Nights in White Satin: A Loveswept Classic Romance (7 page)

“Right.”

Jill’s monotone caught his attention. He peered at her and was surprised to see how deflated she looked. It was as if someone had drained her of her vitality. Something had happened while they were gone, something that had upset her. His anger eased, and he glanced around at the crowds of people queuing on the street outside the popular wax museum. That he had paced and cursed and cursed and paced the length of that queue for the past hour wasn’t so important now. He didn’t like it that Jill was hurting, and an odd
urge to protect her rose up in him. He moved closer, as if to shelter her. “What’s wrong?”

A hunted expression came over her, then she shook herself and shrugged. “Nothing. We’d better get in line, or we’ll never get in.”

“Why
do
we want to get in?” he asked.

“Because I haven’t been here in thirty years,” Lettice said sharply. “So stop squawking like a mother hen with lost chicks and get in line.”

“You really want to go to Tussaud’s?” he asked dubiously. He could understand if they wanted to go to Harrods, or the National Gallery, or the Savoy for tea, but a wax museum?

“Yes, I really want to go to Tussaud’s,” his grandmother snapped. “And I do not want to play Twenty Questions about it. Now get in the damned line.”

Rick blinked. He looked at Jill, who looked back and smiled. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s get in the damned line.”

He took Jill’s elbow to guide her after his grandmother. Her skin was cool to his touch, yet it evoked an unexpected intimacy. If he adjusted his fingers slightly, so slightly, he would touch the side of her breast. He remembered what it was like to feel her grow hot with desire … desire he created.

Shaking the thought away, he leaned over and whispered, “Look, Grandmother couldn’t hide a microdot from anybody if her life depended on it, and you’re certainly not fooling me. Now, what is going on? Where did you two go?”

Jill glanced sharply at him, not quite hiding a moment of panic in her gaze. “Sight-seeing. Let
tice got tired of waiting for you. She wanted to move on. It’s no big deal, Rick.”

“The two of you in a strange city—”

She rolled her eyes. “You make us sound like ‘innocents abroad.’ It’s the nineties, Rick, and we’re perfectly capable of finding our way around.”

He lost his patience. “Damn it all, Jill. The car is kilometers away in a car park, and the buses are jammed and the taxis near impossible to get with the strike. What if we had missed each other here? What if either of you were in trouble? How could you have let my grandmother just wander off like that? Why didn’t you come back for me?”

“I apologize.”

He gaped at her, the righteous anger going right out of his sails.

“I apologize,” she said in a firm voice. “I hadn’t realized you would be so upset about it.”

“What’s he upset about?” Lettice asked, as they settled at the end of the line behind her.

“Nothing,” Rick muttered, suddenly feeling like that mother hen. He’d had every right to be worried, but to his disgust, the two women had out-manuevered him. It was getting to be a habit.

Grahame’s scathing comments that morning about his abrupt trip to London echoed in his mind. He hadn’t left the farm and surrounding area in years—until Jill. Then he had latched onto the first excuse to get away. He should have stayed home and away from intoxicating women. They were trouble.

In a little form of revenge once they were in the museum, he insisted his grandmother have her picture taken with the Benny Hill statue. Lettice
frowned, providing a perfect counterpoint to Benny’s saluting Fred Scuttle character.

Jill ducked her head and chuckled.

“You’re next,” he said, delighted to hear her laughter again.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” she said, backing away from him and the photographer. She backed right into Elvis’s guitar. “Just what I needed. A rude awakening.”

“Come on,” he cajoled, realizing she was cheering up. The color was back in her cheeks, and her eyes were sparkling.

“Only if you have
your
picture taken with Benny,” she said.

“But Jill, I’m not the tourist here, you are.” Laughing, he managed to grab hold of her arm and pull her forward. “You can have all your friends back home try and guess who’s the real wax statue.”

She made a face. “How genteel of you, Rick. Remind me to spike your tea later.”

He laughed. He wouldn’t care if she did. It was good to see her relaxing and cheerful again.

Her mood lasted through the Grand Hall, especially when he “innocently” leaned against a pillar in an attempt to fool people by looking like another statue. There were several of them that looked just like ordinary tourists, taking a rest on a bench or gazing at an exhibit.

