The Determined Groom

Except that he did. For the profound, amazing feelings for Laurel he’d so newly discovered seemed to grant him the right.

Was he fooling himself? Or had he and Laurel discovered something rare and special here tonight? If so, did they even have time to figure it out before her wedding day?

How ironic, Connor thought as he lifted a glass of champagne off a passing silver platter. He’d known Laurel most of his life. And now, when perhaps he was just coming to realize what she meant to him—what she could mean to him—it was too late. She was claimed by another man.

Connor knew full well that he should respect Laurel’s commitment. In all his life, even as a boy, he’d lived by a strong moral and ethical code and found it hard to imagine himself violating those standards. He certainly didn’t think much of men who cheated on their romantic partners, or tried to break up a couple. Especially a couple who planned to be married.

Yet, all these rules and standards didn’t seem to apply here. They didn’t seem relevant to him and Laurel, not now anyway. All the rules and ethical standards in the world couldn’t come close to overshadowing what he felt in his heart. He’d long known the quote, “All’s fair in love and war.” But until tonight, until the moment he pondered the ethical side of pursuing his newfound feelings for Laurel, he’d never understood it.

For to Connor’s mind, when it came to questions of right and wrong, it suddenly didn’t seem right that Laurel could marry another man. Just as it didn’t seem right that the sun would rise in the west tomorrow and set in the east. Did he dare mention such a thing to her?

Connor shook his dark head as he drained his drink to the bottom of the glass. They needed time. Time to get to know each other again. To test out these amazing, powerful feelings. He’d be asking her to risk everything on a whim, on an impulse.

What if he was wrong?

Slow down, pal, he coached himself. One step at a time. Laurel asked you to hang around so you could talk some more, so that’s what you should do.

Connor took a deep breath and set down his empty glass. He gazed around the party and recognized a few faces, friends of Laurel’s parents who had often been guests at the estate.

Of course, if they recognized him at all, they would remember him simply as the caretaker’s boy. Smart, good-looking, even well-spoken and polite…for a boy from the wrong side of town. How kind of Charles to have taken a liking to the kid. Taken him under his wing. How lucky for the boy to have such a powerful mentor. I understand Charles even helped him get a scholarship to Princeton, they’d whisper. I wonder if he appreciates all that Charles has done for him? they’d add.

And it was all true. Charles Sutherland had helped him a great deal. And while his scholarship had not covered every cost of his education, Connor also believed that working to earn his way in part had also provided an education for him, as valuable as the one he’d received in his classes.

Yes, he had a good deal to thank Charles Sutherland for, Connor reflected again. And how would he repay him? By stepping into his daughter’s orderly, well-planned life and creating havoc? By tempting her to be unfaithful to her fiancé, to break her promises and betray her commitments?

Connor searched for Laurel in the crowd and found her. His throat grew tight. The right thing to do was just walk away, right now. Leave for New York tomorrow morning first thing. Couldn’t risk seeing her again. Couldn’t even risk saying goodbye.

But he didn’t think he could do that. Didn’t want to do it. She’d be hurt, and he couldn’t do that for the world.

Connor stood on the sidelines of the party, sipping another drink and watching the parade of glittering guests. It had been a long time since he’d witnessed such a gathering—perhaps since the last time he’d attended a formal affair at the Sutherlands’. He’d come a long way since those days. Still, he felt awkward and out of place.

He scanned the crowd for a friendly face, hoping to spot his host, Charles Sutherland, whom he had not seen yet. The face he found was familiar yet had never been truly friendly. As Connor’s dark gaze locked with the gaze of Laurel’s older brother, Phillip, a myriad of emotions and memories flooded through him. Phillip stood in a circle talking, his arm around a beautiful, auburn-haired woman who gazed up at him with rapt attention.

Phillip had been blessed with the same golden-color hair as his sister; thick with a slight wave, it was combed back for a formal look. His eyes were also blue, but a pale, icy shade that suited his cold, calculating nature. Unlike Laurel, his build was stocky and thick. Even as a boy, he’d always been a bit overweight. But as a man, he was able to hide his girth a bit better, especially tonight, under his well-cut attire.

