Say You Will (3 page)

“Just for a short while then.” He took her arm and led her from the ballroom. “This isn’t the place to make yourself known, Summer.”

“Don’t be daft,” she said, watching the milling people with laser-sharp interest. Suddenly, she pulled away. “I’ll be right back.”

Before he could stop her, she shot out of the room.

He checked his watch. If she wasn’t back in ten minutes, he was going after her. She’d always had a tendency to get into trouble. Only the sort of trouble had changed as she’d matured.

Nick stood on the periphery of the gathering, drinking tepid tea and trying not to draw attention to himself, which was a little difficult given his half-naked body was currently on billboards all over Europe. Fortunately, the ads were less prominent in London and dressed in a suit with his hair combed, he looked a far cry from the rumpled racer they’d exploited on the billboards.

Where was Summer? He gave his teacup to one of the servers wandering through the crowd and went in search of her.

He found her rushing down a hall, a peculiar light in her eyes. She grabbed his arm and pulled him back toward the room where everyone was gathered.

“I followed Beatrice, Rosalind, and their mother,” she whispered.

He groaned. “Summer.”

“It was good I did, though, because I overheard something important.” She pulled him into a shadowed corner and faced him, her eyes wide and earnest. “Reginald drafted a new will before he and Mama went on their getaway. Apparently he made some significant changes.”

Nick frowned. “How do you know that?”

“I overheard Jacqueline Summerhill tell them.” She grabbed the front of his shirt. “Do you think he named Mama in it? They think so.”

Reginald Summerhill, that egotistical bastard? Hardly. But Nick knew better than to voice that. “I suppose it’s possible, but do you think it’s likely?”

“Of course it’s likely.” She lifted her stubborn chin in the air. “Reginald loved Mama.”

Reginald loved himself. “I fail to see how it matters if he left anything to Tabitha, since she’s gone. She didn’t have a will, did she?”

“No, but that doesn’t matter.” Summer leaned in. “When there’s no will, the deceased’s property goes to her spouse, or children if there is no spouse. So if Reginald left anything to Mama, it’d be passed on to us.”

Summer would know—she was a solicitor herself, working at a leading law firm in the city.

But one thing was certain: he didn’t want Reginald Summerhill’s money. Besides, as one of the top Formula One drivers, he made a hefty wage, and that wasn’t counting endorsements. “I don’t need more money, Summer, and neither do you.”

She crossed her arms. “It’s not about the money.”

No, for her it wasn’t. She just wanted her rightful place. He felt sad for her because, as much as she wanted it, her place wasn’t here. When they cast her out—as they inevitably would—she’d be hurt. He wished he could spare her that heartache, but he knew that she’d never give up.

“I know you don’t believe me, but my father loved me. He was the one who encouraged me to realize my dreams by giving me the money to study law.”

“True.” Depositing money in her account for university had been the only decent thing Summerhill had done for Summer in Nick’s opinion. A complete anomaly, but definitely decent.

“I need to know what’s in the will, Nick.” She bit her lip, looking like she had as a child. “The problem is they don’t know where the will is. If they can’t find the will, then his property is intestate and his wife inherits it all.”

Nick frowned. “That doesn’t seem proper.”

“It’s not.” Summer bit her lip and looked across the room. Her gaze focused, and then she said, “Come with me.”

Before he could say anything, she strode across the room straight to Rosalind Summerhill.

Oh no. Not sure what Summer was going to do but not wanting to find out, he sped up to intercept her. His legs were longer than hers, so he reached her quickly, but not quickly enough to stop her from stretching her hand out and saying, “I’m sorry for your loss,” to her unsuspecting half-sister.

Rosalind glanced at him as she took Summer’s hand cautiously. “Do we know each other?”

Summer shook her head. “We’ve never met. I’m Su—Sara,” she said, giving him a look. “But I know you’re Rosalind Summerhill.”

Rosalind looked at him again. He saw the weariness dimming her eyes, and the urge to take her in his arms and soothe her to sleep shocked him. Instinct told him to run away, only his feet were going nowhere.

“You design wedding dresses, don’t you?” Summer continued, unaware of his libidinous thoughts. “I realize this is hardly the appropriate place, but I need a wedding dress.”

