Joyce Sullivan - The Butler's Daughter

Juliana told herself that if he kept looking at her as he was looking at her now, as if he’d been interrupted during a favorite meal, no one could possibly doubt that he’d fathered Cort. This crazy scheme might work. “Where in Europe?” she said breathlessly. “People will ask.”

“Germany. The Black Forest. They’ll believe that. We camped at adjoining campsites. Everyone knows I never stay in hotels, especially my own hotels.”

“I know absolutely nothing about camping.”

“Which is why I came to your rescue, Cinderella, out of fear that you’d light your clothes on fire.”

She ground her teeth behind clamped lips, subduing the urge to insist he stop calling her Cinderella. She forced her lips into a smile. “How complimentary.”

“I’m glad you approve.” He gripped her elbow again and hurried her across the parking lot toward the chopper. Juliana felt as if she were leaving one world and entering another.

TO HIS CREDIT, THE MAN she’d just agreed to marry was solicitous to a fault during the chopper ride to New York City. For the limousine ride to the penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park, Hunter thoughtfully closed the privacy window between them and the driver. Juliana tried not to let her grief over the Collingwoods’ deaths or her fears over her father’s condition show in her face. What was happening with her father? Why didn’t the doctor call?

The apartment was as enigmatic and masculine as Hunter himself. An oasis of muted earth colors on the walls, comfortable leather furnishings, and artwork that probed to the soul.

Juliana restrained herself from offering an apologetic smile to the middle-aged butler and housekeeper who’d obviously been roused from their beds and awaited them in the foyer, with appropriate smiles of welcome.

“Juliana, darling, this is Marquise and his wife Valentina, who make life much simpler in the Big Apple,” Hunter said warmly, slipping the stiff band of his arm around Juliana’s shoulder and dropping a kiss on Cort’s downy head. “Marquise, Valentina, this handsome young man is my son, Cort. And his beautiful mother is going to be my wife as soon as we can arrange a quiet wedding. Please make them comfortable. They’re both exhausted from their trip.”

Juliana blushed as Marquise, a short man with a precisely trimmed goatee and velvety black eyes, bowed slightly. “Very good, sir. And congratulations. A crib has been set up in the nursery for the little one.”

Cort let out a grumpy wail. Gratitude and awkwardness spilled through Juliana. It felt alien to have someone anticipate her needs before she’d thought of them herself; she was used to the shoe being on the other foot. “Thank you, Marquise. The baby’s not feeling well. I’m sure he’ll rest better in a comfy bed.”

“You follow me, please, madam,” Valentina said in heavily accented English. Hunter excused himself to take care of some phone calls. Neither Marquise nor Valentina seemed to think it odd that he would be making phone calls at 4:00 a.m. Juliana prayed that one of those phone calls would bring news about her father’s condition. Please, let him be all right.

Unpretentious and quiet, Valentina led the way down a thickly carpeted hallway to the nursery. Even though the lights were turned low, Juliana could see this was a room used by children. Boys, she presumed from the twin set of race car beds and the buckets of blocks, trucks and action figures neatly arranged on the shelves near the window.

She didn’t ask Valentina what boys used this room. As Hunter’s fiancée, it would be expected that she know this. Did Hunter have children from a previous marriage? Was that why he’d seemed so sarcastic about the subject of matrimony? Had his first wife relieved him of some of his much prized zeroes?

Although she’d successfully hidden Cort’s existence from the world for the last five months, Juliana was overwhelmed by the enormity of what the task now entailed. It was one thing to pretend to be a single mother living on her own. Quite another to find herself suddenly married, pretending to be in love with a stranger. A large, intimidating stranger.

While Juliana changed Cort’s diaper, Valentina helpfully warmed a bottle for him, then unpacked the diaper bag. Juliana experienced a flicker of alarm, wondering if the housekeeper found it odd that there was only a few days’ worth of clothes in the bag.

Hunter had been right, they couldn’t have the servants talking, thinking there was anything remotely suspicious about their wedding or Cort’s parentage. “I had most of the baby’s clothes sent to the island,” she extemporized. “And I planned to do some shopping—for the wedding and for him while we’re here in New York. He’s growing so fast.”

Valentina laughed. “Marquise will drive you to find what you need. He knows all Brook’s favorite stores. She comes many times with the boys to visit their fathers and to shop.”

Fathers? Juliana distractedly absorbed this information, wondering if it was a grammatical error on Valentina’s part and still uncertain as to who Brook could be. Cort whimpered and snuffled as Juliana changed his diaper, her fingers fumbling with the snaps of his sleeper. Had the news of the explosion reached the media yet? “There, there, everything’s going to be fine,” she whispered to Cort, rubbing his back until he quieted. Then she lowered him into the crib and covered him with his favorite blanket.

With any luck, he’d sleep for a few hours.

Valentina waited outside in the hall, her dark-ginger eyes eager to please as she led Juliana to a room across the hall that was distinctly feminine in tones of ivory and powder-blue. A bedroom fit for a princess, with dainty upholstered furniture and a bed draped with yards of powder-blue velvet, ivory satin and gold-tasseled cords. Not a bed fit for the butler’s daughter.

Resentment and anger teemed inside her. This pampered luxury was not her life. It rightfully belonged to Lexi and Ross. She wanted to scream.

Valentina was gazing at her in concern. “Hunter say to prepare this room. His room is adjoining, yes? He gets lots of phone calls in the night. No good for a new mother who needs her sleep.”

Juliana reminded herself to play her role. “How thoughtful of him, although I doubt anyone’s going to get much sleep with Cort in the house,” she murmured ruefully. With a practiced eye she sought out the details she’d been trained to note: the bed neatly turned down, the fresh flowers, the spotless tabletops that would pass a white glove test. “The room is very comfortable, Valentina. Thank you.”

The housekeeper bobbed her head and beamed. “Hunter not bothered by crying babies. He love babies—very good with babies. I unpack your bag for you, yes?”

Juliana felt woozy, as if she couldn’t hold herself together a moment longer. “Please. I’m so exhausted I can’t think straight. Our flight was delayed for hours. Leave my robe out. I’ll have a shower before I turn in.”

Escaping into the bathroom, she removed her jacket, wondering what to do with the gun in the front pocket. Where could she hide it from Valentina’s prying eyes? She tucked it between the folds of a plush towel stacked in a basket on the handsome wood vanity until she could return it to her purse. Violet smudges cut beneath her eyes as she stared at herself in the gilt-framed mirror. The situation was absurd. She didn’t look anything like a happy bride-to-be. Just the thought of pretending to be in love with Hunter Sinclair made her shiver.

Shedding her clothes, she turned on the water in the large marble-tiled shower. Here, at last, was privacy beneath the veil of steam and the pulsing drum of the water. Juliana sagged against the cool marble wall and let the sobs come.