His fair coloring and bronzed complexion—acquired on golf courses, tennis courts and yachts, Connor had no doubt—was set off handsomely by his formal white dinner jacket. All in all, he looked every inch the polished, wealthy young bachelor, heir to the family business his father now ran.

As Connor recollected, Charles had mentioned that Phillip had been working at Sutherland Enterprises since graduating college four years ago. Expecting to take the place over when his father retired, Connor had no doubt. Though everyone who knew both the father and son would know that Phillip would never be half the man Charles Sutherland was.

Phillip nodded in greeting and Connor nodded back, feeling a bitter taste rise in the back of his throat. Then Phillip turned back to his circle and said something that made everyone laugh.

Connor knew instantly that Phillip Sutherland had not changed. He had never met anyone he detested more. Spoiled, manipulative and self-centered, Phillip had done his best to cause trouble for Connor all through their childhood.

Connor could have even tolerated the despicable schemes Phillip carried out to get Connor into trouble, if Phillip had been even the slightest bit kinder to Laurel. Phillip seemed to have no sense of a loving, protective instinct toward his younger sister. To the contrary, he was either blaming Laurel for his misdeeds or trying to trick her into covering up one of his messes. How many times had Connor, older and not nearly as trusting and naive as Laurel, stepped in, feeling the need to safeguard Laurel from her own brother’s machinations? Too many, Connor recollected. He and Phillip had found a lot to fight about. But Connor eventually drew the line at fistfights.

Not that he had ever been afraid of Phillip. Phillip was older, and had been taller and heavier than Connor at the time, but he never got the best of him. It was always Phillip who ran off with a bloody lip or black eye, crying to his father or mother about the rude, crude servant’s son. No, Connor had never feared Phillip, but he had learned to fear his own father’s wrath, for nothing could make Owen Northrup angrier than hearing that Connor and Phillip had gotten in a scrape.

Owen had disapproved of Connor’s friendship with Laurel and would have forbidden Connor to see her at all if he’d had his own way in the matter. Connor thought Owen permitted it only because Charles Sutherland liked Connor so much and seemed to think he was a good influence on his own children.

Owen, however, had stubbornly held on to the belief that no good could come of Connor socializing with what Owen called “his betters.” He was also terrified that he and his wife would lose their relatively comfortable and well-paying jobs with the Sutherlands due to one of Connor’s fights with Phillip.

To the best of Connor’s knowledge, Charles Sutherland had never viewed the boys’ scrapes as such a serious problem. In fact, Connor sometimes thought Charles hoped Phillip would glean some valuable lessons from his encounters with Connor.

To avoid facing his father’s wrath and the possibility of not being allowed to see Laurel anymore, Connor had often backed off from Phillip’s goading challenges. Phillip would gloat, as if Connor lacked courage. For the sake of keeping peace with his father and protecting his relationship with Laurel, Connor had suffered in silence. Though they all knew Connor could whip Phillip with one hand tied behind his back any day of the week. At least, that’s what Laurel had always told him.

Connor’s reverie was suddenly interrupted by a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Connor! So glad you could come, son.” Connor turned to face Charles’s warm and welcoming smile. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Yes, of course. It’s quite a party,” Connor replied.

“Well, I would have preferred something smaller, at our place in New York. That’s where they’ll be married. But it was very important to Laurel to come up here, to have a gathering at this house.” Charles gazed around, his voice taking a wistful, bittersweet tone, Connor noticed. “She misses her mother, you know. We all miss her.”

“She was a wonderful woman,” Connor said.

Charles nodded, murmured his thanks and sipped his drink. Connor could see that after all these years it was still very difficult for Charles to speak about his wife. He didn’t know what else he might say and felt it best to say nothing more.

Coming here had brought back many memories of Laurel’s mother for him as well. At any moment he expected to see Madeleine Sutherland coming through the French doors from the ballroom, moving gracefully among her guests. Laughing, smiling, looking at her husband in that special way that told the world that Charles Sutherland was the center of her universe. She had been lovely and kind, a gracious woman who always had a special word for him and a way of making him feel welcome in her home. Laurel was turning out to be just like her. No mystery there. Madeleine Sutherland had been devoted to her children and particularly close to Laurel. It was sad that she had not lived to see her daughter’s wedding day.

