Entranced

  that, couldn’t they, Douglas?”

  “Pretty,” he said in response. “Not a pushover.” He peered at her with eyes that were so much like Sebastian’s that Mel began to put two and two together. “He didn’t tell us about you, which speaks for itself.”

  “I suppose,” she said after a moment. His parents, she thought, sinking. A family reunion was no place for a confrontation. “I don’t want to disturb him when he has company. Maybe you could tell him I stopped by.”

  “Nonsense. I’m Camilla, by the way. Sebastian’s mother.” She took Mel’s arm and began to lead her toward the house. “I quite understand your being in love with him, my dear child. I’ve loved him myself for years.”

  Panicked, Mel looked for a route of escape. “No, I— That is … I really think I should come back later.”

  “No time like the present,” Douglas said, and gave her a friendly nudge through the door. “Sebastian, look what we’ve brought you.” He brought the glass to his eye and peered around owlishly. “Where is that boy?”

  “Upstairs.” Morgana breezed in from the direction of the kitchen. “He’ll be … Oh, hello.”

  “Hi.” The frost on the greeting told Mel it had been a bad idea to come. “I was just … leaving. I didn’t realize your family was visiting.”

  “Oh, they drop in now and again.” After she took one long look into Mel’s eyes, Morgana’s smile warmed. “Stepped in it, did you?” she murmured. “That’s all right. He’ll come around.”

  “I really think I should—”

  “Meet the rest of the family,” Camilla said gaily and kept Mel’s arm in an iron grip as she marched her toward the kitchen.

  There were glorious scents in the air, and rooms full of people. A tall, queenly woman was laughing raucously as she stirred something on the stove. Nash was on a stool beside a lean middle-aged man with steel-gray hair. When the man glanced up at her, she felt like a moth on a pin.

  “Hey, Mel.” Nash sent her a wave, and she was thrust into the fray. Introductions followed, Camilla taking charge territorially.

  “My brother-in-law, Matthew,” she began, gesturing to the man beside Nash. “My sister Maureen at the stove.” Maureen waved an absent hand and sniffed at her brew. “And my sister, Bryna.”

  “Hello.” A woman every bit as stunning as Morgana stepped forward to take Mel’s hand. “I hope you’re not too befuddled by all this. We all dropped in quite unexpectedly just this morning.”

  “No, no, really. I don’t want to intrude. I should really just—”

  Then it was too late. Sebastian walked in, flanked by Ana and a short, husky man with twinkling eyes.

  “Ah, Sebastian.” Bryna kept Mel’s hand. “More company. Mel, this is Padrick, Ana’s father.”

  “Hello.” It was easier to look at him than Sebastian. “Nice to meet you.”

  He strolled right up and pinched her cheek. “Stay for dinner. We’ll put some meat on your bones. Maureen, my moonflower, what is that tantalizing scent?”

  “Hungarian goulash.”

  Padrick winked at Mel. “And not a single eye of newt in the batch. Guaranteed.”

  “Yes, well, I appreciate the invitation, but I really can’t stay.” She took a chance and glanced at Sebastian. “I’m sorry,” she fumbled when he just continued to gaze at her with those quiet, inscrutable eyes. “I shouldn’t have … I mean, I really should have called first. I’ll catch you later.”

  “Excuse us,” he said to the group at large, gripping Mel’s arm as she tried to dash by. “Mel hasn’t seen the foal since the birthing.”

  Though she knew it was cowardly, she shot one desperate glance behind her as he pulled her out of the door. “You have company.”

  And that company moved as a unit to the kitchen window to watch the goings-on.

  “Family isn’t company,” he said. “And, since you’ve come all this way, I have to believe you have something to say.”

  “Well, I do, and I’ll say it when you stop dragging me.”

  “Fine.” He stopped near the paddock where the foal was busily nursing. “Say it.”

  “I wanted to … I talked to Devereaux. He said Linda copped a plea and spilled everything. They’ve got enough on Gumm and the Breezeports to put them away for a long time. They’ve got a line on a handful of others, like Silbey, too.”

  “I’m aware of all that.”

  “Oh, well, I wasn’t sure.” She stuck her hands in her pockets. “It’s going to take some time to locate all the children, and get them back where they belong, but … It worked, damn it,” she blurted out. “I don’t know what the hell you’re so bent out of shape about.”

  His voice was deceptively mild. “Don’t you?”

