Holly

  Her hand was on the newel post (solid mahogany), but her feet weren’t moving. Below her, she could hear laughter and the clink of glassware.

  There was business she had to take care of now, she thought, business that couldn’t wait, and that was Nick Taggert. Grimacing, cursing him for ruining her first night in the wonderful old house, she tiptoed down the stairs. Since her heels were so high, that wasn’t easy, but she managed to do it. “If my arches fall because of you, Nick Taggert…” she muttered.

  Downstairs, she paused and glanced into the sitting room and saw everyone smiling at Lorrie. Even her father was smiling and this warmed Holly. Her father never smiled at Taylor’s fiancé.

  “Better and better,” Holly murmured. Everyone liked the man she liked. The only problem now was Nick Taggert. All she had to do was get rid of him and all obstacles would be out of her way. By the end of the summer—no, she thought—by Christmas she planned to be mistress of Belle Chere.

  And married to Lorrie, she added.

  By the time she got outside, her temper was at the boiling point. She was not going to allow some redneck who she’d had a brief fling with ruin her life!

  She ran across the lawn to the van, but Nick wasn’t there. “Nick!” she hissed. She could see inside the house, saw her family still laughing and Lorrie pouring drinks from a pitcher. If Holly weren’t running around outside with the mosquitoes, she could have been inside sipping something cold and lethal, and inspecting the condition of the ceiling molding.

  Angrily, she hiked her dress up to her knees and ran down the path to the dairy. No Nick. However, the dairy looked to be in good condition.

  Hissing “Nick” now and then, she hurried to the icehouse. Empty. She went across the lawn to the old office. It was locked and looked as though the roof needed work.

  There was no one there. Sweat coated her body.

  I should go inside now, she thought, gently wiping her face, trying not to mess up her makeup. I can talk to the man tomorrow. I can—

  She broke off because she saw a shadow move through the parterres—the big, boxed-in gardens that had once been so beautiful. In the middle of the first two had been marble fountains. Maybe she should just glance at them and see if the fountains were all right.

  Hiking up her skirt again, but walking sedately so she didn’t sweat more, she went down the crunchy gravel path toward the garden.

  Nick was standing by a marble fountain of a little boy. Holly knew there were two fountains, one on each side, and they were of two little boys, brothers, who’d both died in a boating accident in 1821. Their bereaved parents had the fountains carved in Italy and sent to Belle Chere.

  Holly walked toward Nick, ready to have it out with him, but something happened as she looked at him. The moonlight fell over him, turning his dark hair a silvery blue. Shadows were cast over his broad shoulders and down his long legs.

  Her step quickened and when it did, the sweat began to trickle down between her breasts.

  When Nick turned and saw her, Holly began to run. When Nick smiled at her, she ran faster. When he opened his arms to her, she leaped over the boxwood hedge and when she nearly fell, he caught her.

  His lips were on hers in a second and in the next she was backed up against the fountain, her skirt around her waist. Deftly, Nick unsnapped the crotch of her teddy, her pantyhose tore—and he was in her.

  She threw a leg around his hip, his hands were on her bottom, and he drove into her. She felt as though she were starving and only this man could feed her. She clawed at him as she pulled him closer and closer, as she rose to meet his every thrust in a frenzy of need and desire.

  When he came, she was with him, and she collapsed against him. Nick pulled her up until both her legs were around his hips and he held her to him.

  Holly buried her face in his sweaty neck and hugged him with both arms and both legs. And this hugging was almost more intimate than what they’d just done.

  Oh, heavens, but she’d missed him, she thought. She hated to think that, to know that, but she had missed him.

  “You can’t stay here,” she whispered into his neck.

  “Sssh,” he said, then put his hand on her hair. “What the—Ow! I think your hair just cut my hand.”

  “Very funny,” she said, but she laughed—and when she did, he came out of her.

