Mr. Hyde’s Assets Read online

  The housekeeper lowered her chin to her chest as if she were doing some serious thinking. “Maybe I misplaced the locket,” she mumbled. She didn’t sound convinced. “But there’s still the matter of your missing jewelry. Mr. Hyde was in here a long time this evening, and then he said he had ‘things’ to wrap up in his apartment before he moved in. He had the perfect opportunity.”

  “He’s agreed to help me with the nursery, remember? He was probably making plans.” They just couldn’t go around accusing someone without proof, Candice decided. She knew better than anyone what kind of havoc could be created by jumping to conclusions.

  But what would it hurt to ask him a casual question or two? To appease Mrs. Merry-weather, of course. It had nothing to do with the fact that she was eager to see him again.

  As if to mock her flimsy excuse, her heart leaped joyfully at the thought.

  “How about if I go talk to him? I’ll just ask him if he happened to notice any jewelry lying around on the floor when he was in here earlier. Maybe I scattered it searching for something.” Warming to her theory, Candice added, “Perhaps he found it and put it in the wrong place.”

  “Like his pocket?” Mrs. Merryweather muttered darkly.

  Candice let her remark slide. “Tomorrow we’ll do a thorough search of the house. It’s not the first time we’ve lost something in this big ol’ place, is it?”

  Mrs. Merryweather let out a long, shaky sigh. “Maybe we’ll find that little critter, too.”

  “Lucy’s missing?”

  “I’m afraid so. I let her have the run of the place, and she disappeared.”

  “Well, don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll come out when she gets hungry. Now, why don’t you go on to bed?”

  “Not a chance.” Mrs. Merryweather lumbered to her feet, her battle armor in place once again. “I’ll just go make myself a cup of hot tea, and if you’re not back in thirty minutes, I’m calling the cops.”

  Candice suppressed an exasperated sigh as she pulled a terry-cloth wrapper from a hook on the bathroom door and threw it over her black silk pajamas. She belted it tight. “Mr. Hyde wouldn’t harm a hair on my head. If he wanted to, he’s had plenty of opportunities.”

  As Candice let herself out through the back door, she immediately noticed the blaze of lights coming from Austin’s apartment. It looked as if every lamp in the house was on. Puzzled, she crossed the drive and crept silently up the steep steps.

  The door stood ajar.

  She stepped closer, listening for any sound from within. The eerie quiet made her flesh crawl. What if they had been burglarized, and the burglar ran into Austin, and… ?

  Stifling the instinct urging her to turn tail and run, she reached out and pushed the door open wider, peering inside. She had to see for herself that he was okay.

  Her breath lodged in her throat as she caught sight of him. He stood with his back to her, bare to the waist, his bronzed skin rippling with muscles as he lifted his arm. A rag splotched with paint hung from his back pocket as if he’d absently jammed it there.

  He was painting.

  “Aus—Mr. Hyde?” That’s right, girl, keep it formal. Remember Luke’s advice. After the hearing, well, then she would be free to do whatever her heart desired…

  A naughty shiver stole over her at the thought.

  Austin swung around at the sound of her voice, his handsome face momentarily blank. Finally, his eyes focused on her. He smiled. On cue, her heart gave a foolish leap in response. It continued to pound as he slowly looked her over, leaving her entire body warm and trembling as if he’d stroked her with those big, wonderful hands.

  Would the reality be as mind-blowing as the fantasy? she dared to wonder.

  As if he read her wicked thoughts, he wiggled his golden brows suggestively. “Is it bedtime?”

  She’d known it would be hard to remain aloof. How did a woman resist a man like Austin? Mr. Hyde, she reminded herself sternly.

  “No, I—may I come in?” Now she wished she had taken the time to dress. Her pajamas, coupled with her robe, covered her entire body, but pajamas made her think of bed, and bed was something that that seemed to come easily to mind when she was around Austin.

  He waved a brush in the air, carelessly slinging a streak of paint onto his jeans. “Of course. I was just finishing up.”

  Candice stepped into the room. She was determined to keep her distance, but the canvas drew her like a magnet. “May I look?”