  “I did what I thought was best.” She kicked at the ground, then strode over to the fence. “They’d already made plans to snatch another kid. It was right in the book.”

  “The book you went in and found. On your own.”

  “If I’d told you what I was going to do, you’d have tried to stop me.”

  “Wrong. I would have stopped you.”

  She frowned back at him. “See? By doing it my way, we saved a lot of heartache.”

  “And risked more.” The anger he’d been struggling to hold back flared. “There was a bruise on your cheek.”

  “A qualified job risk,” she shot back. “And it’s my cheek.”

  “Good God, Sutherland. She had a gun on you.”

  “Only for a minute. Hell, Donovan, the day I can’t handle a sap like Linda Glass is the day I retire. I’m telling you I just couldn’t take the idea of them snatching another baby, so I went with the gut.” Her eyes were so eloquent, some of his anger died. “I know what I’m doing, and I also know it seems like I was cutting you out. But I wasn’t. I called you.”

  He took a calming breath, but it failed to work. “And if I’d been too late?”

  “Well, you weren’t, so what’s the point?”

  “The point is, you didn’t trust me.”

  “The hell I didn’t. Who else was I trusting when I stood in that closet and tried to use the ring or whatever connection we had to get you and the feds up there? If I hadn’t trusted you, I would’ve slipped right out the door with the book.” She grabbed at his shirt and shook him. “It was because I trusted you that I played it out that way. Staying there, letting them catch me—because I knew I could trust you to back me up. I tried to explain it all to you before. I knew they’d tell me things Devereaux could use, and with the book as a backup, we’d have them cold.”

  Steadying himself, he turned away. As angry as he was, he saw the truth in that. Perhaps it wasn’t the kind of trust he’d wanted, but it was trust. “You could have been hurt.”

  “Sure. I could be hurt every time I take a case. That’s what I do. That’s what I am.” She swallowed, struggling to clear an obstruction in her throat. “I had to accept you, and what you are. And believe me, it was no snap. If we’re going to be … friends, the same goes.”

  “You may have a point. But I still don’t like your style.”

  “Fine,” she snapped back, blinking her vision clear. “Same goes.”

  At the kitchen window, Camilla shook her head. “He always was stubborn.”

  “Ten pounds she wears him down.” Padrick pinched his wife’s bottom affectionately. “Ten pounds and no tricks.”

  Ana shushed him. “We won’t be able to hear.”

  Mel let out a shaky breath. “Well, we know where we stand anyway. And I’m sorry.”

  “Excuse me?” He turned and was astonished by the tears he saw on her face. “Mary Ellen—”

  “Don’t. I’m going to get this out.” She wiped furiously at the tears. “I have to do what I think is right. And I still think what I did was right, but I’m sorry you’re so angry with me, because I … Oh, I hate this.” She scrubbed her hands over her face, evading him when he reached for her. “Don’t. I don’t want you to. I don’t need to be patted or soothed
, even if I am acting like a baby. You were mad, and I guess I can’t blame you for it, or for dropping me cold.”

  “Dropping you cold?” He nearly laughed. “I left you alone, and well out of harm’s way, until I could be certain I could restrain myself from throttling you or present you with an ultimatum you might have tossed back in my face.”

  “Whatever.” She sniffed and regained some control. “I guess what I did hurt you, and I didn’t mean it to.”

  He smiled a little. “Same goes.”

  “Okay.” There had to be some way to finish this with a little dignity intact. “Anyway, I wanted to clear the air, and to tell you I think we did a good job. Now that it’s done, I figured I’d better return this.” It was hard, one of the hardest things she’d ever done, to pull his ring from her finger. “Looks like the Ryans are getting a divorce.”

  “Yes.” He took the ring back and held it warm in the palm of his hand as he considered her. It wasn’t necessary to dip into her thoughts to see that she was suffering. It wasn’t particularly noble, but the fact that she was pleased him very much. “It seems a pity.” He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “Then again, I much prefer you to her.”

  She blinked. “You do?”

  “Very much. I was beginning to find her a little dull. She’d never argue with me, and she was forever having her nails done.” Gently he cupped a hand behind her head and drew her closer. “She certainly wouldn’t have been caught dead in those jeans.”

  “Guess not,” she murmured, leaning into him, into the kiss.

  She felt herself tremble, felt the tears welling up again as she threw her arms around him. “Sebastian. I need …” She tightened her hold as her lips clung to his.