“This was Madeleine’s favorite place in the whole world, this house and the gardens and beach. She wanted us to retire here,” Charles confided. “I know that’s why Laurel wanted the party here tonight. To feel closer to her mother, as if Madeleine had a part in the wedding plans. I’ve hardly been back since she died.” He paused and took a long swallow of his drink. “I don’t know. Maybe it was a good thing, opening up the house like this, having this party here. Perhaps it will help us all to put the past to rest somehow,” he added, meeting Connor’s gaze.

“Yes, a good thing,” Connor agreed sympathetically. He could not help but notice the glassy, unshed tears in Charles Sutherland’s eyes. He still missed his wife. Missed her with all his heart. That was love, Connor thought. Untouched by time or separation. Even the ultimate separation.

Would he ever know that kind of love for a woman? You could feel that way about Laurel, another voice answered. Maybe you already do.

“Well, enough of this glum and gloomy talk,” Charles replied with a forced, bright smile. He patted Connor jovially on the back. “It’s time we talked about your future, young man. Tell me more about this job you’re starting. Monday, is it?”

“Yes, sir. Monday morning. Bright and early,” Connor replied, flattered that Charles remembered about his job when the man obviously had so many more pressing matters on his mind.

“You’ll do fine. The organization is lucky to have you,” he assured Connor in a fatherly tone. “Oh, and before I forget, there are a few people here I’d like you to meet. Good connections for you down in the city. Now, Ralph Walters over there is an investment banker, a big wheel with Morgan Stanley…”

Connor allowed Charles to lead him into the crowd and was introduced to a few of his host’s influential friends. Charles’s introductions were always glowing, recounting Connor’s achievements and bright prospects to a point that was a breath away from embarrassing. But Connor knew that Charles’s enthusiasm was always well meant. In fact, he could not help but feel as if the older man was proudly introducing his own son.

Heaven knew, he’d never had an ounce of such encouragement from his own father. Owen Northrup had always denigrated Connor’s ambitions to attend college. More reaching beyond his station in life, was the way Owen saw it. Sure to lead to disappointment and humiliation. As Connor grew older he came to see that his father’s criticism, and even suspicion, of his academic achievements was really due to the fact that Owen felt threatened and surpassed by a son who would outgrow his family and make a life for himself far away from the Cape.

After conversing with Charles’s Wall Street friends, Connor wandered around the party, waiting for the chance to speak with Laurel again. He caught a glimpse of her now and then, but it never seemed the right moment to approach her.

Finally, the guests began to leave and the crowd thinned. The party was ending. Connor felt self-conscious and could linger no longer. He saw his chance to say goodbye privately to Laurel and swiftly approached her. He felt confused, overwhelmed, his mind whirling with so many possible things he might say to her. Would she meet him tomorrow if he asked?

He approached her as she stood with her back turned. “Laurel, I just wanted to say good-night….” His voice trailed off as she spun to face him.

Her beautiful face, her soft smile, the tender light in her eye as she met his gaze overwhelmed him. Connor felt himself blown away. All coherent thoughts about what to say next escaped him.

“I’ve been looking for you. I thought you left without saying goodbye.”

She took a step toward him and lightly touched his sleeve. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk more. There were so many people. I felt like a tennis ball, bouncing from one group to the next….” She shook her head and laughed.

“I understand,” Connor cut in. From the way it had looked to him, it was more like Todd pulling her around from group to group, like so much baggage. More than once, it had seemed to Connor that Laurel wanted a break from socializing, but Todd had forced her to press on. He didn’t care if the man was her fiancé, Connor didn’t like the way Todd Parson treated Laurel. She deserved so much better.

On impulse, he reached out and took her hand. She seemed surprised but pleased, and he felt the slight, answering pressure of her fingers responding to his. “I was wondering if you had any free time tomorrow. Maybe we could get together, have some coffee in town…maybe at that place with the fishnets on the ceiling? Do they still make their own doughnuts?”

