Gwynne Forster - Fools Rush In

“Hardly. I don’t expect perfection from people.”

She let herself breathe more deeply. “What do you expect?”

He leaned toward her and whispered, “Honesty. Weakness, I can understand, but not dishonesty. And whatever you give me, give it with your whole soul, every bit of yourself. I refuse to be anybody else’s guilt or, for that matter, their charitable duty.”

His stricken look told her he’d said more than he had intended, that he hadn’t wanted to reveal so much of himself. She shuddered to think that, of their own volition, her fingers had found his beneath the table and grasped them as though in a gesture of comfort. When she tried to remove her hand, he tightened his grip.

“Look at me, Justine.”

She cast her glance downward and closed her eyes, refusing him, but she was about to learn that he would always stand his ground.

“Justine, if you don’t look at me, I’ll make you do it right here in front of everybody. If you don’t want my mouth on yours right here, open your eyes.”

She had to open them. Not merely because of his threat, but because she needed to see his face. “Don’t complicate this, Duncan. Please leave things as they are. I want to work here, but I can’t if you start something with me. I—”

“Why do you want to work here? And another thing, I can’t start anything with you unless I have your eager cooperation. You’re as safe with me as you would be in the Vatican. And you know it.”

His question, potent with danger, flowed out of him so readily that she knew it hadn’t just occurred to him, that it nagged at him waiting for a chance to be asked. She dodged it and commented on his assurance of her safety.

“Thank you, Duncan, but I have never doubted that you are honorable. It blazes across your countenance like a big red sun just before it sinks beyond the horizon.”

She glanced first at their entwined fingers and then toward the other end of the table where Banks sat with Wayne Roundtree in rapt attention beside her. “Duncan, please give me back my hand.”

His answer was a wide grin, roguish but determined, and she shifted her gaze to find Duncan’s sister watching them intently. She couldn’t help wondering why Banks wouldn’t use the opportunity to gain Wayne’s attention. Instead, the woman’s eyes seemed to pierce her, to scrutinize her insides, and she’d have thought it an act of rudeness if Banks hadn’t suddenly smiled and then turned to Wayne.

When they finished the five course meal and moved to the living room, Justine expected Duncan to circulate among his friends, but he stayed close to her.

His long-lashed reddish-brown eyes seemed to measure her features, as he gazed down at her. “Enjoy the meal?”

She nodded and forced a half-smile. All right, he was honorable, but her nerves still rioted at the thought that he slept across the hall from her and that their bedroom doors didn’t have locks. “Yes. It was wonderful. I had no idea that Mattie could turn out a gourmet meal. I had expected some first class soul food.”

Looking at him, relaxed against the marble fireplace, she didn’t think she’d ever seen a man so comfortable with himself. “Oh, she can cook that, too,” he said, “as well as French or Italian, and always top fare. There’s more to Mattie than those ridiculous wigs. Aperitif?”

“N…No thank you. I’d better run up and check on Tonya.”

With a finger on her arm, he detained her. “I told you. You’re off tonight. I’ll check on her. If you want to get away from me, just say so.”

She looked up quickly, startled. “Why would I want to do that?”

“You’re asking me?” Ice laced his speech. “Look, Justine, I don’t know why I’m pestering you. If you’ll excuse me…”

To her amazement, he half-bowed and left her. What had brought that on? Surely, he wasn’t so thin-skinned.

“What got into him?” Banks asked, her words and delicate spicy perfume announcing her presence.

Justine looked up at Banks, about five-feet-nine, slim, and beautiful. Almost enough like Duncan to be his twin. “You tell me. You’ve known him longer than I have.”

Banks’s tongue poked the lower side of her jaw, a gesture Justine had often seen Duncan make. “He’s bothered about something, and maybe he ought to be.”

Justine had to reach for self-control to avoid reacting to Banks’s cryptic remark. Still, she couldn’t refrain from glaring at Banks. “What do you mean?”

Unperturbed, Banks shrugged with the elaboration of royalty conferring an honor. “Why is an intelligent, well-educated, smart woman like you working as a babysitter? You’re finishing school from your head to your toes, girlfriend, and I bet you never made a bed in your life.”

Taken aback by the woman’s shrewdness and blunt remark, Justine pretended to be unruffled. “Not everybody can judge a book by its cover. Congratulations.”

“Save the sarcasm, Justine. What are you after?”

A sigh eased through her lips before she could stifle it. She lifted her chin in defiance, but thought better of the words about to spill out and decided to bridle her tongue. No point in making an enemy of Duncan’s sister. “I’m trying to make a living while I develop some writing skills. That all right with you?”

Banks sat on the edge of a leather arm chair, leaned forward, and cupped her knees with her hands. “I’ll buy that. For now. If I were you, though, I’d watch it with Duncan. For all that heman front, he’s as tender as Tonya, and I’ll tell you one more thing. Girl, if you ever trip his trigger, you’re in for a full-scale war.”

“Thanks. But why are you telling me this?”

Banks’s raised left eyebrow was meant to question Justine’s intelligence. “You kidding? Deny it all you please, girlfriend, but you want Duncan just about as much as I want Wayne Roundtree. From what I’ve seen, I suspect you’d be good for him. Of course, what I’ve seen also tells me there’s plenty more to you than meets the eye.” At Justine’s barely contained annoyance, she went on, “Don’t mind me. I say what I think. That way you know where you stand with me. Can’t say that for my brother, though. He’s about as open with his thoughts as a deaf mute; by the time you figure it out, your name is Mudd.” Wayne joined them and saved Justine a rejoinder.

“Are you headed back to Frederick tonight, Leah?”

Justine could barely refrain from grinning when Banks pulled air through her teeth and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Wayne, we aren’t going to get anywhere if you insist on calling me Leah. My name is Banks.”

“Get real, Leah. I can’t call you Banks; that’s what I call your brother.”

“Then call him Duncan,” she huffed. “He loves his name. I can’t stand mine.”

“It’s a lovely name, and I like it. Brings to my mind a graceful swan, long-necked and elegant, as you are,” Wayne said, and Justine thought of telling Banks that Wayne Roundtree wouldn’t be browbeaten. “I repeat, going to Frederick?”

“I have to,” she mumbled, in a manner that suggested she wasn’t pleased with him. “I’m working tomorrow.” She bunched her shoulders. “Duncan would love it if you drove me. Save him the long trip tonight.”

Wayne raised up to his full height of six feet, three inches and bestowed a cool smile on Banks. “Leah, I don’t give two hoots what Duncan would love, and I’m not trying to save him a trip anywhere. I want to know what you would like. Do I drive you?”

“That would be nice,” she said in a barely audible voice.

Justine left them to settle the matter and slipped upstairs to look in on Tonya. All evening, she’d longed to sit beside the child’s bed and watch her sleep, to be there for her when she woke up and see her smile of recognition. Torn between the desire to nurture Duncan’s interest into a living, permanent emotion and the need to preserve her status as Tonya’s nanny, she’d needed reassurance of Tonya’s affection—the one thing that could fill her life forever. Her heart pounded in joyous rhythm as she gazed down at the sleeping child.