Amanda Stevens - The Brother's Wife

No one said anything. They were all spellbound by his story, Hope included.

He cleared his throat, as if made self-conscious by his confession. “I started making some inquiries to try and learn all I could about your family. You may find this hard to believe, but I had no idea who the Kingsleys were. When I found out that you all are practically royalty in these parts…” His smile turned self-deprecating. “Well, I don’t mind admitting, it was a bit daunting.”

“I can imagine,” Pamela Kingsley murmured, smoothing the skirt of her turquoise silk dress. Sunlight caught the diamonds around her throat and both wrists as she perched on the arm of her husband’s chair, one hand resting on his shoulder. “It isn’t every day one learns he might be the sole heir to a considerable fortune.”

Michael stared at her, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t blame you. You only have my word that I didn’t come here to lay claim to your family’s fame and fortune. But I’ve actually done quite well for myself. I don’t really need your money, and I’ve never been one to crave the limelight. The reason I’m here is because—” He broke off again, seemingly at a loss for words. Then he turned back to Iris. “The reason I’m here is because I couldn’t stay away. Can you understand that?”

She smiled and took his hand. “Yes, I believe I can.”

Hope watched the exchange worriedly. For all her wealth and power, Iris was as fragile as a wounded bird. She was extremely vulnerable right now, and Hope knew she could easily be hurt.

It was for precisely that reason that Hope had remained on here after Andrew’s death. In the days and weeks following the accident, Iris had begged her not to move out of the mansion. She was Iris’s last tie to Andrew, and her despair had been so great that Hope was afraid to upset her any further. To make matters worse, Iris’s doctor had warned the family that her heart might not be able to take any more stress.

And so Hope, realizing it was the worst thing in the world she could do for herself, had agreed to stay with Iris for a little while longer. But days had turned into weeks, weeks into months, and here she was, no closer to moving out and starting a new life for herself than she had been the night she’d asked Andrew for a divorce.

The night he died.

As the voices droned on around her, Hope turned to look out the window, which faced the front lawn and gardens. Her gaze took in the lush, manicured grounds, the colored fountains, the marble sculptures, and she realized with something of a shock, that she was searching for Jake McClain.

Ever since he’d moved in with his father, she’d caught glimpses of him on the grounds. He’d been out there earlier, when Michael had first arrived, and Hope had seen him out of the corner of her eye.

It had taken all her willpower not to turn and stare at him. He’d been working in the gardens, and Hope could still picture the way he looked, standing there shirtless in the sunlight, his low-slung jeans hugging his lean hips and thighs.

With an effort she turned her attention back to the gathering, and started. From across the room, Michael Eldridge was staring at her so intently, it almost took Hope’s breath away.

My God, she thought. He does look exactly like Andrew.

From his vantage, he had an unobstructed view of Hope and the window behind her. As his gaze deepened, Hope had the strangest feeling that he knew exactly what she’d been doing—whom she’d been looking for—and he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

A shiver raced up Hope’s spine at the way his thick lashes hooded his blue eyes, giving them a dark intensity that was disturbingly familiar.

Their gazes clung for a long moment as Hope’s heart pounded and her mind whirled in confusion. Who was this man who looked enough like her dead husband to be him? Who was this stranger who seemed to know her innermost thoughts, her deepest, darkest secrets?

After what seemed an eternity, the man’s gaze shifted to Edward, who was speaking quietly to Iris.

Edward was a younger, weaker version of his mother, with the same white hair, the same deep blue eyes, and the same arrogant demeanor. But where his mother had retained her slender physique, her elegant beauty, Edward’s good looks, at sixty, had succumbed to the desecration of his vices. His eyes were shadowed and puffy, his jowls sagged, and his once-muscular body had grown soft and cumbersome.

To look at him now, one would never have guessed he had once been a powerful man in this state, a governor over thirty years ago who had been on the short list to run for vice president. But then, after two terms as governor, he had retired from politics, much to Iris’s keen disappointment, and had discreetly gone about the business of destroying himself.

All this Hope had learned from Andrew, who had never been close to his father. And he’d always despised his stepmother, Pamela, and her son, Jeremy Willows. “Parasites,” he’d called them in kindness. “Bloodsuckers,” when he was particularly aggravated by something one of them had said or done.

As Hope glanced at Pamela and Jeremy now, she wondered what they thought of this new development—a man looking exactly like Andrew appearing out of the blue to claim his rightful place in the family; a man who might very well be the sole Kingsley heir.

A position Jeremy had wanted for himself, Hope reflected, taking in the deep scowl on his face as he stood at the fireplace, away from the rest of the family. He looked the part of heir-apparent in his custom-made suit and expensive Italian loafers, but he was still an outsider, even after all these years, and no one knew that better than Jeremy.

“We’ll have to have some sort of verification,” Edward was saying. “There are tests….”

“Edward.” Iris’s tone held a note of warning, as if she were telling her son, Stay out of this. I’ll handle it. “It’s premature to be speaking of tests. This visit is so we can all become acquainted.”

“No, he’s absolutely right, Mrs. Kingsley,” Michael said earnestly. “The sooner we find out the truth, the better for all of us.” He turned to Edward, the man who might be his father. “I’m perfectly willing to submit to any tests you want, sir. Hypnosis, polygraph, even DNA. Although that might be difficult, considering we would need a sample of Adam’s DNA.”

Hope, who had remained quiet and introspective the entire time, surprised herself now by speaking up. “It might not be as difficult as you think. Since Andrew was Adam’s identical twin, his DNA would be a virtual match, wouldn’t it?”

Michael’s blue gaze met hers, and for just an instant, Hope felt the man’s intensity, his displeasure, then it was gone, replaced by a wan smile. “But Andrew’s dead. That’s how I came to realize I might be his brother. As I said, I saw his picture in the paper and saw how much we looked alike.”

“Yes, I know,” Hope said, refusing to concede to the man’s melancholy charm as easily as Iris had. “But Andrew went in for a physical the day before he died. The lab might still have his blood specimen. And if not, I believe the hospital took a sample the night he died.”

“If that’s true, Victor would be able to make all the necessary arrangements,” Edward said.

“Why not let Jeremy look into it?” Pamela suggested.

“I’d be happy to do whatever I can,” Jeremy murmured.

“Nonsense,” Iris declared. “Victor is like family, and he has a great deal of experience in these matters. Not to mention his discretion,” she added unkindly, but didn’t see, as Hope did, Jeremy’s angry blush at her insinuation. Iris had already turned back to Michael. “I’m so glad you came here today. You have no idea how much better I feel, just seeing you.”