“Sorry, that place went upscale. You can probably get a cappuccino and croissants, but they don’t serve a good old, down-to-earth doughnut anymore,” she reported wistfully.

“I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we go down to the beach near the landing? You know, where the sailboat ran into the rocks,” Connor continued. There were so many special places he wanted to visit again with Laurel.

“Please, don’t remind me,” she laughed, and covered her mouth with her hand. “I was at the helm, remember. You were so sweet not to get angry with me about wrecking your boat,” she teased him. “And so brave getting us back to shore.”

“It was fun being shipwrecked with you.” His reply was teasing and light. But his voice husky and rough.

As his dark gaze met hers and their bodies leaned a slight, but significant degree, closer, the moment suddenly changed to something far more intense, charged with the energy of their powerful attraction.

“I would love to see you tomorrow,” Laurel said finally in a velvety, hushed voice. Her words and the way she gently squeezed his hand made his soul sing.

But just as she agreed to grant his heart’s desire, Phillip appeared out of nowhere. “Better call it a night, Laurel. Don’t you remember, you and Todd promised to come sailing tomorrow with me and Liza and her folks. Liza will be around to pick us up at seven, sharp. You won’t be able to get up in time if you don’t get some sleep,” he whined.

“Oh, that’s right.” Laurel shook her head regretfully. “I do have plans, I guess. Maybe we won’t be back that late though,” she added hopefully.

Before Connor could reply, Phillip cut in again. “I wouldn’t bet on it. Liza’s father plans on sailing to some friends’ house on the Vineyard.”

Sounded as if they wouldn’t get home until late tomorrow night. Especially if Phillip had anything to say about it. He was hovering over Laurel right now like a guard dog. Todd Parson’s guard dog, Connor surmised. Those two probably got along well, cut from the same cloth.

“Well, some other time then,” Connor said. He stared down at Laurel, his gaze conveying so much more than his polite words.

“Yes, some other time,” she agreed, the regretful note in her voice cutting at his heart. “I’ll be in the city soon. Maybe we can have lunch.”

“Sure thing.” Connor nodded. He swallowed back his disappointment. “Your father knows how to get in touch with me.”

It was the polite thing to say, he knew. But it would never happen. Even if it did, by the time their next meeting came about, Laurel would most likely be Mrs. Todd Parson—and beyond his reach. Connor knew it would hurt too much to see her again after she married.

“Well, looks like it’s hello and goodbye,” Phillip said to Connor. “Bet it brought back memories for you, coming here.”

“It did,” Connor replied evenly. Though not all of them pleasant, he did not add. “Good night, Phillip,” he said.

Then turning to Laurel, he gazed into her eyes and smiled. “Thanks for our dance,” he said in a voice for her alone. She smiled at him, but before she could reply, he leaned down and quickly, lightly kissed her cheek. “Good luck, Laurel. I’m sorry I didn’t come home to visit sooner,” he added. “I would have given Parson a run for his money.”

“Good night, Connor….” He felt Laurel’s fleeting touch and heard her voice trail off as he continued to move away from her.

He strode across the patio with determined steps, weaving his way around the hired help who were now busily cleaning up the party debris. Finally, he was away from the bright lights, on a path through the garden that led to the front grounds, where he had parked his car.

The darkness and sudden quiet offered some comfort. He felt numb and empty. He felt as if his heart was breaking. How could he leave her? How could he just go without letting her know how he felt? This was his last chance. His only chance.

Still, he did not see that there was anything more he could do.

Maybe it was all for the best, Connor thought as he saw the lights at the end of the path. She didn’t feel the same. The thought stung painfully, and yet, it had to be true.

If she did feel the same—if she felt even half of what he felt for her right now—she would have given him some sign. She would have figured out some way to see him again. Even if she had to sail to the Vineyard tomorrow.

Even if she had to sail to China.

Was he fooling himself? Did he merely want what he couldn’t have? He didn’t think so. He wasn’t that way about women usually. He wouldn’t be that way about Laurel.

Laurel. Just as he’d come to realize what she meant to him, she was snatched out of reach. God, it hurt so much.

How long would he feel like this? Months, probably. Years, maybe.