  “Uh-oh,” Nick said, kissing her neck. “Why don’t we go—”

  That sobered her. She got off his body and tried to regain her dignity—which was impossible under the circumstances. Her hose were torn and she could feel them starting to move down. Her teddy was unsnapped and it was inching upward. Also, she realized that this was the second time they’d had unprotected sex. The first time was in her car and now tonight.

  Standing in front of him, pressed up against a marble fountain of a tragically killed child, it was all too much for Holly. “You have to leave here,” she said, close to tears. “You can’t stay. I have plans for my life that don’t include you.”

  Once he’d fastened his trousers, Nick stepped back and gestured toward the house. “You’re free. I haven’t interfered and I won’t. Your life is your own.”

  She took a breath. “Why are you here?”

  “For the job, of course.”

  She put both hands over her face, tried to calm herself, then looked back at him. They both knew he was lying. He’d come there for her. “Okay, so I’m attracted to you. We’ve proven that. But then, so are lots of women attracted to you. Taylor is going crazy over you.”

  “Too skinny. Too aggressive,” he said. “I like my women—”

  When he reached out to her, she stepped back. “Nick! I am not your woman and never will be. Look, I can get you another job. You can work for someone a lot better tempered than my father. You’ll make more money. You’ll—”

  “No thanks,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets. “I like it here and your dad’s okay. He spent about an hour today explaining what really happened at the Bay of Pigs invasion. Interesting man.”

  Holly opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t. She’d thought that she could get her father to fire him, but if Nick was listening to and enjoying her father’s stories, there was no hope Nick would be discharged.

  “Italy!” Holly said. “How’d you like to work there? Sunshine and olives.”

  “Nope.”

  She leaned back against the fountain. “Why are you doing this to me? You must have gone to a lot of trouble to find out my father needed help. Why?”

  Nick looked up at the moon for a moment, then back at her. “Curiosity maybe. I wanted to find out some things.”

  “Please tell me you aren’t in love with me.”

  “I don’t think so.” He looked at her breasts. “Lust, yeah, but not love.”

  Part of Holly didn’t like that. But then, didn’t every woman want every man to declare love for her?

  She straightened her shoulders and smoothed her skirt. She’d need privacy to fix the mess her undergarments were in. “This won’t happen again. This was—” She couldn’t meet his eyes.

  “So this guy’s already asked you to marry him?”

  “Of course not. Tonight’s the first time I’ve seen him.”

  “Then what’s the problem? Your sister’s planning her wedding, but she’s been hanging around the tool shed and making me propositions that you wouldn’t believe. She—”

  “Careful!” Holly said. “I won’t listen to any disparagement of my sister.”

  “The point is that you’re not going with anybody, you’re not engaged or married, and you’re an adult, so why not fool around with the lawnmower boy? Maybe I could give you some pointers about how to reel ol’ Lorrie and his mansion in.”

  In spite of her common sense, Holly was intrigued by this statement. “Such as?”

  Nick shrugged. “Men talk. I could share what I hear with you.”

  “No offense, but I doubt if Lorrie is going to tell his most intimate secrets to s
omeone who cuts the neighbor’s grass.”

  “So fix it so I’m around him.”

  “I can’t—” Holly began, then narrowed her eyes at him. “Why would you do that for me? What’s your real motive?”

  “If you marry him, who manages all the restoration of this place? Who gets a salary plus free housing, homegrown veggies, and a bonus at Christmas? I figure it might as well be me as the next guy.”

  “But you and I—We…”

  “I’ll get a wife, have half a dozen kids, you marry this guy, have two perfect little children, and we’ll laugh about it all someday. We’ll say, remember the day we met at the fountain?”

  Holly was sure there was a flaw in his reasoning, but at the moment she couldn’t see it. She wanted to go back to the house, get into the nearest bathroom, and clean herself up. She wanted to see Belle Chere, wanted to have about three strong, cold drinks, and stop thinking.

  “Blackmailing you would get me in jail and cut me out of a great future,” he said, reading her mind. “Stop worrying so much.”

