For Now, Forever (8 page)

"Oh? I had the impression you enjoyed being around a I lot of people," she said very calmly.

"I don't want a bunch of them staring at us while we eat."

"Amazing how rude some people can be, isn't it?"

"And if I want to talk to
you
, I don't need half of Boston listening to me."

"Naturally not."

He fumed and turned into his driveway. "And if you're worried about propriety, I have servants." She sent him a bland look. "I'm not worried in the least."

Not sure how to take it, he narrowed his eyes. She was playing games with him, of that he was sure. He just wasn't sure of what kind, or of the rules. "You're mighty sure of yourself all at once, Anna."

"Daniel." She reached for the door handle and let herself out. "I've always been sure of myself." She decided with one sweeping look that she liked his house. It was separated from the road by a line of hedges that came to her shoulder. The privacy they provided wasn't as cold or impersonal as a wall, but it was just as sturdy. As she looked at the tall windows, some of which were already softly lit behind curtains, she could smell the mixture of scents from the side garden. Sweet peas she recognized, and smiled. She had a weakness for them. He'd chosen an imposing house, large enough for a family of ten, but he hadn't forgotten to make it a home with something as simple as flowers. She waited until he'd joined her on the edge of the walkway.

"Why did you choose it?"

He looked at the house with her. He saw the brick, attractively faded with age, the windows, with their shutters freshly painted. There was no sense of kinship, only of ownership. After all, someone else had built it. As he drew in the evening air, he didn't smell the sweet peas, but her, "Because it was big."

She smiled at that and turned to watch a sparrow on a branch of a maple in the front yard. "I suppose that's reasonable. You looked uncomfortable in my mother's parlor, as if you thought if you turned around you might knock down a wall. This suits you better."

"For the moment," he murmured. He had other plans. "You can watch the sunset from those windows." He pointed, then took her arm to lead her up the walk. "You won't for very many more years."

"Why?"

"Progress. They're going to toss buildings up and block out the sky. Not everywhere, but enough. I'm breaking ground on one myself next month." Opening the door, he drew her into the hall and waited.

The swords crossed on the wall to her left drew her eyes first. They weren't the delicate, almost feminine foils used in duels by lace-cuffed swashbucklers. They were thick, heavy, deadly broadswords with undecorated hilts and dull, well-used blades. It would take two hands and a strong man to lift one. It would take skill and brute strength to use one to attack or defend. Unable to resist, Anna walked closer. She had no trouble imagining what one of them could do to flesh and bone. Still, though she could term them lethal, she couldn't term them ugly.

"The swords are from my clan. My ancestors used them." There was pride in his voice, and simplicity. "The MacGregors were warriors, always."

Was it a challenge she heard from him? It might have been. Anna stepped closer to the swords. The edges of the blades weren't dulled, but as treacherous as ever. "Most of us are, aren't we?"

Her response surprised him, but perhaps it shouldn't have. He knew she wasn't a woman to shudder and faint over a weapon or spilled blood. "The English king—" he nearly spat it and had Anna's full attention "—he took our name, our land, but he couldn't take our pride. We hacked off heads when we had to." His eyes were deep, blue and brilliant when he looked at her. She had no doubt he would wield the sword with a ferocity equal to that of his ancestors if he felt justified. "Mostly the heads of Campbells." He grinned at that and took her arm. "They thought to wipe us out of Scotland, but they couldn't."

She found herself wondering how he'd look in the clothes of his country, the kilt, the plaid, the dirk. Not ridiculous, but dramatic. Anna looked back up at the swords. "No, I'm sure they couldn't. You've good reason to be proud." His hand moved up to her cheek and lingered. "Anna…"

"Mr. MacGregor." McGee stood still as a stone as Daniel whirled on him. There was a look in Daniel's eyes that would have made a strong man shudder.

"Aye?" In the one word, Daniel conveyed a thousand pungent curses.

"A call from New York, sir. A Mr. Liebowitz says it's quite important."

"Show Miss Whitfield into the parlor, McGee. I'm sorry, Anna, I have to take this. I'll be as quick as I can."

"It's all right." Relieved she'd have a few moments alone, Anna watched Daniel stride down the hall.

"This way, miss."

