The Whisper Of Wings (19 page)

A tremor raced down his spine at the thought of her wearing nothing but a thin nightgown. If was to find her in such a state, he wasn't certain he would be able to restrain himself.

No. He would wait. He must. If only for the sake of her reputation. Perhaps for his own sake, as well. And Gerald's. He hadn't forgotten the way his son looked at her, adored her. Yes. For Gerald's sake, he would ignore his own desires.

He pulled away and continued down the hallway with footsteps as heavy as his heart, his mouth twisted into a scowl. Damn the uncertainty. It was eating him alive.

By the time he got to his study, he had fully convinced himself that he was doing the right thing. If his son were to fall in love with Michaela and perhaps want to marry her someday, then he had the right to know precisely who she was.

Feeling testy, he lifted the receiver out of its cradle and rang for assistance. Now that he'd made the decision, he wanted to get it over with. He rubbed an agitated hand across the back of his neck while he waited for someone to answer the ring, no longer sure of his own motives for making the call. A nagging voice deep inside kept suggesting that he might hope to discover that Michaela was not the angel she appeared to be but a swindler instead, if only so that Gerald would become less infatuated with her. He knew it was selfishness talking, and deep down he desperately wanted Michaela to be just who she swore she was. He wanted everyone to be happy, even if it meant unhappiness for himself.

A voice on the other end of the line drew him out of his grim thoughts.

"Yes, I'm calling for a Mrs. Dunne," he spoke into the phone.

"That would be me," a weary sounding woman replied.

"Mrs. Dunne, so sorry for the call, but I'm glad to have reached you."

"Is that so?" came the laconic answer.

"Yes well, you don't know me, and I hope you don't think my call is out of order, but I feel it is necessary. We both seem to have a common problem."

"And what would that be?"

"I understand you have a daughter who is missing. I was wondering if you could tell me a little bit about her."

"What is this, some sort of joke?"

"No, don't hang up, Mrs. Dunne. I assure you this is no joke. I believe I might be able to help you."

"Help me?"

"Yes, if you would just agree to tell me something of your daughter, I might know where she is."

"And who would you be?" she gruffly demanded.

"That would be irrelevant at this point. You will simply have to trust that I am a friend and that I have only your daughter's well-being in mind. If indeed she is your daughter."

"You think you know where Michaela is?" she queried with somewhat more interest than she'd displayed before.

Christopher felt something inside him whither a little, suddenly fearing that the wheels he may have just set in motion would take the very object of his concern away from him. Mrs. Dunne had called her Michaela, thereby putting an end to any doubt he may have had as to her relation to his charge. Suddenly, he wasn't so sure he wanted to continue the conversation. Perhaps ignorance was best after all.

"Are you there?" the woman shouted into the phone.

"Yes. Yes, I'm still here," he managed, despite the constricted feeling in his chest. "Mrs. Dunne, I need to know about your daughter."

"Why should I tell you anything? Just tell me where she is, and someone will come get her."

"I'm afraid I can't do that. You see, I'm not certain this young woman is your daughter."

"Let me speak to her," she insisted.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, either." Christopher was equally insistent. "The woman in my care has been terribly traumatized. I fear that such an encounter might be harmful to her precarious condition."

"Do you have any idea who you're talking to? I'm her mother. I could have you jailed for holding my daughter against her will."

"Mrs. Dunne. Be reasonable. You have no idea who I am. Nor do you know if this woman truly is your daughter. Even if she turns out to be your kin, she is well over the age of consent, and I assure you I am not holding her against her will. Quite the contrary. So, you see, I don't believe you have a leg to stand on."

"I may not. But her fiancé certainly does."

"Fiancé?" Now he
was
stunned.

"Michaela has breached a promise of marriage, and she'll pay for it. She'll make the entire family pay."

"Perhaps if you explain the situation to me, I might be able to help in some way."

"Just send my daughter home."

"Mrs. Dunne, I only called you out of common courtesy, to let you know that you need not worry, that your daughter is well and safe. But until she makes the decision to return home of her own free will, she will remain in my care," he stated, barely able to contain his anger.

"That's impossible. She has to come home." She paused briefly before continuing in a shrill voice. "What is this, a kidnapping? Is it money you want?" She went on without giving him the opportunity to answer. "Well, I haven't got any. You hear me. You'll get no ransom from me."

