A Convenient Affair

Hannah wished that he’d made it sound more like a compliment. “Yes, sir.”

“Our client was quite grateful. I thought you’d like to know.” He leaned back in his chair. “In a few minutes we’ll get started on tidying up the details concerning Isobel’s estate. But in the meantime, tell me how you came to be living with her. I’m afraid I never knew the fine points.”

And as Isobel’s attorney, he probably would have known all about me, Hannah thought, if Isobel had left me anything of significance. Obviously, it was a good thing she’d never really gotten her hopes up—much less decided what color her new suits should be.

“It’s quite simple,” Hannah said. “When I first came to town, of course, I was very busy with my new job here at the firm. But after a few months, I went to visit Isobel. It was just a social thing, really, to go and pay my respects to a senior member of the family.”

“You’d known her for some time, then? Years, perhaps?”

“Actually, no. I mean, I knew her name, of course, but I’d never met her before. It hasn’t been a very close family. And it wasn’t a very close relationship, either—she was my grandfather’s cousin—but since much of my family is gone, I wanted to make contact with Isobel.”

“So you visited her often?”

“No. Just the one time.”

Ken Stephens sounded politely incredulous. “And on the strength of that one visit, she invited you to move in with her?”

Hannah’s jaw tightened, and she had to make an effort to keep her voice level. “Yes, she did. It surprised me, too, at the time. I’d happened to mention that my roommate was getting married and I was having trouble finding an apartment I both liked and could afford, and Isobel offered me a place to live for a while. I thought she meant that we could do each other a good turn. I could look after her a bit—”

“Look after Isobel?” Ken Stephens sounded astonished.

“Yes. Of course, that was before I knew her very well,” Hannah pointed out. “It didn’t take long to realize that the last thing Isobel wanted was to be treated as if she was elderly.”

“Quite a nice little arrangement you had,” he mused.

Hannah gritted her teeth. She was grateful that another tap on the door prevented her from saying something she was bound to regret.

“Now that you’re both here,” Ken Stephens said with satisfaction, “we can get started.”

Hannah didn’t even look around at the newcomer. She was still listening to Ken Stephens’s last comment echoing in her mind. A nice little arrangement you had, he’d said.

Past tense.

Well, it was no more than she’d expected. She’d sit quietly though the formalities and start studying the classifieds over lunch…

The new arrival said, “Sorry I’m late, Stephens.”

Hannah froze. It’s your imagination, she told herself frantically. There is no reason on earth for Cooper Winston to be here. This is Isobel’s estate we’re talking about, not some merger.

But there was no denying, when she turned her head to look, that Cooper was standing just inside the office, one hand still on the door. Hannah noted that Kitty Stephens had not only stood up to show him to the door, but she’d ushered him all the way in. And he was looking down at her as if fascinated by the designer scarf at her throat—or, perhaps, the face it framed.

“Thank you,” he said gently.

This was a different Cooper, Hannah thought. For one thing, it was the first time she’d seen him without the frown she had thought was permanently etched between his brows.

So was that irritable expression one he directed only at Hannah herself? Or was Kitty Stephens the exception, the one person who didn’t inspire him to sarcasm?

“Thanks for coming, Winston,” Ken Stephens said. “Kitty, see that we’re not disturbed.”

The secretary murmured, “Yes, Daddy,” and withdrew.

Her shock diminishing, Hannah leaned back in her chair. “I didn’t know you’d be here, Mr. Winston,” she said, with her best sunny smile, “or I’d have brought your friend Brutus. Which brings me to the question of why you are here. What on earth do you have to do with settling Isobel’s affairs?”

“Interesting choice of words,” Cooper said.

Ken Stephens cleared his throat. “You’re both here because you’re both mentioned in Isobel’s will.”

Cooper sat down in the chair next to Hannah’s. He was, in her opinion, paying an inordinate amount of attention to preserving the perfect crease in his trousers. “Please don’t keep us in suspense. I’m sure Ms. Lowe is panting to know how much she’s inherited.”

“As long as Isobel didn’t do anything idiotic like naming you as a trustee,” Hannah snapped, “I don’t care what she might have left me.”

The disbelief in Cooper’s eyes made her long to kick him.

