Keys to the Castle (27 page)

She said tightly, “If there's one thing Daniel taught me—taught both of us—I'd think it's that time is the one thing we can't afford to take for granted.”

She saw his lips compress, briefly, perhaps against pain, and the corners of his eyes tightened. He said, “This is not China, or the far reaches of the Ukraine. The French do not relinquish their children to foreigners so easily, particularly a child who is already as well situated as Alyssa.”

She drew a sharp, harsh breath to protest but he spoke over her, calmly. “There's no point in approaching the authorities at all until we have the results of the DNA test, and I think you knew that all along. You also cannot fail to realize that the matter of a ten-million-dollar estate complicates the situation considerably, which is even more reason for you to take my proposal seriously. The moment the judge signs the order of exhumation, this all becomes a matter of public record, and the evidence—whatever it may turn out to be—can be used against you as well as for you. But as things stand now, in this very small window of time, you are perfectly within your rights to sell the property, become a very rich American, and then proceed with the rest of your life. If that includes a petition to adopt Alyssa, you will have more than adequate resources to pursue the effort. So I ask you, what good will it do to go through with this paternity test? If you find out Alyssa is Daniel's child, you'll spend the rest of your life despising yourself for being married to a man you never knew. If you find out she isn't, you'll have nothing left of him at all. Don't do this to yourself, not when there's a simpler way—”

“Stop it!” she cried. “I'm not interested in any more of your schemes or your deals or your assurances! A little girl's entire future is at stake and that's the
only
thing that matters right now!”

“Which little girl?” Ash said softly. “The one who's sleeping upstairs right now, or the one who was abandoned forty years ago in a trailer park in North Carolina?”

The breath that caught in her throat sounded like a sob and for a moment all she could do was stand there, her arms falling limp at her sides, staring at him, while the tears she had been fighting all day finally spilled over into two hot tracks down her cheeks. Ash stepped into her and took her shoulders, and though she tried to pull away at first, he held her, and he bent his face close. His eyes were filled with empathy and tenderness, and something else . . . conviction. Or determination.

“I know you've been hurt,” he said. “I know you've been betrayed, and I know how hard it is for you to trust me. But Sara, what if you're wrong? What if, this time, I'm really the good guy?”

And that was when she started sobbing, helplessly, brokenly, in a way she hadn't done since that day Michele had first arrived with Alyssa. He took her in his arms and held her there, stroking her hair, kissing her face, and she turned her mouth to his instinctively, losing herself in him because that was, at that moment, all she wanted in the world. She stretched her arms around his neck, pushed her fingers into his hair, and let his heat consume her, flooding through her skin and into her brain, burning out everything else. “I don't care,” she whispered brokenly against his face. The texture of his skin, smooth yet coarse, so very male, against hers, the smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him, strange and strong and dangerous and familiar, all of it enveloped her, and even as she spoke her eyes began to flood again, this time from need; simple, raw, and helpless need. “I just want the pain to stop. I just want it to stop . . .”

His mouth covered hers again, a deep and penetrating kiss that blotted out everything else, every thought, every memory, everything but wanting, everything but sensation. His hands were on her back, beneath her shirt against her bare skin, fingers strong and hot as they pressed her close, traced her spine and the curve of her shoulder blades and making her gasp as they cupped the crescent of her bare breasts where they were pressed so hard against his chest. He whispered, “I can do that for you, Sara.” His lips were against her ear, his whisper a brush of fire. “I can make the pain go away. I think we can do that for each other, tonight . . .”

He took her face in his hands then, and tilted it upward so that her eyes were filled with the darkness of his, the awful, wondrous combination of tenderness and barely leashed passion, of dark demand and desperate restraint. “If that's what you want.” His breath was hot and hard and unsteady on her face and it tasted of her and of him and of the tentative, wanton intercourse in which they had already engaged. “If that's all you want.”