He mentally groaned.

Rosalind frowned at the two of them. “You’re getting married?”

“No,” he said as Summer said “Yes.”

His half-sister gave him a look before smiling tightly at Rosalind. “Joe is my matron of honor.”

He didn’t realize he was Joe until Rosalind turned to him and said, “Nice to meet you, Joe.”

“Most people call me Nick,” he said, shooting a glare at his mad stepsister.

“
Nick
”—Summer surreptitiously pinched his side—”is a solicitor.”

He slipped his arm around his sister’s waist and squeezed. “Now’s not the time,
Sara
. We should leave Ms. Summerhill to her other guests.”

“But my wedding dress—”

Rosalind shook her head. “I won’t be here long enough to design a dress, much less to make it. I custom fit all my dresses, so unless you’re willing to come to San Francisco, I can’t create one for you. But I can recommend a couple designers in London who are almost as good as me.”

“You’re that good?” Nick asked, impressed.

“The best.” she said with conviction.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but the light in her eyes made him wonder if she implied she was the best at more than dresses. “I don’t doubt it.”

Rosalind sipped from her teacup and grimaced. When she noticed his amused smile, she shrugged. “It’s been a trying day, and there’s a distinct lack of whiskey at this event.”

Summer suddenly interjected, “Nick knows a great pub close by.”

“I do?” Nick said.

She knocked him in the ribs.

He turned to Rosalind, who looked like she needed to be whisked away, and he badly wanted to be the man to do it. So despite himself, he couldn’t help saying, “It’s not far.”

Surprisingly, Rosalind nodded. “Okay. I’ll just get my coat.”

The flash of excitement that coursed through his veins was ridiculous. He watched her walk away and resisted the urge to trail after her.

Instead, he faced his villainous stepsister. “That was poorly done.”

“It was brilliant actually.”

“You told her I was a solicitor.”

“So that she’ll find it natural to talk to you about the will if she has legal questions.”

“Yes, but I know nothing about law.”

“Just distract her.” Summer grasped his arm and lowered her voice. “Stay close to Rosalind to find out what’s going on with the will. And before you say you can’t do any such thing, let me remind you that you’re my brother—”

“Stepbrother,” he corrected.

“—and that you promised Mama that you’d always look after me.”

He wanted to point out that she was a grown woman and didn’t need looking after, but if she was going to employ schemes like this … He sighed.

Knowing she’d won, she smiled and hugged him. “Thank you, Nick. I love you.”

Rosalind returned, eyeing them blatantly. He stepped back and patted Summer’s head before asking, “Ready?”

“Yes.” Rosalind wrapped a scarf around her neck and led the way out.

Chapter Four

Nick didn’t know any pubs in Mayfair, but he’d seen one around the corner on the way to the memorial. He gestured to the left. “It’s this way, just down the block.”

Rosalind nodded and fell into step beside him.

They didn’t talk—she seemed lost in her thoughts. A couple minutes later, when he saw the white building come into view, he began to point it out.

She turned to him at the same moment, took his lapel, and reached up on her tiptoes as if she were about to kiss him.

His gaze fixed on her mouth. Lush. Dark pink. Parted. He wanted to taste her so badly.

But he couldn’t. She was in mourning, and he was there under false pretences. Damn Summer. “Rosalind—”

Her lips touched his, and his heart stopped.

When it started beating again, it pumped furiously in a way he hadn’t felt since the first time he narrowly missed crashing his race car. Unable to help himself, he slid his hand into her hair, needing to hold her.

She hummed, pressing herself against the full length of his body. Her hand eased inside his coat, paused, and then undid a couple of shirt buttons to snake inside. She hummed again as her palm roved up his chest.

Her touch on his skin was electric. He wanted to do the same to her. He wanted to push her hand lower, to show her what she’d done to him.

But they were on the street, and she didn’t know who he was, so instead he gently disengaged his mouth from hers.

She drew away slowly, her eyes opening reluctantly. Her lips were red and glossy, and she licked them before she said, “I needed to do that.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe I should unhand you now.”