She noticed the brogue, which was heavier than Daniel's, and smiled. He'd keep his own around him when he could. With a last glance at the swords, she followed McGee's ramrod back into the parlor. It made her mother's look like a closet. If big was what Daniel wanted, big was what he had.

"Would you care for a drink, Miss Whitfield?"

Distracted, Anna turned blankly. "I'm sorry?"

"Would you care for a drink?"

"Oh, no, thank you, I'm fine."

He gave her the smallest and staunchest of bows. "Please ring if you require anything."

"Thank you," she said again, anxious to be rid of him. The minute she was alone, she turned a slow circle. Big, yes—much bigger than the average room. Unless she missed her guess, he'd had walls removed and combined two into one. The unusual size was complemented by unusual furnishings. There was a Belker table twice the size of the wheel of a car, carved so ornately that the edges looked like lace. A high-backed chair done in rich red velvet sat beside it. He could hold court in it, she thought, and smiled at the idea. Why not?

Rather than sit, Anna simply wandered. The colors were flashy and bold, but somehow she felt perfectly comfortable with them. Maybe she'd lived with her mother's pastels long enough. A sofa took up nearly an entire wall and would have required four strong men to move it. With a laugh, she decided Daniel had chosen it for exactly that reason.

Along the west window was a collection of crystal, Waterford, Baccarat. A vase, two feet high, caught the beginnings of the sunset and danced with it. Anna picked up a bowl that fit into the palm of her hand and wondered what it was doing there among the giants. He found her like that, standing in the western light, smiling at a small piece of glass. His mouth went dry. Though he said nothing, could say nothing, she turned toward him.

"What a wonderful room." Enthusiasm added color to her cheeks, deepened her eyes. "I imagine in the winter, with a fire, it would be spectacular." When he didn't speak, her smile faded. She took a step closer. "The telephone. Was it bad news?"

"What?"

"Your call. Has it upset you?"

He'd forgotten it, just as he'd forgotten everything. It didn't sit well with him that a look from her could tie his tongue and his stomach up in knots. "No. I'll have to go into New York for a couple of days and straighten out a few things." Including himself, he thought ruefully. "I have something for you."

"I hope it's dinner," she said, smiling again.

"We'll have that, too." It occurred to him that he'd never felt awkward around a woman until now. Drawing a box out of his pocket, he handed it to her.

There was a moment of panic. He had no business offering her a ring. Then as common sense took over, panic faded. The box wasn't the small velvet sort that held engagement rings, but an old cardboard one. Curious, Anna opened the lid. The cameo was nearly as long as her thumb and perhaps twice as wide. Old and lovely, it sat in a little bed of tissue paper. The profile was gentle and serene, but the head was tilted up with just a touch of pride as well.

"It favors you," Daniel murmured. "I told you once."

"Your grandmother's," she remembered. Touched, she lifted a finger to trace the outline. "It's beautiful, really beautiful." It was more difficult than it should have been to close the lid again. "Daniel, you know I can't take this."

"No, I don't." Taking the box from her, he opened it again and drew out the cameo, which he'd attached to a velvet ribbon himself. "I'll put it on for you."

She could almost feel his fingers brush the nape of her neck. "I shouldn't take a gift from you." He lifted a brow. "You can't tell me you worry about gossip, Anna. If you concerned yourself with what people said or thought, you wouldn't be going to your school in Connecticut."

He was right of course, but she tried to stand firm. "It's an heirloom, Daniel. It wouldn't be right."

"It's my heirloom and I'm tired of having it shut in a box. My grandmother would want it to be worn by someone who'd appreciate it." In a surprisingly smooth manner, he slid the ribbon around her neck and fastened it. It fit into the subtle hollow of her throat as if it had been destined to rest there. "There now, that's where it belongs."

Unable to resist, she reached up to touch it. Common sense slipped away. "Thank you. We'll say I'm keeping it for you. If you want it back—"

"Don't spoil it," he interrupted, and took her chin in his hand. "I've wanted to see you wear it." She couldn't stop the smile. "And you always get what you want?"

"Exactly." Pleased with himself he rubbed a thumb over her cheek before he dropped his hand. "Will you have a drink? There's some sherry."