“And why would you be named in her will?” Hannah went on. “It’s not as if you were intimate friends. Did you even speak to her when you met in the lobby?”

“Not if I could help it,” Cooper said coolly.

“As a matter of fact,” Ken Stephens said, “there’s no point in anyone getting high hopes. As I just mentioned, Isobel made a will, but after a full month of investigation I’ve discovered that she actually had very little to leave to anyone.”

Hannah frowned. “I don’t understand. She owned the condo—”

Ken shook his head. “No. She had a life interest in the condo. With her death, all rights to the Barron’s Court property revert to the trust which owns it.”

Cooper leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“The furniture,” Hannah said. “It must be worth a fortune. Some of it’s hundreds of years old.”

“Undoubtedly true,” Ken agreed. “It was rented from some of the best antique dealers in the city—who, by the way, are a bit anxious to get it all back now that the lease has expired with Isobel’s death. Her china and the silver tea service are on loan, too.”

“Her jewelry?” Hannah’s voice was little more than a breath.

“It’s been appraised.” Ken Stephens tossed a sheaf of paper on the desk. “Here’s a copy of the jeweler’s report, but in brief it says that everything Isobel owned was good quality. Extremely good quality—for costume jewelry.”

“It was fake?” Hannah whispered.

For a moment the attorney looked almost sympathetic. “I have to admit it fooled me, too, Ms. Lowe.” He turned his attention to the folder which lay open on his desk blotter. “Isobel’s income consisted of a pension which ends with her death. And she apparently spent the full amount every month, because her bank accounts—checking, savings, and money market—total just under a thousand dollars, which is almost exactly the amount of the bills outstanding at the time of her death. There are no brokerage accounts, no stocks, no money owed to her.”

“I hope you’re not expecting much in the way of a fee for settling the estate, Stephens.” Cooper raised a hand to rub his jaw. “But I guess if you knew Isobel for a while, you should have expected that she’d want something for nothing. How about furs? She had a mink once, and an ermine stole—”

“Now who’s taking inventory?” Hannah muttered.

“She got rid of those a few years back,” Ken said, “when it became politically incorrect to wear them.”

Cooper made a sound which might have been a snort. “More likely it’s because they were too heavy to carry around but she didn’t want to admit she was getting weak in her declining years.”

The attorney shuffled his papers. “Isobel made a provision in her will for the rest of her clothing to be donated to a community theater group.”

“A theater?” Cooper asked. “One might almost conclude the woman had a sense of humor after all. In short, it looks as if you get nothing but the towels, Ms. Lowe. Too bad about all your expectations.”

“I didn’t have any,” Hannah said tightly.

“You can’t think I’ll believe that. You talk about me taking inventory, but the way you recited that list of possible assets a minute ago, it sounded as if you’d rehearsed it. You’ve probably been putting yourself to sleep with it every night since Isobel died, counting bonds and jewels and chairs and silver flatware instead of sheep.”

Ignore him, Hannah ordered herself. “About the condo, Mr. Stephens—you did say, after Isobel died, that I could stay on for a while. I’m planning to move, of course, but how long—?”

“I don’t see any problem in you staying until all the contents have been moved out. But you know as well as anyone, Ms. Lowe, that condos in Barron’s Court are in great demand, and I’m sure the trust would like to settle the matter as quickly as possible.”

“I understand.” Hannah slid to the edge of her chair. “In that case, I’d better get busy looking for a place to live.”

Ken Stephens extracted a page and closed the folder. “There is just one more thing. In fact, it’s actually the most valuable item mentioned in Isobel’s will.”

Under any other circumstances, Hannah would have been too preoccupied with her own troubles to notice the way Cooper’s muscles tensed. But because she had perched on the edge of her chair, her arm was almost against his, and she could feel the sudden tautness in his body. “In that case,” she said dryly, “I think I’ll stick around till the bitter end.”

“No one would expect you to do anything else,” Cooper agreed.

The senior partner turned his chair so he could reach into the credenza behind his desk. A moment later, he set a wooden box in the middle of his desk blotter and settled back in his chair.

Cooper’s hand went out as if to touch it, and then paused in mid-air as if he was having trouble restraining himself.

