Unnatural Relations (Lust and Lies Series, Book 1) (6 page)

There was something odd about Mrs. Hamilton's reaction as well, but before Barbara could label it, the woman smiled, embraced her and lightly touched their cheeks together.

"Welcome to our home, dear. This is so typical of our Howard—always springing little surprises on us to keep us on our toes." She hooked her arm through Barbara's and guided her toward the door. "Our cook has prepared a lovely tea for Howard's homecoming. Of course, she could only make
his
favorite treats since he chose to keep the identity of his guest a secret. You'll have to tell us what sort of foods you prefer so that we can have something special at dinner in your honor.
Mancuso.
That's Italian, isn't it, dear?"

Though it was phrased as a question, Barbara didn't get the impression that the woman was actually expecting an answer. All anyone had to do was look at her to guess her ancestry. "Yes, but there's no need to fix anything special for me. Howard will vouch for the fact that I eat just about anything put in front of me." She glanced over her shoulder and Howard gave her a wink, but it wasn't quite enough to settle her nerves.

Barbara had to force herself not to gape at the extravagance around her as Mrs. Hamilton led them through the center of the luxuriously furnished mansion and out to a veranda. This wasn't a home. It was the set for a movie.

Chesterfield was already on the veranda, waiting to seat them at a table set with silver and crystal. At his signal, a young woman in a conservative, black-and-white maid's uniform began the formal service.

Barbara quickly realized that conversation was put on hold as long as the servants hovered nearby. The tea and pastries were elegantly presented and Barbara made herself swallow a little, to be polite. She felt as though a sandbag were suspended over her head and the moment the help were out of sight, someone was going to cut the rope holding the bag. She just hadn't expected the villain to be Howard.

"Barbara is an actress," he announced as soon as the table was cleared.

Barbara couldn't tell what Mr. Hamilton thought about that, but his wife's eyes widened considerably.

"How fascinating," she said. "On Broadway?"

"Not quite," Barbara replied. Encouraged by both Howard and his mother, she related her one professional stage experience, then went on to tell a few stories about people she'd met in the theater. For the next hour she wasn't certain whether she was being interviewed or interrogated, but she decided answering Mrs. Hamilton's questions honestly might help cut the tension.

Chesterfield's reappearance brought conversation to an immediate halt. He whispered into Mr. Hamilton's ear then silently departed again.

"Please excuse me," Howard's father said as he rose from his chair. "I must take a call from overseas. Howard, I'd like to go over a few things with you later this afternoon, say, five o'clock in my office."

"I must excuse myself as well," Mrs. Hamilton said. "I have a meeting with the Ballet Guild this afternoon that I simply must attend. But I'm sure you two lovebirds can entertain yourselves for a few hours without me. We'll visit more this evening." She gave Howard a quick peck on the forehead. "Dinner will be at eight in the dining room."

As soon as she and Howard were alone, Barbara sank back in her chair and blew out the breath she'd been holding.

Howard leaned over and kissed her tenderly. "You were wonderful, sweetheart. I think Mother was taken with you."

She made a face at him. "Maybe, but your father barely spoke to me."

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure he'll warm up to you this evening, after we have our meeting. Now I want to show you around."

He gave her a fast tour of all three floors of the mansion, occasionally pointing out an antique or painting that had an interesting history to it, and commenting on guest rooms where famous people had spent the night. She was slightly disappointed to learn that she had been assigned a room some distance from his, but he assured her it wouldn't make any difference.

He proved his point when they reached a dark corner of the wine cellar. As he lifted her and wrapped her legs around his waist, she suddenly understood why the tour had been so fast. Though she had no objection to what he had in mind, she was still lucid enough to think of protection.

"We don't have to worry about that anymore," he assured her. "We'll be married in a month, and we've already agreed to start a family right away. I need you too badly right now to wait."

Knowing someone could discover them at any moment added more urgency than usual, but the act was even more exciting because of it. She barely had time to straighten her clothes and catch her breath before he was pulling her back upstairs for a look at the grounds.

Riding in a golf cart, he showed her the pool, the two tennis courts, the six-car garage, the servants' bungalows, the rose gardens, and the beginning of the nine-hole golf course, but they didn't stop until they reached the stables.

He had talked about his horses, especially his favorite, D'Artagnan, often enough for her to be able to guess which was which. Watching him and the big black stallion get reacquainted was one of the most heartwarming things she had ever seen, until a man unexpectedly entered the stables. He was fair like Howard and about the same age, but his build was much more compact and he had a mischievous look about him.

"Howie, you son-of-a-bitch! Why didn't you let me know you were coming?"

Howard whirled around. "Damn! I was planning to surprise you." The two shared a manly hug and slapped each other on the back a few times.

"You know how fast the grapevine works around here," the friend said, then gave Howard a poke in the stomach. "Looks like you've lost a few pounds, pal. What I heard must be true." He turned toward Barbara and grinned. "And this must be the little gypsy who put the love spell on you!"

Since Howard laughed, Barbara did as well and held out her hand. "Hi. I'm Barbara Mancuso."

"Russ Latham," he replied, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.

For an instant she thought she felt his tongue stroke her skin, but that was ridiculous under the circumstances.

"And now that we've met, you can forget all about this big oaf and marry me instead." He reached for her left hand and inspected her ring. "We'll hold on to this, though. Maybe trade it in for a house in Bermuda." He took a closer look at the flawless stone. "Hell, we'll get a house in Bermuda
and
a hundred-foot yacht for this thing."

Howard put his arm around Barbara and pulled her back so that Russ had to let go of her hands. "Sweetheart, you have just met my worst nightmare. Anytime I ever got in trouble, Russ was the one who instigated it. Every time I liked a girl, she fell for him."

