Written In The Heart. Judith Stacy

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      The face of Russell Pickette sprang into Stephen’s mind, making him angry all over again. Damn that Pickette. The lying son of a bitch had brought a halt to a profitable business deal. He’d brought up old memories, too, ones Stephen couldn’t quite shake.

      Stephen glanced at the mantel clock, anxious for his birthday party to conclude, the guests to leave, things to get back to normal. Turning thirty-two was nothing to celebrate. Just another day. Certainly not worth the time it took to dress in a tuxedo, suffer through a formal dinner, open gifts he didn’t want, attempt to make small talk with guests he hardly knew.

      “Stephen? Stephen, dear?”

      His aunt chugged toward him, her face drawn in its perpetual lines of worry. She wore the maroon gown he’d had to help her pick out, the diamond tiara he’d assured her wasn’t too much, the elbow-length gloves that hid the rolls of flesh on her arms.

      “Stephen.” Breathless, she latched on to his elbow. “The party, Stephen, the party. I just don’t know….”

      “What’s wrong, Aunt Delfi?”

      “I’m not sure if it’s going well. I’m not sure at all.” Delfina touched her hand to her large bosom. “I think…I think my knees are feeling numb.”

      “Your knees are fine, Aunt Delfi.” Stephen patted the fingers digging into his arm. “The party is wonderful.”

      “Wonderful?” Panic widened her eyes. “Only wonderful?”

      “Perfect,” Stephen said. “The party is perfect.”

      She pressed her lips together. “Oh, it’s so difficult to plan properly. Your uncle Colin always did this sort of thing, you know.”

      Stephen simply nodded. Of course he knew. His uncle, Delfina’s brother, had run the house, the business, the family—everything—until he’d passed away last winter.

      Stephen took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Everything is perfect. Everyone is having a perfectly wonderful time.”

      Delfina gazed hopefully over the sea of guests. “Oh, do you think so?”

      “I’m certain.”

      “But you?” Delfina looked up at him, fresh worry lines creasing her forehead. “Why aren’t you dancing? I invited several young women for you—”

      “I’m enjoying myself.” Stephen managed to smile. “Having a fantastic time.”

      He eased her toward the crowd. “You should see to the guests, Aunt Delfi.”

      “Oh, of course. Oh dear, oh dear…” Delfina blended into the swarm of guests again.

      Stephen made his way to an empty corner, watching the dancers but thinking about the work that waited on his desk downstairs. A suite of offices had been built into the house, from which the business was run. His uncle had liked being at home. Though never married, he’d pulled together an assortment of relatives—Stephen included—and made them his family.

      Uncle Colin had taught Stephen everything he knew, and Stephen had taken over the operation of their vast holdings long before his uncle had become sick. Since his death, Stephen had stepped in to fill his uncle’s role in every aspect of the household they all shared.

      Leaning against the wall, Stephen slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a folded note card. So far, it was the only interesting thing about the evening.

      It was from Richard Paxton, his assistant, his friend. Richard wasn’t at the party but was expected shortly.

      According to the note, Richard’s birthday gift to Stephen would arrive sometime during the party. And it was just what Stephen needed.

      Stephen smiled and slipped the note in his pocket again. Just what he needed. What could that mean?

      He thought back over the conversations he and Richard had shared recently. Business. They always discussed business. Stephen didn’t remember mentioning anything he needed, because he didn’t need anything.

      Leave it to Richard to liven up his birthday party with this cryptic message. He’d known Stephen wasn’t looking forward to the party his aunt had insisted upon; she’d been concerned about the family’s social position since Uncle Colin’s death.

      Stephen pressed his lips together, thinking harder. The only conversation they’d had recently that stood out in his mind and didn’t involve business was when Richard came late to work one morning a few weeks ago. Richard was never late. But he’d been at the wharf at San Pedro the night before, checking on a cargo shipment, and had met a beautiful young woman who turned out to be a prostitute.

      According to Richard, being late for work that day was well worth it. He’d been so dazed by the woman that he’d bumped into furniture all morning long. Richard had raved about her and said that Stephen should—

      Heat ignited low in his belly, fanning through him like wildfire. He tensed.

      Was that Richard’s gift? The woman?

      Stephen looked around at his guests. These were wealthy, dignified people, as close as Los Angeles came to aristocracy. Surely Richard wouldn’t send him a whore for his birthday, right under the noses of his guests—and his aunt.

      Even if it was just what he needed.

      No, Richard must have something else in mind. But what? He knew Stephen didn’t need anything, didn’t want anything.

      Still, Stephen couldn’t let go of the idea. His imagination started to roam. A slow heat built inside him. He bit into his lower lip to keep from smiling. Would Richard do such a thing?

      Richard wasn’t like his other friends, these people in the ballroom. He’d give Stephen something he really wanted—really needed.

      A smile bloomed on Stephen’s face. Yes, he just might do it.

      “Excuse me, sir.”

      Jarred from his thoughts, Stephen found Charles, their balding butler, standing at his elbow.

      “A visitor has arrived, sir.”

      Another guest. The last thing he needed.

      “Send him up, Charles.”

      The butler shook his head. “Not an invited guest, sir. A personal visitor, she says.”

      “She?”

      “Yes, sir. Sent by Mr. Paxton.”

      “Paxton?”

      “Yes, sir.” Charles frowned distastefully. “I explained to the young woman that you were occupied, but she insisted—”

      “No, that’s fine, Charles. I’ll see to her myself.”

      Stephen hurried out of the ballroom, anticipation humming in his veins. Could this be his present from Richard? Would he have actually done such a thing?

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