  When he reached out to touch her cheek, she pulled back. Nick dropped his hand. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll not so much as touch your hand unless you start it. You stay away from me and I won’t touch you. Deal?”

  “I…” She didn’t know what to say. Through the trees she heard a door open, then Taylor called, “Holly?”

  “I have to go. I have to—” She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I hate you,” she whispered. “Coming here was a despicable thing to do to me.”

  “It was,” he said, kissing her neck. “Despicable.” He pushed her away. “Go before I’m stuck in a ménage à trois.”

  “Disgusting!” she whispered as she hiked up her gown and ran toward the house.

  Chapter Nine

  THIRTY MINUTES AFTER SHE LEFT NICK, HOLLY was seated at Lorrie’s dining table. The table had been in his family since the 1760s, when it had been commissioned by his family in England. It had nicks and scars on it—and she knew that Lorrie knew the story behind each imperfection.

  There had been an awkward moment when Holly had appeared in the sitting room. She’d done her best to repair herself. She’d had to discard her torn pantyhose, but she’d straightened her underpants and snapped her teddy into place. Her hair and makeup had been a disaster. Between her sweat, Nick’s sweat, and his many kisses, all she had left was a bit of eyeliner at the corners of her eyes. In spite of all the products she’d used, her hair was flat to her head.

  Searching through the old bathroom cabinet (which needed to be replaced), she found a comb painted with daisies, circa 1970, and managed to get the tangles out. Soap and water was all she could do with her face.

  Sheepishly, she’d presented herself in the sitting room. Her stepmother looked at her in chagrin, her father frowned, and Taylor looked at Holly in speculation, as though trying to figure out what she’d been up to.

  Lorrie, however, began to laugh as he walked toward her. “So how does my home look?” he asked.

  “The roof on the office looks bad. It was dark, but I think I saw some dry rot.”

  Still laughing, Lorrie put his arm around her shoulders. “Now that’s the Holly I remember: She can spot dry rot even in the moonlight.”

  Holly couldn’t keep from blushing. Lorrie thought she’d been outside looking at the buildings when the truth was she’d been outside…She gave a weak smile at her family, who seemed to be thinking that they couldn’t believe there were two people like her on earth.

  Lorrie poured Holly a drink, which she gulped, then he ushered them all into dinner. Immediately, James’s face fell. Obviously, he’d been expecting a proper dinner, with courses, something homemade and delicious. Instead, he was faced with what looked like Kentucky Fried Chicken. The food was served on hundred-year-old china and there were goblets of paper-thin glass, but the food was commercial and ordinary.

  “As you can see, I haven’t been back long enough to hire a cook,” Lorrie said, but he didn’t seem to be embarrassed.

  He sat at one end of the table, James at the other, the three women in between. As soon as they sat down, Holly began talking. She said she hadn’t seen the orchard, hadn’t seen the family cemetery, and what were the conditions of the stables and the coach house? How was the barn? Was the sawmill intact? Did the blacksmith shop still have the bellows or had the leather rotted? Did—?

  Smiling, Lorrie interrupted her. “My dear Holly, I think the other guests are bored to death. Perhaps we could talk of something besides Belle Chere.”

  “Yes, of course,” Holly murmured, looking down at her untouched food.

  For about thirty minutes she was silent as she listened to her family interrogate Lorrie. She well knew that they were trying to figure out if he was “suitable” for Holly. If all of what was being said hadn’t been so important to her, she would have changed the subject.

  But Lorrie could handle his own. In answering the questions, he quickly skipped over his recent divorce, smiling and making jokes about what had to have been a painful time. He said that after it was done all he’d wanted was to return home to Belle Chere. When he said he was going to open a law practice in Edenton, Holly looked at him sharply.

  “You’ll be in town a lot then?” When everyone looked at her, she looked at her plate.

  “All right,” Taylor said loudly, “this pussyfooting around has to stop. Lorrie, Holly is leading up to asking you if she can spend the summer digging around in your attic and reading all your old papers. She wants to do her Ph.D. dissertation on the history of this house. May she?”

