Guardian to the Heiress (13 page)

“Not deliberately.
No.
” Carol placed her hands against his chest.

“Not for anything. I know something about the wedding photo of your parents shocked you. Or it shocked a memory out of you. You promised me you’d tell me about everything that disturbs you. I’m going to hold you to that.”

She knew he would. “I have to get things together in my own mind, Damon,” she said in as calm a voice as she could muster.

“Okay, that’s a start. I’m ready to listen whenever you want.”

Words she desperately needed to get out choked in her throat. She needed time. “I suppose we’d better go back downstairs. They’ll be wondering where we are.”

“You don’t have to account to anyone for your time, Carol. If you think you can manage the sack of baubles, I can manage the tree.”

She picked up the large cotton sack filled with Christmas baubles, considering its weight. For all the contents, it was feather-light. “No problem. I’ll lead the way.” She smiled at him. A lovely smile, yet it trembled.

They had left their close and comfortable relationship way behind. That relationship had taken a giant leap into the unknown. Those ecstatic moments between them could not be taken back. Unforgettable as they were, it didn’t guarantee ownership of one by the other or increasing intimacy between them. There were hazards ahead for both of them to overcome.

* * *

Amy Hoskins, the housekeeper, didn’t know what to do. As far as she knew, all the house guests had arrived. She hurried into the drawing room where the whole party was enjoying drinks.

She addressed Maurice as a matter of course. “There’s a Mr and Mrs Emmett at the gate, sir.”

“Good Lord!” Maurice Chancellor’s handsome face flushed. He turned his head. “Did you know about this, Carol?”

Was she supposed to apologize? Damon wondered, feeling hot under the collar. Maurice Chancellor was having a hard time remembering who actually owned Beaumont.

Carol hid her perturbation. What a Christmas this was going to be! “My mother never ceases to surprise me,” she said, looking past her uncle to the housekeeper. “Go let them in, Mrs Hoskins.”

Amy Hoskins didn’t argue. She didn’t know what might be in store for her if she got on the wrong side of ‘the
heiress.’
That was what Mrs Chancellor always called her niece by marriage. No love lost there.

“I call that cheek!” Dallas cried out in a voice so cataclysmic it cut off all conversation. She hated, positively
hated
Roxanne—the woman who had everything she didn’t. She would never forgive her husband for saying that. “So what will we do now?”

“Enjoy yourself as best you can, Dallas,” Carol advised, wondering what her mother had done to earn so much hatred. “My mother is devoted to me.”

Dallas was on the point of responding, only at the last minute she caught her husband’s eye. It gave her fair warning. People always did mistake Maurice’s superficial charm for weakness. They had no idea of his full weight. Any warmth Maurice projected was fake.

CHAPTER SIX

R
OXANNE
,
LOOKING
SIMPLY
stunning, swept into the entrance hall, her manner that of a world-famous diva making an appearance.

“It’s called making an entrance,” Damon murmured in Carol’s ear.

“And it’s taken an awful lot of practice.”

Roxanne acknowledged them with Euro-style kisses—longer, more lingering, on Damon’s tanned cheek. “Lovely to see you again.”

“May I wish you a Happy Christmas,” Damon responded suavely.

Roxanne took that as a positive sign. “Looking forward to catching up later.”

Without excuse or explanation, as was her wont, she by-passed those congregated in the drawing room with no more than a flourishing wave. Most of the guests were sitting agog, nursing a drink, as though it was intermission time at a theatre. Roxanne allowed her daughter to escort her and Jeff to the best of the remaining guest rooms.

“This won’t do, Carol,” Roxanne pronounced sharply, poised on the threshold as though refusing to go in. “Who’s in the Yellow Suite?”

“Chazza and his wife,” Carol mocked. “He’s the short bald guy.”

Roxanne frowned while Jeff supplied a name. “You know, Roxy—Chazza Millar.”