Hannah stared at the box in puzzlement. It looked like a small jewelry box, about eight inches square, made of some sort of dark wood which had been heavily carved on every surface she could see. It was pretty enough, she supposed. But what could possibly make it the most valuable thing Isobel had owned?

Not that it has much competition for the honor.

“So what did Isobel say about the box?” Cooper asked.

Was it her imagination, Hannah wondered, or was his voice really just a trifle hoarse?

“Let me get it exactly right.” Ken Stephens flipped through the document in front of him. “Here it is. ‘I am well aware that Cooper Winston feels the Lovers’ Box should be his. But since it is the thing I treasure most, and since it was freely given to me and thus is mine to do with as I choose, I leave it to my young cousin, Hannah Lowe. I hope that for my sake Hannah will take good care of it.”’

Cooper leaped to his feet. “The old biddy! She was obstructionist and opportunistic to the end!”

“The Lovers’ Box?” Hannah leaned forward. “Why is it called that?”

“Long story,” Cooper said. “I doubt you’d be interested.”

Ken Stephens paused, his mouth hanging open, and stared at Cooper. Then he seemed to change his mind about whatever he’d intended to say and pushed the box toward Hannah. “It’s yours now, Ms. Lowe.”

Hannah’s fingers trembled slightly as she picked up the box. It was heavier than she’d expected, and it felt bulky in her hands. The pattern on top was geometric rather than scenic—she’d half expected to find a picture of a couple portrayed there. But in that case, she supposed, the reason behind the name wouldn’t have been a long story.

Hannah pressed the button-like brass knob with her thumb and slowly lifted the lid.

The box was empty, and because the sides and top were quite thick to allow for the depth of the carving, the interior was smaller than she’d expected. The inside of the box didn’t even boast a velvet lining; it was only raw wood, sanded smooth—though it was an exotic, fine-grained variety that Hannah didn’t recognize. Wasn’t there a species called ironwood? The denseness of that type of wood, along with the thickness of the walls, certainly accounted for the box’s weight.

But nothing she could see explained why Cooper would be even vaguely interested in owning it.

“That’s everything.” Ken brushed his hands together as if he was clearing dust off his fingertips. “Ms. Lowe, if you move before all of Isobel’s possessions are reclaimed, you’ll let me know, I’m sure.”

There was no question about the dismissive note in the attorney’s voice. Hannah tucked the Lovers’ Box under her arm and picked up her handbag.

Cooper was suddenly between her and the door. “Ms. Lowe, I think perhaps if we could talk about this, we could come to an agreement.”

Hannah looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “So—now that I have something you want, you’ll be nice to me? No, thanks, Mr. Winston. I’m going to go off by myself somewhere and see if I can figure out why this box is so important to you.”

She stepped around him to let herself out of the office, trying to ignore the fact that he was following her so closely she could feel his warmth.

As she opened the door, Ken Stephens said heartily, “No need to hurry away, Winston. I thought my daughter and I would take you to lunch.”

From the secretary’s desk, Kitty smiled brilliantly. “Do say yes, Mr. Winston. I’d so like to get to know you better.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. She was almost disappointed; she’d have expected a little more subtlety from Ken Stephens’s daughter. But it was clear there was no need for Hannah to hurry in order to avoid Cooper—he’d be tied up for hours if Kitty had anything to say about it.

Hannah glanced at her watch. She might as well get a sandwich and start looking at the ads for apartments before she went back to work.

Traffic was heavy, and Hannah had to wait for a bus to move before she could cross the street to the deli. Finally, with a whoosh of exhaust, the monster pulled away from the stop, and she darted across.

She was stepping onto the opposite curb when she heard her name called. Surprised, she turned and watched in fascinated disbelief as Cooper dodged between cars—ignoring traffic signals, horns and angry shouts—to follow her.

“You don’t have to try to figure it out,” he said as he came up to her. “Give me a chance, and I’ll tell you why I want that box.”

CHAPTER TWO

COOPER felt as if he was shouting in order to be heard above the roaring engine of the bus that had just stopped at the curb, less than three feet away.