  “Of course,” Lorrie said. “I’d be honored and pleased to have written documentation of my family’s sometimes infamous history. Maybe she can find the family treasure.”

  The word “treasure” effectively halted all of them.

  “Infamous?” Holly asked. “Since when has anyone connected to Belle Chere been infamous?”

  Lorrie leaned back in his chair. He’d eaten very little. “I never told you the story because I didn’t know it until a few years ago. My father considered his ancestor, Arthur Beaumont, someone not to be spoken of. Considering my father…” Lorrie trailed off, and the women looked away. Lorrie’s father had been involved in too many nefarious activities to look down on anyone.

  “So what about a treasure?” James asked. “This place looks like it could use some treasure.”

  Holly gasped at the rudeness of her father’s words, but Lorrie laughed. “It could use all of Blackbeard’s loot,” he said. “Shall we adjourn to the sitting room? I have some brandy we could—”

  “Did you buy it at the local grocery?” James asked.

  “No, sir, my great-great-great-grandfather risked the lives of half a dozen slaves to take it from a French ship that went aground. Would you like to try it?”

  “I might be persuaded,” James said as he left the table.

  In the sitting room, Lorrie lit candles and poured big snifters (old and terrifyingly fragile) full of brandy and they settled down to hear his story.

  “It’s an old story,” Lorrie began. “Two brothers were in love with the same young lady, a Miss Julia Bayard Pemberton.”

  “Spring Hill,” Holly said.

  “Yes, she lived at your house.” Lorrie raised his snifter in salute to her memory. “It was told to me that Julia had been in love with my ancestor, the handsome, charismatic Jason Beaumont, since they were children. But Jason’s father died when Jason was only sixteen, and in grief the young man ran off to sea.”

  He paused to take a sip of brandy. “At least that’s the official story. I think the truth was that his older brother, Arthur, made Jason’s life such a living hell that he ran away from home. My great-aunt, who told me all the parts of the story my father left out, said that Arthur was as homely as Jason was handsome, as unlikable as Jason was adored by all.”

  “But he was the oldest so he inherited Belle Chere,” Holly said softly, for the Beaumont fam
ily followed the English custom of leaving everything to the eldest son and nothing to the other children. Younger sons were given a token allowance and daughters were expected to marry well.

  “Yes,” Lorrie said. “Arthur received everything at his father’s death, but in an unusual gesture, Jason was given the right to live at Belle Chere for his lifetime. There used to be a house that was said to have been built for him. I think it was west of the stables.”

  “Near the big maple trees,” Holly said.

  “Yes.” Lorrie smiled at her in a way that made her look away, pleased at his look of praise. “So Jason ran away to sea and didn’t return for ten long years. He returned in, I think it was 1843 or ’44, and when he returned, he found Julia engaged to marry Arthur.”

  “She wanted Belle Chere,” Holly said.

  “Maybe, but when Jason returned, she broke her engagement to Arthur and announced she was going to marry the younger, more handsome Beaumont.”

  “Yeow!” Taylor said. “Was there a duel?”

  “No. In fact, Arthur was gracious about it. He threw the two of them a huge party and laughed about everything.”

  “He was lying,” Marguerite said softly. “He was covering a cold and very deep rage.”

  The others looked at her, but Marguerite kept her eyes on Lorrie.

  “A week before the wedding was to take place, Jason had an argument with the owner of the local cotton gin and that night the man and his wife were shot dead. Four witnesses said they saw Jason Beaumont do it. But Jason said he’d been at home all that night playing cards with his brother Arthur.”

  Lorrie paused to sip his brandy, obviously enjoying the looks of his audience as they waited for the rest of the story.

  “When the sheriff and his men came to arrest Jason, he laughed and said his brother could tell them where he’d been all night. But Arthur said he couldn’t lie, even for his brother, and that he had no idea where his brother had been that night. They took Jason away in chains, he was tried, found guilty, and hanged for the double murder.”