Still, as they continued through the wax museum, he felt as if somebody had forgotten to let him in on a secret the rest of the world knew. Ever since they’d arrived Jill had clearly been upset, and his grandmother was acting half-senile. Just getting on a plane and crossing the
Atlantic without telling anybody was completely out of character for her, and then there was the scene outside Madame Tussaud’s, when she nearly threw a temper tantrum over the possibility of not going to a wax museum. As he continued to wonder why they were being so secretive, the odd location of their rendezvous kept coming back to haunt him. A horrible notion floated through his mind. Even seeing a near perfect replica of Cher in her Academy Awards acceptance dress wasn’t enough to make him forget that this area was also known as London’s medical district. Harley Street was only a few blocks away, and it still held some of the best specialists in the world. Not everyone who consulted with them was British.

When he saw his grandmother engaged in morbid conversation with an elderly French couple over the death masks of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, he seized the opportunity and Jill’s arm. He pulled her farther into the dank humid “dungeon” in the basement of Madame Tussaud’s, until they were almost in the walk-through exhibit of Jack the Ripper’s Victorian London.

“My grandmother is sick, isn’t she?” he demanded. “That’s why you two came over on a moment’s notice. That’s why you’re so hot to see my father, right?”

Jill’s mouth dropped open. Rick knew he’d completely surprised her with his conclusions.

“I—I … ah … Don’t be ridiculous!” she exclaimed. “Lettice is as healthy as a horse.”

“On the outside. It’s … Jill, is she losing her faculties?” He wished he hadn’t chosen such a dim spot for their conversation. He couldn’t quite make out the nuances of her expression.

“No, she’s not losing her faculties. Just because she got her times mixed up for the visit is no reason to think that. Anyone could make a mistake.”

But Jill had hesitated with her answer, enough to confirm his conclusions. His heart sank.

“You better not say anything to her about what you’re thinking,” she added, shaking her head. “She’ll probably shoot you on the spot.”

More confirmation, he thought, taking a deep breath. He knew his grandmother would be ashamed to admit she was ill. Not until she had to. Obviously, Jill was a more trusted companion than he’d thought. And just as obviously, she had been told not to say anything. He admired her honor.

He admired a lot of things about Jill, he mused, unconsciously caressing her silken skin. He ought to let go of her. He really should. He’d promised they wouldn’t … yet how he ached to taste her once more. She stared up at him, her eyes wide and unreadable. He leaned closer.…

“Really, couldn’t you two find a better spot for necking than in the middle of Tussaud’s?”

Rick spun around to find Lettice grinning at them. The French couple strolled by, the mist not quite hiding their smiles of amusement.

“We weren’t necking,” he said in exasperation, almost snatching his fingers away from Jill’s arm.

“Too bad. Things looked pretty hot there.”

“Keep it up, Lettice,” Jill said, “and I’ll show everyone back home that picture of you with Benny Hill.”

Lettice sniffed. “I was just commenting on how you two looked huddled together like that.”

“Come on,” Rick said, taking Lettice’s elbow. It was hard to believe his bright vital grandmother was slowly succumbing to a grave illness. They’d get her well again. They had to. He forced himself to be natural. “The exhibit of the world’s worst criminals is up ahead. The perfect place for you, I’m sure.”

Jill choked, then cleared her throat. “Sorry.”

Rick nodded, his senses abruptly caught by the scent of her perfume. And the way she moved. And the way her lips curved into a slow smile. He wished they
had
been caught necking.

Of all the mystifying things he’d had to cope with lately, Jill was the most intriguing.

Her brain had been working overtime, Jill thought, slowly letting out her breath as she followed Rick and Lettice. It wasn’t healthy to have a brilliantly insane idea at the same moment Rick was touching her. Controlling her wild urges to throw her arms around him and plaster her body to his was a full-time occupation, especially when he looked as if he actually would kiss her. She’d nearly blown all of her circuits when she remembered the paste copies of the crowns of England the royal wax family had been wearing in the Grand Hall. Thank heavens Lettice had come along at precisely that moment, drawing his attention away. And giving Jill a chance to explore her brilliantly insane idea.