"You have no idea who you are speaking to," he hissed in such a lethal voice that she immediately stopped. "I don't take unjustified accusations lightly. Your daughter is not being held for ransom. She is safer than she has ever been. I suspect much safer than she was under your roof."

He heard a sharp gasp through the receiver and knew he'd struck a nerve.

Christopher didn't want to speak to the hateful woman a moment longer. He was appalled at her lack of caring. She hadn't even inquired after Michaela's welfare.

"I will be speaking to you again at some point in the future. For your daughter's sake, I suggest you keep this conversation to yourself."

That said, he slammed the receiver down before she could respond. The woman had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Michaela's mother was an unpleasant person.

His mouth set in a grim line, he turned away from the phone. He was only a tiny bit closer to the truth, but already he was beginning to understand Michaela, to understand why she had braved the streets alone and run away. She must not have been able to bear the thought of living under the same roof with that woman.

Bloody hell, he was angry. The gall of that woman! Hadn't she even a tiny shred of love for the child she'd borne?

If only he knew more about the situation, perhaps he could help Michaela in some way. He needed to find out who this fiancé was.

Halfway across the room, he stopped and turned back to the desk to stare at the phone. Perhaps there was another way. Now that he knew who Michaela was. Perhaps he didn't need her mother at all.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Christopher sat at his desk, contemplating last night's discovery and the rather distasteful talk he'd had with Michaela's mother. He couldn't stop thinking about Michaela. At least, now he knew her secret. She'd been running away from a family that didn't love her. Such a reprehensible crime. He couldn't even imagine not loving his own flesh and blood.

His instincts had been correct. She had never lost her memory. She'd merely been pretending because she was afraid of being sent back if she told them the truth. He didn't blame her.

Now that he knew, things became somewhat more complicated. He wasn't certain if he should tell her about the phone call. She didn't necessarily have to know. Not yet, anyway. He was content to let her stay here with the family until she felt safe telling him the truth for herself. After all, she was a consenting adult. Twenty-six was certainly old enough for her to make her own decisions, and she clearly did not want to be under her mother's roof. Of course, after speaking with Mrs. Dunne, he understood, at least in part, why Michaela had left home in the first place. What he couldn't guess at would have to come from Michaela herself, whenever she was ready.

The decision was final. She would stay until she told him otherwise.

He glanced at the work on his desk. It wasn't even capable of capturing his attention anymore, not when all of the questions concerning Michaela had only half been answered.

Poor Michaela. Mrs. Dunne hadn't even expressed a concern for her daughter. She was only interested in this fiancé and the repercussions Michaela's disappearance would have on the engagement. They obviously didn't love her. It was sad. How could anyone not love beautiful, kindhearted Michaela?

Now he knew that Michaela's family life was to blame for her withdrawal into herself, for her shyness, the awkwardness, and the idea that she had to hide her accomplishments. But so much was still missing from the puzzle. If only Michaela would talk to him, count him worthy of her trust. He might be able to help her.

Bloody hell, he wanted the answers as badly as ever. And he wasn't a man who was easily daunted. He would get those answers, if he had to do it all himself. He wished his man in New Orleans would hasten the process. Perhaps soon he would hear something.

When the phone on his desk began to ring, he snatched it up with more haste than usual, hoping it was news from the investigator. Instead, it was his old friend and business partner Mason Telford. Christopher couldn't hide the disappointment in his voice.

"Well, you could at least pretend you're glad to hear from me, old man," Mason mused, chuckling.

"Sorry. I'm afraid I'm a bit preoccupied today."

"You must be tied in knots about the woman attached to that lovely voice that keeps answering your telephone. I must admit I've been intrigued. Just what are you hiding up there, Christopher? I can't wait to meet the young woman."

Silence crackled between them. Christopher didn't have much to say on the subject. In fact, he was downright touchy about it. He didn't want to discuss Michaela, not with anyone. He still felt that undeniable tug to protect her, almost jealously.

"Christopher? Are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"Are you indeed?" Mason's reply was laced with sarcasm.

"Business is rather pressing of late," he said in the way of an apology.

"Indeed," Mason muttered. He seemed to sense that Christopher was not in the mood to be teased. "Well, then. I was just calling to arrange for a visit. I have some business I'd like to discuss with you."

