Winter Bride (9780345546197) (3 page)

She didn’t answer.

“How long?”

“Three days.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “You obviously weren’t as shy and retiring as our Winter Bride.”

“I really don’t wish to talk about it.” She squared her shoulders. “You’re clearly as obsessed with the
painting as your father was, but I don’t have to deal with your idiosyncracies.”

“Oh, but you do.” His hands dropped to the arms of the chair. “Because you want something from me just as you wanted something from my father. Why else am I here?”

He was right, she thought wearily. She needed him, and she had learned no one gave something for nothing. She had been prepared to pay, but she had not thought about what price would be demanded. She drew a deep steady breath and tried to wrap her usual cloak of serenity over her inner turbulence. “You’re quite right, of course, Mr. Corbin. I do want something from you.”

“Jed,” he corrected. “After all, we’re family, aren’t we? Whatever it is you want, I’d judge you want it very badly, indeed.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“You shouldn’t admit that to me. It weakens your bargaining position.”

“You’d probably see through me anyway.” She added simply, “I’m not clever about this sort of thing.”

His expression changed in some undefinable way. “I’m not as gullible as Townsend. You’re not going to convince me you’re helpless and ineffective.” He grimaced as he glanced down at his lower body. “I have painful evidence to the contrary.”

“I’m not helpless. I can protect myself.”

“Oh yes.”

“But that doesn’t mean I’m capable of manipulation. I believe in being as straightforward as possible. It makes life much simpler.”

“And were you straightforward with my father?”

“Absolutely.”

“Interesting.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” He smiled faintly. “I don’t want to believe you, but I’ve done too many in-depth interviews not to spot a lie when I see one.”

“Why don’t you want to believe me?” Then she answered the question herself. “You resent me.” Her brow wrinkled as she tried to puzzle it out. “You and your father had no liking for each other so you can’t resent the fact you think I married him for his money.”

“I would have been delighted if you’d taken him for every stock in his portfolio and sent him reeling to skid row.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t. What was between me and my father was complicated. It took me years to understand it.”

“But I had nothing to do with the argument between you. Why do you—”

“Don’t look for reason. My reaction is purely emotional.” As she continued to stare at him he said harshly, “Stop looking at me so mournfully with those big black eyes. It bothers me.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just trying to understand.”

His lips tightened. “It’s very simple. You gave him what he wanted most—you gave him his dream.” He stood up and moved toward the door. “You’re right, I do resent you.”

He was leaving, she realized in panic. “Where are you going?”

“I have to digest this.” His gaze went to the
painting. “I wasn’t expecting this particular development when I came back here.”

“But we have to talk. I need—”

“Not now. It wouldn’t be wise. I’m so charged, I feel as if I’m about to detonate.”

“Then when?”

“I’ll come back tomorrow night.”

“Where are you going? Back to the mainland?”

“There’s a cottage on the other side of the island where I used to live after my father and I found we couldn’t stand the sight of each other.” His lips twisted. “I rather thought he’d have burned it like an effigy, but I saw it when I docked. Is it occupied?”

“I don’t think so. I asked Arnold about it once, but he wouldn’t talk about it. You could stay here. I could have Betty make up a room.”

He paused. “Is that old harridan still here?”

“Yes, Arnold left her a legacy and instructions that she stay on here after his death.”

“When she used to stalk around the castle, she reminded me of the giant’s wife in ‘Jack and the Beanstalk.’ ” He smiled crookedly. “I’m almost tempted to stay just to see her look of outrage when she catches me in these hallowed halls.” He opened the door. “But, as I said, I prefer no one knows I’m here.”

“But you’ll be back. You promise?”

“Oh, I’ll be back. I have a full measure of the newsman’s usual insatiable curiosity. I couldn’t walk out without all my questions answered.”

“But you are walking out,” she pointed out. “Why don’t you stay and let me tell you what—”

“Sorry.” His lips tightened. “I’m afraid you won’t find me as pliant to your demands as my father.”

