The Butler's Daughter. Joyce Sullivan

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ devoted to Cort, he’d at least have a wife who was more loyal to him than his mother had ever been to his father. “Give me this little man,” he said more gently. “He’s about ready to swallow his hand. I’ll have Valentina prepare him a bottle while you call the hospital. You can use the telephone in your bedroom. Marquise will bring you the number.”

      The scent of her hair and the delicate softness of her hands impacted his senses as she transferred the baby back into his arms.

      “You’re in good hands, pumpkin.” The soft wool of her sweater grazed Hunter’s side as she rose on tiptoes to kiss Cort’s cheek, reminding Hunter of visits his mother had made to the nursery when he was a boy. He remembered his mother’s fragrance—as exotic and elusive as the flowers she’d tended in her private greenhouse—and her light kisses that felt like a feather against his cheek.

      He remembered the sting of her betrayal.

      His throat tightened. “Juliana, if you do manage to get through to your father, be careful what you say. His life and our lives may depend on it.”

      “PLEASE, LET HIM BE OKAY.” Juliana’s stomach bunched in a tight lump as her call was transferred to the ICU. A nurse told her that her father was heavily sedated and hadn’t regained consciousness from the surgery. But he was breathing on his own.

      Helplessness and fear welled in Juliana, torn by divided loyalties to her father and Cort.

      “Could you hold the phone up to his ear, please?”

      “Hold on.” There was a brief pause. Then a distant, “Go ahead, ma’am.”

      Juliana heard the steady beep-beep of a heart monitor and her throat swelled with gratitude. He was alive. “Papa, please get better. I wish I could be with you. I love you.”

      She hung up the phone, her body trembling. She hadn’t told her father she loved him in over two years—not since the day he’d hugged her when she’d returned home to the estate to help after Riana’s abduction.

      The direct line to the administrative household manager’s office as well as the main line to the Collingwood estate were constantly busy. Lexi’s private line was picked up by her voice mail. The sound of her vibrant voice moved Juliana to more tears. She kept speed-dialing the manager’s office as she applied her makeup and pulled a hairbrush through her hair.

      Finally the line rang through, but it was Stacey Kerr, Lexi’s personal secretary who answered, rather than Gord Nevins, who examined and supervised all expenditures on the estate.

      Stacey’s genteel Southern composure broke as soon as she recognized Juliana’s voice. “I can’t believe they’re gone!” she said, bursting into tears. “Those two beautiful people—and after what they went through with their poor baby’s abduction. Then Lexi losing her mother and her father. Tell me, how is your father doing? Gord told us that he’d been seriously injured, but we didn’t know which hospital to call to check on him.”

      “He’s doing as well as can be expected,” Juliana said, reaching for a tissue and struggling to keep her voice steady as she updated Stacey on her father’s condition.

      “We’ll be praying for him. It’s terrible what they’re saying on the news. The police are here asking questions of the staff. Is it true it was a bomb?”

      “I’m not sure,” Juliana hedged, remembering Hunter’s warning that someone on the staff might be a mole. “I’ve been so worried about my father that I haven’t spoken to them directly.”

      “Well, you stay with your father. He needs you. We’re managing here, though it is difficult. Cook is missing—she took the week off when the Collingwoods told her she wouldn’t be needed on their getaway and we haven’t been able to reach her. She hasn’t called in either. The sous-chef is helping Gord plan the menu for the reception after the funeral.”

      Juliana frowned. Should she mention the cook’s disappearance to Hunter? It was probably nothing. Maybe Cook hadn’t turned on a TV or seen the morning paper yet. “Do you know when the funeral is scheduled?”

      “Wednesday or Thursday, we’re told. Gord received a fax with instructions for the funeral from Mr. Collingwood’s lawyer. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of Lexi’s sister. Apparently, as a security precaution, she’s under guard. Poor thing. We’ve had too many funerals in this family in the last few years. With the Collingwoods gone, I imagine the staff will soon be looking for employment elsewhere.”

      Including her father, Juliana thought despondently. The household staff was a gregarious family with a hierarchy all its own. They had their conflicts and their slights, but they also pulled together when the need arose. She couldn’t imagine one of them voluntarily being involved in a murder plot. “I’ll keep you posted on my father. He’ll appreciate your good wishes.”

      Juliana brooded over the phone call as she transferred the gun from its hiding place in the bathroom to her purse, then hurried downstairs to give Cort his morning dose of antibiotics.

      The kitchen smelled deliciously of sausages and French-roast coffee. Valentina reluctantly surrendered Cort to Juliana, reassuring Juliana that he’d drunk a full bottle. Valentina returned her attention to slicing fresh fruit into crystal bowls, but Juliana felt the housekeeper’s attentive eye on her as she squeezed a syringeful of bubble-gum-flavored medicine into Cort’s mouth. Cort fussed, his lips scrunched into a cupid’s bow of distaste.

      She gave him an indulgent smile as she stored his medicine in the refrigerator. “The coffee smells divine. Where is breakfast usually served, Valentina?”

      “In the breakfast room, madam. Straight through that door.” She gestured with her paring knife. “Marquise found a high chair for the little one.”

      Juliana carried Cort into the breakfast room, which looked out onto a terrace garden. The walls were a burnished gold that reminded her of the summer days she’d spent in Provence visiting her mother’s family when she was a girl. Her mother, Juliette, had been the social secretary to the wife of the American ambassador to France. Her father had met her mother below stairs when Ross’s parents were guests of the American embassy in Paris.

      Juliana was settling Cort in the soft high chair clipped onto the table when Hunter joined them, his hair still damp from the shower. He was wearing black slacks and a charcoal sweater. The scents of soap and money still clung tantalizingly to his skin as he nuzzled her neck in greeting, his fingers dropping lightly onto her shoulders.

      She froze for a fraction of a second, goose bumps tingling her skin despite the fact she knew this was all for the servants’ benefit. She slid her hand up to his smooth-shaven cheek. How could a man’s face feel so incredibly appealing? She tilted her head back, awareness rising in her as she bravely dipped her gaze into the azure ocean of his eyes. “Can I expect that every morning?”

      “That, and then some,” he retorted with a teasing grin.

      They broke apart as Marquise entered, carrying the coffeepot.

      Juliana gratefully accepted the steaming cup of fragrant coffee and tried to get her mind to settle on the notion that this would be her everyday life. Having breakfast with her husband and son, though she noticed Hunter’s appetite was as meager as her own. Fortunately, Cort’s babbling eliminated the need for meaningful conversation. After picking at his meal for a few minutes, Hunter excused himself and leaned over to whisper in her ear, “Duty calls. Annette is expecting me, and СКАЧАТЬ