The Tycoon's Baby

She glanced around the floor, trying to spot the reason for the sudden quiet, and had to stifle a groan when she saw Webb coming straight toward her, hands in the pockets of his trench coat. She turned back to her machine and didn’t even look at him when he stopped beside her.

“Not you again,” she said. “Do you have any idea how much trouble it’s causing me to have you hanging around?”

He shrugged. “I just came to drive you home. Oh, and to give you this.” He pulled a tiny box from his pocket, snapped it open and held it out, balanced on his open palm.

Inside the velvet box, against a bed of black satin, a ring sparkled. Its brilliant center stone—nearly the size of Janey’s thumbnail—caught the overhead light and shattered it into rainbows, which danced across the factory floor. Half the employees on the line craned their necks to get a better look. The other half, Janey expected, would be along in a minute or two.

“Please tell me this is a zircon and not a diamond,” she muttered.

“Telling you that wouldn’t make it one. And the jeweler who just sold it to me wouldn’t be at all flattered.”

“Where did you find a jeweler at almost midnight? On second thought, I don’t want to know.”

“At home, watching the sports channel—but when I told him what I wanted, he was quite happy to meet me at the store. Don’t you like it? I’d have let you choose, but I thought Gran would ask questions if you weren’t wearing a ring tomorrow.”

Janey considered braining him with the nearest piece of steel. “Whether I like it is not the point. It’s bad enough you bought a rock the size of a lighthouse beacon—”

“Gran would really think something’s fishy if I didn’t.”

Of course he was thinking of his grandmother. But then it hadn’t even crossed Janey’s mind that he might consider her tastes. “But why you brought the thing here—”

“You don’t really believe our engagement is going to remain secret, do you?”

Janey looked around the factory floor at a hundred interested faces. “Not anymore,” she said dryly.

“Now that I’ve broken the news to my grandmother, it’ll spread like wildfire.”

Too late to back out now. The thought was automatic, and puzzling. Why would she even think of backing out? “I wouldn’t bet on her being eager to announce it. Was telling her as much fun as you expected it to be?”

He gave her a long, speculative look. “As a matter of fact, it was. Come on, let’s get out of here, and I’ll tell you about it.”

She’d have loved to tell him to go sit in the car and wait for her, but the night worker who was taking over from her was already standing beside the machine with his mouth hanging open, taking in every nuance. So Janey put away her safety equipment and got her coat.

Webb had left his car in the no-parking zone right by the door. “She was absolutely speechless,” he said as he opened the door for Janey. “I told her over dinner that I’d found the woman of my dreams—and once she recovered from choking on her soup she took it quite well.”

“That’s good. I’d hate for you to have a heart attack on your conscience.” She frowned. “If you have a conscience?”

He didn’t seem to have heard. “Gran wanted to go to Coq Au Vin tomorrow—she says it’s the only restaurant in town that can produce a lunch fit to celebrate an engagement.”

“Look, Mr. Copeland, I really don’t want to go on stage at some fancy restaurant without so much as a dress rehearsal, so—”

“Don’t you think you should get in the habit of calling me Webb? It’s no problem, anyway—I told her you’d rather come to the house, so you could spend some time with Madeline. And since Gran’s a bit concerned because you don’t know Maddy very well—”

“Very well? I’ve never laid eyes on the child.”

“I’ve brought her to the office to show her off a few times. You could have seen her then.”

“I’ll try to remember that. I do hope there’s only going to be one child present, because I’d hate to pick out the wrong one to go gaga over.”

“If there’s any doubt, look for brown eyes the size of Lake Michigan and you won’t go wrong. That takes care of Maddy and the lunch date. Is there anything else we need to talk about?”

“Yes. How long do you expect this to take?”

“Anxious to get your money? It’s almost the end of November now... I’d say by Christmas.”

“That’s charming,” Janey said. “Your grandmother’s going to love her Christmas present this year—not getting me in her stocking.”

“And I won’t even have to wrap it,” Webb agreed cheerfully. “Oh, now I remember the other thing. We haven’t coordinated our stories.”

“And she’s going to want details, isn’t she?”