“Pliant?” She gazed at him in bewilderment. “I was the one who had to be compliant.”

Again his anger blasted at her from across the room. “And I’m sure you did it very well.”

The door closed behind him before she could reply.

Pliant. She closed her eyes as memories flooded back to her of that forced compliance. No, she wouldn’t think of Arnold. The long ordeal was over, and now she could make a new life for herself.

Her lids flicked open and she moved purposefully toward the door. Jed Corbin’s arrival had brought problems she hadn’t expected, but she would just have to make adjustments and find a way to convince him to do what had to be done. She was good at making adjustments, she thought bitterly. She had certainly had enough practice in the art.

The cottage was still there, nestling on the cliff like a disreputable sea gull after the peacock splendor of the castle.

He didn’t need to break in; the door was unlocked and swung open to reveal dirt, mildew, and cockroaches scurrying across the moonlit floor in front of him. He played the beam of his flashlight around the small room.

Fourteen years. If the cottage had ever had another occupant, it wasn’t evident at first glance. Even his well-thumbed copy of
War and Peace
was
still on the bookshelf he’d fashioned on the far wall. Not surprising. Arnold had always hated the primitive cabin and ignored it—and Jed—whenever possible. The place had never had electricity, but there used to be an oil lamp on a chest.

After he had lit the lamp, he surveyed the room. Though badly in need of cleaning, airing, and probably debugging, it was more habitable than many of the places in the war-torn hot spots he’d slept in since he had left the island.

But he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight.

He had told Ysabel the truth when he had left the castle. Lord,
left
wasn’t the word. He had almost run away from the library and still felt as if he were about to explode. Seeing her had triggered an emotional overload.

His response had been so violent and out of proportion, he’d had to grab time to analyze and gain control. So analyze, dammit, he told himself. He wasn’t a wild kid ruled by his passions any longer.

Yet he felt like that boy, angry and cheated and jealous. The first two emotions he could understand, but the jealousy?

It was the painting, he assured himself. She was right; it appeared he still retained his attachment for the painting. He had thought he had smothered his obsession along with the more bitter memories of the castle. All right, he still wanted the painting, but he wasn’t his father and had no intention of transferring that passion from the child in the painting to her living likeness.

He deliberately pulled up the memory of Ysabel
as she had stood before him in the study. Tiny, fragile, her gaze wondering and yet serene, an air of patience and resignation surrounding her.

Yet she had been neither patient nor resigned when they had been struggling in the darkness. He had been conscious of a strength and determination that had caught him off guard. Her face might be identical to that of the Winter Bride, but she was no frightened child.

And when he had held her struggling, panting in the darkness, he had felt himself harden.

Lust. A primitive reaction to conquest and submission as he had told her. How could it be anything more when at that point he hadn’t even seen her face?

Yet the reaction hadn’t disappeared. As he had watched her standing by the mantel he had been swept by the same passion he had experienced when she had lain helpless between his thighs in the bedroom.

Emotions were seldom black and white, anger could have spilled over and formed a—

No, he wouldn’t lie to himself. What he had felt had been lust, pure and simple. If lust was ever either pure or simple, he thought cynically. Whatever he had felt, he had to get it under control before he saw her again.

He moved quickly across the cottage to the closet where he had previously kept a broom and cleaning supplies. He needed an outlet for the emotion storming through him. He would clean and scrub the cottage until it was habitable and he was exhausted enough to sleep.

And he would not think about either the Winter Bride or Ysabel.

Ysabel was forcing herself to sit quietly in the Queen Anne chair beside her bed when Jed walked in on her the following day at two o’clock in the morning. She tensed, her hands nervously grasping the arms of the chair. She had been mentally preparing herself all day for this interview, but his presence instantly blasted all her plans to the four winds.

He was again dressed casually in jeans and a dark green crew neck sweater that made his hair gleam like polished pewter. And he was clearly in no better humor than when he had left her the previous night.

