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Baby Of Convenience
Laura held her breath, part of her hoping that he’d enter her bedroom…
while another, more cowardly part of her feared that was exactly what he’d do. She wasn’t prepared for the stabbing disappointment she felt as his footsteps faded away.
She cracked the door just wide enough to see him enter Jamie’s room. From her vantage point, she watched him touching the sleeping child with such reverence, such wonder and awe, that it raised a lump in her throat.
To see a man gaze upon her child with such tenderness cracked away the final vestige of her inner restraint. This was a prince among men, Laura decided. This was the man she’d waited for her entire life.
Then she heard Royce’s footsteps descending the stairs, and she followed him as if beckoned by an invisible hand.
She didn’t know what she would do, or what she would say. All she knew was that she had to be with him, and damn the consequences.
Dear Reader,
As the air begins to chill outside, curl up under a warm blanket with a mug of hot chocolate and these six fabulous Special Edition novels.…
First up is bestselling author Lindsay McKenna’s A Man Alone, part of her compelling and highly emotional MORGAN’S MERCENARIES: MAVERICK HEARTS series. Meet Captain Thane Hamilton, a wounded Marine who’d closed off his heart long ago, and Paige Black, a woman whose tender loving care may be just what the doctor ordered.
Two new miniseries are launching this month and you’re not going to want to miss either one! Look for The Rancher Next Door, the first of rising star Susan Mallery’s brand-new miniseries, LONE STAR CANYON. Not even a long-standing family feud can prevent love from happening! Also, veteran author Penny Richards pens a juicy and scandalous love story with Sophie’s Scandal, the first of her wonderful new trilogy— RUMOR HAS IT…that two high school sweethearts are about to recapture the love they once shared.…
Next, Jennifer Mikels delivers a wonderfully heartwarming romance between a runaway heiress and a local sheriff with The Bridal Quest, the second book in the HERE COME THE BRIDES series. And Diana Whitney brings back her popular STORK EXPRESS series. Could a Baby of Convenience be just the thing to bring two unlikely people together?
And last, but not least, please welcome newcomer Tori Carrington to the line. Just Eight Months Old… and she’d stolen the hearts of two independent bounty hunters—who just might make the perfect family!
Enjoy these delightful tales, and come back next month for more emotional stories about life, love and family!
Best,
Karen Taylor Richman
Senior Editor
Baby of Convenience
Diana Whitney
To Constance Martynow, a wonderful sister-in-law and devoted fan, who welcomed me into the family and has offered constant support over the years. You are deeply loved, gratefully appreciated. Thank you.
Books by Diana Whitney
Silhouette Special Edition
Cast a Tall Shadow #508
Yesterday’s Child #559
One Lost Winter #644
Child of the Storm #702
The Secret #874
*The Adventurer #934
*The Avenger #984
*The Reformer #1019
†Daddy of the House #1052
†Barefoot Bride #1073
†A Hero’s Child #1090
‡Baby on His Doorstep #1165
‡Baby in His Cradle #1176
††I Now Pronounce You Mom & Dad #1261
††The Fatherhood Factor #1276
‡Baby of Convenience #1361
Silhouette Romance
O’Brian’s Daughter #673
A Liberated Man #703
Scout’s Honor #745
The Last Bachelor #874
One Man’s Vow #940
One Man’s Promise #1307
††A Dad of His Own #1392
Silhouette Intimate Moments
Still Married #491
Midnight Stranger #530
Scarlet Whispers #603
Silhouette Shadows
The Raven Master #31
Silhouette Books
36 Hours
Ooh Baby, Baby
DIANA WHITNEY
is a three-time Romance Writers of America RITA Award finalist, Romantic Times Magazine Reviewers’ Choice Award nominee and finalist for Colorado Romance Writers’ Award of Excellence. Diana has published more than two dozen romance and suspense novels since her first Silhouette title in 1989. A popular speaker, Diana has conducted writing workshops and has published several articles on the craft of fiction writing for various trade magazines and newsletters. She is a member of Authors Guild, Novelists, Inc., Published Authors Network and Romance Writers of America. She and her husband live in rural Northern California with a beloved menagerie of furred creatures, domestic and wild. She loves to hear from readers. You can write to her c/o Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd Street, 6th Floor, New York, NY 10017.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
Bright eyes, taunting and haughty, peered from behind the gnarled trunk of a stately black oak. With an irked blink at those who so relentlessly followed, the eyes turned away, and their owner slipped into the meadow, gliding lithely through the purple profusion of wild lupine toward the one place no one dared to follow.
