Tempting A Texan

“Irene was my friend,” Carlinda began, unsure of what she was obliged to tell about the beautiful woman who’d lived in fear of her secrets being revealed. “She married Joseph. I suppose I should mention that she’d also been interested in his partner, Vincent Preston, at one time. But once Joseph came along, she settled on him, and they shared a whirlwind romance.”

“Whirlwind?” His inflection was cynical if she read it aright.

“Yes…perhaps a period of two weeks after meeting him, Irene married Joseph.”

“And they lived happily ever after?” Beyond cynical, his lifted brow seemed derisive.

“Hardly. For just about six years, as it happens. After Amanda was born, they settled down to the usual married life. Joseph was successful, and his partner was brilliant. Vincent Preston is a man I wouldn’t want to cross.” And yet I have.

“How so?” Nicholas asked, interest lighting his gaze. “Is he a scoundrel? Or just a shrewd businessman?”

Carlinda hesitated, thinking about the tall, almost sinister-appearing gentleman she’d met in the courtroom in New York City. “Harsh, perhaps. Shrewd, certainly. But not a man I’d find it comfortable to spend time with. I think Irene found him frightening. As I did, also.”

Nicholas frowned, as thought he would pursue that bit of information later. “And what sort of woman was my sister?”

“Kind…beautiful, certainly. A loving mother and a loyal friend.” It was hard to describe such a creature, Carlinda decided. “A bit flighty at times, but Joseph was passionately in love with her, and I’m sure she returned his affection.”

Nicholas looked as if he would dismiss her description of their relationship. “As I said—happily ever after.” He changed his tone abruptly, speaking briskly as he questioned her further.

“I know Irene was not my mother’s child. Am I safe in assuming she was the legal offspring of my father? Of the woman he was married to?”

Carlinda had the grace to be embarrassed at his forthright query. “You don’t make a secret of your beginnings, I assume, Mr. Garvey.”

His shrug was negligible. “Not when it all happened so long ago. I’ve long since found that my beginnings were unimportant in the general scheme of things. More important is the man who pulled me from the gutter and sent me on my way to success.”

“Certainly not your father,” she said flatly. “From what Irene said, he never acknowledged your birth.”

“She’s right. In fact, I’d be hard-pressed to give you his name.”

“You don’t know who he is?” Carlinda felt amazement sweep through her. “You never sought him out? You truly don’t know about the man?”

“He didn’t care about me. I saw no reason to enquire as to him or his whereabouts,” Nicholas explained politely. “You, my dear lady, are looking at a genuine bastard.”

She refused to allow her embarrassment to show. “I was aware of your status before I arrived here.”

“And you spoke to me anyway? Even gave me control over a five-year-old child?” He lifted a brow as he straightened in his chair. “Such courage, my dear. I’d have thought you might protest at my being given custody of Amanda. Are you sure I’m fit for such a responsibility?”

“Whether I am or not, it was what Irene wanted.”

“Irene? My half sister wanted me to raise her child?”

Carlinda grimaced. “She didn’t plan on dying. I think she only named you because her mother is dead, and she has no use for her father. Maybe it was a protest of sorts, though I doubt she ever thought he’d be aware of it.” She bowed her head as she thought of the beautiful young woman.

“Designating you as guardian should have been a problematical decision, after all. As I said, Irene and Joseph did not plan on leaving Amanda’s fate to a court decision. They fully intended to raise her themselves.”

“The best laid plans…et cetera, et cetera,” Nicholas said dryly. He deposited his cup on the table in front of him, a long, low structure on which sat the stereopticon he’d left out for Amanda’s use.

“I don’t know what else you’d like to know about Irene,” Carlinda told him. “I was her friend.” She shrugged, unwilling to reveal anything more.

“Was she aware of my appearance? The way I look?” His index fingers touched the small spot near his mouth. “I’d considered it coincidence at first that Amanda bears this same birthmark, but I have to admit that we share eye and hair color. My mother was fair, with light-brown hair and gray eyes. I obviously didn’t inherit my looks from her.”