He paused inside the door, his gaze raking over her. “Good God, don’t you have anything else to wear that doesn’t come out of Camelot?”

Ysabel looked down at her midnight-blue velvet gown that differed only in color from the ivory-colored one she had worn before. “No.”

“There’s got to be something.” He strode over to the closet and searched through the garments hanging in there. “I can’t believe this. They’re all alike.”

“I told you.”

“You dressed like this for him all the time?”

“It’s what he wanted.”

“And you always gave him exactly what he wanted.”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t you look a bit weird when you paid a visit to the local supermarket?”

“I didn’t go to town much. I have a few day dresses. They’re at the back.”

He flipped through the clothes until he found them. “Same style, shorter length.”

“It’s what he wanted,” she repeated. She clasped her hands tightly on her lap. “If you’re through prying, can we get on with our discussion?”

“By all means.” He shut the closet door and leaned back against it. “Townsend said you wanted a favor.”

“Actually, more of a bargain than a favor. I’m willing to compensate you.”

“And you have the means to do it now. Camelot pays very well, doesn’t it?”

Her hands tightened in her lap. “Yes, very well. May I go on?” She didn’t wait for a replay. “Due to your profession you have many contacts in Latin America. Two years ago you did a three-part story on the dictatorship in San Miguel.”

“So?”

“It was exceptionally in-depth, so in-depth it angered General Marino enough to cause him to expel you from the country. To obtain that kind of information you must have had very well-placed sources.”

He gazed at her, waiting.

“I left something behind when I married Arnold and came here. I want you to help me get it back.”

“What?”

She glanced away from him. “Something very valuable to me.”

“And you’re not going to tell me what it is? How do you expect me to locate this mysterious object?”

“I’ll tell you what it is after we’ve arrived in San Miguel.”

He went still “You want me to actually take you to San Miguel?”

“It’s necessary. Your contacts may not be able to find it without help. I know General Marino was upset about the story you did but—”

“I had to hide out in the jungle for two days while Marino’s elite guard searched for me before I made my rendezvous with the cruiser that took me off the island. Marino threatened to stake me to an anthill if I ever showed my face in San Miguel again.”

“This would be different. You might not even have to be in touch with anyone in the government.”

“Might not? That’s a little too vague for my peace of mind.”

“I can’t promise you that it won’t be dangerous, but I’ll do everything possible to make sure you’re not hurt,” she said earnestly.

His brows raised. “
You’re
supposed to protect me?”

“Yes, I’ll protect you.”

He started to chuckle and then stopped as he saw her grave expression. “I prefer to protect myself and fervently believe in caution over valor.”

“The danger didn’t seem to bother you in San Miguel.”

“It bothered me. I’m no fool and I like living as well as the next man.”

“But your story was worth the risk?”

“It must have been or I wouldn’t have hung on until I got it.”

A thoughtful frown knitted her brow. “Then all I have to do is to offer you something worth your trouble.”

“All?”

“Mr. Townsend said you had something in mind when he told you I needed a favor. What is it?”

“You’d have to offer to spin straw into gold to get me to go back to San Miguel.”

“Straw into … oh, Rumpelstiltskin.” She moistened her lips. “I can’t do that but I’ll give you anything else.”

“Even half of your kingdom?”

“You’re talking about the inheritance? You can have it all.” She leaned forward and spoke eagerly, “I’ll have Mr. Townsend draw up the papers. The moment I have what I want and we leave San Miguel, Winter Castle belongs to you.”

He gazed at her in astonishment. “You’d give it up?”

“I don’t want it. I never wanted any of it. You can have it all. Just take me to San Miguel.”

He was silent a moment, studying her. “I think you mean it.”

“Of course, I mean it.” She gestured impatiently. “Will you take the island and the castle? You grew up here. The castle must mean something to you.”

“And it means nothing to you?”

“Nothing.”

“But the money does mean something to you?”

“If it will get me what I want.”

“San Miguel.” His expression was suddenly intent. “Curioser and curioser.”