“Maggie, don’t be a tease.” A croak of desperation broke the command into a whining supplication. “Don’t hide from us, precious, we only want to help. You know how much we love you.”
Unmoved by the poignant plea, Maggie ducked into a neatly trimmed hedgerow at the far side of the meadow, and disappeared.
“Me firsty.”
“Shh, sweetums, I know you’re thirsty.” Laura Michaels shifted the baby in her arms, wiped a smudge of tree sap from his wind-chafed cheek. As she peeked through the pruned thicket, her heart sank at the expanse of manicured lawns and lush, formal garden leading up to an architectural marvel that could only be described as a mansion. “We have to be real quiet for a few minutes, okay? Then we can go home, and Mama will get you a big glass of juice.”
Jamie rubbed his eyes, popped a thumb in his mouth and laid his head on his mother’s shoulder as she carefully eased through the shrubbery, ever watchful lest her presence on these hallowed grounds be detected. Rich people lived here. Rather, one rich person in particular.
Laura had never met Royce Burton. She hadn’t even seen him beyond an across-the-street glimpse of tailored cashmere as he’d whisked from the corporate office of Burton Technologies into a gleaming Mercedes with tinted windows. Everyone in Mill Creek knew about Burton, the elusive entrepreneur who’d created an industrial complex that had turned an area in upstate New York on the brink of financial ruin into a thriving boomtown. Mill Creek citizens worshiped him. Not surprising, since he signed the majority of their paychecks.
Laura remained cynical, although she hadn’t been immune to the monetary temptation that had seduced most of her friends and neighbors. She also coveted a job at Burton Technologies. Desperate means for desperate measures, she supposed, although she understood people like Royce Burton all too well. Experience had taught her that wealthy folks were a breed unto themselves. Contemptuous, self-indulgent. Cruel.
Maggie couldn’t have chosen a worse spot to isolate herself from the world. Laura could not have been more determined to rescue her beloved Maggie from making a horrific mistake in judgment. “Hold on, sweetums,” she murmured to the fussing baby in her arms. “Just a few more minutes, okay?”
A flash of movement caught Laura’s eye. A blooming daylily at the south wing of the huge home rustled. She gave another wary glance around the lush grounds. Then, cradling her sleepy child in her arms, she crept forward.
Ducking beneath a cantilevered bay window, she slipped to the rear of the house just in time to see the final vibration of foliage in front of an open basement window.
“Oh, criminey.” So much for the hope that Maggie had found refuge in a separate toolshed, or some other structure from which she could be quietly extricated without disturbing the mansion’s owner.
She swallowed hard. “Hold on to your diapers, Jamie. Looks like we’re about to have ourselves an up-close-and-personal introduction to the richest, most powerful and most frightening man in the entire town.”
The woman’s eyes were ice blue, cool to the point of frigid. Strands of gray muted the reddish hue of hair faded by time and twisted into a bun as tight as her jawline.
She eyed Laura, her gaze lingering on the squirming child long enough to reflect a hint of disdain. “Is Mr. Burton expecting you?”
“No.” Shifting as Jamie gave a sideways lurch, Laura tightened her grip on her fidgeting son and struggled to maintain her composure. She’d met women like this before. Too many of them, actually. Household terrors who ruled the inner workings of their employer’s homes as if they’d been blessed by royal decree. “It’s urgent that I speak with him at once.”
“Impossible. Mr. Burton is in conference.”
“But it’s Sunday.” Desperate, Laura turned her attention toward a masculine voice filtering from somewhere beyond the gleaming marble foyer. “I won’t take much of his time.”
