The Great Baby Caper (13 page)

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“You okay?” Mark asked.

Three hours later, Courtney sat
next to Mark in the posh black sedan he had rented for their honeymoon. Around
them night had fallen as they drove through the heartland of Michigan, with the
wispy silvery shapes of trees stretching along the rolling landscape on either
side of them. They were headed due north, for the promised honeymoon on Mackinac Island. Courtney’s stomach clenched each time she thought of it.

“Guess I feel kind of numb,” she
admitted quietly.

He flashed her a sympathetic
smile. “I know what you mean, darling. Everything has happened so quickly.
That’s why I’m so glad we’ll have this time away.”

Courtney flashed him a stiff
smile, unable to voice her true feelings—that the most tense period between
them might well be just beginning, now that they were truly alone. Now that she
felt so vulnerable to him and his charms.

“Plus, our moments with my
grandfather and your friend Vanessa today—well, the antagonism between them
hardly made our wedding ceremony pleasant,” Mark went on.

“I know,” Courtney ruefully
agreed. “At least Vanessa’s hostility toward M. Billingham robbed me of the
necessity to rake him over the coals again.”

Mark chuckled. “There truly is bad
blood between those two.”

“Indeed. As you may know, Vanessa
was married to Floyd Fox, senior vice president in charge of profit and less,
until he died of a heart attack two years ago. Vanessa always resented M.
Billingham’s demands on Floyd’s time, and in many ways felt M. Billingham
deprived her of a husband.”

“I’m familiar with the story, and
how she was also on the board.”

“Yes,
was
. Within six
months of her husband’s death, Vanessa was forced to resign by M. Billingham.”

“She couldn’t get along with my
grandfather?”

“Can anyone?”

“Well, I’m trying,” Mark replied
ruefully.

Feeling a stab of guilt, she
flashed him a look of contrition. “I’m sorry. How can you not defend him?”

His jaw tightened. “Don’t get me
wrong. I’ve been tempted to disown the coot many times. Much he’s done has been
indefensible—including the way he treats most of his employees and their
families. Vanessa is hardly the first wife or widow who has wanted to hack him
into chopped liver.” He quickly glanced at her. “Actually, darling, much as I’m
concerned about you taking on too much while you’re pregnant, I am delighted the
company will have new leadership.”

Although thrilled by his vote of
confidence, Courtney was also puzzled. “Mark, do you actually mean you’re
endorsing my career choice, even though it may be at odds with what you want? I
thought you wanted to whisk me off to London with you, and my career be damned.
You surprise me.”

He reached over to pat her knee.
“My dear, you may be in for a lot of surprises on this honeymoon.”

That last statement reduced
Courtney to silence.

***

“Will this do?” Mark asked, glancing
at Courtney.

It was almost midnight when Mark
asked his bride that question. He and his newfound wife had just arrived in Mackinaw City. Since they wouldn’t be able to take the ferry to Mackinac Island until
tomorrow, he had booked them a two-bedroom suite at a resort along Lake Huron. They stood on the balcony just outside the living room, staring out at the
lakeshore as small silvery waves slapped the beach. Beyond stretched the
spectacular lights of the Mackinac Bridge, and the winking lighthouses along
the shoreline.

Courtney appeared spectacularly
lovely in the moonlight, the breeze off the lake rippling her cloud of heavy
hair and whipping her casual dress around her shapely body. The silvery
darkness softened the lines of fatigue and worry on her beautiful face.

“It’s fine, quite lovely,” she
finally replied.

He stepped closer and touched her
shoulder. “I meant what I said, Courtney. I won’t try to sleep with you. Not
until you’re ready.”

She nodded and stared back at the
water.

“Are you tired?” he asked.

“Yes. The doctor said to expect
that early in pregnancy.”

“We’ve been so rushed, I didn’t
get a chance to question you that much about your doctor’s visit, other than to
learn everything is fine.”

“He said my due date is January 9.”

Mark grinned. “Ah. A winter baby.”

“But I warned him that we tend to
deliver early in my family.”

Mark was seized with worry about
her and their child. “You mean, like preemies?”

“Technically, yes, but it’s
nothing that scary. My younger sister delivered her boy two weeks early, and my
older sister’s girl was almost three weeks’ premature. But both babies were
almost six pounds, and healthy.”

“Ah, I feel reassured. Only,
considering the risk, perhaps you should cut back on work?”

She turned to him soberly. “No,
Mark. The doctor didn’t think that was necessary at all.”

He decided it would be best not to
press the issue now. Instead he reached out to touch her soft cheek. “So, we
might have a Christmas baby.”

“Perhaps.”