“That old bore!” Roxanne exclaimed. “You’ll have to find something better than this, Carol. I won’t stay here.”

“That’s okay, Mother. You weren’t
invited.
”

“Never mind that.” Roxanne brushed the lack of invitation off. “I’m your mother.”

“When you
remember.
It does have an en suite. I can’t shift anyone at this stage.” Carol turned her head. “Would you stop leering at me, Jeff?”

“Not leering, love,
admiring.
You get more beautiful every day.”

Roxanne rounded on him. “You really do amaze me, Jeff.”

“Ditto,” he said, unfazed.

“Well, I’ll leave you to settle in,” Carol said briskly, though she was barely coping with a whole raft of emotions. “Dinner at eight. It won’t be held.”

“Ah, for God’s sake!” Roxanne cried in disgust. “No need to sound like your damned grandfather. It almost beggars belief how much you’re getting like him.”

“What about my
father,
Mother?” Carol hit back. “Can you remember him or have you completely wiped him out of your memory?”

“Steady on, Carol,” Jeff intervened, seeing the hot flush that rose to his wife’s cheeks. Many the object Roxy had hurled at him.

“Keep out of this, Jeff,” Carol warned. For a moment there Carol had felt ready to lash out at her mother.

“All right, love.” Jeff backed off. Little Carol had not just grown inches, she’d grown feet. “I told Roxy we wouldn’t be welcome.”

Carol stared at her mother with anger and bafflement in her eyes. “Why would you want to come? I’d have thought you’d be too wary of the ghosts.”

Roxanne reacted with astonishment. “Ghosts? What ghosts?”

“The ghosts in the attic,” Carol said.

Abruptly, as if her legs couldn’t support her, Roxanne collapsed on the day bed. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“What’s the matter, Mum? Have you remembered something?”

Roxanne shrugged her elegant shoulders. “What’s to know?”

“Don’t call me on that one,” Carol said harshly. “We can discuss it another time. It will be perfectly okay if after that you want to leave.” She started to walk away.

“Is there a point to all this, Carol?” Roxanne called after her. Her normally smooth, arrogant voice emerged jerkily.

“Oh, my God, yes,” Carol said. “Settle in, Mother. It won’t be a long stay.”

* * *

The tree, at least, proclaimed Christmas. They erected it in the entrance hall where it was shown off in all its glittering glory with brilliant lights and laden with dazzling ornaments, the traditional mix of red, gold and green. Troy had even lent a hand, although he stood back while Damon and the obliging Chazza Millar set the tree in a huge emerald-green ceramic pot. Carol added the presents she had brought with her, beautifully boxed and packaged, to those already in place. It should have been a joyous occasion. Instead Carol felt that, if not for Damon, her life would be unravelling into chaos.

She could only feel a kind of horror at her memories. Such horror, it was difficult indeed to keep her composure. Only she knew she had to maintain some sort of a front.

Dinner went off reasonably well. The food and wine were excellent. Dallas didn’t deign to speak a word to Roxanne but the hatred
in the air was palpable. Roxanne had in fact caused a stir, coming down to dinner in a red evening dress with a deep V-neck that exposed a good deal of her creamy breasts. She looked as sexy as it was possible for a woman to look. Maurice couldn’t take his eyes off her, along with every other man at the table—with the exception of Damon and Troy, who appeared impervious to Roxanne’s undoubted charms.

“God, your mother’s
gorgeous!
” Amanda told her later.

“She is indeed,” Carol said, a knife in her heart.

The household didn’t retire until well after midnight. Roxanne’s presence, not entirely unexpected by Carol, undoubtedly added spice to the occasion. Roxanne for her part was clearly gaining wicked pleasure from totally eclipsing her former sister-in-law. In fact, Dallas was the first one to withdraw for the night.

“You know just what you are, don’t you?” she hissed at Roxanne as she passed.

“Of course I do. And so do you, you frumpy old thing!” Roxanne shot back with a kind of benevolence. It was Christmas, after all. One had to rise to the occasion. One of the wives who had overheard the sotto-voce exchanges stood rooted to the spot, her face a study.