“It’s probably best.” But she didn’t make a move to withdraw, and it didn’t help that he wanted to carry her off to the nearest bed. Drawing on his control, he brushed her hair back. “Maybe we should go inside and get you that drink I promised.”

“It’s probably best,” she echoed with an amused smile. She slid her hand over his torso before she withdrew it and buttoned him up.

Nick took a deep breath and led her to the pub.

She looked up at the bar’s sign. “The Red Witch. It’s adorable.”

To him, it looked like every other pub in London: white building, black trim, lanterns, and dangling pots with overflowing flowers. But if she was happy, that was all that mattered. He held the door open and let her enter first.

“I bet I know who the red witch is,” she said, motioning to the tall woman tending bar.

The red-headed bartender smiled at them in welcome. “What can I be getting you?” she asked in an Irish lilt when they reached the bar.

“A shot of rye and a pickleback,” Rosalind said.

The Irish woman shook her head. “A what?”

“A pickleback. Pickle juice.”

“With whiskey?” he asked incredulously.

“Don’t mock it till you try it.” Rosalind grinned at the bartender. “How about Jameson’s?”

“That I can do.” She tucked one of her stray curls behind her ear as she turned to him. “And you, handsome?”

“The same.” He set money on the counter.

The bartender poured them generous shots and gave him change. “There you go. My name is Niamh if you need anything else.”

Thanking her, they took their whiskies to a private table in the back. “Pickle juice?” he repeated as he pulled out a chair for her.

“It’s delicious. Much more civilized than a beer back.” Smiling her thanks, she sat down and took a sip of her drink. She sighed. “This is exactly what I needed.”

He looked at her lips, full and tempting as she licked them. He knew what those lips were capable of. He knew what they tasted like—like Heaven. Sweet and salty with a fiery kick.

“This pub is nice,” she said as she looked around, oblivious to his lust. “How do you know it? Do you live in the neighborhood?”

“Actually, I live in Kensington. I have a house here, though until recently I hadn’t been home much.”

“Does being a lawyer require that much travelling?”

Nick cursed Summer for her scheming. “Work takes me to the continent a lot,” he evaded. “Until just recently, I spent a lot of time in France and Italy. I came back to be near Su—Sara.”

“You and Sara seem very close,” Rosalind said, obviously fishing.

“She’s like my sister,” he answered honestly.

“She must be. Not many men would act as matron of honor.”

“Yes, well, I love Sara.” Even when he wanted to strangle her.

“That’s sweet,” Rosalind said softly.

Feeling uncomfortable with the lies, he changed the subject. “How long are you going to be in London?”

The worried frown returned to Rosalind’s brow. “I haven’t decided.”

“You should stay a bit.”

She looked at him with her clear, big blue eyes. “Should I?”

“Don’t you want to?” he asked, instead of saying how much he wanted to see her again, which wasn’t going to happen given the circumstances.

“I may have to stay with my mother for a while,” she admitted. “She’s taking my father’s, er, death hard.”

“You don’t sound happy about staying.”

“There’s a reason I put an ocean between my family and me. Although mostly that was because of my father.”

Nick treaded cautiously. “You didn’t get along.”

“Hardly.” She downed the rest of her shot and set the glass on the table. Leaning in, she said, “Can I tell you something? It’s confidential.”

He’d barely met her, and he didn’t think he could deny her anything. This was trouble. “You can tell me anything.”

“I probably shouldn’t, but you inspire confidence. It must be because you’re a solicitor.”

He was going to murder Summer when he saw her next. He downed the rest of his drink and signalled Niamh for another round.

Unaware of his dilemma, Rosalind said, “My father’s will is missing, and I said I’d help find it.”

He played with his glass, hoping he didn’t look as guilty as he felt. “That doesn’t sound too cloak-and-dagger.”

“I didn’t tell you what my sister wants to do with it.” She smiled at Niamh, who quietly placed fresh drinks in front of them. She lifted the glass and inhaled before taking a sip. “You don’t do criminal law or anything, do you? What’s your specialty?”

“I, er—I’ve been leaning toward contracts,” he replied as honestly as he could.

“Why contracts?”

“Why do you design wedding dresses?”

“My mother loves fashion, and I caught the bug,” she replied too casually.

“I get the feeling that’s not the whole answer.”