Mr. Hyde’s Assets Page 5

  Sheer panic vibrated in her voice. “Hurry, they can’t see us together!”

  “Why the hell not?” Austin shouted back, wishing he had a high-powered fire hose handy.

  “Scandal!”

  Austin frowned at her answer as he followed her through the door Mrs. Merryweather held open. Of course. How could he have forgotten?

  The money. It was all about the money.

  Chapter Four

  “Miserable vultures! Mrs. Dale never hurt anyone, so why can’t they leave her alone? She can’t even walk in her own backyard for fear of those newspeople pouncing out of the bushes and snapping pictures, and now this! A helicopter!”

  Staring at the housekeeper’s rigid back as she chopped viciously at something on the counter in front of her, Austin had to agree the helicopter was a bit much. Still, where there’s smoke there’s usually fire, as the old saying went.

  The notorious widow had gone to change, leaving him in his wet shorts and damp shirt, alone with a very angry housekeeper. Well, he could handle Mrs. Merryweather.

  He’d just keep his mouth shut and listen.

  “Gettin’ pale from being cooped up in this house all day! She needs fresh air and sunshine, but she can’t go outside.”

  Pale? No fresh air and sunshine? Austin didn’t like the sound of that. It wasn’t healthy. And all because she was afraid of the media. Which explained why she hadn’t ventured out since he’d been here. Who could blame her, when—

  “No harm in her wantin’ a baby, is there?” Mrs. Merryweather snapped without turning around. “And so what if Mr. Howard ain’t alive? I raised my own three after Jim died, and so can Mrs. Dale. Between the two of us, that young’un won’t want for anything.”

  Uh-oh. Between the two of them? Austin didn’t like the sound of that, either. He cringed to imagine his child being raised by a recluse and a drill sergeant. In this palace. Surrounded by lurking media and crazed, money-hungry relatives.

  Austins emotions warred between pity and disgust. Well, did he feel sorry for Candice Vanausdale or not? Was she the victim, or had she smoothed the sheets of her own bed?

  “Why doesn’t she remarry?”

  He hadn’t realized he’d translated the thought into words until Mrs. Merryweather swung around and pinned him with a glare cold enough to freeze his shorts. Too late, he now remembered that Jack had said the widow didn’t want to remarry. Ever. But… why not? He eyed the knife in Mrs. Merryweather’s hand and declined to repeat his question. She didn’t know that it was his business.

  And just where was the infamous Mrs. Vanausdale? She was taking a long time to change, he thought, returning the housekeeper’s unblinking glare with an innocent look. Hopefully, she would decide he was just another dumb jock and forget he’d asked such a personal question about his employer.

  She continued to stare, as if deciding his fate.

  Funny, during the interview the old battle-ax had fluttered her eyelids like a teenager in love. Now she stared at him as if he bore a thief’s brand on his forehead. In fact, maybe he should ask where the bathroom was, so he could check.

  Or, rather, one of the many bathrooms. At least his child would have no trouble making it to the potty. That is, if he or she didn’t trip over a maid or two along the way. Poor mite. Of course, that was if the poor mite didn’t slip and fall on a highly polished marble floor on his way to the potty. Or stick himself with a twenty-four-carat gold diaper pin.

  Dammit, a forbiddingly formal mansion was no place for a child to grow and play. He should know. Jack should know. What had Jack been thinking? Oh, he’d forgotten. Jack didn’t have a brain to think with—at least not a normal one, anyway.

  Still, that was no excuse. The miserable, low-life mutt!

  Austin caught his frown before it formed, shaping his lips into a pleasant smile instead. He would charm this old battle-ax if it killed him, and get to know the mother of his child so that he could make a decision.

  Which would be… ? Damned if he knew. But before his baby was born, he would know. Even if it killed him.

  He jumped as Mrs. Merryweather slammed a plate of sandwiches down in the center of the table, quickly following it with two tall glasses of lemonade.

  The sight of the sandwiches reminded Austin that he hadn’t eaten lunch. On cue, his stomach growled.

  “Well, for heaven’s sake, would you go ahead and eat? I can hear your stomach makin’ a racket!”