  “Tell me.”

  “I want—Oh, Lord, you scare me.” She drew back, her eyes wet and terrified. “Just read my mind, will you? For God’s sake, just look at what I’m feeling and give me a break.”

  His eyes darkened, his hands moved up to cup her face. He looked, and found everything he’d been waiting for. “Again,” he murmured, taking her mouth. But this time the kiss was gentle, coaxing. “Can’t you tell me? Can’t you say the words? They’re the truest magic.”

  “I don’t want you to feel like I’m boxing you in. It’s just that I …”

  “I love you,” he finished for her.

  “Yeah.” She managed a weak smile. “You could say I blurred the lines. I wasn’t going to bring it up, but it seemed like I should. Only fair that I should be up front. Pretty awkward when you’ve got a houseful of people.”

  “All of whom have their noses pressed up to the kitchen window and are enjoying this nearly as much as I.”

  “Who—?” She spun around, flushed and stumbled backward. “Oh, Lord. Look, I’m going. I really can’t believe I did this.” Unnerved, she lifted a hand to tug at her hair. And saw the ring back on her finger. As she stared at it, he stepped forward.

  “I gave the stone to Morgana. A stone I’ve treasured most of my life. I asked her to have a ring made out of it. For you. For you,” he repeated, waiting until she lifted her eyes to his. “Because you were the only woman I wanted to wear it. You were the only woman I wanted to share my life with. Twice now I’ve put it on your finger, and both times it was a pledge to you.” He held out his hand, offering. “No one, in any time, in any place, will love you more.”

  Her eyes were dry now, and her nerves were suddenly calm as the day. “Do you mean it?”

  His lips curved. “No, Sutherland. I’m lying.”

  With a laugh, she launched herself into his arms. “Tough break. I’ve got witnesses.” The spontaneous applause from the kitchen made her laugh again. “Oh, I do love you, Donovan. I’m going to do my best to make your life eventful.”

  He swung her in one giddy circle. “I know.” After one last long kiss, he took her by the hand. “Come, meet your family again. We’ve all been waiting for you.”

  If you liked Entranced, look for the other novels in the Donovan Legacy series: Captivated, Charmed, and Enchanted, available as eBooks from InterMix.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from

  the newest novel by Nora Roberts

  The Witness

  Available April 2012 in hardcover from G. P. Putnam’s Sons

  June 2000

  Elizabeth Fitch’s short-lived teenage rebellion began with L’Oreal Pure Black, a pair of scissors and a fake ID. It ended in blood.

  For nearly the whole of her sixteen years, eight months and twenty-one days she’d dutifully followed her mother’s directives. Dr. Susan L. Fitch issued directives, not orders. Elizabeth had adhered to the schedules her mother created, ate the meals designed by her mother’s nutritionist and prepared by her mother’s cook, wore the clothes selected by her mother’s personal shopper.

  Dr. Susan L. Fitch dressed conservatively, as suited—in her opinion—her position as Chief of Surgery at Chicago’s Silva Memorial Hospital. She expected, and directed, her daughter to do the same.

  Elizabeth studied diligently, accepting and excelling in the academic programs her mother outlined. In the fall, she’d return to Harvard in pursuit of her medical degree. So she could become a doctor, like her mother; a surgeon, like her mother.

  Elizabeth—never Liz or Lizzie or Beth—spoke fluent Spanish, French, Italian, passable Russian and rudimentary Japanese. She played both piano and violin. She’d traveled to Europe, to Africa. She could name all the bones, nerves and muscles in the human body and play Chopin’s Piano Concerto—both One and Two—by rote.

  She’d never been on a date or kissed a boy. She’d never roamed the mall with a pack of girls, attended a slumber party or giggled with friends over pizza or hot fudge sundaes.

  She was, at sixteen years, eight months and twenty-one days, a product of her mother’s meticulous and detailed agenda.

  That was about to change.

  She watched her mother pack. Susan, her rich brown hair already coiled in her signature French twist, neatly hung another suit in the organized garment bag, then checked off the printout with each day of the week’s medical conference broken into subgroups. The printout included a spreadsheet listing every event, appointment, meeting and meal scheduled with the selected outfit, shoes, bag and accessories.

  Designer suits and Italian shoes, of course, Elizabeth thought. One must wear good cut, good cloth. But not one rich or bright color among the blacks, grays, taupes. She wondered how her mother could be so beautiful and deliberately wear the dull.

