Surrender To A Playboy. Renee Roszel
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harmless.”
He found himself grinning again. “What a shame.”
He lay the branch on top of her bouquet, and she gathered it into her arms along with the others. “I’d have thought you’d know that.” She peered at him. “Having been born here.”
He experienced a prick of apprehension but covered with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s refreshing to discover you can be wrong.”
She stared hard at him for a couple of steps, but the terrain wasn’t the soft and gentle kind you could take your attention away from for too long without regretting it, so she snapped her focus forward.
“Remember, I was shipped off to boarding school at nine. A boy can forget a lot of details about a hometown he’s hardly visited in over a quarter of a century.”
“I’m sure!” she said. “Like the detail of his grandmother!”
He gave her a quick look, then returned his attention to the twisty trail. The mention of Miz Witty brought a question to his mind. “How is she today?”
“She’s fine,” Mary said, her tone clipped. “This is her bouquet. She’s eating breakfast now. As soon as she’s through she’ll want to bathe. Then we’ll do a little physical therapy for her leg.” She glanced his way, her expression defiant. “She’ll be ready for company about eleven.”
He absorbed that news. “Then tell her I’ll see her at eleven.”
Mary’s expression didn’t ease. He sensed rather than saw her relief.
He shook his head, marveling that she could so completely and utterly distrust him. “What did you think I’d do, visit her one evening then ignore her?”
“I wouldn’t put anything past you,” she said.
He looked ahead, glimpsing the house through the trees, which brought on another thought. “Please inform Pauline that I’ll be eating lunch with Miz Witty.”
Mary peered at him, clearly dubious. Of course, she didn’t know his problem with the oversexed cook. Even if he hadn’t enjoyed Miz Witty’s company, he would choose eating lunch with a pack of ravenous wolves over Pauline-the-winker.
“I usually eat lunch with Miz Witty,” she said after a pause.
He was surprised, but didn’t know why he should be. “I’ll be joining you, then,” he said, aware of the crimp that news put in her day.
She remained grimly mute as they hiked to the edge of the forest. The redwood steps leading to the back porch loomed ahead of them. Beyond that was the kitchen. Taggart had no intention of making that trip.
“Here.” He retrieved the garden shears from his pocket and held them out. “I think I’ll walk into town.”
She halted, glanced at him. Her attention trailed from his face to his hand and the shears he lifted toward her. Without comment, she took them and resumed her trek toward the back door.
“Me, too,” he said.
She stopped, turned, looking suspicious. “What?” He crossed his arms over his chest, taunting, “I enjoyed our stroll, too.” That would get a rise out of her.
Her eyes flashed and her cheeks reddened. “Mr. Wittering, we did not stroll, and whatever it was, I did not enjoy it.” Snapping her shoulders around she broke into a run across the lawn. He felt sure she’d longed to do that from the beginning.
“I’ll see you at lunch,” he called, his reward a half-step falter in her stride and a definite stiffening of her spine.
As he watched her flee, he pondered his behavior. He was surprised at himself for teasing her. It wasn’t like him. What obscure, insubordinate part of him was responsible for this aberrant behavior? Why was he teasing this woman—a woman who hated the man she believed him to be? What contrary force inside him was not only disregarding his own counsel to kill the attraction, but purposefully drawing out her passion in the form of hostility, simply to glimpse it?
He pivoted away to go around the house. Shaking his head at himself, he muttered, “What’s wrong with you, Lancaster?”
Mary feared her lips would be permanently frozen in the strained smile she’d been compelled to wear during lunch with Miz Witty and Bonn Wittering. The only good thing about it had been her employer’s delight. She looked ten years younger and happier than Mary had ever seen her. Which only made her desire to kick Bonn Wittering in the shins harder to resist. He’d been so careless of this wonderful woman’s feelings for so long.
And his shins were so near! He sat directly across from her at the oak card table. It would be a crime not to kick him, just once. Really hard.
“I’ll help clear the dishes.” A voice intruded on her spiteful fantasy. A male voice. She glanced across the table, situated in front of Miz Witty’s hearth. Mary had spent the last, endless hour confined there with Bonn and her boss, conversing over a meal of tuna salad, stuffed in a tomato, marinated asparagus tips, orange slices and hot tea. Mary had a feeling Bonn was accustomed to eating more for his midday meal, and felt a gush of satisfaction at that. Let him be hungry!
“Mary?” The man causing her so much stress stood up, aiming a painfully exhilarating smile her way.
She wondered if his face muscles were as tired from their farce as hers. “Yes?” she asked, continuing to pretend she didn’t think he was the most self-centered man on earth.
“I said I’d help clear the table.”
She nodded and placed her napkin beside her plate. “How—nice.” She stood and moved to Miz Witty’s side, affectionately squeezing her employer’s hand. “Is there anything I can get you?”
Miz Witty beamed, her normally pale cheeks rosier than Mary had seen them in their two-and-a-half years together, her eyes bright with contentment. “No dear. I’m going to read until tea time.” She removed her hand from Mary’s and patted the younger woman’s face. “Tell Cook the lunch was delicious, as usual.” She lowered her hands to the wheels of her wheelchair and began to back away from the table.
“May I help?”
Startled to hear the offer, Mary glanced at Bonn. He was certainly laying on the Sir Galahad act pretty thick! Why should she be surprised? Bonn Wittering had a lot to lose if his grandmother cut him out of her will. She was a wealthy woman, and Bonn was her only relative. If Mary’s suspicions were true, Bonn had run through his own inheritance and couldn’t afford to alienate his grandmother. Mary had no doubt that was the real reason he’d finally come back to Wittering.
Miz Witty beamed at her grandson. “That’s a very sweet offer, dear. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to sit by the window. It’s such a beautiful day.” She pointed to her bedside table. “My book is over there.”
Mary began to clear the table, working to ignore the man. She pursed her lips, gratified to know she could actually change her expression to one more suited to her real mood.
As she placed the last of the china and silverware on the serving tray, the man responsible for her grimness materialized beside her. “I’ll take that.”
Kick his shins now! she roared inwardly. But she knew she couldn’t, not even if Miz Witty weren’t in the room. Regretful, she stepped away and indicated the tray, piled with dirty dishes. Since her back was to Miz Witty she didn’t smile. For show, she added a lighthearted lilt to her voice. “Why, thank you so much, Bonn.” She gave him a look that shouted her desire to hurt him physically. The slight narrowing of his eyes told her he’d received her message.
He picked up the tray and walked toward the open bedroom door. Mary turned toward Miz Witty who watched them, smiling. The older woman waved her away. “Why don’t you and Bonn go for a walk, have a nice long visit. I’m sure he’d enjoy the company of a lovely young woman.”
Mary managed a grin, nodded