She dropped her gaze because she couldn't meet the fire of his any longer. Because she was ashamed and uncertain and because the only parts of her that really mattered still wanted him; wanted his hands on her, and his mouth, wanted him inside her, wanted the wild, hot ecstasy of release; wanted to be held by him, to be comforted by him, to lie in the shelter of his protection throughout the night. And she wanted not to be sorry in the morning.

She sank helplessly against his chest. “I don't know what I want.”

Slowly, his arms came around her, gentle in their restraint, almost reluctant, but holding her. His heartbeat, so wild against her ear at first, gradually began to slow, his breathing to calm. He kissed her hair. “I know what I want,” he said softly. “I want to make love to you when your heart isn't broken. When you're not weeping in my arms. And when Daniel isn't a ghost between us.”

She lifted her face to look at him, and what she saw in his eyes was still and deep and completely unreadable. And in the end his hands traveled to her shoulders, and he stepped away from her. “Good night, love,” he said softly.

“Don't leave,” she said. There was pleading in her eyes, perhaps in her voice, and she thought for a moment she saw his resolve waver. “Please.”

But in the end he simply kissed her forehead, and he left.

Katherine Alexandra Lindeman arrived in the same sleek black limousine that had transported Sara to Rondelais, though with sixteen pieces of luggage and a great deal more confidence. She wore an elegant ivory pantsuit and oversized, white-rimmed Chanel sunglasses and she made a statement worthy of Katharine Hepburn as she stepped out of the limousine, tilted up the sunglasses, and surveyed her surroundings with a regal sweep of her chin.

The trash pile had been removed and the guest rooms that were not under renovation were immaculate, but there was little Sara could do—or cared to do—about the furniture and paint cans that were stored in the corridors, or about the disarray of her room and Alyssa's. At least the toilets worked.

She had managed to get Alyssa bathed and dressed in clean clothes—as well as herself—before the arrival, and came to the front steps when she heard the car. Alyssa, with uncharacteristic shyness, hid behind Sara's leg and chewed on her thumb.

Katherine pronounced, “Well, I see the old place is much the same as ever. Although it would appear someone has been keeping after those lazy gardeners. Well-done.” She approached Sara with a bold, confident stride and extended her hand. “I'm Katherine Lindeman, my dear. It's good of you to have me.”

Sara smiled without conviction. “I'm Sara Graves. This is Alyssa.”

She tried to coax Alyssa forward but the little girl clung stubbornly to her leg. “Did you bring me a cat?” she inquired.

“Good heavens, no, child. Why on earth should I do that? And don't suck your thumb, my dear. It will ruin the shape of your mouth.”

Alyssa glared at her defiantly and continued to suck her thumb, which Sara had never seen her do before. She stroked Alyssa's curls and started to say something—she wasn't sure exactly what—when Katherine unsnapped her purse and removed a small white paper bag. “I've often thought what a pity it is that one should be completely unable to suck one's thumb and enjoy a treat at the same time. I suppose I shall just have to keep these sweets for myself.” She opened the bag and revealed the contents to Alyssa.

Alyssa's thumb left her mouth and she looked questioningly at Sara. Sara said, “Just one.” She gave a brief grateful smile to the older woman. “And what do we say in English?”

“Thank you very much,” replied Alyssa solemnly and released her death grip on Sara's leg to extract a piece of candy from the bag. “I have a cat.”

Sara saw the corner of a smile that was very familiar to her begin on Katherine's face. “Do you indeed? Well, isn't it fortunate that I didn't bring you another?”

“I do have some other things for the child,” she added to Sara briskly as she straightened up. “Some frocks and stuffed toys and such as that. They're in one of these cases somewhere. You can decide what's appropriate, of course.”

Sara was a little taken aback. “That's—very nice of you.”

Katherine said, “Well, then. Let's not stand about in the sun, shall we? Jean-Phillipe, the cases, please.”

Sara felt like part of an entourage as she followed the very elegant Mrs. Lindeman—and Jean-Phillipe, with two suitcases under each arm—up the grand staircase. She was determined not to apologize, so that was of course the first thing she did. “I've been painting. I'm afraid things are a little bit disorganized. But I thought you'd want to stay in the Queen's Chamber . . .”

