Susan Johnson (49 page)

W
hile Trey and the children were gone, Empress spent the greater part of those hours nervously wondering if any moment Trey might discover with some careless remark by the children that Max had been born. Not that it would matter a scrap to him, she thought in the next fluttering heartbeat, but her unease remained inchoate and distracting, hovering prominently in her thoughts. What would he do if he knew? Would he come barging in demanding something of her? Would he threaten to expose Max as illegitimate? Of course he wouldn’t do anything of the kind, she decided in the next anxious moment. She must stop worrying; if Arabella McGinnis could be believed Trey Braddock-Black would be unconcerned about his child.

Each time the drawing-room door opened to a new visitor that afternoon, she was noticeably apprehensive despite her logical assessments, fearful that Trey would intrude into the midst of her friends again and with an ill-placed word lay her whole life open to scandal. If he were to say he’d bought her in a brothel, or even insinuate with his drawling sarcasm that
she had been for sale, she’d never live down the shame. The possibility of that terrifying scenario caused her profound trepidation throughout her usual lighthearted bantering tea-time, and she sent everyone away early with the flimsiest pretext of a headache.

When Trey entered the drawing room in the children’s wake just as the sun was setting, he immediately said, his glance sweeping the quiet interior, “No harem today?”

Seated near the fire, Empress was sorting through the invitations that had arrived that day, but her hands trembled at the sound of his deep voice, and she prudently set the cards aside. “Tea was over at six,” she said, ignoring his jibe.

“Is that what you call it?” he replied derisively, well aware of the tea hour, intentionally absenting himself today. Then Eduard began tugging on Trey’s hand with some urgent child’s business, and as he bent low to hear the whispered words, Guy, Emilie, and Genevieve converged on Empress with animated, breathless accounts of their day’s activities. Each animal at the zoo was described in great detail, and their newest gifts were displayed. They explained in high-pitched excitement how they were allowed to set up an easel in the Louvre, and to please Guy’s passion for horses, everyone painted from Delacroix’s Arab battle scene. “You should see how Trey paints horses,” Guy declared, and the litany of Trey’s perfections was eagerly enumerated by first one child and then another. Listening politely until there was a moment of silence while they all caught their breath, Empress took the opportunity to arrest the various descriptions of Trey’s glowing attributes and reminded them that dinner would soon be served. “Thank Trey,” she instructed, “then run upstairs and tidy up before dinner.”

Amid discussion and recommendations for tomorrow’s itinerary, the children offered uproarious, effusive thanks before they ran off crying, “See you tomorrow at ten. Don’t forget!”

When the noise of their departure subsided, conscious of her manners, aware of the pleasure the children found in Trey but annoyed nevertheless that he chose to exert his charm on them, Empress stiffly declared, “Thank you for your kindness to the children.”

“My pleasure,” he said simply.

“You can find your way out, I’m sure,” she said crisply,
having to see to Max before the children’s dinner. She wondered how intricate a tangle of adjusting feeding schedules and visitors against Trey’s presence would evolve if he stayed in Paris long.

“No invitation for dinner?” Trey drawled lazily, thinking that he liked her better with her hair down, and the brooch under her chin cast away, and next the prim navy silk dress she was wearing today, the one she’d selected as superficial defense against Trey.

“No invitation,” Empress replied discourteously. Trey could force her hand when it came to the children’s happiness; she couldn’t deny them his company when they adored him so, but the familiarity didn’t extend to herself. Trey Braddock-Black was an unprincipled, self-indulgent, too wealthy young man, and her hard-won struggle to overcome her feelings for him was too recent to allow any unnecessary exposure to his undiluted charm.

“It seems I’ll have to dine alone.” The message in his eyes had nothing to do with food.

Empress looked down at her hands briefly to still her intoxicating response, then swung her gaze back. “If I were more charitable,” she said briskly, “I’d extend my sympathy. However, I’m not. Perhaps your companion of last evening is available.” No longer even mildly courteous as she recalled his state of dress that morning, she rose from her chair, lifted her chin so her eyes met his, and said, “Good evening, Trey.”