  “Little miss ‘May I,’” Austin teased softly. “Don’t you ever demand anything?”

  She licked her lips and tried not to stare at his magnificent chest. There were plenty of things she would like to demand, but nothing she dared mention out loud.

  Candice focused on the painting, immediately impressed. “You’re good,” she told him sincerely. It was a marvelous depiction of a woman cradling a baby in her arms. Nursing a baby, she realized on closer inspection. Evening shadows slanted across the woman’s bowed head, and a tiny hand clutched the smooth curve of her exposed breast.

  Looking at the woman’s face again, a jolt of familiarity shot through her. She glanced sharply at Austin.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he said with an odd edge to his voice.

  He sounded flustered, maybe a little… embarrassed?

  So she was right. The woman looked familiar because—She swallowed hard. “That’s me, isn’t it?”

  He nodded, smiling that boyish, endearing grin that made her pulse accelerate.

  Recalling his previous inquiry about breastfeeding, Candice blurted out, “Did your mother breast-feed you?” She turned to study the painting again to hide her flush.

  His snort sounded bitter. “I don’t think silicone is safe for human consumption.”

  Another hint about his mother, just enough to make her want to know more. Candice braved another question. “You don’t like your mother much, do you?”

  “No.”

  She waited for him to go on. When he didn’t, she asked softly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  His fingers closed over her chin, turning her face slowly in his direction until she had no choice but to look at him.

  His eyes burned into hers. “Do you want to talk about your husband?”

  “No.” She had to choke the word out through the sudden constriction in her throat. And damn him for bringing it up. He couldn’t know that she’d spent the last year trying not to think of Howard, could he?

  “Good. Then we’re even. It seems we both have painful memories we’d rather not talk about. Maybe some other time.”

  He let go of her chin, his smile returning with an ease that made her blink. The hard light she’d glimpsed in his eyes had vanished.

  “Let’s talk instead about why you’re walking around late at night without your bodyguard.”

  Candice gave a start of surprise. She’d forgotten her reason for coming. But then, he had a way of distracting her. Trying to sound casual, she explained, “I seem to have misplaced a few pieces of jewelry, and I thought you might have noticed them lying around when you were in the nursery…” She trailed off, realizing by the slow fading of his smile that she’d blundered despite her caution. “I’m not accusing you, Mr. Hyde. I—”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “No. I simply thought I might have knocked them onto the floor and that you might have found them and put them somewhere.” It was true. She had only considered the alternative for a few seconds.

  “Like in my pocket?” he suggested softly, inadvertently echoing Mrs. Merry weather’s words.

  Candice could no more have stopped the flood of guilty color rushing to her face than she could have stopped the hurt from entering his. Feeling defensive for no good reason, she met his flinty gaze head-on. “I can’t help what you believe, but I never thought that you took them. Found them, yes, but not stole them.”

  For a long, tense moment, Candice feared he’d go on believing the worst. Then he sighed and ran a hand through his sun-s
treaked hair. She let out a slow breath of relief, only to draw it in sharply again as he said, “I suggest you keep your pretty baubles in a safe. Glittering things are hard for her to resist.”

  “Her?” Candice gasped in outrage. “If you’re implying that Mrs. Merryweather is a thief, then you are way out of line, Mr. Hyde.”

  “I thought I told you to call me Austin.”

  She was speechless in the face of his lazy grin. How dare he stand there so calmly while he accused poor Mrs. Merryweather of stealing! Coldly, she said, “For your information, Mr. Hyde, Mrs. Merryweather is missing her locket as well.”

  Austin nodded as if the news came as no surprise. “Is it gold, maybe? And shiny?”

  Confusion momentarily distracted Candice from her growing anger. “Why, yes, it is. But how would you know?” His description rekindled a suspicion she could no longer ignore. There was only one explanation for his having such knowledge, wasn’t there?

  “Because Lucy likes things that are sparkly or shiny—gold, silver.” He shrugged. “You get the picture.”