  Austin grinned at the housekeeper’s mock-exasperated tone. She’d forgiven his blunder. “Thanks, but I’ll wait on Mrs. Vanausdale.”

  “Mrs. Dale.” Mrs. Merryweather folded the dishtowel she’d been using to wipe the spotless cabinets and turned to face him squarely. “Mrs. Dale is what the hired help calls her. Vanausdale’s too much of a mouthful for most folks.”

  Meaning? Austin suspected the housekeeper had just delivered a not-so-subtle put down, but if he were going to get along with the old busybody, he’d have to swallow his pride. “Mrs. Dale, then.”

  Actually, he’d prefer Candice. His grin widened as he imagined the shock on the housekeeper’s face should he dare. Oh, what fun!

  But, no, if he were to make progress, he had to be good and charm not only “Mrs. Dale” but Mrs. Merryweather, as well. What a double-daunting challenge.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” a honey-warm voice said from behind him.

  Austin tensed, a ripple of awareness skirting down his spine. God, her voice would make a monk hard, he thought, slowly turning around. Not to mention the rest of her.

  His gaze started at her sandled feet and moved up the immaculate slacks with their razor-sharp creases to the silk blouse almost exactly the same colorless shade as the one she’d worn earlier. For a brief instant, his hot gaze lingered on the pull of fabric, with one slightly strained buttonhole, across her breasts.

  Somehow that tiny flaw breached her perfect, untouchable image and made him think of satin sheets and naked limbs.

  Hers.

  His.

  Hot and sweaty and tangled.

  Not for the first time, Austin sensed a hidden fire in the widow—something she probably wasn’t aware of. Oh, but he was.

  She’d dried her hair and clasped it with a barrette at the nape of her neck, leaving a fringe of soft blond bangs tangling in her eyelashes and the rest hanging down her back in a silken sway. More erotic, forbidden images flashed through his mind at the thought of her hair unbound, wild and soft.

  Abruptly, Austin shifted his eyes to her flushed face, surprised to find her watching him with anxiety and fear—and not a trace of the self-assurance he expected to find.

  What the hell was going on? She was a beautiful woman, surely accustomed to appreciation from the opposite sex.

  “Mr. Hyde, I—”

  “Austin,” he nearly growled, still trying to unravel the mystery of her reaction to him.

  She took the chair opposite him at the table, looking everywhere but in his direction. Shy, apprehensive. But her voice was impressively firm—and ridiculously prim—when she began again, “I’m more comfortable calling you Mr. Hyde.”

  Austin stared at her bent head for a long moment, fighting the urge to reach across the table and rip open the top three buttons of her blouse and jerk the barrette from her hair. This lady needed a lesson in relaxing, letting her hair down, he decided. After all, if she was going to raise his child—

  “How did you know I was pregnant?”

  As she asked the question, she jerked her gaze to his, as if expecting to have caught him off guard. Well, she might be rich, and she might be beautiful, but she wasn’t yet up to matching wits with him.

  Austin kept his own expression innocent as he reached for a sandwich. “First of all, I heard what the Sacramento Star reporter said to you outside the clinic.” Which wasn’t a lie. Only everything that followed was. “And Mrs. Merryweather herself confirmed it during our interview.”

  He sank his teeth into the sandwich and bit
into something crunchy. Chewing cautiously, he opened the bread and peered inside.

  “Cucumbers,” Mrs. Merryweather said smugly. “Mrs. Dale needs her veggies.”

  Austin shrugged and swallowed. He hated cucumbers, but he’d be damned if he’d give Mrs. Merryweather the satisfaction of knowing it. Catching Candice’s eye, he winked. She blushed and almost smiled.

  There. She was limbering up. He knew she could do it. A few weeks and he might have that top button undone. After swallowing another bite of sandwich, he said, “Aren’t you going to eat?” She needed to eat. She looked too thin, and with the baby coming… Hadn’t he read that an expectant mother should eat enough for two?

  She shook her head, a slight frown of confusion marring her brow. “I’ve already eaten, thank you.”