Hannah looked thoughtfully at him, and then her gaze slid past him to the bus. For a moment Cooper thought in disbelief that she meant to walk around him and get on it. But just as she sidestepped him, the bus pulled away with a roar and a blast of diesel exhaust.

Relief trickled through him, followed by irritation at the very idea of feeling pleased because she was sticking around to talk to him. As if she didn’t have plenty of reason not to rush onto that bus! Her timing was impeccable, though, he had to admit. She’d actually made it look as if she was doing him some sort of favor by staying to listen.

His voice held a sharp edge. “I’d just as soon the rest of the world didn’t hear this conversation, so let’s go where we won’t have to shout. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

She looked up at him, her green eyes wide and challenging. “Coffee? Aren’t you at least going to offer me lunch?”

Cynicism swept over him, and for a split second he considered walking off without a word and leaving her standing there. Then she turned slightly and he caught a glimpse of the Lovers’ Box tucked securely under her arm. “I suppose you want to go to the Flamingo Room.”

“No,” she said pleasantly, “but only because I’m going there tonight. For right now, I’d settle for a hot dog from the stand around the corner. I’m hungry, and it’s enough of a sacrifice to actually try to have a conversation with you without attempting to do it on an empty stomach.”

Cooper didn’t bother to answer. He thrust out a hand to hail a passing cab and helped Hannah in with chilly politeness. “Cicero’s,” he told the cabbie.

“Italian? Does that mean you don’t like hot dogs?” she asked with obviously feigned interest.

Did she have to look at him that way? Her eyes were not only wide now but so incredibly clear that if he didn’t know better he’d think he could see her soul…

Knock it off, Winston, he told himself. He knew from firsthand experience how sharp the woman could be, especially when she was looking innocent. Besides, no relative of Isobel’s, especially one that had actually been close enough to live with her, was likely to have a soul any more than the old woman herself had. And even if she did, a little voice in the back of his brain murmured, that wouldn’t be the part of Hannah Lowe you’d be interested in, anyway.

He smothered the thought. Hannah Lowe—attractive? Some men would no doubt think so. Men who didn’t know her as well as he did.

What a puritanical sort of name it was, for a woman who was anything but. Her scent, the same sort of musky perfume that Isobel had fancied, gave the lie to that all-American front she tried to put on. Even when she was dressed for a walk with that incredibly bad-tempered dog, she was sexy enough to melt the sidewalk. A hot dog in the park—he almost wished he’d bought her one, just to see what she’d have done with it.

As the maître d’ showed them to an alcove at the far side of Cicero’s main dining room, Cooper slowed his pace a little, dropping back just far enough to watch the way her silky skirt shimmered as she moved. He’d seen some intriguing walks in his day, but Hannah Lowe’s put them all to shame.

Which was exactly what he ought to be feeling right now, he told himself firmly. Shame, for not keeping his mind on the business at hand.

He held back until the maître d’ had helped Hannah with her chair, and then he sat down across from her, watching as she placed the Lovers’ Box carefully on the corner of the table, as far as possible from him. Which wasn’t far, really, because under the narrow table his knee was brushing hers. She didn’t pull away, merely looked at him with narrowed eyes.

He gave an order to the waiter and settled back in his chair to watch her fiddle with the Lovers’ Box.

Finally it appeared she had it settled to her satisfaction. She looked across at him, and a faint flush crept over her almost-transparent skin. “You look as jumpy as if I was handling dynamite,” she said. “What’s so special about this box?”

“It’s certainly not dangerous. And it wouldn’t be anything special to most people. It’s important to me only because one of my ancestors was a sea captain who brought it back from an around-the-world voyage close to two centuries ago.”

“Sentimental value,” she said thoughtfully.

“Exactly.” The waiter brought two glasses of red wine and a basket of bread sticks. Cooper pushed the basket invitingly close to her and said abruptly, “I’ll give you five hundred dollars for the box, right now.”

“Five hundred,” she mused. She slowly turned the stem of her wineglass between slim fingers. “I thought you said it was special.”

He felt a tinge of reluctant admiration for her negotiating skills. “Don’t let Ken Stephens’s comments about its value deceive you. On the open market it would bring only a fraction of that. As Isobel knew quite well, the value of that box is precisely what I’m willing to pay for it, and not a dime more.”