“How long do you intend to keep pushing me out of your house?” She might not have spoken, for all the reaction he showed to her comments.

Now that she was standing, he was too close, too unbridled, his pale eyes intemperate with inquiry, and she inhaled softly before she answered, “As long as possible.”

He smiled that celebrated smile, devastating and suggestive. “At least you’re sensible enough to realize that it won’t be forever.” His voice was low and husky and doing disastrous things to her resolve. “And remember, you can’t keep the children around every moment—”

“Get the hell out,” she ordered quietly, controlling her impulse to point a commanding finger at the door like an actor in a bad play. “You have to leave my house,” she said explicitly and discourteously, but her voice shook slightly on the
last words, and the flush on her cheeks wasn’t from anger. Even quietly standing as he was now, dressed in subdued tweed like other men, Trey exuded beneath the calm conformity his notorious intensity, as infectious and riveting as silver flame. How could his ardent promise of pleasure rouse without words or movement?

Pleasantly conscious of her agitation, he bowed sardonically and murmured, “
Au revoir
, darling.” His dark, silky hair was close enough to touch when his head lowered briefly and it took all her will to resist stroking its sleek beauty. “I’ll be back.”

And when the door quietly closed on his tall form, Empress sank back onto the chair and sat unmoving for several minutes, allowing her tremulous reaction to subside or at least diminish, she nervously reflected as her pulses still throbbed long moments later. Damn his galvanic attraction and redolent charm! She’d probably been celibate too long, she reminded herself in her next hurried heartbeat—that was all—and her body’s response was simple circumstance, not Trey. All she needed was another few moments of calm repose and her objectivity would be restored.

But calmness refused to surface, and objectivity seemed stubbornly elusive. Perverse and self-willed, Trey stayed in her throbbing senses and would not disappear until she was roused from her absorption by servants busy in the dining room. Their activity reminded her suddenly that Max was waiting, and hurrying upstairs, she walked rapidly down the corridor, expecting to hear unhappy cries. But the paneled hallway was silent. Hopefully Nanny had pacified Max with sugar water as she did occasionally when Empress was delayed. “I’m sorry,” Empress said, her apology already begun as she entered the colorful nursery, “there were people I—”

The words died in her throat.

Trey stood against a backdrop of animal murals and stuffed toys, holding Max.

“What are you doing here?” Empress demanded when she’d regained her voice. He looked up from the baby he held in his arms, and she saw with a start that he’d been crying.

“I’m telling my son about Montana,” he said, his voice soft with emotion, and he thought with gentle gratefulness that he could forgive her anything for this—his son.

“He’s
not
your son.” The sentence was graceless, cold, and spoken with such intensity, it seemed to glitter briefly in the air before it perished.

Gazing down at Max gurgling happily in his arms, Trey reviewed the undiluted imprint of his features on the small face, breathtakingly vivid, glanced back at Empress, and quietly said, “Like hell he isn’t.”

“Prove it.”

There was a catastrophic silence.

He took a deep breath, his eyes brilliant with anger, tender forgiveness demolished by a few malevolent words. “You coldhearted bitch.” His voice was low so not to disturb his son, but harsh and contentious and underscored with an implacable menace. “You would have kept my son from me.”

“I thought you’d be too busy with all your lady friends—and your other child.” She said it plainly, like a mountain blotting out the sun, as if the few simple words explained all the perceived neglect and omissions.

“I don’t answer to you for my social life, and as far as Valerie’s child is concerned, it wasn’t mine.” Her mountain was leveled casually, his tone impassive—no mountain to him, only brief phrases negligently delivered to remind her of his independence, and the same denial of Valerie’s child she’d heard from the beginning.

“What about the others, then?” she replied hotly, refusing to accept his cool disclaimer.

His pale eyes widened appreciably. “What do you mean, what about the others?”

“Your
other
children.” She advanced with authority across the flowered carpet, her dark blue gown trailing over Aubusson moss roses and sculptured garlands. He couldn’t deny them all, she thought belligerently.

The momentary surprise had vanished from his eyes, and her authority was less than alarming since she only reached his shoulder. In any case, he knew with considerably more certainty than she that she was wrong. “I don’t have any,” he said unequivocally.