Christopher assured him that he was welcome to arrive at any time he saw fit and then broke the connection, relieved that Mason hadn't questioned him further about Michaela. Frowning, he returned his attention to the paperwork on his desk. There were phone calls he needed to make, business to attend to, as usual, but his mind was not on any of the urgent matters set before him. He would be hard pressed to accomplish any work today.

Unable to concentrate, he stood up and went to the window of his office. It had taken all the self-control he could muster to stay away from it this morning, but Mason's call had brought him full circle. He could think of little else now. He might as well stop fighting it. He wouldn't rest until this issue was resolved.

He stared out over the landscape before him. It was all his, as far as he could see. Somehow, it seemed so much more rewarding since Michaela had arrived on the scene. At times, if he stood at his window at just the right moment, he would see the object of his interest on her way to the stables. The idea of joining her was a proposition that had often become too tantalizing to pass up.

He had a new habit of staying home more often than usual. He wanted to be near her, wanted to watch her progress. He liked seeing her blossom, enjoyed watching as bit by bit her trust began to unfold like a tiny bloom. He liked seeing her happy, smiling, content. Safe. When she had first come to be in his care, she'd been so nervous all the time, afraid to even look at him. Now, on that rare occasion, she would actually meet his eyes, and it always made his heart constrict with something inexplicable, something timeless and untouchable.

Michaela had slowly begun to relax among the family. She got along famously with the servants, who adored her, and every day she seemed more spirited. Christopher was pleased. His only concern was that she seemed rather too satisfied with her present state, comfortable with the fact that she had no past, no future. Perhaps it was a safety mechanism. Maybe she chose not to face her past because she simply didn't want to deal with the trauma. The happiness of her current circumstances was far more appealing.

The psychologist had been a mistake. Christopher had been a fool to force the man on her, forcing her into something she hadn't been ready for. He still felt guilty about it. He should have never pressed her so soon. The gesture had put a rift between them. The small amount of trust he'd previously gained had been swept away, and he hadn't been able to get it back. Now she avoided him even more than before.

Blast his curiosity! He should have better control. But he didn't seem able to help himself. Something altogether foreign had taken over his senses. He had to know things about her. The spartan amount he did know wasn't enough. He wanted to know everything.

He knew where she had come from, knew that she'd been born of a relatively wealthy Louisiana cotton planter. Her father hadn't been nearly as wealthy as Christopher was, but Michaela had been given all the proper things, a finer education among them. He knew at least some of her circumstances. And he knew her name now.

Michaela Dunne. It seemed odd. She'd come to be simply Michaela to him, to all of them. The sweet, quiet woman who lived so unobtrusively among them. It was both strange and tragic that such a beautiful soul had been born of such a detestable creature as the one he had spoken with last night. Mrs. Dunne was a hard, unforgiving woman. She must have spent her lifetime taking her bitterness out on other people, most especially on her youngest daughter. Perhaps because of her own oppressed and pitiable existence. Still, that was no excuse.

He stared at the lawn. Michaela was down there at the stables now. She had become fond of Leo, and she enjoyed spending time among the horses. He'd never been able to bring himself to go down there, to infringe on her enjoyment, though he'd questioned Leo about her to the point of embarrassment. But the thought of joining her today was too tempting to pass up.

Michaela was smiling as she carefully lifted the hoof of Mr. Standeven's prize stallion and gingerly cleaned the frog. She had been delighted when Leo suggested that she groom Mr. Standeven's personal mount, the most beautiful horse in the stable. Although he was a stallion, he was a gentle animal who loved the attention she gave him, and she didn't spare the pampering.

"He's such a beautiful boy," she crooned to the animal, so caught up in what she was doing that she wasn't aware Christopher had quietly come up behind her. "Just a big sweetheart."

Christopher smiled as he watched her. She was so absorbed in her work that she'd quite literally forgotten to be unhappy, and it showed in the joy on her face. Joy of living. Joy he had somehow managed to provide for her. It was something he would defend to his last breath. He never wanted to see her unhappy again.

Leo wasn't far away, carefully shoeing another horse. When he noticed Christopher, he stopped what he was doing and came to stand next to him, tipping his cap in his convivial way.

"She knows quite a bit about horses," Leo whispered in an aside to his employer.

"Yes, I can see that," Christopher murmured, his eyes never leaving Michaela.

