“Glenraven is a small place,” he said. “And the people like to talk.” He hadn’t considered how it would feel to share her with other people. What they had together, what they’d created in that lawyer’s office in Houston, seemed a thing apart from real life. Watching her as she talked with the customers at the Heather and the Thistle, he’d been reminded that there were facets to her personality he knew nothing about. He wouldn’t have imagined his ambitious American businesswoman would seem so comfortable with the plainspoken, hardworking people of Glenraven. Or that they would take her so quickly to their hearts.
“What about your messages?” she asked.
“The same. Everyone in town wants to meet you.”
“It would take us all year to visit with everyone,” she said.
“Aye, it would.”
“And the more pregnant I get, the less likely I’ll probably be to go visiting.”
“There’s that.”
“So I think we should throw a party.”
Behind them Old Mag’s ladle clattered to the floor.
“A party,” Duncan repeated. The last party the old castle had seen was at his wedding to Lana.
“It makes perfect sense,” his new bride went on. “Throw open the doors and invite the entire town.”
“Ach!” Old Mag muttered. “And more work for the innocent ones.”
Duncan shot the housekeeper a sharp look, but Mag only glared at him more fiercely than before.
Sam turned to Mag. “I’m not afraid of hard work,” she said, smiling at the old woman.
“I can afford extra help,” Duncan said gruffly.
“So can I,” Sam said, “but part of the fun of giving parties is the preparation.”
Old Mag rolled her eyes. “’Tis the pregnancy speaking.”
“You’re right,” Sam said, looking from Mag to Duncan. “It is the pregnancy speaking. My baby’s going to grow up here, with all of these people around him. Why not start off on the right foot and show everyone a good time?”
To Duncan’s surprise, Old Mag nodded her approval. He felt as though he was seeing his wife for the first time. He wished he’d thought of the party himself. The people of Glenraven were a close-knit group. They were loyal to their own and had little experience in welcoming newcomers into their midst. The best way to introduce Sam as one of their own was at an old-fashioned party, the kind the castle had been famous for in years gone by.
“When would you have this party?” he asked Sam.
Sam thought for a second. “In two weeks.”
He looked at Old Mag. “How does that sound to you, old woman?”
“Two weeks, two months,” Old Mag said, “too much work for a body either way.”
“Two weeks,” Duncan said.
“Two weeks!” Sam’s face lit up with a smile. “This is going to be absolutely wonderful.”
DUNCAN didn’t come to bed that night.
Sam had bathed right after supper, then propped herself up in bed, surrounded by pillows, and set out making lists for work and the party. From the time she was a little girl, she’d loved to make lists. She listed her dolls, her daydreams, the places she wanted to visit and the things she hoped to do when she was grown up and on her own. She still loved making lists, but tonight she couldn’t keep her mind on anything but Duncan.
From her window she could see the lights glowing inside his studio. She had no idea what his normal working schedule was. Was he a day person? A night owl? Did he work best in solitude or was a model a necessity for him? A ripple of excitement moved through her body as she remembered the thrilling intensity of being the focus of his undivided attention. He must have used models before to pose for him. Had they felt the same burst of pleasure as Sam had when he placed those big hands on her shoulders and moved her from position to position?
And what about his first wife? Julia had said Lana was beautiful, one of those actresses the camera adored. She must have posed for him. Probably many times. His work had always been almost unbearably erotic. His nudes had glowed with a sexual heat and passion that could only come from life. Duncan had loved his first wife, Julia had said. Loved her passionately until she walked out on him.
And what if he did? What business was it of Sam’s if he’d loved the first Mrs. Stewart more than life itself? She was gone, and Sam was here. She and Duncan might not be the love match of the century, but they were legally married and expectant parents. Sam might not have first claim—or any claim at all— on his heart but she did have the first claim on his future. Or at least the baby did.
Suddenly the walls of the enormous bedroom seemed to be closing in on her. She climbed out of bed then slipped into her favorite Wedgwood blue silk robe and a pair of matching slippers. She hadn’t been able to get the windows open, and the stagnant air made her feel a little queasy. Maybe if she stepped outside for a while and got some fresh air, she’d feel better.
She hurried from the room and made her way downstairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. Not that it was so late. She just didn’t want to bump into Old Mag and have to endure a round of the woman’s questions.
She wouldn’t have to ask you any questions, Sam. She’d know what you were up to the second she saw your face.
A fine mist hovered just above the lawn, giving the night a soft, almost ethereal glow. She felt like the heroine in a romance novel, gliding through the moonlit darkness in her silky robe, with her hair tumbling loose down her back. Of course, any good romance novel heroine deserved a hero. And, God knew, Duncan was certainly hero material. Not that that had anything to do with why she was outside, wandering across the damp grass toward