“
Arabella
says you have several,” Empress informed him with an instructive enunciation that further irritated him.

“At the risk of disabusing this expert opinion, Arabella’s not privy to my personal relationships and is distinctly
not
in
a position to know anything about
my
supposed children.” His voice was suddenly chilly and distant.

“I knew you’d deny it,” Empress maintained, her own conception of Trey and responsibility unaffected. “Just like you deny Valerie’s.”

“But not yours,” he reminded her succinctly. “Look,” he said with a weary sigh, his hand half rising to his face, “this is why this baby is mine and anyone with eyes knows none of the others are. You can’t hide this skin or hair, and you know it.”

“I don’t know anything of the kind,” Empress replied unreasonably, even as her son was graphic evidence of his allegation. At the moment she was out to refute his complacent, profligate freedom and to wound him as he’d hurt her. “Actually, I hardly know you at all,” she snapped, “except for your amorous skills.”

He surveyed her from slippered feet to tawny crown with chill, pale eyes. “And I find I know you even less, mademoiselle,” he replied coolly, “after sitting through one of your afternoon teas. Do your suitors draw straws, or do
you
pick the lucky winner each night?” His mouth quirked in a parody of a smile. “It must be exhausting accommodating so many panting men.”

“They’re all merely friends to me, although I’m sure you have no concept of the notion,” she replied indignantly. “You can like men for a great
number
of reasons.”

Fascinating choice of words, Trey thought bitterly. Very professional, although the dramatic indignation was slightly overdone. “Oh, I understand friendship, darling, I was once your friend.” His voice dropped to a hushed, dangerous murmur. “And I remember exactly how you like your friendship—
all
the ways you like it.”

“You’re wrong!” Resentfully she repudiated his assumptions concerning her suitors.

Their conversation at cross purposes, he observed sardonically, “You’re a marvelous actress, then, darling, because you always
appeared
to be enjoying yourself.”

“Arrogant bastard!”

“
Au contraire
, mademoiselle. Just another humble petitioner for your favors.” The lazy insouciance was prominent again. “And incidentally, the father of your child—does that
count at all in the drawing of lots?” His face was bare of courtesy. “If so … I’d like my time—is this too short notice?—
right now.
”

Empress gazed at him with astonished fury, and it took a short space of time to catch her breath. “Get out!” she ordered.

Trey looked affectionately at his son. “No.” A simple response touched incongruously with delight.

“I’ll call the servants!” Empress threatened hotly.

His brows rose and fell in swift assessment. “Call away,” he said. Trey had never in his life been intimidated by a servant.

“I’ll call the gendarmes!”

“Suit yourself,” he replied blandly. “I believe paternity rights are adequate in France.”

“Damn you!”
she screamed finally, servants or not, Max or not, so provoked that she yielded to her fury.

Trey’s expression was unreadable. “The feeling, Empress, darling,” he said, very, very softly, “is reciprocated.”

Max’s tiny face had twisted up at the sound of his mother’s scream, and after three small whimpers in response he had swiftly launched himself into a full, piercing, red-faced wail.

“He wants to eat,” Empress said nervously, moving a step nearer, faintly fearful that Trey might not relinquish Max after his remark concerning paternity rights. Putting her arms out for her son, she waited anxiously. For a brief moment Trey hesitated, then, brushing a kiss on his son’s forehead, he handed him over to Empress.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me …” Empress said pointedly, secure now that she was holding Max.

Trey sat down on a convenient chair, ignoring her blunt dismissal. “I don’t care to be excused,” he replied lazily. “This is my first child, whether you believe it or not. What’s his name?”

Empress debated refusing or arguing again, and then decided it couldn’t hurt to divulge that information. “His name is Max,” she said, foregoing the numerous other family names.

“How did you think of that?” His voice was mild over the screams of his hungry son, and making himself comfortable, he settled back and crossed his legs. He’d changed from his
rumpled evening clothes to a gray tweed jacket and suede riding pants, since Guy had insisted he try out his black gelding, and he looked very English in his understated clothes, except, of course, for his spectacular long hair.