“But it’s so difficult to define sentiment in monetary terms,” Hannah said.

“Don’t try to blackmail me into a higher offer.”

She tilted her head a little to one side. “And don’t growl at me. I was simply thinking that it must have every bit as much sentimental value for me as it has for you.”

“Because it’s the only thing left you by your dear departed aunt? Don’t be ridiculous.”

She said, sounding almost weary, “She wasn’t my aunt, she was my grandfather’s cousin.”

“Even less of a connection. And less of a reason for you to want to keep it.”

“That,” Hannah said lightly, “depends entirely on the point of view. Why is it called the Lovers’ Box?”

“Agree to sell it to me, and I’ll tell you.” He watched the light from the sconce above her head play against her hair, bringing out red highlights in the chestnut brown. “How much do you think it’s worth?”

“I thought you weren’t willing to go above five hundred.”

Cooper shrugged. “There are limits on what I’m willing to pay, of course. But humor me, Hannah. Give me an idea of what your estimate is. How much?” Come on, sweetheart, he urged. Once you set a value, no matter how outlandish it is, I’ve got you. You’re committed to making the sale. Then it’s just a matter of haggling over the final price.

“I’ll have to think about it,” she countered. “Why do you want it so badly?”

He had to admit a reluctant admiration that she’d avoided the trap. “I told you why.”

She shook her head. “No. You told me how it got into your family, not why it was so important for you to get it back. Or, for that matter, how it got out of your family and ended up in Isobel’s hands. What did she say, in the will? It was freely given to her—something like that. So why you think you deserve to have it back at all is—”

“Nothing was free where Isobel was concerned.” Cooper knew he sounded sarcastic. He didn’t much care; it was true. “She got that box through deceit and extortion.”

Hannah’s daintily-arched eyebrows climbed. “Not much of an extortion scheme,” she murmured, “if the prize was worth five hundred dollars, tops.”

“If that’s your way of warning me that you’re even better at extortion than Isobel was—”

In a flash, her eyes went from clear to turbulent, from a millpond to a storm-tossed sea. “If you expect me to sit here and listen to you, you’d better be careful about throwing accusations around.”

“But if you walk out on me now, you won’t get anything at all. If you name a price we can agree on, you’ll be that much better off and you won’t have to deal with me anymore. So give yourself a break, Hannah. How much do you want for the box?”

“Why are you so sure I’ll take money for it? Maybe, if you tell me how Isobel got her hands on it, I’ll feel sorry for you and give it back for nothing.”

And donkeys will fly, he thought. He hadn’t intended to sit around with her long enough to explain it all, but he supposed there was no real reason not to tell her the Winston side of the story. It might be interesting to find out how it compared to whatever Isobel had told her. “All right, you asked for it. The Captain brought the box home from a trip to the Orient as a gift for his bride, and from then on it was passed down through the generations, given to the oldest child on his or her wedding day.”

“The Lovers’ Box,” she said softly. “Why not call it the Bridal Box?”

“Since I wasn’t there when the name originated, I have no idea. At any rate, the box became a sort of talisman, because through all the decades, none of those marriages failed.”

“And now I suppose you’re planning to get married, so you want it back. That will disappoint Kitty Stephens. You didn’t even give her a fair chance—”

“I have no intention of getting married.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

Cooper eyed her warily. “Why’s that?”

“Oh, not because my mind runs along the same channels as Kitty’s does,” she assured him airily. “It doesn’t matter to me whether you get married. But you see, I’d have bet you weren’t the superstitious sort who would care about either a trinket or a legend—so it’s a relief to know my prophetic abilities haven’t gone completely on the fritz. You’ve left the question unanswered, of course. If you don’t want the box for yourself, why is it so important?”

“The Lovers’ Box should have gone to my mother on her wedding day. Instead, not long before my parents were married, Isobel persuaded my grandfather to take the name literally and give the box to her instead.”

Hannah’s eyes weren’t stormy anymore, but they were darker than Cooper had ever seen them before—like deep, still pools at the edge of a quiet lake. He could almost feel himself teetering on the shore. A man could drown in those eyes if he wasn’t careful.

She was frowning. “I don’t quite see—”