When the house was quiet, Carol went back downstairs. Far too many lights had been left on in her opinion. Their guests should be able to see if they came downstairs for any reason—and she couldn’t think what—but she felt a clear responsibility to conserve energy. In the library, she twisted behind her, feeling a presence. Her cousin Troy was standing there. He was still dressed, without his tie, a few buttons on his shirt undone. He was smiling happily, a drunken smile.

“What is it, Troy?” She narrowed her eyes. “Is there something you want?” She couldn’t help thinking Troy could well turn into a stalker. She was coming to realise her own cousin really fancied her.

“Why did you get that hair of yours cut?” he asked, his eyes ranging all over her. Like him, she was still dressed. She looked utterly delectable, fantastic, sexy, stunning. The crystal decoration on her short gilded dress glittered like tiny diamonds in the light.

“You don’t like it?” As though she cared.

He gave her an odd smile. He’d had a lot to drink at dinner, and afterwards with “the boys.” “Don’t get me wrong, you look terrific, but I did prefer that flaming mane.”

“Well, this is easier,” Carol said shortly. “So, I repeat, is there anything you want?” She leaned over to switch off a table lamp, unaware in the lamplight her hair had been shooting off ruby, gold and amber lights. “I have to say you’ve all got far too used to leaving on lights. At night, from a distance Beaumont must look like an ocean-going liner.”

“So what’s your problem?” he challenged, his manner aggressive. “The bills are paid on time.”

“It’s not that, Troy, it’s conservation.”

“Save the planet. Save the whales. Save the cows,” he chortled. “And you’re utterly determined on it, like poor old Grandfather.”

“I am. Now, if you don’t want anything, I’m going up to bed.” Her eyes measured the distance to the door. She had the dismal feeling Troy could come after her with a mind to grab her.

She was so right. “Of course, Hunter will be joining you?” Troy laughed bitterly, not bothering to guard his jealousy.

“He will
not.
Not that it’s any of your business.”

“It
is
my business. We’re family.” His gaze locked on her brimming with unwelcome sexual attraction.

“That’s a hoot.”

Everything’s okay, Carol. Just keep walking. This is your home. He’s not going to attack you. He’s just mad enough and drunk enough to want to kiss you. Maybe maul you.

She was on alert. Even then his move on her happened too fast.

“Let go of me,” she ordered through gritted teeth. She was genuinely shocked.

“It’s okay. I don’t want to frighten you.” He was surprisingly strong, wrestling her into his arms.

“You’re not frightening me, you moron.” His fingers were digging into her.

“God you’ve turned into a real little sexpot, haven’t you?” Troy was breathing hard. “Don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine. A few kisses. A few hugs.”

“Not in one-million light years.”

Stop and think. What were you taught?

Her heart was pounding, but Carol let her body relax. She wanted to get him off-guard. Let him think she was giving up the struggle, or even playing some silly sex game. He must have thought so, because he gave a sickening laugh of triumph. It was her moment. Carol twisted sharply. She lifted her slender leg, kneeing him crunchingly hard in the groin.

He doubled over, his face contorted with pain. “You— You crazy bitch!”

“Shut up or I’ll hit you with something hard.” Carol gave him a good shove that sent him sprawling to the floor. “What a fool you are, Troy. Do you really think you can get away with molesting me?”

Troy was poleaxed by her action. Who would have thought it of little Carol? It was enough to make him freak out.
“I just wanted.... I just wanted...to talk,” he moaned, rolling over onto his side, his legs drawn up in agony.

Carol stood over him, her voice cold. “I want you out of here, Troy. Your girlfriend can stay. You make some excuse to leave in the morning.”