  What, a few carrot sticks and a stalk of celery? This lady needed looking after, and he might be just the man to do it. After all, he didn’t want his baby underfed, did he? Austin pushed the plate across the table, but she pushed it back, and the sudden flare of anger in her eyes stopped him from pressing his point. He guessed grilling steaks on the patio was out of the question.

  For now.

  “So you don’t read the papers?” She sounded skeptical.

  “No. I don’t have time.” He didn’t much. They depressed him, anyway. Especially after reading about her.

  A small silence followed before her next words. “How long have you known Dr. Jack?”

  Austin choked on his sandwich. He grabbed the lemonade and took a healthy gulp. Dr. Jekyll was more like it, as this lady would agree if only she knew what Jack had had done to her.

  When he decided he wasn’t dying, he said, “Most of our lives. He and I… attended the same school.” Well, they had. The same private school in Switzerland. But somehow he didn’t think Mrs. Dale or the formidable Mrs. Merryweather would swallow that information easily.

  He caught the meaningful glance Candice shot at Mrs. Merryweather, who stood at the kitchen counter with no obvious intentions of moving. The housekeeper made a noise that sounded like a snort of disbelief.

  Damned drill sergeant probably didn’t believe man had walked on the moon, either. “You can check with Jack, if you’d feel more comfortable,” he added, receiving a narrowed glare from Mrs. Merryweather. He’d written everything down for Jack, and so help him, if Jack screwed up, he’d really kill him this time.

  Candice looked embarrassed. “That’s not necessary, Mr. Hyde. I’m sure you’re perfectly harmless.”

  Another snort from Mrs. Merryweather.

  Austin couldn’t resist. “Right. After all, I had the perfect opportunity to drown you in the pool.”

  This time Mrs. Merryweather gasped, and to Austins curious delight, Candice laughed.

  Her rich, husky laughter shot a strange sensation right to his groin. Down boy. It’s just a laugh, and you’ve heard a million of them. But not like this one. “Did I say something funny?”

  “Well—”

  Candice cut in on Mrs. Merryweather, still chuckling. “It’s a private joke. Someday I’ll tell you.”

  “You will not!” Mrs. Merryweather whisked the plate from the table just as Austin was reaching for another sandwich. He missed.

  Hell, a man had to eat.

  “It’s time for you to get back to work, Mr. Hyde. Best you start by fixing that leak under the sink. You can do that, can’t you? And you…” The housekeeper whirled on Candice, who tried to look repentant and failed miserably. “It’s nap time for you, Mrs. Dale. I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day, and you need your rest. You should use the east guest room upstairs so this big lug won’t disturb you with his clumsy crashing around.”

  Austin reached around the stocky woman and snatched a sandwich off the plate, winking at Candice, who hastily got to her feet and fled the room.

  But not before Austin caught sight of her smile. He couldn’t suppress a grin in return, although Mrs. Merryweather stood glaring at him. Yes, “Mrs. Dale” was warming up nicely. There might be hope for her yet.

  “Stop gawking, and get to work!”

  Austin popped the stolen sandwich into his mouth and dusted his hands on his wet shorts. “Yes, ma’am. Just show me the pipe, and I’ll fix it. You do have superglue, don’t you?”

  Mrs. Merryweather nearly dropped the plate. Her mouth rounded, and just before she blasted him, Austin held up a hand. “Just kidding.”

  And he was. Sort of. Surely he could fix a little leak, couldn’t he? How hard could it be?

  ———

  Sleep? Ha! Not with Austin Hyde downstairs, still clad in those clinging wet shorts that outlined his… everything! Candice giggled, then quickly shushed herself at the sound of soft footsteps coming down the hall.

  Mrs. Merryweather, she presumed, checking to see if she was indeed taking a nap as ordered. Candice closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe evenly—no small feat, considering her surprisingly wicked thoughts.

  The door creaked open and after a few seconds clicked shut again. Candice waited a good five minutes before getting up and crossing to the window. Quietly she eased the blinds up and made herself comfortable on the cushioned window seat.

