“Morning.” His lips finally found hers.
With another lazy stretch, she linked her arms around his neck. “Have I ever told you how much I like you to kiss me just like that?”
“No.” Lowering his head, he did so again while she lay boneless beneath him. “Why don’t you?”
“If I tell you . . . mmmm . . . you’ll know how to win every argument.”
Laughing, he pressed his lips to the curve of her shoulder. “I’m crazy about you, Laurellie. When’re we getting married?”
“Soon,” she said definitely. “Although the minute we tell Grandma she’ll—” Laurel broke off, eyes flying open. “Oh, God, brunch!”
“I wasn’t thinking of food just yet,” Matt murmured, going back to nibble on her ear.
“Oh, no, no, you don’t understand. What time is it?” Shoving him aside, Laurel grabbed the bedside clock. “Oh, boy, we’d better get moving or we’ll be in serious trouble.”
Matt grabbed her around the waist as she started to hop out of bed. “If we stay right here,” he began, pinning her beneath him again, “we can get into serious trouble by ourselves.”
“Matthew.” Laurel avoided the kiss, but it landed on the vulnerable hollow of her throat. “Sunday brunch at Promesse d’Amour is sacred,” she said unsteadily.
“Can you cook?”
“What? Oh, well, yes, that is, if your stomach’s very broad-minded you could almost call it that. Matthew, don’t.” Breathless, she caught his wandering hand in hers.
“Why don’t we have a private brunch here, somewhere around dinnertime?”
“Matthew—” she shook her head to clear it, then put both hands firmly on his shoulders. “Since you’re going to join the family, you might as well get used to certain ironclad rules and traditions. Sunday brunch,” she continued when he grinned, “is nothing to play around with.”
“I’m an iconoclast.”
“Bite your tongue,” she told him, and struggled with a grin of her own. “Grandma would forgive me if I took up exotic dancing. She’ll even overlook the fact that I’m marrying a Yankee, but she’d never, never let me get away with missing Sunday brunch. Even being late clouds the reputation, and we’re pushing that.”
Matt gave a long, exaggerated sigh. “For Miss Olivia, then,” he agreed, and let Laurel wiggle out from under him.
“I’m going to get a shower,” she said, dashing toward the bathroom. “If we move fast, we’ll make it before deadline.”
“Two can shower as quick as one,” he commented as he stepped in with her.
“Matthew!” Laughing, Laurel lifted a hand to his chest. “If we’re in here together we’re definitely going to be late for brunch.”
He drew her against him. “I’ll risk it.”
“Matthew—”
“You forget.” He lowered his mouth to nibble on hers. “I know how to win arguments.”
“Oh, damn,” she sighed, and melted against him.
***
They were late.
“We’re really in for it,” Laurel muttered as Matt turned the car under the arched cedars.
Matt sent her a quick wolfish grin. “It was worth it.”
“Just get that cat-ate-the-canary look off your face, Matthew,” Laurel warned. “Try to look suitably humble.”
“We could use the one about the flat tire,” he suggested.
“No less than a five-car pileup equals pardon,” she said grimly: “And you don’t have a dent in this car.” She shot him a look.
“No,” he said positively, “not even for you.”
“It’s that practical Yankee streak,” she said under her breath as the house came into view. “Okay, it probably won’t work, but we’ll go for it. Turn your watch back.”
“Do what?”
“Turn your watch back, fifteen minutes.” She fussed rapidly with her own. “Go on!”
“What’s she going to do?” he demanded as he parked his car beside Curt’s. “Take you to the woodshed?”
“You’d be surprised,” Laurel muttered. “Oh-oh, here she comes. Listen, I know this might be almost impossible for you, Matthew, but look innocent.”
“Maybe I’ll just drop you off here and see you back in town.”
“You do and I’ll break your arm,” she promised as she stepped from the car. “Grandma!” Laurel went forward with smiles and open arms. She kissed both lined cheeks and pretended she didn’t notice the coolness in the sharp emerald eyes. “You look wonderful.”
“You’re late,” Olivia said flatly.
“Oh, no, minutes to spare. I’ve brought Matthew with me,” she added quickly. With luck, a lot of it, it would be enough to distract Olivia.
“Miss Olivia.” He took the haughtily offered hand and lifted it to his lips. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
“You’re late,” she repeated while her gaze raked over both of them.
“Why, how could we be?” Laurel countered, glancing down at her watch. “It’s only just eleven now.”
“That trick’s older than I am.” Olivia lifted her chin in the manner her granddaughter had inherited. “Why are you late?” she demanded, daring either of them to make an excuse.
Laurel moistened her lips. If she had a few more minutes, she could probably come up with a great lie. “Well, you see, Grandma—”
“It’s my fault, Miss Olivia,” Matt put in, earning a grateful glance from Laurel.
“What,” Olivia began regally, “does my granddaughter being late have to do with you?”