Mr. Havilan had turned out to be a fussy little man with a fussy mustache and a fussy mind. He was absolutely no help. Lettice had nearly got
them thrown out of the man’s office when she’d called him a “pencil-pusher.”

“I am not a pencil-pusher, madam!” he had snapped, bristling. “I cannot help because Miss Daneforth’s mother signed a bill of sale, making the transaction perfectly legitimate. If we had proof he’s a swindler, I would be happy to act. At the moment, I can only alert the authorities that he may be of questionable character and to watch out for him in the future.”

Mr. Havilan hadn’t told Jill anything she hadn’t already figured out. But that still hadn’t softened the blow.

Still, she had her diamond necklace
and
the paste of the emerald necklace, a copy so well made that a jeweler could be fooled without his loupe. Not only would she get the proof Mr. Havilan needed, but she had an idea how to get the Daneforth necklace back and drive the Colonel crazy while she was doing it. Provided the Colonel could be tempted into swindling daughter as well as mother. She had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to resist.

There was only one slight problem. She had to find the Colonel first. It couldn’t be that hard, she decided. After all, Texas was twice the size of England and Pat Garrett had found Billy the Kid.

Feeling infinitely better, she caught up with Lettice and Rick, slipping between them. She spared a dismissing glance at the wax figures of master criminals who’d been brought to justice. This was no time for doubts.

“Anybody game for the Tower of London?” she asked. “I have a hankering to see some real jewels for a change.”

* * *

Jill Daneforth was a dangerous woman.

That fact had come home to Rick with a vengeance since their return from London three days earlier. He had thrown all common sense out the window with one kiss. Angered at how her uncaring husband had treated her, he had wanted to show her she truly was beautiful and desirable and not inadequate in the least. So, he’d kissed her. Well, now he had had that kiss … and that touch … and the rightness of her in his arms … and her response to him. He had never found himself drowning in a woman so fast before.

Her presence had invaded his domain. No matter how late he stayed at the job, she was somehow there the moment he entered the house. He refused to admit how much that pleased him. He also refused to admit how often he remembered how she’d looked that morning, rushing out of his home in a demure robe, her hair spilling about her face with the first morning blush. That she had come for George and his kits didn’t diminish the power of that memory. It had been the sharing of his quiet time that had pulled him under.

He ought to be furious with her for dumping him in London, for hiding what was going on with his grandmother. But he couldn’t. All he could remember was that one kiss. He remembered it every night when he passed her bedroom on the way to his own.

Jill Daneforth was like forbidden fruit. One taste and he craved more.

“Sir, could ye hold the sheep a little tighter? ’Totherwise I don’t give a fig for your fingers.”

“What?” Rick glanced up to see his best shearing man looking at him in exasperation. He realized he hadn’t been paying the least attention to his job of holding the young sheep still for its first shearing. The whirring of the shears and the bleating of frantic sheep was deafening all of a sudden. “Sorry, Bert.”

The man nodded.

“Next year we won’t be so shorthanded that you’re stuck with me as an assistant,” Rick promised.

“Aye. I hope not,” Bert said, grinning.

Rick snorted in self-disgust, while mentally cursing his manager who thought two men were adequate for the job. The creatures were too agile and too afraid to allow the humans to do the shearing easily. He gripped the sheep tighter and decided he’d better stay away from Jill. Not that he hadn’t already told himself that. But he knew he would be insane to start something that was doomed to end in a few weeks.

“Your fingers, sir.”

Rick grinned and shifted his hand. “It would teach me a lesson if I got cut.”

Later that afternoon, Rick decided that making a pledge to avoid Jill had the exact opposite effect. He no sooner entered the house through the dining room terrace doors than she was there. He was grateful, for once, about Grahame’s restrictions concerning “filthy Wellies.” With his boots changed before he came up to the house, at least he didn’t smell too sheepish.

“Still here?” he asked. “I mean, I would have
thought you and Grandmother had sight-seeing things to do.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Not today.”

“Wonderful,” he muttered, thinking of the distraction she posed. And she posed it very well in the slacks and striped shirt she was wearing. Her breasts pushed against the material, and the junction of her legs was outlined in a perfect vee.…