Diana Whitney - Baby Of Convenience

A flash of movement caught Laura’s eye. A blooming daylily at the south wing of the huge home rustled. She gave another wary glance around the lush grounds. Then, cradling her sleepy child in her arms, she crept forward.

Ducking beneath a cantilevered bay window, she slipped to the rear of the house just in time to see the final vibration of foliage in front of an open basement window.

“Oh, criminey.” So much for the hope that Maggie had found refuge in a separate toolshed, or some other structure from which she could be quietly extricated without disturbing the mansion’s owner.

She swallowed hard. “Hold on to your diapers, Jamie. Looks like we’re about to have ourselves an up-close-and-personal introduction to the richest, most powerful and most frightening man in the entire town.”

The woman’s eyes were ice blue, cool to the point of frigid. Strands of gray muted the reddish hue of hair faded by time and twisted into a bun as tight as her jawline.

She eyed Laura, her gaze lingering on the squirming child long enough to reflect a hint of disdain. “Is Mr. Burton expecting you?”

“No.” Shifting as Jamie gave a sideways lurch, Laura tightened her grip on her fidgeting son and struggled to maintain her composure. She’d met women like this before. Too many of them, actually. Household terrors who ruled the inner workings of their employer’s homes as if they’d been blessed by royal decree. “It’s urgent that I speak with him at once.”

“Impossible. Mr. Burton is in conference.”

“But it’s Sunday.” Desperate, Laura turned her attention toward a masculine voice filtering from somewhere beyond the gleaming marble foyer. “I won’t take much of his time.”

Unmoved, the woman, who appeared to be in her midfifties, squared her shoulders, took a sideways step as she prepared to close the massive carved door. “I suggest you call his office in the morning. His personal assistant will either set up an appointment—” cool blue eyes once again settled on the baby in Laura’s arms “—or refer you to his personal attorney.”

Shocked by the implication, Laura bristled. “Mr. Burton must have quite a morals deficit for you to presume every visiting child is the issue of a tawdry affair.”

The moment the angry words rumbled off her tongue, she regretted them. An unrestrained temper was not usually one of Laura’s flaws, except where her son was concerned. An insult to Jamie was intolerable, even if it meant alienating her only means of locating the elusive Mr. Burton—and the even more elusive Maggie.

“How dare the likes of you insult a man of Mr. Burton’s impeccable standards?” A crimson flush stained the furious woman’s crepey throat, and a flash of embarrassed fury narrowed her eyes. Had it not been for the fortuitous diversion of a booming masculine voice, Laura had no doubt the massive doors would have been instantly slammed in her face.

“Marta!”

The distracted woman spun around, gazing like an anxious lapdog in the direction from which brusque footsteps echoed. “Get Robinson at the Brussels office on the line. Also, call Dave Henderson. Have him call a finance committee meeting for this afternoon.”

Taking advantage of the tight-jawed door sentry’s inattention, Laura decided it was now or never. Tucking Jamie tightly against her shoulder, she stepped inside before the startled Marta could stop her.

A blur of movement caught Laura’s eye as a dark-haired man in a tailored suit strode out of a room where a magnificent wall lined with leather-bound books was visible through an arched doorway.

He moved with purpose and determination, although his gaze was riveted on a sheaf of documents he held in one hand. A cellular phone was clasped in the other. “Tell Henderson to bring the updated revenue projections and cash-flow statements, along with the revised production estimates—”

He glanced up, did a double take when he saw Laura. He didn’t jerk to a stop, exactly. Rather, he slowed with a fluid grace, a man whose every movement was clearly practiced and precise.

A questioning glance at the older woman was met with an apologetic tone that was a striking contrast to the haughty demeanor she’d displayed a moment earlier. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Burton, I tried to tell this…woman…that you weren’t receiving—”

Laura interrupted. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Burton, but it’s urgent that I speak with you immediately.”

He hiked an eyebrow, allowed his gaze to slip unobtrusively along the length of her body before settling with unnerving intensity on her face. “And who might you be?”

She moistened her lips, oddly intimidated. He was only a man, after all, albeit a man whose mere presence filled a room, demanding immediate recognition. “My name is Laura Michaels.”

Marta stepped forward, hands clasped tightly enough to whiten her veined knuckles. “Shall I call Security?”

“Not at the moment.” There was no trace of a smile on Royce’s surprisingly youthful face, no hint of humor in his eyes. He slipped the cell phone into his coat pocket, tucked the sheaf of documents under his arm. “Ms. Michaels has one minute to convey this matter of urgency.”

Jamie squirmed in Laura’s arms, extracting his thumb with a pitiful whine. “Firsty, Mama.”

“Shh, I know you are, sweetie. Just a few more minutes.”

Royce regarded the child without visible emotion, although his eyes appeared to warm for a moment. A very brief moment. “You have fifty-five seconds remaining, Ms. Michaels. I suggest you make the most of them.”

Taking a deep breath, Laura filled her lungs, emptied them slowly and managed to meet his unwavering stare without trembling. “I have reason to believe that your basement is being occupied without your knowledge or consent.”

Whatever he’d expected to hear, that clearly was not it. A muscle twitched along a jaw that was firmer and stronger than Laura had expected. No other expression of surprise was allowed, although she noticed him blink twice, a revealing gesture she doubted he meant to display. “On what do you base that interesting speculation?”

“I followed her here.”

“I see.”

Laura was fascinated by the practiced ease with which he conducted himself. Every muscle in his face impassive, his eyes carefully steadied to reveal nothing beyond that which he wished to reveal. There was no twist of fingers, no absentminded straightening of cuffs or brushing of invisible lint. This was a man used to being in control, in control of himself, of others, and of any situation, no matter how unexpected or startling.

Laura moistened her lips. “I believe she entered through the basement window.”

Still no change in expression, no gleam of interest in eyes so dark a woman could get lost in them. “Is this individual a fugitive of some kind?”

Feeling profoundly silly all of a sudden, Laura was annoyed by an irksome dryness in her mouth. “I wouldn’t exactly call her a fugitive.”

“So we are in no danger?”

She allowed herself the luxury of a smile. “That rather depends, I suppose—”

He glanced at his watch. “Your minute is up, Ms. Michaels. Thank you for the information. We’ll certainly look into the matter.”

At the signal, the annoying Marta person spun to grasp Laura’s elbow, no doubt preparing to shuffle her out the door. “No, wait, you don’t understand.” Wriggling out of the older woman’s grasp, Laura blurted, “There’s more.”

Again he hiked that well-formed brow in what Laura decided was a deliberate gesture designed to demean those toward whom it was so purposefully aimed. “I’ve assured you that the matter will be investigated.”

Ego trips by powerful men brought out the devil in Laura. She could have simply told him what he needed to know, but she found that damnable arched eyebrow irksome.