“I distracted her in the shower,” he said easily.
“Matthew!” Laurel cast him a horrified look that altered into one that promised swift and lethal revenge. His name echoed off into silence.
“I see.” Olivia nodded. “That’s a reasonable excuse,” she decreed as Laurel’s mouth dropped open. “Close your mouth, girl,” she said absently as she continued to study Matt. “Took your own sweet time about it, but that’s worked out for the best. You’ll be marrying her soon.”
It wasn’t a question. Matt could only grin as Laurel began to sputter. “Very soon,” he told Olivia.
“Welcome to the family—” she grinned and offered her cheek “—Yankee.” With a wink for her granddaughter, she held out a hand for Matt to formally escort her around the house to the terrace.
No one’s like her, Laurel thought with a fierce flurry of love and pride. Absolutely no one.
With her usual panache, Olivia dominated the table, with her son at the opposite end and the younger generation between them. As always, she’d made the most out of the Sunday tradition. White linen, gleaming silver and crystal, fresh flowers in bowls that had been treasured before the war.
The talk was quiet, general, easy. Laurel could see that Susan was a much different woman from the one who had fallen apart outside the city room. No more trembling fingers. If there was a sadness in her eyes, it was fading. She cast Laurel one look that spoke of complete trust. With it, Laurel felt the burden grow.
Not now, she told herself as she sipped at cool, dry champagne. Tomorrow was soon enough to bring all that back. For today, she needed to absorb the magic and the timelessness. Where else, she wondered, could six people be sitting with the sun gleaming on silver that was more than a century old? There was birdsong and a precious breeze that might only last a moment. It was too rare to crowd with sorrows and suspicions. And she was in love.
She glanced over at Matt, and her eyes told him everything.
“This will be your job one day, Laurellie,” Olivia stated, cutting delicately into the crepe on her plate. “Traditions like this are important—more for the children than their parents. You and Matthew are welcome to the west wing when you’re married. Permanently or whenever you feel the need to come. The house is big enough so that we won’t bump into each other.”
“Have some more coffee, Mother,” William interrupted, sending her a telling look that expressed his feelings about matchmaking. “I want to talk
to both of you.” He nodded to his daughter and to Matt. His glance barely skimmed over Susan, but it was enough to tell Laurel he was referring to Anne Trulane. “Monday morning, my office.”
“Business is for Monday.” Olivia sent her son back a look every bit as stubborn. “I want to talk about the wedding. The garden couldn’t be better suited to a summer wedding. You’re welcome to have it here on the terrace.”
“How about next weekend?” Matt put in, reaching for his coffee.
“Matt, don’t encourage her,” William advised. “She’ll have Curt suing you for breach of promise.”
“Damn right!” The thought made Olivia give a hoot of laughter as her hand came down on Laurel’s. “We’ve got him now, Laurellie. William!” She caught him in the act of smothering a laugh with a cough. “Aren’t you going to ask this boy all the rude questions a father’s supposed to ask? A father can’t be too careful when a man wants his daughter—especially a Yankee.”
“The truth is,” Laurel began before her father could speak, “Matthew’s marrying me for the house, and as a cover so he can dangle after Grandma.”
Her father’s grin altered into blank astonishment. “Are you joking?”
“No,” Laurel said lightly as she dipped a strawberry into cream. “Matthew’s crazy about Grandma.”
“Laurel—” William began with a half laugh, only to break off without any idea what to say.
“She’s not joking,” Curt murmured, studying his sister. He glanced over at Matt as he remembered his roommate’s fascination with a photograph, the questions. “All this time?” he said softly.
“Yes.” Matt looked over at Laurel and smiled. “All this time.”
“Well, it’s been a cleverly kept secret,” her father stated. “And from a veteran bloodhound like me.”
Smiling, Laurel reached out a hand to him. “Do you mind?”
He gripped her hand. “Nothing could please me more.” His gaze shifted to Matt. “Nothing. The point is—” his fingers relaxed with his smile “—I didn’t think the two of you even liked each other. You had one particular adjective for Matt, as I recall.”
“Insufferable,” Laurel supplied. “It still holds.”
“That’s what adds spice to a relationship,” Olivia declared as she pushed back from the table, a signal that meant the formality of the brunch was over. “Susan, be a sweet child and run up to my room. There’s a small locket in my jewelry case, gold, encrusted with pearls.”
The moment she’d gone, Olivia turned to Curt. “Going to let this Yankee show you up, Curtis?”
Rising, Curt made a great to-do over removing a piece of lint from his jacket. “Ma’am?”
“He lollygagged around for a year. I expect you should be able to snatch that girl up in half the time.”
“Mother.” William strolled over to place a hand on her shoulder. “Be satisfied with one victory.”
“After I’m through with Curtis,” she continued irrepressibly, “I’m getting started on you.”