Unmoved, the woman, who appeared to be in her midfifties, squared her shoulders, took a sideways step as she prepared to close the massive carved door. “I suggest you call his office in the morning. His personal assistant will either set up an appointment—” cool blue eyes once again settled on the baby in Laura’s arms “—or refer you to his personal attorney.”
Shocked by the implication, Laura bristled. “Mr. Burton must have quite a morals deficit for you to presume every visiting child is the issue of a tawdry affair.”
The moment the angry words rumbled off her tongue, she regretted them. An unrestrained temper was not usually one of Laura’s flaws, except where her son was concerned. An insult to Jamie was intolerable, even if it meant alienating her only means of locating the elusive Mr. Burton—and the even more elusive Maggie.
“How dare the likes of you insult a man of Mr. Burton’s impeccable standards?” A crimson flush stained the furious woman’s crepey throat, and a flash of embarrassed fury narrowed her eyes. Had it not been for the fortuitous diversion of a booming masculine voice, Laura had no doubt the massive doors would have been instantly slammed in her face.
“Marta!”
The distracted woman spun around, gazing like an anxious lapdog in the direction from which brusque footsteps echoed. “Get Robinson at the Brussels office on the line. Also, call Dave Henderson. Have him call a finance committee meeting for this afternoon.”
Taking advantage of the tight-jawed door sentry’s inattention, Laura decided it was now or never. Tucking Jamie tightly against her shoulder, she stepped inside before the startled Marta could stop her.
A blur of movement caught Laura’s eye as a dark-haired man in a tailored suit strode out of a room where a magnificent wall lined with leather-bound books was visible through an arched doorway.
He moved with purpose and determination, although his gaze was riveted on a sheaf of documents he held in one hand. A cellular phone was clasped in the other. “Tell Henderson to bring the updated revenue projections and cash-flow statements, along with the revised production estimates—”
He glanced up, did a double take when he saw Laura. He didn’t jerk to a stop, exactly. Rather, he slowed with a fluid grace, a man whose every movement was clearly practiced and precise.
A questioning glance at the older woman was met with an apologetic tone that was a striking contrast to the haughty demeanor she’d displayed a moment earlier. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Burton, I tried to tell this…woman…that you weren’t receiving—”
Laura interrupted. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Burton, but it’s urgent that I speak with you immediately.”
He hiked an eyebrow, allowed his gaze to slip unobtrusively along the length of her body before settling with unnerving intensity on her face. “And who might you be?”
She moistened her lips, oddly intimidated. He was only a man, after all, albeit a man whose mere presence filled a room, demanding immediate recognition. “My name is Laura Michaels.”
Marta stepped forward, hands clasped tightly enough to whiten her veined knuckles. “Shall I call Security?”
“Not at the moment.” There was no trace of a smile on Royce’s surprisingly youthful face, no hint of humor in his eyes. He slipped the cell phone into his coat pocket, tucked the sheaf of documents under his arm. “Ms. Michaels has one minute to convey this matter of urgency.”
Jamie squirmed in Laura’s arms, extracting his thumb with a pitiful whine. “Firsty, Mama.”
“Shh, I know you are, sweetie. Just a few more minutes.”
Royce regarded the child without visible emotion, although his eyes appeared to warm for a moment. A very brief moment. “You have fifty-five seconds remaining, Ms. Michaels. I suggest you make the most of them.”
Taking a deep breath, Laura filled her lungs, emptied them slowly and managed to meet his unwavering stare without trembling. “I have reason to believe that your basement is being occupied without your knowledge or consent.”
Whatever he’d expected to hear, that clearly was not it. A muscle twitched along a jaw that was firmer and stronger than Laura had expected. No other expression of surprise was allowed, although she noticed him blink twice, a revealing gesture she doubted he meant to display. “On what do you base that interesting speculation?”
“I followed her here.”
“I see.”
Laura was fascinated by the practiced ease with which he conducted himself. Every muscle in his face impassive, his eyes carefully steadied to reveal nothing beyond that which he wished to reveal. There was no twist of fingers, no absentminded straightening of cuffs or brushing of invisible lint. This was a man used to being in control, in control of himself, of others, and of any situation, no matter how unexpected or startling.
