The Ring on Her Finger (9 page)

“Taking chances,” Justin said. “You always do that, don’t you?”

Well, what kind of Bad Boy of the Thoroughbred Racing Set would he be if he didn’t gamble? “Yeah. So?”

“So how about we make a little wager where that fine filly of yours is concerned?”

Warning bells began to blare at the back of Nathaniel’s brain, but thanks to his cockiness and curiosity—not to mention the two neat whiskeys he’d consumed—he didn’t listen to them. “What do you mean?”

“I mean a wager,” Justin repeated. “You love those. I’ve never seen you turn one down.”

“Not unless it’s one I know I’ll lose.”

“You never lose.”

“Because I’m not stupid.”

“So how about taking me up on this one?”

“Probably because you’re so eager to make it.”

Justin stopped just short of uttering a pshaw. The warning bells erupted even louder. But Nathaniel still couldn’t bring himself to heed them.

“What would be the object of this wager?” he asked, knowing it wasn’t a good idea to provoke his friend, but curious to hear the terms.

“If I win,” Justin said, “I get that horse of yours at no charge. If you win, I’ll give you four million for her.”

“
Four
million?” Nathaniel asked, his interest more than piqued.

Justin nodded.

“Either way, you get the horse,” Nathaniel said, not sure he liked the terms, in spite of the potential to double his money.

“And if you win, you’ll make twice as much as you’re hoping to make.”

There was no way Nathaniel would make four million dollars on the sale of his mare, no matter how naive or uneducated the bidder. Still, it really was too easy, and Justin really was too eager. The only way he would offer to part with that much money would be if he was absolutely certain he would win the bet and not have to part with that much money.

In spite of that, Nathaniel asked, “And what would be the terms of the wager?”

“You’ll love them, trust me.”

Oh, Nathaniel didn’t like the sound of that. “No thanks, Justin. I’d rather—”

“No, really,” Justin interrupted. “This wager will be fun for you. It involves having sex.”

“With a woman?” Nathaniel asked. He wouldn’t put it past Justin to pull something of a questionable nature.

Justin laughed out loud. “Of course with a woman.”

“A human woman?”

“Yes, a human woman,” his host assured him, still laughing. “I’ll bet you four million dollars against your mare that I can name a woman in this room you can’t get into bed. For sex,” he clarified. “You’d have to screw her.”

Which was just about the most tasteless wager Nathaniel had ever heard. He liked it. “Well, hell, Justin, as you yourself just pointed out, there’s hardly a woman in the room I haven’t already had.” And if his friend intended to name his wife, Nathaniel had that covered, too. Alexis had come on to him a half dozen times in the past. She’d be a pushover.

“Yeah, and some of them, I know for a fact, don’t want you in their beds ever again.”

Nathaniel smiled. “Their mouths say no, but their eyes...”

“Can it. I know you don’t always end things cleanly with women. I heard you broke up with Cornelia Portman with a fax, for God’s sake.”

“That’s not true. It was an email, and she was in Bermuda at the time.”

“Oh, excuse me for thinking you wouldn’t take into account her tender sensibilities.”

Justin was right about one thing. Nathaniel didn’t always end things with women well, and some of them had, oh, taken exception over the years. Some of them wouldn’t even attend parties if they knew he was going to be there. Still, it didn’t take much to change a woman’s mind. The right word, the right look, the right gesture...a really expensive piece of jewelry. They were all pushovers as far as he was concerned. Every woman had her price. And Nathaniel Finn was a man who could always afford it.

“So if I can bed any woman in this room, you’ll pay me four million dollars for my horse?” It really was way too easy. Those alarms were just about to deafen Nathaniel now. But for some reason, he couldn’t quite bring himself to bail out. He didn’t know if it was the four million dollars, the prospect of a wager, or the wager itself he found most attractive. There was something sordidly appealing about each of those in itself, but combined...

“Not any woman,” Justin corrected him. “I get to name the woman. And the woman I name, you have to screw her. Within one month’s time. Or else I win the bet.”