  Her gaze went immediately to the hedges lining the drive. She smiled, deciding Mrs. Merryweather was right: The hedges did resemble animals. That one was an ostrich! Her gaze studied the next one. Yes, an elephant, and beside it the distinct shape of a rhino. If Mr. Hyde stayed on and kept creating these odd ornamental topiaries, her child could enjoy the whimsical shapes just as she was enjoying them now.

  Mr. Hyde, who was definitely no handyman, and who didn’t know how to swim. But he could make her laugh. And although Mrs. Merryweather wasn’t aware of it, Candice suspected she, too, was softening toward their new help.

  Why was he here, really? Was it for the money, as he claimed, or was there some truth in his declaration that he thought she needed someone? A friend, a true, trustworthy friend.

  A wonderful kind of pain squeezed her heart as she considered this possibility. To have someone protective around who actually cared about her, someone other than Mrs. Merryweather, sounded like… Heaven.

  It also sounded like an illusion, she reminded herself. And she had learned the hard way that illusions a person was fool enough to believe could hurt.

  Candice forced herself to face the facts, to list the reasons someone like Austin Hyde couldn’t sincerely be concerned about her. For starters, he didn’t even know her. And she was pregnant with another man’s child. Also, people accused her of having this baby just to get Howards money, and although it wasn’t true, she knew many people believed it. Would Austin Hyde be one of them?

  They were all so wrong. Candice wanted this baby more than anything—had wanted a baby desperately even before Howard died. Howard had promised, and when conventional methods hadn’t worked, he’d agreed to try Little Miracles. Well, Candice wasn’t letting him off the hook just because he got himself killed. He owed her this baby, and she had damned well earned it. And the money, too.

  It had been Hell on Earth living with an obsessive like Howard Vanausdale. She should have left him, but…

  Candice sighed and propped her chin on one palm, staring out the window. Why had she kept punishing herself? The plain fact was that she hadn’t had the heart to leave him when it came right down to it. How could she leave a man who was down on his knees, begging her to give him another chance? She’d always felt she owed it to him to give their marriage another try.

  Again and again.

  Obligation was a powerful force, one Candice had learned at an early age, when she’d promised her dying mother she would take care of her stepfather. And she had, despite his mental abuse and cold silences.

  Was it any wonder that wealthy, sophisticated Howard Vanausdale had turned her head? When she was nineteen, he had waltzed into her dreary life and thrown stars into her eyes. He had promised to love, cherish, and give her the world.

  And
in return she had promised to love him and never leave him. She should have questioned why he so often demanded reassurance on that latter point—or at least wondered why she was wife number three.

  Lord, but she’d been so green and stupid and desperate to escape her horrible life. How could she have known?

  But that was over now. Now she would have a child of her own to cherish and nurture, and with Howards money—their child’s money—

  she would never have to suffer the heartache and misery of marriage again. Besides, she would never put her child through what she had gone through with her stepfather. Evidently a man could not love another man’s child.

  And even if Howard’s relatives won the case against her, she would simply get a job and support herself and the baby. At least it would be raised in a loving environment. The money wasn’t important to Candice other than as security for her child—Howard’s child. She was fighting the other Vanausdales for her baby’s inheritance, and she didn’t care what the rest of the world believed.

  Her thoughts drifted back to the funny, endearing Mr. Hyde.

  Maybe Mr. Hyde’s presence here was Dr. Jack’s doing. Candice smiled at the thought. Generous, tenderhearted Dr. Jack. It sounded just like something he would do, send her someone like Austin Hyde to help out and make her laugh and feel secure. Someone she could call a friend, without any pressure or fear or suspicions.

  Someone to watch over her until the baby was born and—

  A shadow loomed in the window with a suddenness that took her breath away. Candice scrambled out of the window seat, landing harmlessly on the carpet. Something—someone—was looking in the window at her! One moment she was looking out, and the next a face had appeared. How could that be? Lord, she was two stories up!

  Cautiously, she rose to her knees and peered at the sill, her heart clamoring in her chest. Maybe she’d imagined it, because surely it was impossible to—

  The face suddenly lunged against the pane and pressed tight, smashing its nose into a grotesque mask.