An Unforgettable Lady (An Unforgettable Lady #1)(78)

"It feels as though all you're doing is making accusations."

"Better me than the press." Carolina's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "It would be so very public, if you were to indulge in any indiscretions. You know that, don't you?"

Grace nodded through her frustration. "Of course I do."

"We may have lost your father but we still have the power of his name. I don't want anything to happen to this family's reputation."

Grace stiffened as the implications of what her mother said sank in.

"Would that be the greater tragedy for you?" she whispered. "Harder to bear than losing him?”

Carolina ignored the question. "You are the only valid heir to his legacy. I don't want you to throw that all away for some ... man. You married into royalty—"

"Stop it, Mother," Grace interrupted. "Please."

Turning away, she went over to the closet and pulled out her suitcase.

"You are truly going?”

She found her mother's shock grating. "Yes, I am."

"But what will I tell the guests? After I already rescheduled the party to this evening due to your outbursts."

With a resigned shake of the head, Grace murmured, "I'm sure you'll think of something."

As she began taking things out of the closet, her mother made a disparaging sound in the back of her throat.

"Well, if this is going to be your attitude, perhaps it is best that you go." Carolina paused at the door. "Although do me the courtesy of saying your good-byes, will you? It's the least you can do."

As soon as Grace was alone, she slumped on the bed and looked over at the clothes she'd thrown haphazardly into the suitcase. The idea that she might not ever be comfortable at Willings again, that the division between her and her mother would only get larger now that her father's buffering influence was gone, disappointed her.

But maybe staying away was the only option. There was something about her mother that sucked the will to live right out of her, she thought. All that cold elegance, that indefatigable censure, it was like being next to an emotional black hole.

When she heard the soft tones of the grandfather clock down the hall, she realized she better tell John they were leaving.

She went across the hall and knocked on his doorjamb. "John?"

He came out of the bathroom wearing a T-shirt and black pants. There was a towel hanging around his neck and his hands were gripping both ends, making his biceps stand out.

A flush sped through her but, when their eyes met and he showed little response, disappointment had her squaring her shoulders.

"Good morning," she said.

He nodded. "Morning."

She sure could have used a smile. Some hint of warmth. The touch of his hand. Instead, he seemed to have retreated into himself and she was reminded of when she'd first seen him and wondered whether there was anything behind the hardness.

"Ummm—There's been a change in plans. We're leaving," she said.

"Fine."



She frowned. The night before, he had held her tightly against him, whispered her name hoarsely as his body had come into hers. Staring at his impassive face, she thought it was as if everything that had happened the night before had been a dream.

One of hers. Not his.

She hesitated. "Right. I'm going to pack."

"I'll be ready in ten minutes."

As he turned away, her eyes clung to his back. "John, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." The word was said over his shoulder as he walked into the bathroom.

She heard water rushing into a sink and the soft hiss of a shaving cream can.

Grace followed him. "Why are you being this way?"

His eyes were fixed on the mirror as he picked up a razor and cut a swath through the white beard he'd given himself.

"What way, exactly?"

"Talk to me, please."

"I don't have anything to say."

"Nothing?"

His eyebrow cocked as he rinsed the razor off and went back to work on his beard. "You want me to make something up?"

"Just so you know," she said roughly, "if your goal is to prove there's no happy ending in store for us, your mission's accomplished."

Going back to her own room, she realized she'd made a rash miscalculation by assuming things couldn't get any harder if they made love.





chapter

19





As the jet descended over the runway at Teterboro, Smith looked out the oval window next to his seat at the rushing ground. He'd spent the hour of air time with his eyes closed, but he hadn't been sleeping.

Ever since he'd woken up next to Grace that morning, he'd been trying to convince himself he wasn't falling in love with her. The lecture wasn't going well, even though it was based on totally rational principles. Hell, he of all people should know that one night didn't mean anything. It was just two bodies in the dark, fulfilling evolution's prime directive.

So why did he feel like his center of gravity was off?

And why the hell did he behave like such a jerk to her?

He remembered how she'd looked standing in the doorway to the bathroom as he'd shaved. Her words before she'd left had made him feel despicable.