instead she said, "Yes." He held out his arms, and she walked into them, to the accompanying spatter of applause from the cafe patrons.