Laura moistened her lips. “I believe she entered through the basement window.”
Still no change in expression, no gleam of interest in eyes so dark a woman could get lost in them. “Is this individual a fugitive of some kind?”
Feeling profoundly silly all of a sudden, Laura was annoyed by an irksome dryness in her mouth. “I wouldn’t exactly call her a fugitive.”
“So we are in no danger?”
She allowed herself the luxury of a smile. “That rather depends, I suppose—”
He glanced at his watch. “Your minute is up, Ms. Michaels. Thank you for the information. We’ll certainly look into the matter.”
At the signal, the annoying Marta person spun to grasp Laura’s elbow, no doubt preparing to shuffle her out the door. “No, wait, you don’t understand.” Wriggling out of the older woman’s grasp, Laura blurted, “There’s more.”
Again he hiked that well-formed brow in what Laura decided was a deliberate gesture designed to demean those toward whom it was so purposefully aimed. “I’ve assured you that the matter will be investigated.”
Ego trips by powerful men brought out the devil in Laura. She could have simply told him what he needed to know, but she found that damnable arched eyebrow irksome.
Lifting her chin, she narrowed her eyes, cooled her voice. “If you choose to investigate without my presence, Mr. Burton, I can assure you that your question of Maggie’s ability to do harm will be answered in a manner that will definitely not be to your liking.”
He studied her with the bold, unblinking stare that strong men use against those who would challenge them. When he spoke, however, his voice had softened in tone, if not in authority. “Marta, continue arrangements for the finance committee meeting as I requested. You may hold off placing the Brussels call until I return.”
Marta was clearly flabbergasted. “Return from where?”
“Why, from escorting Ms. Michaels to the basement.” He laid the documents on a nearby sideboard before cupping Laura’s elbow with a gentleness that was surprising and guiding her to an enameled doorway in the base of a curving staircase off the foyer.
“Actually,” he whispered when out of the frantic Marta’s hearing range, “we wealthy elitists prefer to call it a wine cellar. That sounds much more privileged, don’t you agree?”
An embarrassed heat slithered up Laura’s throat at the realization that her disdain for his lifestyle had been so obvious. Royce Burton was apparently a man who let little slip by his perception.
Still, there was no excuse for rudeness. She regretted her own pomposity in daring to judge him for the sin of having more than he needed while others never had enough.
She cleared her throat. “I apologize if I’ve offended you, Mr. Burton.”
The vaguest trace of amusement softened his reply. “I’m not easily offended, Ms. Michaels, although you are certainly welcome to make the attempt.”
As he opened the cellar door, she chanced a glance upward. That’s when she saw it, the upward tilt of sculpted lips, the soft gleam transforming ordinary brown eyes into glowing amber. He was smiling.
The effect was devastating. Oh, Maggie, she thought as her heart gave a palpable thump of longing. What have you gotten us into this time?
Soft lights lined the cellar, illuminating rich oak wine racks filled with dusty bottles, presumably containing the most extravagant and rarest of vintages. A split-oak tasting table posed in the center of the room, upon which a silver corkscrew and several pieces of crystal stemware had been placed. Wooden crates were stacked in a corner. Thin curls of straw packing material were strewn over the hardwood floor, and at the apex of the cinder-block wall a thin slice of daylight sprayed from the narrow opening beneath a basement window that had been painted black.
Beside her, Royce glanced around with mild curiosity. “Everything seems to be in order.”
“Not everything,” Laura murmured. Her gaze was riveted on a pair of golden eyes gleaming in a pool of shadow beyond one of the massive wine racks. Tightening her grasp on her weary son, she glided forward, murmuring softly. “So there you are, precious. Shame on you for worrying me half to death.”
The golden eyes blinked.
Laura felt Royce move behind her. “What on earth…?” A warning hiss moved him back a step. He straightened, his practiced impassivity melting into obvious astonishment. “My God.”
“Don’t frighten her,” Laura said. “She’s not fond of strangers.”
On cue, Maggie issued a low growl, then turned with a swish and slunk into the shadowy corner.