Forever?

Connor found his car, one of the few left at the end of the long curving driveway. Even the valets, hired for the night, had gone home by now. His vision blurred, he fumbled in his pocket for the keys, then dropped his key ring on the gravel. Damn, he wasn’t actually crying, was he? He hadn’t cried since…he couldn’t remember when.

He brushed his hand across the back of his damp eyes and took a deep, calming breath. He had to get away from here. He had to get off the Cape tomorrow, as early as possible. Maybe he’d pack up the car when he got home, rest a few hours and leave at dawn. Before Laurel even met up with her sailing party.

Deep in thought, Connor did not hear the light footsteps running down the driveway toward him. He didn’t notice a sound until Laurel stood just steps away.

“Connor…wait,” she called to him in a breathless, urgent whisper.

He turned and saw her, running toward him. He moved to meet her and instinctively opened his arms, his hands coming to rest on her slim waist. She stepped into his embrace, placing her hands on his broad chest and, for a moment, as she caught her breath, leaned her head down so that it fit just under his chin. He felt his lips and cheek brush against her silky hair before she lifted her head again. Thankfully, she did not move away.

“Laurel, what it is? What’s the matter?”

“Thank goodness I caught you.” She was winded from running, and holding her so close, he suddenly felt breathless, too. “I couldn’t let you just go like that, Connor. It felt so…final,” she tried to explain. “Too final,” she added.

He nodded. He knew exactly what she meant. There was no need to explain. “I think we should talk. How about down at the beach?”

“But I’m busy tomorrow. That stupid sailing date with Phillip’s future in-laws,” she reminded him.

“Not tomorrow, tonight.” His hands moved up to grip her smooth shoulders. “Right now,” he said urgently.

As she gazed at him, he could read the flux and flow of indecision in her beautiful face—anticipation, desire, hesitation and guilt all flashed before his eyes. Her wide azure eyes studied him. Could she see that he’d been crying? God, he hoped not.

Finally, she nodded. “Wait for me by the dock. I’ll be there in a little while.”

He said nothing, just stared down at her as inexpressible feelings washed over him—relief, gratitude and then, a sweet rising wave of anticipation. She tenderly cupped his cheek with the palm of her hand. Then an instant later, she turned and ran back up the driveway toward the dark shadow of the Sutherland mansion.

Connor made his way to the beach on a sandy path overgrown with bramble and vines. If he hadn’t known the path existed, he would have never found it.

It was slow going. Luckily, a full moon had risen high in the clear night sky and the moonlight illuminated his steps. Finally, he came out at the Sutherlands’ stretch of private beach. He slipped off his jacket and shoes and rolled up the cuffs of his trousers. He spotted a long driftwood log and sat on it, staring out at the sea, as good a place as any to wait. The waves moved toward the shore in a smooth, regular rhythm, the blue-black water rippling in the distance like a skein of satin.

He’d often come down here after dark with Laurel when they were young. They’d build a fire and tell spooky stories. More often than not, Charles Sutherland would come looking for Laurel and sit with them, telling stories of his own. He had some good ones. And just as they’d never given a thought to the future back then, right now, Connor could think of nothing but the past. A simpler time. A time when the golden summer days seemed to stretch on endlessly, without beginning or end, and every day was a new adventure.

And along with the images of the cloudless blue skies and long sunny days, always came the image of Laurel. Laurel, laughing, joking, confiding her secrets, her troubles, her dreams. Her tanned, slender arms and legs gracefully swinging as she strolled beside him on the smooth wet sand, her golden hair waving behind her like a flag, her turquoise-blue eyes sparkling, the way the sun danced on the waves. Her wide, warm smile so accepting, so understanding. So loving.

She still had that smile. She was still the same, exactly, as she’d been—yet, now, so much more. He swallowed hard, and looked up at the house. The yellow squares of light in each window had all gone black. The caterer and cleanup crew were gone for the night. Everyone in the mansion had gone to bed.

Laurel would be here soon.

He could barely wait to feel her in his arms. To hold her and kiss her. To press his face into her soft hair and tell her how beautiful she was. How he’d never let her go now that he’d found her again.