"The stallion absolutely adores her," Leo added, also watching his young friend.

"Mm," was Christopher's only reply.

"There." Michaela finished the last brush stroke and ran an appreciative hand over the horse's gleaming coat. The horse nickered and turned its head to nuzzle her palm. She laughed in delight and gave his snout one last rub before stepping back to admire her handiwork. "He's perfect now, soft and silky. What do you think, Le—"

She'd been in the process of turning to seek Leo's approval when she realized they were no longer alone. Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened when she saw Mr. Standeven standing there.

Christopher dismissed the stable master with a bare trace of a nod and then approached her.

Michaela was glad she still held one of the grooming brushes. At least, she had something to clutch to keep herself from wringing her hands together in that disturbing habit she'd formed. Anything to keep him from seeing how nervous she suddenly was.

"I h-hope you don't mind," she managed, her eyes darting toward her toes. She instantly glanced back up, determined to meet his gaze. She was forever and always trying to hide herself from him, and it simply wouldn't do. But, Lord, if she'd displeased him, she would be more unhappy than she cared to admit.

"Not at all," he answered, running an appreciative eye over his horse. "He looks wonderful. I dare say no one else could have done a finer job."

He turned his eyes back to hers, and she nearly swooned at the smile he gave her. She'd never seen such an expression on his face. "I've discovered something you like, and that pleases me," he said.

She tried not to read anything particular into his words, but she couldn't stop the warmth that spread over her. Or the hope. He seemed different today. Almost...approachable.

He took a step closer, so close that she could feel his warm, sweet breath fanning her cheek when he spoke. She needn't will herself to stay there this time. She was rooted to the spot by the very heat of his nearness, willingly drowning in it, almost shamefully reveling in it.

"Michaela," he said in that rich way he had of speaking, that way that melted her bones and left her shivering with breathless anticipation. "At my request, Mrs. Avery has prepared a picnic. I would be very pleased if you would join me."

She felt her pulse quicken at the prospect. It actually sounded like he was inviting her to be alone with him. The idea gave her a surge of excitement.

"What about Gerald?" The words were out before she could stop them. She immediately regretted the question. She could see that it had been a mistake because something in his expression shifted, closed a bit.

"He's gone for the day."

"I would be happy to have lunch with you," she said, eager to amend.

"Good."

She relaxed when the smile returned to his face. Perhaps she hadn't ruined it after all.

"We shall be driving to our destination," he said.

She felt a momentary panic at the prospect of leaving the grounds, but the thrill of having an opportunity to spend some time alone with him overrode her fear.

"Would you like a moment to change?"

"Yes, thank you," she managed, still a bit doe-eyed over the circumstances.

"I'll arrange for the car while you prepare," he answered.

She realized then that she'd just been standing there rather stupidly staring back at him, waiting...for what she wasn't even sure. She managed to pull herself together, and put the grooming brush aside before turning to go back up to the house. Now that it was settled, she had a hard time containing herself. She wanted to run to the house, kicking up her heels and rejoicing in the fact that he wanted to spend time with her. But at the same time she was intimidated by the idea of being alone in his presence. She hoped he wasn't arranging this time alone so that he could question her about what had transpired between herself and the psychologist. In the past few days, no one had uttered a word to her about it, except for Gerald's and Mrs. Avery's constant apologies. Still, she was sure they were all curious, most of all Mr. Standeven.

Too excited at the prospect of being with him and not wanting to accept anything but the hope that he simply wanted to share her company, she set aside her concerns.

She only took a few minutes to freshen herself, changing into a light, flowery dress, perfect for a picnic, and then brushing her hair until it was shimmering. After a cursory glance in the mirror, she hurried back downstairs. Christopher Standeven was not a man to be kept waiting.

He was standing in the foyer when she appeared on the landing above. The moment he realized she was on the stairs, he tipped his head back to watch her descent. She tried to smile, if only to reassure herself, but somehow never managed to. Her blood was racing wildly through her veins. Looking down on him waiting for her there, she couldn't seem to take her eyes off him. He was so attractive in his customary gray trousers and white button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, all perfectly pressed. And his eyes, with that searching gaze. If only she could fathom what he was thinking. But that seemed impossible. Surely, he would never unlock his heart to her of all people. She shouldn't even fantasize about it.