“I think she’d known for a long time about you, and once, I found her cutting out an article in the newspaper that mentioned your name.” She hesitated, then looked up into his gaze. “She had a picture of you and showed it to me, so that I would recognize you if the time ever came that I needed to find you.”

He shot her a look of surprise, his eyes sharp as he probed further. “Did you work for her long? I confess I’m a little puzzled at your relationship.”

“Yes. I lived in their home and tended to Amanda on occasion. I was your sister’s companion before she was married, and Joseph invited me to remain during the months before Amanda’s birth.” She sighed, then leaned back in her chair, remembering. “I stayed on after that. Sort of a companion and sister combined. I loved Irene, and before long I was totally wrapped up in Amanda and her care.”

“Didn’t you have any other life beyond that of being a friend to my sister?” He sounded unbelieving, his eyes narrowing as he searched her face.

“I’m on the shelf, Mr Garvey. I believe that’s the old-fashioned term for being an old maid. And it’s a perfectly respectable occupation for a woman like me, that of companion to another woman.”

“You weren’t always ‘on the shelf,’ Carlinda. Surely, there must have been gentlemen in your life.”

She met his gaze, a direct, honest answer to his query on her lips. “I had nowhere to go after my mother and stepfather moved to Philadelphia.”

“You didn’t want to go with them?”

“No, I didn’t want to go with them.” My stepfather had designs on me. Wouldn’t he love it if she were to offer that as an excuse for staying on in New York? What would he think then of his niece’s nursemaid? After all, her own mother had told her she had a vivid imagination. And the woman who had birthed her had made little fuss over Carlinda’s refusal to accompany them when they left for Philadelphia.

“So my sister took you in. Where was my father?” As if it pained him to ask the question, he rushed the syllables, his nostrils flaring.

“Off with another one of his women, I suppose. Irene lived in the family home by herself. She’s several years older than I, but having a companion makes it acceptable for a woman to live alone.”

He watched her, as if weighing her words. And then he leaned forward again. “So you’re by yourself, with no attachments? What happened to Joseph Carmichael’s house? Was it sold after he and Irene died?”

“I’m certain it’s been put on the market by now. No one expects Amanda to return to New York. The house will be sold and the court will handle her funds until you claim them on her behalf.”

He made an impatient gesture, as if he were well aware of the legal aspects. “My question is, where will you go, if and when you leave here?” His eyes lit with a glow she began to recognize. He’d looked at her several times with just such an expression, as if the urge to put his hands on her was about to outweigh his good judgement.

“When I leave here, I’ll make that decision.” And it had better be soon, if she knew what was good for her. Although her destination was certainly a puzzle.

“I have another suggestion.” His voice was soft, but she didn’t make the mistake of thinking he’d relaxed his stance. If anything, he was tense, his jaw taut, his mouth drawn into a thin line, his eyes hooded as if he dare not reveal too much of his thoughts.

She waited, unwilling to invite his response, afraid somewhere deep inside that it would not be palatable to her. She shunned the smile that hovered on her lips as she considered that thought. Perhaps not palatable, but definitely tempting.

“I’m very drawn to you, Carlinda.”

Her jaw clenched as she heard the words. It was as she’d thought. An offer from a gentleman—if a bastard could be called such a thing—given to a young woman of limited means, who might be approachable. She’d already had two men toss such a suggestion in her direction, both of whom were surprised at her quick refusal of their proposals. This one would fare no better.

“Don’t insult me, Mr. Garvey, or I shall have to leave tonight.”

He grinned. “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“Don’t I?” Her heart beat faster as he rose from the couch, and she was suddenly aware of the stillness surrounding the room where they sat. Katie had gone to her quarters behind the kitchen, and Amanda was tucked into bed for the night. One lamp glowed on the table near Carlinda’s chair, and outdoors it was dark, with a spring rain falling against the windows.

He stood before her, one hand outstretched. “Come,” he said. “Take my hand. I want to show you something.”

As if mesmerized, she did as he asked, his palm warm and dry against her cool skin. He drew her fingers through the bend of his elbow and placed them on his forearm, then led her to the door of the parlor. The foyer rose to the second floor, and they stood in the shadows cast by a lamp near the stairway.