"Don't listen to him, Barb. It was exactly the opposite. He'd pull the prank, I'd get the punishment. He'd get the pretty girl, I'd get her ugly stepsister."

It was clear that these two men had been friends for some time, but Barbara didn't recall Howard ever mentioning him. Again, she was struck by the thought that he had told her very little about the people in his life before her.

"Why don't you come back to the house for a drink, and we can catch up?" Russ asked.

Howard glanced at his watch. "If you don't mind, we'll take a rain check. I promised Barbara a ride, and I have to meet Father at five; then Mother has planned something special for dinner. How about tomorrow?"

"Sure. You know where to find me." He saluted Howard, blew a kiss to Barbara and strode away.

Barbara waited for Howard to offer an explanation but he simply went back to D'Artagnan and started saddling him up, so she prompted him. "I gather Russ is an old friend?"

"A very old friend," he said without stopping his task. "He's the son of the chief gardener. They've lived in one of the bungalows since before I was born. Russ, my cousin, and I used to call ourselves the three musketeers. That's how I picked D'Artagnan's name."

"You never told me that."

"There are a lot of things I haven't told you yet." He walked over and pulled her close. "It's your own fault." He gave her a kiss that erased any further questions. "When I'm around you, I can't think of anyone else. But we have the rest of our lives for me to fill you in. Let's take a ride while we still have time."

As if she were weightless, Howard lifted her up into the saddle, then mounted behind her. "Now, just relax. I'll do all the work."

She giggled as she felt his erection pressing hard against her behind. "Already?"

"Always," he said, turning her head for another soul-searing kiss.

Just when she thought he had changed his mind about which animal she would be riding, he gave D'Artagnan the order to move and they headed for the far side of the golf course. There, for the first time, they made love in the sunlight and talked about the baby they might have already created.

An hour later, she had him drop her off in the rose gardens while he went on to meet with his father. Considering the afternoon Howard had given her, she needed some time alone to gather her wits again before trying to have an intelligent conversation with anyone inside the mansion.

She meandered up and down the meticulously cultivated rows, touching velvety petals, inhaling the perfumed air, and daydreaming about the future. If a fairy godmother suddenly appeared in front of her and took full credit for everything, Barbara wouldn't have been the least bit surprised.

Snip!

The cutting sound broke into her daydream, and she sought out the source.

"Hi," Russ called from a few rows away. "Mrs. H. asked me to cut a bouquet of Oceanias for your bedroom, but if you prefer another color..." He held up the long-stemmed, peach-tinted rose he had just snipped.

"No, those are perfect. Thank you." She followed the path to where he was standing.

"Why don't you pick out the ones you like best?"

With only two exceptions, he cut the ones she pointed out and stuck the stems into a large bucket of ice chips at his feet. From the Oceanias he moved on to the American Beauties for the foyer.

"Did Howard ever tell you about the time he talked me into climbing on top of the roof of the main house to make a movie of him riding that crazy horse of his and I ended up breaking my collarbone?"

Rather than admit that Howard had told her almost nothing about his childhood, she simply shook her head and smiled encouragingly. Russ was more than happy to regale her with that humorous tale and several others as he slowly filled the bucket with dozens of roses. He proved to be so entertaining that she accepted his invitation to accompany him back to his house for a cold drink and more stories, while he trimmed the thorns and arranged the bouquets in the appropriate vases.

His exceptional skill with the flowers was as interesting as his stories. Because she was watching so closely, she noticed that he missed a thorn beneath one of the blossoms and interrupted his anecdote to mention it.

With a wink, he said, "Not only beautiful, but observant. I didn't miss it, though. I always leave at least one thorn in each bouquet."

Barbara frowned. "Why would you do that?"

He stopped what he was doing and became completely serious. His eyes held hers as if challenging her to look beyond his words. "A rose is like a young, innocent girl—beautiful, soft, and fragrant, but terribly fragile. The thorns are its only protection from man's clumsy handling. By removing them, we strip it of its dignity. Some people need to be reminded that beautiful things sometimes cause pain if not handled with care."

Between his strange explanation and the intensity of his gaze, Barbara was unable to form a response. However, his humor abruptly returned with a wink and a grin, and she soon forgot the odd feeling that had come over her. All artists were a little eccentric, she supposed, and Russ's creative talent was quite evident.

She was having such a good time with Russ, she hardly minded that he smoked one cigarette after another. In fact, she wished she and Howard could have dinner there, amid the haze of friendly smoke, instead of in the formal dining room with the Hamiltons. But that was one wish her fairy godmother could not grant. At seven o'clock, when Russ had to deliver the flowers, she rode with him up to the back door of the mansion then raced upstairs to her room.

At five to eight, correctly attired in a black Dior sheath and a single strand of perfectly matched pearls—both of which Howard had bought for her—she was congratulating herself on the fastest cleanup ever performed when Howard knocked at her door.

"You don't have to knock, silly," she teased, surprised that he'd done that. "Come in. I just have to put on my lipstick." She stopped, noted the dark brown suit he was wearing, and gave him a quick kiss. "You look extremely handsome tonight. You should wear brown more often."

He shrugged indifferently. "It's Mother's favorite. And yes, I did have to knock. For the sake of the maid in the hall. You must realize that the simplest thing you do could be observed and gossiped about from one servant to another."

She couldn't believe he was able to say that with such a straight face. "Oh, pooh. You can't tell me you really care what they think."

"No? Perhaps you'll understand better if I tell you that everyone in the house, my parents included, have heard how you and Russ spent the afternoon alone in his bungalow, that you barely made it back here in time to dress for dinner, and that he kissed you before you got out of his cart."