“Well, she’s not actually nosy, so I think we can gloss over a lot of it. All I’ve told her so far is that you work at Copeland Products, and we met there.”

“How’d she take it? My job, I mean.”

“I didn’t tell her exactly where you worked. I figured tomorrow was time enough for that.”

“How about if I just leave all the oil on my hands till then and you won’t have to tell her anything at all?”

He looked at her almost sadly. “And you thought I was overdoing it with the work clothes? Anyway, I thought I should leave you as much leeway as possible. Stick to the truth as much as you can, though—I’ve found it’s always safest. I’ll just follow your lead.”

“And pick up the pieces?” Janey said dryly. As Webb stopped the car in front of her apartment, she added, “Thanks for the ride home. It gives me just enough extra time to bleach my hair and paint my fingernails lime green.”

* * *

THE APARTMENT HAD no doorbell, so Webb rapped on the door and watched in fascination as several chunks of paint vibrated loose and floated to the ground.

When she opened the door, Janey was already wearing a coat, and Webb felt a tiny tinge of anxiety. She had been joking about wearing a strapless sequined dress, hadn’t she? But she hadn’t bleached her hair, though it seemed more gold today than the plain brown he’d thought it was. And even though it was once more pulled back in a French braid, it looked softer somehow than it had at the factory.

“I’d have been waiting outside,” she said, “but I’m afraid this ring and this neighborhood are not a good combination.” She waved her left hand; even in the shadowed basement stairway the diamond stood out like a searchlight.

“No lime green polish?” he asked, and was ashamed of himself for feeling relieved.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but my roommate used the last of the bottle just before I got home last night. She loaned me a dress to make up for it, though.”

The tinge of anxiety grew stronger, but before he could say anything, Janey stepped outside and pulled the door shut.

“I’m surprised,” she said as he slid behind the wheel, “that you didn’t bring your grandmother along just so she could see the neighborhood. Or are you reserving that in case you need a knockout punch for later?”

She sounded a little testy, Webb thought. But of course she’d be nervous; even someone who knew what to expect would no doubt feel edgy about meeting Camilla Copeland for the first time. “Why do you live here, anyway? I know I’m not paying you a fortune—not yet, at any rate—but you make decent money.”

She didn’t look at him. “Because both Lakeshore Towers and the Marina were full when I was looking for a place to live.”

Which meant she didn’t want to tell him. Well, she obviously wasn’t proud of the place—so maybe it just meant she’d gotten over her head in debt somehow and was ashamed of it. Of course, that didn’t bode well for her promise to repay the phenomenal amount of money he’d agreed to give her when this was over. Not that he’d taken her seriously in the first place.

Considering the differences in the neighborhoods, it seemed an incredibly short distance from Janey’s basement apartment to the Greek Revival mansion which the Copelands had handed down from generation to generation for more than a hundred years. Webb parked the car directly in front of the main door, in the elegant curve of the driveway, and turned to see Janey’s reaction to his house.

All he could see was the back of her French braid. She was staring out the window, and he thought he heard her gulp.

He followed her gaze, wondering which feature had made the strongest impression on her. The half-dozen thirty-foot-tall Doric columns that framed the front portico? The classic egg-and-dart cornice just under the roof line? More likely it was the sheer size of the place that had awed her so.

He walked around the car to open her door. “It is a bit overwhelming, isn’t it? I forget that myself sometimes, until I’ve been away from it awhile.”

For a long moment he thought she hadn’t heard him, and even when she pulled her gaze away from the house she seemed to have trouble focusing on his face. “This is incredible,” she said. Her voice was shaky and little more than a breath.

He was beginning to feel a bit nervous himself, not so much over facing his grandmother as for fear of what Janey might do. The last thing he’d expected was that the impertinent and brazen young woman he’d hired for this job would fall apart at the first challenge.

He took her arm and shook her just a little—gently, in case his grandmother might happen to be looking out a window. “Don’t go to pieces on me now. You don’t have to put on a show, after all. Just be yourself.”

Janey stood her ground. “I wish I thought you meant that as a compliment.” Her voice had once more taken on the acid edge he’d already come to expect from her.