Moving quietly, Laura followed, knelt down and saw what she had feared. There was her beloved Maggie, nested in an empty wine crate softened with supple straw packing, settling down to nurse her brood of newborn kittens. “Oh, dear,” Laura murmured. “Five of them. I never counted on so many.”
Jamie suddenly yanked his thumb out of his mouth, squealing with delight. “Kitty, kitty!” He lurched forward, fat arms outstretched toward his beloved pet.
Laura reeled him back a moment before he squirted out of her grasp. “No, no, honey, Maggie doesn’t want to be petted right now. She’s feeding her babies.”
“Babies?” Royce’s voice changed from quizzical to horrified in the space of a heartbeat. “Babies?”
A pleasant warmth on her back confirmed that he’d ventured forth to observe for himself.
“It is a cat,” he said finally.
Laura smiled. “Indeed.”
“I detest cats.”
Her smile faded. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
A draft chilled her spine as he stepped aside, perhaps for a better view of the feline family, perhaps simply to put an extra foot of distance between them. “This is totally unacceptable.”
Heaving a sad sigh, Laura struggled to contain the gleeful toddler while hoisting herself to her feet. “I was afraid that it would be.”
“How could this happen?” he demanded.
“Well, Maggie is a girl cat, you see, and she met this perfectly charming boy cat, whereupon they did what little girl cats and little boy cats have been doing for ever so long—”
“Very amusing.” That same traitorous muscle twitched along his jaw. “I’m familiar with the biological process of feline reproduction. What bewilders me is the process by which this particular feline chose to complete the process—” his voice rose, startling Jamie “—in my basement.”
“Wine cellar,” Laura corrected him, then turned her attention to comforting her son, whose lip was quivering. “There, there, sweetie, it’s okay.” Tears gleamed in the baby’s wide brown eyes. He hiccuped, gulped and emitted a thin wail of distress. Laura hugged him, coaxed a damp strand of sable hair from his moist baby forehead. “Shh, Mama is here, everything is all right.”
Royce frowned. “Is the child ill?”
“No. Loud voices frighten him.”
Clearly stunned, Royce rocked back a step, regarding the trembling toddler with unabashed shock. “I caused the child’s distress?”
“Not deliberately, of course. Jamie just…” She allowed the words to dissipate, unwilling to divulge details of the experiences that had led her beloved child to quake with fear at the sound of a booming male voice.
“I’m so sorry.”
Genuine remorse cracked his dispassionate demeanor, a tiny flaw of humanity that surprised her.
Before she could study it more intently, he rearranged his features, focused on the baby and spoke with exaggerated gentleness. “Please forgive me, young man. It was not my intention to upset you.”
A moist streak stained the child’s pink cheek. Jamie eyed the impeccably groomed stranger who had paused several feet away as if fearing to step any closer. “Me firsty,” the toddler whined.
“Are you now? That is something we can certainly rectify.” With that tantalizing hint of a smile, Royce strode to a wall by the curving wrought-iron staircase and flipped an intercom switch.
A moment later, a taut, familiar female voice replied. “Yes, Mr. Burton?”
“Marta, please bring a pitcher of orange juice to the cellar.”
“Orange juice?” came the bewildered reply.
“Hold on a moment.” He glanced at Laura. “Would you or the child prefer something else? I can offer an assortment of fruit juices. Also, coffee, iced tea, your choice of carbonated beverage or wine, if you’d like.”
“No, thank you. Orange juice would be lovely.”
“Something to eat, perhaps? Is the child hungry?”
“That’s kind of you, but it’s nearly his lunchtime. A snack would spoil his appetite.”
“Very well.” He turned back toward the intercom. “That will be all, Marta. Thank you.”
After clicking off the speaker switch, Royce pursed his lips thoughtfully, casting first a quick look at Laura and Jamie, then glancing over his shoulder to the cozy nest where a purring, contented Maggie was in the process of bathing a mewing ball of orange-and-white fluff.
Laura followed his gaze. “My best guess is that the kittens are about one week old. Maggie disappeared for several days, and when she finally returned, it was obvious that she was no longer pregnant. I’ve been following her for days to find her birthing nest.”