  Candice paused, then sucked in a furious breath. Oh, she got the picture all right. He had deliberately allowed her to believe—oh, the absolute orneriness of the man! She had never in her life met anyone so exasperating.

  And now he was laughing.

  Well, there was funny, and then there was not funny, and in her book Mr. Hyde had just crossed the line into not funny. Flashing him a look that should have ignited his paint-splattered jeans, she marched to the door.

  “Wait! Don’t you want your ice cream?”

  Candice paused, her chest heaving. She should ignore him and his contrite tone. She should keep right on walking. Yes, that’s exactly what she would do. His offer was probably just another sick joke.

  “Double chocolate chip cookie dough.”

  Her mouth watered. How did he know she’d been craving chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream? Rich and smooth, with little nuggets of dark chocolate. Giving herself a mental kick, Candice reached for the doorknob with renewed determination. Mr. Hyde could take his ice cream and shove it.

  “Topped with chocolate syrup. Consider it a peace offering.”

  Again she hesitated. If he were truly sorry, then wouldn’t it be churlish of her to refuse? Not to mention biting off her nose to spite her face.

  Behind her, she heard the sound of the freezer door opening and shutting. She jumped as he reached over her shoulder and placed a round tub of cold ice cream into her arms, balancing a bottle of syrup on top of the container. Still miffed, and with Luke’s warning fresh in her mind, she kept her voice cool and distant—and didn’t turn around. Looking at him would be a mistake. “Thank you. You’ll find a pillow and some blankets on the sofa in the den.”

  “Don’t mention it. If you’ll give me a moment to turn out the lights, I’ll walk over with you.” He was standing too close, and the husky note in his voice wreaked havoc with her self-control.

  Feeling an urgent need for fresh air, Candice mumbled, “I’ll wait outside on the porch. It’s—it’s hot in here.” She did feel overly warm, but then, she always did in his company.

  “Hmm. I know what you mean,” came his low-voiced agreement.

  Candice hastily stepped outside into the cool, refreshing air before the heat from her body melted the coveted ice cream.

  Chapter Eleven

  The toddler was almost to the edge of the second-story veranda.

  Another few steps and he would be over the edge.

  Austin pumped his legs as hard as he could, but he remained in place, as if an invisible treadmill rolled beneath his pounding feet.

  No matter how fast he ran, how hard he tried, he remained a steady, agonizing yard from the child.

  Sweat stung his eyes, but he couldn’t lift his hands to wipe it away and didn’t want to take the time to try. He watched in horror as the baby reached the edge, toppled, then fell.

  Austin screamed, and with a mighty effort that

  corded the muscles in his arms, he leaped at the baby. His fingers closed around a tiny heel; then he was propelled forward as if a giant hand had pushed him. Over the edge he went after the baby, falling, falling—

  He rolled from the couch and hit the floor with a heavy thud that jarred his bones and rattled his brain into consciousness.

  A dream.

  It was just a dream. No, not an ordinary dream, a nightmare.

  Austin blew out an exhausted sigh of relief and lay still, his nose buried in the carpet, his body still shaking from the aftermath. He much preferred erotic dreams about Candice, which normally disturbed his slumber and had for the past three weeks since he’d moved into the house.

  Right now, she slept peacefully in a guest room upstairs, because the paint fumes from the nursery adjoining her bedroom nauseated her. Just thinking about her lying in bed, her cheeks flushed with sleep, her white-gold hair spread out on the pillows, was enough to make Austin groan. God, he wanted her in the worst way. Badly. Terribly. Achingly.

  And every passing day spent in her company strengthened that need. She felt it, too, he was certain. Yet since Luke McVey’s visit, she had changed. Oh, she was nice and friendly, but it wasn’t the same.

  He feared she was back to the old Candice Vanausdale.

  With the exception of her eyes. He often caught her looking at him, and he recognized the look. It was the same one he saw in the mirror. Hungry. Lonesome. Needful.

  Whatever had changed between them, he suspected the attorney had something to do with it. The suspicion made him feel ill every time he thought about it.

  So he wouldn’t think about it.