She went to move away from him, thinking that was that, only he surprised her by making a grab for her leg. She almost tripped, thinking she might land in a heap, only he wound his hand tightly around her ankle. “Gotcha!” There was no time to take a breath. With his tight grasp on her ankle, she couldn’t risk trying to use her other leg to kick out at him. She only had her hands. She wanted to pound him and pound him. How dared he? How dared any man attack a woman? She wasn’t in the least frightened. She was prepared to defend herself.

“What the hell is going on here?” Damon’s voice boomed across the dimly lit room.

Carol didn’t answer. She bent down, taking a flat-handed swipe at Troy’s head. “Let go of my ankle.”

He did so immediately, at the same time throwing her off backwards. She slammed into Damon. “Get up, Chancellor,” Damon rasped, steadying her.

Troy’s response was a whine. “Do you believe it? She bloody well attacked me.”

Damon put Carol aside, then moved to jerk Troy to his feet. “What were you planning?” he asked, his voice a deep growl in his throat. He was just barely containing his outrage.

“Don’t talk to
me
like that,” Troy shouted. “Who the hell are you, Hunter?
I’m
a Chancellor. For your information, I wasn’t planning anything. I came down just like Carol to turn off a few lights—conservation, dear boy.”

Damon seized him by his shirt front, almost lifting Troy off his feet. “Don’t ‘dear boy’ me, you sick piece of work. This was a premeditated move on your own cousin. You saw Carol coming downstairs, so you followed her. The miracle is I had the sure feeling you’d try something, especially when you got yourself drunk over dinner. I heard your father speaking pretty sternly to you. I checked out my hunch—I rely on them. Don’t look so surprised, Chancellor. You’re not very good at hiding your attraction to Carol. It’s apparent to a lot of people, not just me.”

“What about you, big boy?” Troy tried to wrench himself away, bellowing into Damon’s face. “Nothing’s going to stop
you.
You want her for yourself. You might fool some people—they think you’re this great guy, so bloody brilliant—but you don’t fool me. Who trusts a lawyer anyway? You know what Shakespeare said—
the first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.
If you landed Carol, which is your aim, you’d never have to do a day’s work again.”

“Not doing a day’s work again is a dismaying prospect,” Damon said, controlling his temper. “Unlike you, I enjoy my work. My role is to look out for all of Carol’s interests. I don’t have your
inglorious
ambitions.”

Troy swore violently.

“Watch your language, pal,” Damon warned him.

“I’ve figured you out, Hunter.” Troy glared back. “I don’t like you. I never did.”

“I’m seriously worried.” Damon turned to Carol. “What do you want done about this guy? I don’t think he should stay.”

“Troy will be leaving in the morning, won’t you, Troy?” Carol said. “I propose you get an early start.”

“I’m not sure it’s your wisest decision to make an enemy of me, Carol,” Troy said heavily, still in physical pain.

Damon intervened before Carol could answer. “If that’s a threat, I know what to do about it.”

“Ah, the big-time lawyer again!” Troy sneered. “Always at the ready to defend his favourite client. I’m on to you, Hunter. So are a lot of other people. Shocking, how you let Amber Coleman down when you let her believe you were going to marry her. Only you found someone better—little Carol here, the heiress. I’ll be pleased to leave in the morning. I’ll leave Summer behind, if you don’t mind. She’s cute but she doesn’t have much in the way of a brain.”

“Neither do you, Troy,” Carol said. “And you’re definitely not cute. It’s your actions that brought this on you. They were way out of line. I have no romantic interest in you, nor could I ever have. I’m amazed you thought otherwise.
Quite apart from anything else, you’re my first cousin.”

That didn’t appear to bother Troy. In fact, he seemed to find it amusing. “Not a problem these days, sweetheart. That knee-kick of yours was first rate to bring a man down. Where did you learn it?”

“From a master,” Carol said briefly. “And that’s not all in my bag of tricks. Happy Christmas, Troy. I don’t think anyone is going to miss you terribly. Maybe your mother.”

“At least she’s not a notorious con woman like Roxanne,” Troy retorted with venom.