He frowned pensively. “And you
could have a tax deduction this year.”

“Mark!” She gave him a scolding
glance.

“Just kidding, darling.” He
quickly kissed her cheek. “I’ll let you go to bed, then. We’ve a big day ahead
of us tomorrow.”

“Thanks. I do feel ready to turn
in.”

He kissed her again, this time
touching his lips to her sweet, soft mouth. “Goodnight, Mrs. Billingham.”

Her voice shook slightly as she
replied, “Goodnight, Mark.”

Mark died inside as he watched her
step back inside and turn toward her room. This was wrong. It was their wedding
night. She was his bride. They should be together. Every iota of his being
cried out that he should rush after her, grab her, hold her, woo her with his
passionate kisses.

But he knew he had to let her go.
He couldn’t afford to rush things. Right now, Courtney’s trust toward him was
but a fragile tentacle that could snap at any moment, with the least hint that
he would not honor his word. All thanks to the fiasco back in New Orleans, and
his grandfather’s interference. The bond between them would have to be
strengthened slowly and patiently—that or not at all. For now, he must be
content with the knowledge that she was his wife, even if it was, so far, in
name only . . .

As Courtney headed toward her room
she could feel Mark watching her. She turned to see his gaze riveted on her
with desire, tenderness, and torment. Suddenly she felt so lonely. This was her
wedding night. Why was she running away from this handsome and sexy man who
wanted her?

Because she couldn’t trust him
.
From the pain she spotted on his face, he knew it, too. There was still a gulf
between them greater than the lake that stretched for miles into the distance.
They could only slowly overcome that barrier, if ever. To do so, he would have
to prove to her that he was a much better man than was his grandfather, that he
would not try to take charge of her life and dictate to her as M. Billingham
had done. He would have to prove to her that his love was genuine, and not some
sudden and impetuous emotion he’d fallen into much as one might plunge into a
lake.

Still, she longed to go to him, to
kiss away the pain on his handsome face, to find comfort for her own misery in
his embrace. But until she knew who this man really was, she might only make
matters so much worse. She might fall so deeply in love with him that she’d end
up sacrificing her own future and independence.

Quashing the urge to go running
back into his arms, she hurried into her room and shut the door.

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The next morning, Courtney stood
with her husband on the deck of the jet ferry whose noisy engines were
propelling them across Lake Huron toward misty Mackinac Island in the distance.
Since no civilian automobiles were allowed on the island, their car had been
left in a lot back in Mackinaw City. A brisk breeze was blowing and the
temperature was in the low 70’s, the air scented of the lake, with seagulls
swarming overhead. Both Courtney and Mark wore slacks and windbreakers.

“Have you ever seen the island before?”
he asked.

Staring ahead at the long,
forested island with its high limestone ridge, she shook her head. “No, though
I saw the movie
Somewhere in Time
and I’ve wanted to go there ever
since.”

“Ah, so I’ve managed to fulfill a
secret fantasy.”

She wrinkled her nose at him.

He pointed to the west. “That’s
the Grand Hotel over there.”

She spotted the long, white,
magnificent edifice sitting majestically on a high shelf of the bluff. “Oh,
wow, you’re right. Are we staying there?”

Mark shook his head. “I’ve heard
it’s out of this world, but I had something a bit more intimate in mind.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, but
his only response was a wicked grin. She wondered what he was plotting. Her
face heated as she recalled his saying, “I have the right to woo you.”

And from what she remembered from
the movie, there could not possibly be a setting more perfect for romance than Mackinac Island. She struggled not to gasp as the land mass came into sharper view. A
breathtaking harbor zigzagged along the edge of the lake, lined with everything
from yachts to fishing boats. A whimsical old lighthouse stood in the distance.
Behind the harbor stretched a line of breathtaking Victorian houses and hotels.
To the west a grassy park lined with blooming lilacs gave way to a forested
bluff that rose sharply. On the ridge above loomed a large fort with an
American flag. Beneath it further to the west, she glimpsed a quaint business
district.

“Excited?” Mark asked.

“It looks wonderful.”

The boat pulled into its space at
the pier, and Mark escorted Courtney down the gangplank with the other
tourists. At dockside stood a bearded man in a red English tailcoat,
buff-colored breeches, and a black top hat. He held a card on which was
written, “Billingham.”

“Mark—is he here for us?” she
asked as they approached.

He nodded. “Only a few public
vehicles are allowed on Mackinac Island. So I’ve rented us a carriage and
coachman for our stay.”

“I’m amazed.”

Mark spoke up to the man. “I’m
Mark Billingham, and this is my bride, Mrs. Billingham.”

A shiver swept Courtney at hearing
Mark state her married name.