Webb grinned. It’d be all right—she was back.

The butler opened the front door as they approached, and with a tiny bow he offered to take their coats. Janey didn’t seem to notice; she stopped three steps inside the foyer, tipped her head back and stared up two full stories at the ceiling. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “But I’d never in my life have expected to see this.”

Webb wasn’t quite sure if she was talking to him or the butler, and he wasn’t about to ask. He took hold of her coat collar and whispered, “Don’t overdo it, all right?”

She let him slip her coat off, but Webb wasn’t sure she’d heard him; she was gawking at the winding staircase when Camilla Copeland appeared in the door of the big parlor.

“Come on, darling,” he said in a deliberate stage whisper.

Finally Janey blinked and seemed to return to earth.

Camilla had come forward with a hand outstretched. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Janey.”

Webb thought her voice sounded a little strained, and he felt a momentary pang of conscience. But it was only momentary; after all, if it hadn’t been for Camilla’s less-than-subtle matchmaking efforts he’d never have dreamed of bringing Janey Griffin home to meet her. And it wasn’t as if this state of affairs was going to last forever, anyway—just long enough for Camilla to get the message that if she tried to manipulate him, she wasn’t going to like the results.

For the moment, he was simply pleased that they were off to a good beginning. Now if Janey carried through with her part...

“What a beautiful suit,” Camilla said, and for the first time Webb dared to take a good look at what Janey was wearing.

It wasn’t strapless, and it wasn’t covered with sequins. In fact, her gray tweed skirt and jacket could have passed muster almost anywhere.

And yet it wasn’t quite right, somehow. The skirt was shorter than fashion dictated, which probably meant that it was at least two years old. Camilla would notice that in a flash. And he was sure his grandmother hadn’t missed the white camisole that peeked out from under the jacket, any more than he had. Lots of women were wearing them—but this one stood out from the crowd. Not only wasn’t there much of it, but the silky fabric draped and the lace trim teased, and the combination made it quite obvious that it hadn’t taken tissue paper to fill out Janey’s figure. It was a wonder Camilla hadn’t had apoplexy.

As far as the skirt was concerned, though, he had to admit that any woman with legs like Janey’s would be foolish to keep them hidden—whether or not it was fashionable.

Janey smoothed a hand down over her skirt. “Thank you. I’ll tell my roommate. I borrowed the whole outfit from her, because I didn’t have anything nearly like it of my own.”

Camilla’s smile froze.

Webb wanted to applaud. Instead he decided to capitalize on the situation. “I’ll bet you don’t even own a dress, do you, Janey? I’ve never seen you wearing one. And you should have watched her practicing how to walk in heels, Gran. I haven’t seen anything so funny in years. After wearing those heavy work shoes with the steel toes all the time—” He paused, as if he was startled by Camilla’s expression. “Oh, did I forget to tell you, Gran, that Janey works in the factory at Copeland Products?”

Camilla looked as if she was trying to fight off a cramp. Webb turned to Janey to see if she was savoring the moment and was startled to catch a spark of irritation in her eyes.

“How very interesting.” Camilla took a deep breath. “Do come into the parlor, Janey. It’ll be a few minutes until lunch is served, so let’s take advantage of the chance to chat and get to know each other.” She led the way.

Janey started to follow Camilla, but within three feet she’d stopped once more to look around. “It’s amazing, isn’t it, that with the size of this space, voices don’t echo.”

“It’s an engineering feat,” Webb said. “Even though the walls look straight, they’re actually curved just enough to push the sound on, not bounce it back. Believe me, you don’t want the details. It’s far too complicated.”

She looked straight at him, and though he didn’t understand why, Webb felt icy tingles slither down his spine. He was glad Camilla was already in the parlor, settling herself in her favorite chair by the fireplace, too far away to get a good view of the face-off in the foyer.

Janey’s voice was very low, and it was so sweet it could induce a diabetic coma all by itself. “Too complicated for me to understand? Is that what you meant?”