"I'd rather not."

"Have a drink?"

"Drink sherry. Is there another choice?"

He felt his nervousness drop away. "I've some prime Scotch sent—smuggled if you want the truth—from a friend of mine in Edinburgh." She wrinkled her nose. "It tastes like soap."

"Soap?" He looked so astonished that she laughed.

"Don't take it personally."

"You'll try it," he told her as he went to the bar. "Soap." While he poured, his voice dropped to a mutter. "This isn't the swill you get at one of your stiff-necked Boston parties."

Damn it, the longer she knew him, the more endearing he became. Anna found her hand had wandered to the cameo again. She took a deep breath and reminded herself of the feeling of being at the wheel. Control. When he handed her a glass, she studied it. It was very dark and, she thought, very likely to be as lethal as the swords on the wall. "Ice?"

"Don't be silly." He tossed back his glass and challenged her. Anna took a deep breath and gulped some down. Warm, potent and smooth. Frowning a bit, she sipped again. "I stand corrected," she told him, but handed back the glass. "And if I drink all of it, I won't stand at all."

"Then we'll get some food into you."

With a shake of her head, she offered her hand. "If that's your way of saying it's time for dinner, I accept." He took her hand and held it. "You won't get too many pretty words out of me, Anna. I'm not polished. I don't have any plans to be." His hair flowed around his face, untamed and magnificent. The beard gave him the look of the warrior they both knew was in his blood.

"No, I don't think you should."

No, he wasn't polished, but he surrounded himself with beauty. It wasn't the quiet sort Anna had become used to, but a bold, bracing beauty that could grab you by the throat. He had a shield and a pike on the wall of the dining room and below them was a Chippendale breakfront any collector of fine antiques would have envied. The table itself was massive, but set on it was the loveliest china Anna had ever seen. She sat in a chair that would have suited a medieval castle and found herself completely relaxed. The sun came in red-gold slants through the windows. As they ate, the light softened and dimmed. With silent efficiency, McGee came to light candles, then left them again.

"If I told my mother about this meal, she'd try to steal your cook." Anna took a bite of chocolate torte and understood the phrase
sinfully
rich
.

It gave him a quiet sort of pleasure to watch her enjoy his food, eat from the plates he'd chosen himself. "You can see why I prefer this to a restaurant."

"Absolutely." She took another bite, because some things weren't meant to be resisted. "I'm going to miss home cooking when I move into my apartment."

"What about your own?"

"My own what?"

"Cooking."

"It doesn't exist." Studying him, she took another bite. "Your eyebrows come straight together when you frown, Daniel, but don't worry, I intend to learn my way around a kitchen. Self-preservation." Linking her fingers, she rested her chin on them. "I don't suppose you cook."

He started to laugh, then thought better of it. "No."

She discovered she liked catching him off guard that way. "But, naturally, you find it odd that I, as a woman, don't know how." It was difficult not to admire her logic even when he was on the wrong end of it. "You've a habit of boxing a man into a corner, Anna."

"I enjoy the way you fight your way out. I know this may be a dangerous boon to your ego, but you're an interesting man."

"I've a very big ego. It takes a lot to fill it. Why don't you tell me how I'm interesting?" She smiled and rose. "Another time perhaps."

He caught her hand as he stood. "There will be another time."

She didn't believe in lies, and in evasions only when the truth didn't suit. "It seems there will. Mrs. Higgs talked of nothing but you today," she said as they walked back toward the parlor.

"Lovely woman."

She had to grin. He said it with such self-satisfaction. "She expects you to come back."

"I said I would." He saw the question in her eyes and stopped. "I keep my word."

"Yes." She smiled again. "You would. It's very good of you, Daniel. She has no one." Uncomfortable, he frowned. "Don't put a halo on me, Anna. I intend to win the bet, but I'd as soon do it without false pretenses."

"I've no intention of putting a halo on you." She flicked the hair from her shoulder. "And I've no intention of losing the bet." At the doorway to the parlor, she stopped again. There were candles, dozens of them, glowing throughout the room. Moonlight spilled in through the window to compete. There was music, quiet, bluesy. It seemed to come from the shadows. Anna felt her pulse race but continued into the room.