Meanwhile, the middle-aged man
removed his hat and grinned at her, his gold tooth twinkling in the morning
light. He spoke in a feigned Cockney accent. “Aye, sir, ma’am. I’m Terrence
Mastingham, your coachman. If you would be kind enough to point out your
valises, we’ll be on our way.”

Courtney had to smile at the man’s
deliberately quaint speech. Mark indicated their suitcases, and the coachman
grabbed them, then led Mark and Courtney to a gleaming black, folding top
carriage harnessed to two matched gray horses. As the man loaded their bags
into the boot, Courtney could not take her eyes off the lovely conveyance,
which even boasted a gold coat of arms on its door. She felt touched in spite
of herself. “Oh, Mark, it’s gorgeous. Are we really going to drive around in
this all week?”

“We certainly are,” he confirmed
proudly.

“I feel rather like Princess Diana
must have felt at her royal wedding.”

“Indeed. But we’ll hope for a much
better outcome than the Prince and Princess suffered—may God rest her soul.”

Approaching the door, the coachman
spoke up. “Would you folks like to get settled in first, then we’ll have a
roundabout?”

“Sounds great,” Mark agreed.

The man opened the door, and Mark
helped Courtney step inside, then settled in next to her on the plush burgundy
velvet seat. The coachman secured the door, and Courtney felt the springs groan
as he climbed into the driver’s seat above them. The coach rattled off, down a
lane bounded by the harbor on one side and Victorian houses on the other. The
scents of greenery and blossoms filled the air. Soon they ascended a steep
incline toward another road lined with massive Greek Revival-style mansions and
cozy Victorian cottages.

Before long the coachman pulled
into the driveway of a yellow and white Queen Anne style cottage with a slate
roof and a screened side porch. “Mark, are we staying there?”

“Yes. It’s the summer home of some
Detroit potentate. It wasn’t easy finding a rental for the 4th of July week,
but luckily, the man and his family are in Europe for a month.”

“The house is precious. And . . .”
She hesitated. “Well, as you said, intimate.”

He patted her hand. “Don’t worry, love,
there are two bedrooms. I checked.”

She cast him a forbearing look.

The coachman opened their door and
bowed. Mark hopped out, then helped Courtney alight. Meanwhile the driver had
retrieved their luggage. “Sir, I have your key, so I’ll just go open up and
deposit your luggage upstairs.”

“Thanks.”

He hurried ahead, and Mark and
Courtney strolled though the yard, past a lovely oak tree and flower beds
filled with blooming petunias and geraniums. By the time they climbed the steps
to the porch, the coachman was reemerging.

He handed Mark the key and clipped
into another bow. “There you are, sir. Shall I call back for you in an hour?”

“Please do.”

The man left, and for a moment the
two stared at each other awkwardly. “Well, Mrs. Billingham, shall we explore
our honeymoon haunt?”

“Sure.” But as she started ahead,
he touched her arm. “Yes?”

“You’re forgetting something.”
With fluid grace, he lifted her into his arms and carried her over the
threshold.

Courtney laughed. She had to admit
he was very romantic. For a moment he stood gazing at her so tenderly that her
heart did somersaults.

She cleared her throat. “Ready to
put me down?”

“Perhaps never.” He leaned over
and tenderly kissed her. “Happy honeymoon, Mrs. Billingham.”

An eternity seemed to pass before he
finally let her down. Her heart still fluttering, Courtney glanced about at the
long central hallway. On their left stood a beautifully carved mahogany pier
table, a bowl filled with freshly cut flowers sitting on its marble top, the
reflections of the crystal and blooms glittering in the gold leaf mirror above.
Beyond the table rose the graceful archway to a parlor. On their right, another
opening led to a dining room. Straight ahead, at the end of an oriental runner,
curved an oak staircase leading to the upper floor. She took a deep breath and
smelled must, timeless antiques, and furniture polish.

“This is so lovely,” Courtney
remarked. “Just look at those wood floors.”

“Ready to go exploring?” he asked.

“Sure.”

Courtney stepped with him into the
cozy room. Her eyes scanned a delicious mix of plush imported carpets, period
chairs, and a Victorian sofa, all done in shakes of mauve with gold accents.
The ceiling featured painted murals of cherubs and a glittering brass
chandelier. Stepping over to a gold inlaid table, she fingered a cobalt blue
Sèvres vase with painted classical courting scenes. On either side of the vase
sat fabulous Faberge eggs.

“The owners must be connoisseurs
of antiques,” she murmured.

“This was certainly confirmed by
their insistence on a hefty deposit, plus enough references to give me the same
security clearances as Agent 007.”