Naturally there would be a catch. Nevertheless, surveying the collection of women again, Nathaniel realized he really had already been intimate with the majority of them. And a few of the ones he hadn’t been with had made it clear they were interested in him. And none of them was a totally unattractive prospect. Hell, he could stand a boy band concert for four million bucks. Probably. And there were a lot worse things to find on a woman than skin and bones. And his golf game probably wouldn’t suffer that much.

Despite his realizations and rationalizations, the warning bells just wouldn’t quiet. “I don’t know, Justin. It just doesn’t seem right.”

“What? You’re morally opposed?” his friend asked incredulously. “When did this happen? Have you seen a doctor about it? They can fix moral uprightness now. With a debauchery implant or something.”

“Hey, my debauchery is just fine, thanks. Of course I’m not morally opposed. What could be morally wrong about having sex? Just because there’s a wager involved? Don’t make me laugh. What I meant was that taking you for four million dollars doesn’t seem right. Even if you are asking for it.”

Justin smiled that knowing smile again. “I don’t plan on giving you the four million, Nathaniel. I plan on taking that horse from you at no cost to myself.”

It was Justin’s absolute certainty and smug arrogance as much as anything else that spurred Nathaniel into saying what he did next—though, certainly, the whiskey may have had something to do with it, too. “All right, Justin. You’re on. You name a woman in this room, and I’ll have her in bed—for sex—before the month is out. Hell, I’ll have her in bed for sex before the night is out. If I fail, you can have the horse free of charge. But when I win, I’ll happily take that four million off your hands in exchange for her.”

Justin’s smile went supernova at that. “Please, take the whole month to bed her,” he said. “I think you’re going to need it. Because, Nathaniel, the woman I have in mind for you is right...over...there.”

He pointed at the far corner of the room, where two big potted palms flanked a baby grand piano. On the bench before the piano, seated nearest Nathaniel, was Justin’s eight-year-old daughter Abby, plinking out a tinny version of what sounded like “Alley Cat.” But it wasn’t her at whom his host was pointing, of course. It was his daughter’s nanny, a drab, colorless woman Nathaniel always overlooked whenever he came to Harborcourt—hence, his neglect in noticing her tonight. Dammit.

“Rosemary,” Justin said. “Abby’s au pair. Nathaniel, my friend, if you want that four million dollars and don’t want to give away that valuable mare, then you’re going to have to bed the nanny.”

Rosemary hummed softly to herself as she stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing out the dishes from what Abby had called her “bednight snack” ever since she was old enough to utter the words. Rosemary came to work for the Coves right about that time, fresh off the boat from Ireland, a newly educated au pair of only twenty-three pressed into service in the New World. Everything about her felt new then. New life, new job, new outlook, new everything. These days, she almost felt as if her other life had happened to someone else entirely.

Beyond the window over the sink, she saw one of the caterer’s employees on the patio enjoying a smoke, and she smiled. How often had she snuck from a big house like this one when she was a teenager, to have a quick
feg
? Or, more often, to do other things she shouldn’t have been doing? Ah, well. That was more than a decade ago. She didn’t smoke anymore. She didn’t sneak around. She didn’t do things she shouldn’t. She was a grown woman with a good job and a good life, and she wasn’t going to do anything to bungle that. No one in this country had any idea about her past. They all thought she was decent and good. And these days, of course, she was.

Even her reflection in the dark window glass threw back an image of a woman who was a proper lady. Her hair was knotted atop her head in a discreet bun, and her rose-colored, cotton dress, with its terse row of covered buttons from the hem to neck was the picture of conservatism. Oh, yes. These days, Rosemary Shaugnessy passed quite easily for a good girl. Only a fool would do something to jeopardize the sterling reputation she had now.

Once the last of the catering staff left, she locked up behind them and began dimming the lights. Just as she stroked her fingers over the last of the switches, though, one of the guests entered the kitchen, a friend of Mr. Cove’s named Nathaniel Finn. Not that Rosemary had ever paid much attention to the man beyond the casual introduction she received some years ago. She knew he bred Thoroughbreds and lived in a sprawling estate out Highway 42, that he never seemed to come to the Coves’ house with the same woman twice, that he was forty-two years old, a native of this very state, a graduate of Vanderbilt, and never married. Oh, and also that he was the Bad Boy of the Thoroughbred Racing Set. Everyone said so. Beyond that, however, she knew nothing of him. Except that he was terribly handsome and had the loveliest green eyes she had ever seen.