  After two accelerated semesters of college, Elizabeth thought she’d begun—maybe—to develop her own fashion sense. She had, in fact, bought jeans and a hoodie and some chunky heeled boots in Cambridge.

  She’d paid in cash, so the purchase wouldn’t show up on her credit card bill in case her mother or their accountant checked and questioned the items, which were currently hidden in her room.

  She’d felt like a different person wearing them, so different that she’d walked straight into a McDonald’s and ordered her first Big Mac with large fries and a chocolate shake.

  The pleasure had been so huge she’d had to go into the bathroom, close herself in a stall and cry a little.

  The seeds of the rebellion had been planted that day, she supposed, or maybe they’d always been there, dormant, and the fat and salt had awakened them.

  But she could feel them, actually feel them sprouting in her belly now.

  “Your plans changed, Mother. It doesn’t follow that mine have to change with them.”

  Susan took a moment to precisely place a shoe bag in the pullman, tucking it just so with her beautiful and clever surgeon’s hands, the nails perfectly manicured. A French manicure, as always—no color there either.

  “Elizabeth.” Her voice was as polished and calm as her wardrobe. “It took considerable effort to reschedule and have you admitted to the summer program this term. You’ll complete the requirements for your admission into Harvard Medical School a full semester ahead of sche
dule.”

  Even the thought made Elizabeth’s stomach hurt. “I was promised a three-week break, including this next week in New York.”

  “And sometimes promises must be broken. If I hadn’t had this coming week off, I couldn’t fill in for Dr. Dusecki at the conference.”

  “You could have said no.”

  “That would have been selfish and shortsighted.” Susan brushed at the jacket she’d hung, stepped back to check her list. “You’re certainly mature enough to understand the demands of work overtake pleasure and leisure.”

  “If I’m mature enough to understand that, why aren’t I mature enough to make my own decisions? I want this break. I need it.”

  Susan barely spared her daughter a glance. “A girl of your age, physical condition and mental acumen hardly needs a break from her studies and activities. In addition, Mrs. Laine has already left for her two-week cruise, and I could hardly ask her to postpone her vacation. There’s no one to fix your meals or tend to the house.”

  “I can fix my own meals and tend to the house.”

  “Elizabeth.” The tone managed to merge clipped with long-suffering. “It’s settled.”

  “And I have no say in it? What about developing my independence, being responsible?”

  “Independence comes in degrees, as does responsibility and freedom of choice. You still require guidance and direction. Now, I’ve e-mailed you an updated schedule for the coming week and your packet with all the information on the program is on your desk. Be sure to thank Dr. Frisco personally for making room for you in the summer term.”

  As she spoke, Susan closed the garment bag, then her small pullman. She stepped to her bureau to check her hair, her lipstick.

  “You don’t listen to anything I say.”

  In the mirror, Susan’s gaze shifted to her daughter. The first time, Elizabeth thought, her mother had bothered to actually look at her since she’d come into the bedroom. “Of course I do. I heard everything you said, very clearly.”

  “Listening’s different than hearing.”

  “That may be true, Elizabeth, but we’ve already had this discussion.”

  “It’s not a discussion, it’s a decree.”

  Susan’s mouth tightened briefly, the only sign of annoyance. When she turned, her eyes were a cool, calm blue. “I’m sorry you feel that way. As your mother, I must do what I believe is best for you.”

  “What’s best for me, in your opinion, is for me to do, be, say, think, act, want, become exactly what you decided for me before you inseminated yourself with precisely selected sperm.”

  She heard the rise of her own voice but couldn’t control it, felt the hot sting of tears in her eyes but couldn’t stop them. “I’m tired of being your experiment. I’m tired of having every minute of every day organized, orchestrated and choreographed to meet your expectations. I want to make my own choices, buy my own clothes, read books I want to read. I want to live my own life instead of yours.”

  Susan’s eyebrows lifted in an expression of mild interest. “Well. Your attitude isn’t surprising given your age, but you’ve picked a very inconvenient time to be defiant and argumentative.”

  “Sorry. It wasn’t on the schedule.”

  “Sarcasm’s also typical, but it’s unbecoming.” Susan opened her briefcase, checked the contents. “We’ll talk about all this when I get back. I’ll make an appointment with Dr. Bristoe.”

  “I don’t need therapy! I need a mother who listens, who gives a shit about