“Not exactly. I just thought it was hardly your sort of—”

“And you probably also think I couldn’t possibly comprehend that though this house is an extremely late example of the Greek revival style, it’s architecturally significant not only because of the acoustical engineering techniques that Henry Bellows employed when he designed it but because it’s one of the first residences he built with steel framing and not just timber and masonry. You’re right—it’s completely beyond me.”

She spun on her heel and swept into the parlor.

There wasn’t an echo in the hall, he reminded himself. There never had been, for Henry Bellows’s engineering skills had prevented it.

But Webb’s ears were ringing nevertheless.

CHAPTER THREE

EVEN BEFORE SHE’D crossed the sea of oriental carpet to where Camilla Copeland was sitting by the fireplace, Janey had already admitted to herself that telling Webb off almost under his grandmother’s nose probably hadn’t been the smartest thing she’d ever done.

But it had certainly felt good.

She took the chair Camilla indicated and held out her hands to the crackling fire. “Wood fires are so beautiful,” she said, “and so welcome on a gray day like this.”

“Then you aren’t a fan of gas logs? I’ve never liked them.” Camilla smiled. “But then I’m not the one who has to carry the wood inside or the ashes out, so perhaps I have a biased view of the subject.” She looked up. “Webb, why don’t you get Janey a sherry? Or something else—I’m sure you know better than I what she’d like.”

With her back turned to the room, Janey hadn’t heard Webb approach, and when she caught sight of him, she thought he looked as if he could quite cheerfully drop cyanide in whatever beverage she chose. She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m not much of a sherry drinker. Or anything else, really. Working around the machines has made me much more careful.”

Camilla nodded toward Janey’s left hand. “You’re being cautious with that ring as well, I hope.” She picked up a mass of rose-colored yarn from a basket beside her chair and placidly began to knit.

Janey looked down at the brilliant diamond. Last night under the factory lights it had looked almost garish. Today, as the stone reflected the flickering flames, it seemed quieter, classic—and mysterious. “Of course I wouldn’t put something this valuable at risk.”

Camilla shook her head. “No, that’s not what I meant. Years ago my father-in-law nearly lost a finger when one of the machines caught his lodge ring. Smashed it almost flat. The ring, I mean—though the finger was pretty well crushed, too.”

Webb poured a tiny glass of golden liquid for Camilla from the drinks tray, and set it on the table by her elbow. “Gran would be much more sympathetic if it had been his wedding band instead of a symbol of his mens’ club.” His voice was dry.

Was he going to pretend the whole exchange in the hallway had never happened? Eager to seize her cue, Janey looked up at him with a quick smile. But he obviously hadn’t intended the remark to be humorous, for his eyes were still chilly. He leaned against the mantel with his arms folded across his chest. He was looking at her, Janey thought, as if she’d suddenly turned into a malaria-carrying mosquito and he was figuring out how to swat her. She began to wish she’d accepted a drink anyway, just so she’d have the glass to keep her hands busy.

Camilla daintily sipped her sherry and returned to her knitting. “I’m so glad you like the house, Janey. How thoroughly unpleasant it would be to live somewhere you didn’t care for—and I’m afraid Webb would never give this place up.”

For an instant, Janey’s breath caught. But perhaps she was being too sensitive? Camilla’s first sight of her had been as Janey stared around the hall; the woman would have to be dense as a tree trunk not to have realized at a glance that Janey had been thoroughly impressed. It didn’t mean she’d overheard any of that squabble in the foyer.

Reassured, Janey found herself wondering how the dream girl Webb thought he’d hired would respond to that comment. “It’s just the right size to hold all my relatives—at least the ones who’ll be living with us”?

“It’s awe-inspiring,” she said finally. “Almost like a museum.”

“I remember that feeling when I came here as a bride.”

Was there the slightest trace of acid in Camilla’s voice?

Camilla looked up from her knitting, her eyes bright and inquisitive. “It sounded just now as if you’ve made a special study of Henry Bellows, Janey. He’s dear to our hearts, of course, but compared to the more famous architects who worked in the Chicago area he’s almost an unknown.”