He acknowledged that with a nod before he turned to his son. “Every man for himself. Ah, Matt, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
“Coward,” Olivia murmured as her son drew Matt away.
“Is this it, Miss Olivia?”
“Yes, thank you.” She smiled as Susan handed her the locket. “Curtis, why don’t you take Susan through the garden. You like the garden, don’t you, Susan?”
“Yes.” Susan looked down at her hands, then lifted her eyes to Curt’s. “Yes, I do.”
“There, you see, she likes the garden. Run along. Now then.” Without pausing for breath, she turned to Laurel.
“Grandma.” Laurel gave her a long, hard hug. “I adore you.”
Olivia let herself enjoy the warmth and scent of youth before she drew Laurel away. In her own masterly way, she studied her granddaughter. “You’re happy.”
“Yes.” With a laugh, Laurel tossed back her hair. “If you’d have asked me a month ago—good God, a week ago—how I’d feel about marrying Matthew Bates on the terrace, I’d’ve said . . .” She broke off, laughing again. “I’d better not repeat what I’d’ve said.”
“You pretended you weren’t attracted to him right from the beginning.”
“I did a good job of it.”
Olivia gave a hoot. “Ah, but you’re like me, child!”
“The highest of compliments.”
Olivia dropped the locket into her lap and took Laurel’s hands. “When we love, really love, it’s with everything we have, so we don’t give it easily. Your grandfather . . .” She looked misty for a moment, young. “God, but I loved that man. Fifteen years with him wasn’t enough. When he died, I grieved and grieved hard, but then life—you have to live it as it comes. The others, after him, they were . . .” She shook her head and smiled again. “They were for fun. I cared about every man I’ve been with, but only one had all of me. You’d understand that,” she murmured. “So would your Yankee.”
“Yes.” Laurel felt the tears swim into her eyes and blinked them back. “I love you, Grandma.”
“You’ll lead each other a dance,” Olivia said after giving Laurel’s hands a quick squeeze. “There’s nothing better I could wish for you. This is for you now.” Olivia lifted the locket from her lap, cupping it in her hand a moment as if warming it. “Your grandfather gave it to me when we were engaged. I wore it when I married him. It would mean a great deal to me if you wore it when you marry Matthew.”
“Oh, Grandma, it’s lovely.” Laurel took the gold, gleaming dully and still warm from her grandmother’s hands. It was studded with tiny pearls that carried just a hint of blue under the white. “I’ve never seen you wear it.”
“I haven’t since he died. It’s time it was worn again and worn by a bride.”
“Thank you.” Leaning over, Laurel kissed Olivia’s cheek, then with a smile turned the locket over in her palm. So lovely, she thought, and it would look so perfect against a floaty, romantic white dress. Maybe something with lace and . . .
As memory jarred, she pressed a hand to her temple.
“Laurellie?”
“No.” Absently she patted her grandmother’s hand. “I’m all right, I’ve just remembered something. Or think I have. I have to use the phone.”
Jumping up, she dashed into the house with the locket clutched in her hand. From memory, she dialed Heritage Oak. With her eyes on the locket in her hand and her mind on another, she barely heard the answering voice.
“Oh, Binney,” she said quickly. “It’s Laurel Armand.” When there was silence, she leaped into it. “Please, Binney, I know you’re angry with me for questioning you. I understand. I’m sorry, truly sorry if I pressed too hard.”
“It isn’t my place to be angry with you, Miss Laurel,” she said quietly. “It isn’t my place to answer questions.”
“Please, there’s something I have to know. It could be very important. A locket.” She plowed on into the un-receptive silence. “The locket Louis gave Elise before they were married. She wore it on her wedding day, and, I think, always after that. I can remember that I never saw her when she wasn’t wearing it. The gold locket with the etching on the front. Do you remember it, Binney? You must,” she went on before there could be an answer. “She kept Louis’s picture in it.”
“I remember the locket.”
Something—not excitement, not fear—began to pound in her chest. Laurel recognized it as disillusionment. “She always wore it, didn’t she? It was very small and elegant, something she could wear every day and still wear with evening clothes.”
“It was her habit to wear it.”
Laurel swallowed and fought to keep her voice steady. “Binney, was Elise afraid of the swamp?” She knew the answer herself, but wouldn’t go with childhood memories now. It was time for facts, no matter how they hurt.
“It was a long time ago.”
“Please, Binney. You knew her, you were there.”
“She did not like it,” Binney said flatly. “She knew the legend.”
“But sometimes—sometimes—she went in there,” Laurel whispered.
“Yes, sometimes she went in, but only with Mr. Louis.”
“Yes, yes, I know.” Laurel let out a long breath. “Only with Louis. Thank you, Binney.”
Hanging up, Laurel stared down at the locket in her hand. She slipped it gently in her pocket and went to find Matt.
He saw her, crossing the lawn. With a brief word to her father,