“Hello,” he said before she could say anything herself.

“Hello,” she replied politely, telling herself she only imagined the way her stomach flip-flopped at the velvety sound of his voice. “Can I help you with something? Were you looking for someone?”

He took another step into the kitchen, his lovely green eyes focused on her face as if it were something worth focusing on. “I am looking for someone, as a matter of fact,” he said. “And lucky me. I’ve found her.”

Automatically, Rosemary turned to look behind herself, to see who the woman in question might be, but she saw only her reflection in the window again. She turned back around to find Mr. Finn still gazing at her. Then she understood, and the flip-flop in her stomach turned into a full-blown typhoon.

“Me?” she asked incredulously, stabbing her index finger to the middle of her chest.

He chuckled, grinning his perfect white smile. “Yes, you,” he replied in a voice that was smoother and more intoxicating than good Irish whiskey.

She expelled a short, nervous laugh. “You must be joking.”

He looked puzzled. “Why?”

“Because I’m Rosemary,” she told him. “Rosemary Shaugnessy. I work for the Coves. I’m Abby’s nanny.”

His smile yielded some, but was still charming. Still intoxicating. “I know who you are. Why do you find it so hard to believe that I’d be looking for you?”

“Because I’m Rosemary,” she said again. “Rosemary Shaugnessy, I work for the Coves. I’m Abby’s nanny.”

“You’re also a very beautiful woman.”

Suddenly, she understood. It didn’t happen often, but on occasion, one of the Coves’ guests would overindulge and decide the nanny was an easy target for his drunken randiness. Normally, Rosemary handled herself well in those situations. But normally, the guests who cornered her didn’t have the loveliest green eyes she’d ever seen.

“Mr. Finn,” she began.

“You know my name,” he interrupted, taking another step forward.

“I know most of the Coves’ friends. I’ve been with them for a long time.”

“Do you know some of their friends better than others?” His tone was all innocence, but there was something in the question that put Rosemary on even higher alert than before.

“Perhaps,” she said, taking a step in retreat.

In turn, Mr. Finn took another step forward. He appeared relaxed, his suit jacket unbuttoned, his tie hanging unfettered from his open collar. He wasn’t holding a drink, nor did he reek of liquor or carry himself as a man who was overly intoxicated. Still, there could be no explanation for his behavior other than that he’d had too much to drink. And Rosemary was smart enough—and experienced enough in such matters—to know that men who were under the influence were in no way predictable.

“Perhaps,” he repeated, smiling as if he were charmed by the word. “Then...perhaps...you’d like to get to know me better, too.” He took another step forward, his expression innocent, his manner in no way threatening.

In spite of that, Rosemary took another step in retreat. Then she gracefully circled the cooking island in the center of the room so that the appliance stood between her and Mr. Finn.

“Not tonight,” she said, surprised at how courteous she sounded.

“Why not tonight?” To his credit, he halted his forward motion on the other side of the island and, clearly detecting her alarm, added softly, “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Rosemary.”

“Who says I’m afraid of you? And please. Call me Ms. Shaugnessy.”

He smiled at that, too, and there was something almost appealing in the gesture. “All right. Ms. Shaugnessy,” he said politely. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. It’s not my intention to hurt you.”

“Then what is your intention?”

He lifted one shoulder and let it drop in what she supposed was meant to be a shrug. Somehow, though, there was nothing casual in the action. “I just want to talk to you, that’s all Get to know you better.”

“Some other time. Right now, I need to check on Abby.”

He eyed her with much speculation. “I thought Abby went to bed a long time ago. I saw her say goodnight to her parents.”

“She doesn’t sleep well,” Rosemary told him. “It usually takes her a while to get to sleep. And she doesn’t always stay asleep. Now, if you’ll excuse me...”

Instead of catching her drift and leaving, Mr. Finn said, “I’ll wait for you to come back.”

“I won’t be coming back.”

Nathaniel Finn’s lovely green eyes narrowed at that. “Why are you afraid of me?”

“Why are you here?”

“I told you. I want to get to know you better. You’re an attractive woman.”

“And you’re an intoxicated man,” she replied before she could stop herself.