“That overgrown Hollywood monstrosity? Nonsense, that will never do. Aside from which, I despise that bathtub. Almost broke my hip there once. No, my usual suite will do just fine.”

She turned down the corridor and slowed to a stop, taking in the accumulated clutter of ladders, paint cans, drop cloths, carpets, and furniture—not to mention the doll carriage, the plastic playhouse, the building blocks, the giant stuffed panda, and the tricycle that Alyssa immediately ran and jumped on, pedaling it down the corridor at top speed. She turned slowly to look at Sara. “My dear,” she advised gently. “I don't mean to interfere, but whatever you're paying your workers is far too much. I should sack the lot of them for leaving the place in such a disgrace.”

Sara quickly tried to kick some of the drop cloths out of the way while at the same time shoving a bucket filled with paintbrushes beneath a table. “Actually,” she said, raising her voice a little to be heard over the clatter of tricycle wheels and the ringing of a tricycle bell, “I'm doing this myself. I don't have any workers.”

Katherine's eyebrows shot up. “But why are you doing it at all?”

“Tante Sara! Look at me!” Alyssa had found the kitten and stuffed him into the basket of her tricycle, and Sara interrupted her conversation to rescue the very annoyed-looking kitten before he bolted under the wheels of the vehicle.

“I didn't think it would be such a big project when I started,” she explained when she returned, trying not to sound defensive. “A castle isn't a very comfortable place for a little girl, and I just wanted to make it a little more inviting.”

“She doesn't appear to be suffering,” observed Katherine as Alyssa raced by on the tricycle again, squealing happily. And she added, “But why didn't you simply move into the family apartment? It does seem to me that would be the most practical thing to do.”

Sara said uncomfortably, “Well—those rooms are private. They belonged to the family and I really didn't feel right just moving in there . . .”

Katherine raised her eyebrows. “Did I misunderstand? Don't you own this property now?”

“Well, yes, but . . .”

“Well, then really, I can't see why there should be any discussion. The apartment is set up for family living. It has a kitchen and sitting rooms and even a nursery, if I recall, that's more than large enough for the little one to ride that dreadful contraption around to her heart's content. All in all, a far more serviceable arrangement than you have now. Jean-Phillipe,” she commanded briskly, turning to the chauffeur who still waited patiently with two arms filled with luggage. “As soon as you've unpacked the car, dash down to the village and bring back four reliable laborers, won't you? Tell them I'm paying top wages for two days' work.” Even as Sara drew a breath for protest Alyssa raced by again and Katherine stepped back quickly to avoid losing the polish on her sleek Ferragamo pumps. “And,” she added, “put out the word that we'll be interviewing English-speaking nannies beginning at eight o'clock in the morning.”

“Hold on,” Sara interjected firmly as Katherine turned to proceed to her suite—wherever that might be. “I told Ash I didn't want a nanny. I can take care of Alyssa myself. That's what I'm here for.”

Katherine regarded her for a moment, her expression unreadable, and then invited, “Come along, my dear. Help me get settled. And mind the little one near the stairs.”

Sara got Alyssa off of the tricycle and interested in her playhouse, and followed Katherine and the chauffeur, a little suspiciously, into the room that she had chosen. It was, of course, the same room that Ash had used, which only made sense, as it was one of the nicest en suite accommodations in the castle, and was always kept ready for visitors. Katherine placed her sunglasses and her purse on the stately mahogany lowboy and instructed Jean-Phillipe to lift one of the matched burgundy leather suitcases to the luggage rack, and line up the others beneath the window. “Now, my dear,” she said to Sara, “you may certainly do as you wish, but it seems to me a peculiar characteristic of American women is that they tend to undervalue themselves. Perhaps it has something to do with all those years of building log cabins in the woods, or some such nonsense. I really can't imagine.”

Sara was about to object, but found herself smothering a laugh instead. As much as she wanted to resent her uninvited houseguest, she could definitely see where Ash had gotten his charm. “Maybe,” she agreed. “I guess self-reliance isn't always a virtue.”