  Austin gathered the covers and rose from the floor, planting his sore body onto the couch—his bed. It wasn’t quite morning yet, but that translucent time between night and day when the sky turned gray, then flushed pink, before uncovering the blue, blue sky. Austin knew he wouldn’t go back to sleep, not after the nightmare. Besides, the sofa wasn’t exactly a dream come true in the snooze department, especially after the grueling work he’d been doing for the past three weeks.

  Candice had offered him a room upstairs—one next to the guest room she slept in now. He’d taken the room for a place to keep his clothes, shower, and change, but what would be the point of sleeping upstairs? He was here to protect, wasn’t he? How could he do his job if he was upstairs? Although she wasn’t sleeping in her room at the moment, her bedroom suite was downstairs. So he slept every night on the sofa in the den, shrugging off her objections.

  Austin lifted his arms, wincing as he did, and cradled his head with his hands. He waited impatiently for daylight, wary of navigating the still unfamiliar room in the dark. A bruised shin and a stubbed toe had left him cautious.

  His thoughts returned unerringly to the subject that occupied most of his waking hours and damned near all of his sleeping ones, too, when he wasn’t dreaming about babies.

  Candice Vanausdale.

  The file he’d bullied Jack into showing him had been a disappointment, containing nothing pertinent about the mystery woman herself. He knew the client’s doctors weren’t certain why she had failed to become pregnant the normal way, and he knew she’d undergone several tests in that area. The date on the file confirmed that Jack hadn’t been lying when he’d said Candice and her husband had planned this baby before his death.

  Austin couldn’t fathom why Jack had been so nervous about someone’s seeing that file containing only a lot of medical mumbo jumbo. Oh, sure, he realized that the number listed for Howard’s sperm count was a joke, but Jack had known that he knew anyway, and that nobody else did. So Jack’s reluctance didn’t make sense.

  Just as Mrs. Dale’s abrupt transition from eager pupil in Relaxing 101 to Miss Class Act didn’t make sense.

  An ache began to form between his eyes, so Austin shoved his puzzling thoughts aside. From his position on the sofa, he watched through the floor-to-ceiling windows as dawn made its majestic appearance. The room bega
n to lighten; objects blurred into dark shapes, then became more detailed in the morning sun.

  It was time to rise and shine, get to work—and he had plenty of that to do. With another groan, he shoved himself from the couch and padded to the kitchen in a pair of faded cotton boxers, knowing he would be the only one up at this ungodly hour.

  He poured a tall glass of juice and took it upstairs with him as he prepared to shower and change, going over his mental list of things to do. Mrs. Merryweather would have her own list ready and waiting, but Austin had plans of his own.

  Today, he was going to finish the pale yellow trim in the nursery and start draining the pool. Yesterday, he’d drawn plans for a dog kennel, trimmed the hedges, mowed the massive lawn, touched up the paint on a few rough places on the east side of the house, and worked on the nursery until late into the night.

  As he stepped into the warm shower, he wondered if having a baby gave everyone such energy. It certainly stimulated his imagination.

  Boy, would Candice be surprised when she discovered the real reason he was draining the pool. And he couldn’t wait to see her face when she discovered how he planned to brighten up those boring, sterile white walls in the nursery.

  He lathered his body, humming to himself. After he had finished From Discovery to Delivery, he’d quickly begun From Zero Months to Five Years. He had discovered that babies needed lots of color to stimulate their vision.

  Not endless white walls. Color. Well, he was just the guy to fix the problem, and surely Candice would appreciate his artistic genius. And by the time she delivered their baby, wouldn’t she be so attached to him she’d cry for joy to learn he was the real father?

  Austin grumbled as he quickly dried off and slipped into his work clothes—baggy sweat pants and an old blue T-shirt, both paint-spotted but clean. Okay, so she might not be happy to find out the father wasn’t her blue-blooded husband, but at least by then he might have proven what a good dad he was going to—

  He halted at the door to his temporary bedroom, registering the shock of what he’d just thought. When had things gotten so turned around? He had come here to ascertain that she was going to be a good mother to his child—a child Jack had forced upon him.