She chuckled. “You went to a great
deal of trouble to put this together, Mark.”

“Anything to please my bride.” He
kissed her cheek. “Let’s look at the dining room.”

They crossed the hallway and
stepped into the large room with its Duncan Phyfe table and chairs, its
handsome matching sideboard. Courtney gasped as she spotted the lovely blue and
white dishes on the table. She picked up one of the plates and studied its
classical design. “Wedgwood,” she murmured, setting it back down.

Mark strode toward a door at the
end of the room and opened it. “Looks like there’s a nice modern kitchen, as
well. There will be a housekeeper coming along tomorrow to make our breakfast
and tidy up. But today I wanted you all to myself.”

“Hmmmm,” Courtney murmured. “When
did that coachman say he was coming back?”

He chuckled. “Let’s check out the
upstairs.”

Like two excited children they
quickly climbed the stairs, emerging into a small, dark hallway. Spotting a
flood of light, Courtney proceeded through the first open door. “Oh, Mark, it’s
exquisite.”

He joined her and both looked
around at the lovely, airy bedroom. A mammoth cherry four-poster bed dominated
the scene with its full canopy, lacy white bed drapes, and bedspread. A
matching dresser and highboy completed the ensemble. Belgian lace curtains hung
at the window, and white wallpaper with an oak leaf pattern graced the walls.
An opened door at one end revealed a white tiled bathroom with an
old-fashioned, clawfoot tub.

Then Courtney’s gaze fixed on
Mark’s suitcase, parked next to hers near the foot of the bed. “Um, I think the
coachman had the wrong impression.”

His expression was downright
devilish. “Yes, that we’re newlyweds.”

“Mark!”

“Never fear. According to the real
estate agent there are two full bedrooms and baths up here. I’ll retire to the
other room and let you freshen up.”

“Thanks, Mark.”

Grabbing his suitcase, he dipped
into a bow à la the coachman, and left her laughing. Hearing his door click
shut down the hallway, Courtney was surprised to find herself swept by a wave
of sadness, and missing him already. He’d been such fun this morning, and she
longed for him to come back and tease her some more.

Tease her and what else? What was
wrong with her? Mark was less than twenty feet away. This wasn’t the way things
were supposed to proceed. This was strictly a marriage of convenience, for the
sake of their child. She wasn’t supposed to be feeling so drawn toward her new
husband.

But she did feel drawn, despite
herself. Mark had put so much planning, so much sensitivity, into their
honeymoon. He was proving himself to be a man of caring and depth. Much as she
hated to admit it, this was what they both needed after all the stress of the
previous months—to get away to a quiet, genteel, beautiful place like Mackinac Island.

A place where both of their
thoughts were bound to turn to romance . . .

***

Down the hallway in the smaller,
more masculine bedroom with its tall bookshelves and cozy wing chairs flanking
the fireplace, Mark was carefully unpacking, placing his shirts and underwear
in the chest of drawers. He smiled to himself. He was certainly making
excellent progress with Courtney. So far, the moments of their honeymoon had
seemed forced, even tense, but he could feel her warming up since they’d
arrived here. And he’d been obliged to pull quite a few strings and call on the
help of an old friend from Detroit, now a real estate broker, in order to make
the arrangements for this fabulous cottage.

He hadn’t been on Mackinac Island for many years, not since he was twelve and had come here with his parents
and sisters. That year, the entire family had come to America to celebrate his grandfather’s fiftieth birthday, and they’d done extensive
sightseeing afterwards. He remembered how his mother and dad had seemed
estranged that September. At the time, he had blamed the tensions over their
oft-overhead disagreements regarding his grandfather; his father hadn’t wanted
to come to America at all, but his mother had insisted.

Mark hadn’t understood the true
reason for the rift between his parents until years after their deaths, when he
had discovered among his mother’s effects a letter from his dad begging her
forgiveness for his infidelities, a letter dated only weeks before they’d made
that trip to America.

He did know that his parents had
come back together here, on Mackinac Island, that summer. He remembered them
spending countless hours together holding hands on the veranda of their hotel,
or taking long walks together along the lakeshore road.

He desperately hoped that same
magic would evolve between himself and Courtney. Of course he would never be
unfaithful to her, but so much else stood in their way. The fact that they were
from separate cultures and lived on two different continents. The horrible
tensions with his grandfather, the shattered trust.

Perhaps with time and love, they
could overcome all that. Mark was convinced that he loved Courtney now. But did
she love him? Would she ever? These next five days would be critical, perhaps
their only time alone for many months. He had to bring her around. He just had
to. And before they left this island, he would pray that he could dispense with
this “marriage of convenience” nonsense.