Janey’s throat closed up till she was absolutely sure she’d never be able to draw a breath again. She had underestimated the acoustics of the hallway; it might not echo, but it obviously made even a whisper carry—for it was apparent Camilla Copeland had overheard a good part of that low-voiced exchange.

The only comfort Janey could find was Webb’s stunned look; he was obviously as startled as she was.

Terrific, she thought. Now he was furious and surprised. She’d really done it up big.

Camilla went on, calmly, “Architecture is one of Webb’s favorite subjects, I know—I think the interest has been handed down in the genes ever since his great-grandfather commissioned this house. Was it the love of buildings which brought you together? And how, I wonder, did that subject happen to come up on the assembly line?”

Janey reflected, almost calmly, that hers was likely to be the shortest engagement in the history of western civilization. She waited for Webb to say something that would squash her as completely as his great-grandfather’s ring.

But he was silent, apparently unwilling to step in—either to rescue her or put her out of her misery. And it was far too late for Janey to play dumb on the subject, for she didn’t dare take the chance of underestimating precisely how much Camilla had heard.

“My faculty adviser in the college of architecture is a Bellows fan,” she admitted. “He’s always using examples of his work—just a few months ago when we were studying acoustical engineering he got almost poetic about your foyer.”

Webb looked as if he were strangling.

“Of course, when I first heard about this house, I never expected to see the interior.”

“Webb must give you the complete tour after lunch,” Camilla said.

Webb pushed himself away from the fireplace. “Oh, why don’t we begin right now? Mrs. Wilson must be getting anxious to start her afternoon off, anyway, so let’s go get Madeline—shall we, Janey?”

It was less a question than a growled order. Janey cast an apologetic smile at Camilla. “I’ve been so anxious to see her nursery,” she offered. Webb’s hand closed on her arm and she had to hurry her step to keep pace with him.

He’d learned his lesson about holding private conversations in the hallway, Janey deduced. Instead he practically dragged her up the stairs and into an alcove in the upper hall, where he released her, planted his hands on his hips and glared at her.

“I had no idea she could hear me,” Janey said.

“Great excuse that is!”

“Well, you didn’t, either,” she said reasonably. “That was obvious.”

“What the hell happened? You took one look at the house, fell in love with it and decided to go for broke? Or did you already have this planned before you even got here?”

“Go for broke?” Janey frowned. “You mean try to marry you for real, in order to get this house? Not a chance. Not even a Henry Bellows masterpiece would be worth putting up with you.”

“You lied to me.”

Janey faced him squarely. “I did not. You never asked about my background—you simply assumed because of my job that I’d climbed out of the primordial ooze just last week. ‘Janey doesn’t own a dress. You should have seen her trying to learn to walk in heels!’” Her voice was bitter. “What were you planning to say next, I wonder? ‘Of course I’ll have to teach her to read and write’?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Maybe not the words, but it’s exactly what you meant.”

He looked a little ashamed of himself. “All right,” he admitted. “It’s what I wanted Gran to think, and maybe I went a little overboard. But what happened to playing your part?”

“I don’t have to have hayseeds sprouting in my hair to get the message across that we’re all wrong for each other. So what if I’m not quite the poster girl for ignorance and poverty? She’s still going to hate me, Webb.”

He looked as if he’d really like to believe her but didn’t quite dare.

Janey caught a glimpse of movement in one of the long hallways that stretched away from the staircase seemingly into infinity. She turned her head just as a woman who was wearing a heavy coat and carrying a dark-haired child in a red velvet dress came into sight.

Webb looked over Janey’s shoulder and said pleasantly, “Mrs. Wilson. I was just coming to get Maddy.”

“And about time,” the woman said flatly. “Or had you forgotten I’m supposed to have an afternoon out, not just a couple of hours?”

“I’m sorry. We were a little distracted downstairs.”

Janey couldn’t believe her ears. Webb Copeland was actually apologizing?

He took the child from the nurse’s arms. Maddy snuggled close, and Mrs. Wilson pulled a pair of gloves from her pockets and briskly put them on. Her gaze slid over Janey, summarized and dismissed her. “Since I’m not leaving on time, I will of course be later getting back as well.”

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