Melissa McClone – A Proposal Worth Waiting For: The Heir's Proposal / A Pregnancy, a Party & a Proposal / His Proposal, Their Forever (страница 13)

She shrugged. “You got me.”

He frowned. “You’re the one who brought him here.”

“No. I used him to get here, but that’s as far as it goes.”

He studied her as well as he could in the darkness. Basic instinct told him she was telling the truth. What the hell—he was going to take a chance on that instinct. It usually worked out best when he did, despite his natural inclination to want to see proof for everything.

“I wish I could figure the guy out,” he told her. “I saw him leave the house and then I checked your room and you weren’t there, so I took off after him.”

“Where did he go?”

“Nowhere that made any sense.”

She frowned. “So you thought you’d follow me for a while to see where I was going?”

“Why not?”

She groaned. “This is crazy. We’re all running around in the middle of the night following each other. It’s like a Keystone Kops episode. Going in circles, getting nowhere.”

“I’m not getting nowhere.” He gave her a twisted smile and reached for her hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere.” His hand curled around hers as though he didn’t trust that she would come along if he didn’t force the issue. “Back into the house. I want to see what you were doing in there.”

“No.” She pulled back, obliging him to turn. “You know what? It’s none of your business what I was doing in there. You can’t stop me.”

She knew she sounded childish. She felt childish. Maybe that all went along with her being in her childhood home. At any rate, it annoyed Marc enough that he yanked on her hand, pulling her in close and glaring down into her eyes.

“While you are here, you are my business. I thought we’d already established that. But in case you’re still not convinced, let me say it again. I can kick you off the estate and send you home any time I want to. And I don’t have to ask Marge first.” He gave her that twisted smile again. “So be nice to me.”

“I’m always nice,” she protested, but her breath was coming faster.

“Prove it.” His voice lowered huskily. “Tell me why you’re out here in the dark, dark night. Tell me what you hope to achieve.”

She drew in a sharp breath. He was obviously stronger than she was and he could force her to go along with him if he wanted to. But he didn’t need to force her. She could probably use his help. So she traded in complete rebellion for the chance to be a smart aleck instead.

“Wisdom,” she said crisply. “Revenge. Closure. Truth.”

He looked at her for a long moment and then he grimaced and his shoulders seemed to relax.

“That’s a tall order,” he said, his voice lighter. “Life doesn’t usually give out free passes. I’m afraid you’re probably going to have to work very hard for all those things, and never actually be satisfied with the results.”

She closed her eyes, but a complete and detailed picture of him stayed in her mind. He had it all—looks, strength, a natural honesty that might be a façade, but was still impressive as hell. She wanted to trust him. Could she take that leap? She stared down at the hand that held hers and pondered that question.

Her first impulse was to keep it all to herself, not to let him in. But she didn’t have time to wait this out. The only way she was going to get into the attic was if someone helped her. The only someone she could even halfway trust right now was Marc. Could she take the risk? What choice did she have? Besides, he was going to see the ladder and make his own assessment.

Should she go ahead and tell him? Why not? What did she have to gain by avoiding it? She made the decision and suddenly, she felt calm inside.

“Okay. Here goes.” She raised her face to him again. “I’ll tell you what I was doing. I was looking for something, anything, that might give me a new lead on finding out what really happened when my father was fired.”

He stared down at her and shook his head. “Torie, that was a long time ago.”

Her chin rose. “About time we got to the truth then.”

He drew in a long, deep breath. “You really loved your father, didn’t you?”

“Oh yes. Above all else.”

He winced and she frowned, wondering why. Didn’t he ever love anyone? Didn’t he know how brave it could make you?

Or was it the other way around? Did he think no one had ever loved him that way?

She couldn’t help all that. She had to move forward. If she could bring him along, so much the better.

The front door was standing open, just as she’d left it when she crept out. Moving quickly, they walked right in. Marc turned on his flashlight and did a quick survey of the empty room.

“There’s nothing here. What’s it been, fifteen years? What did you think you would find?” He looked at her. “Or were the walls going to talk to you? Spill all the secrets.”

“I want to get into the attic,” she told him. “The door seems to be sealed.”

He moved closer, searching the depths of her green eyes. “What’s in the attic?” he asked softly.

She had to steel herself not to start shivering again. “I’m not sure.”

He shook his head. “You’re going to have to do better than that. You must have something in mind.”

She shrugged and it felt like surrender. She would tell him what she had to, but she couldn’t tell him everything.

“My mother told me there were things left in the attic,” she said slowly. “I...we left in such a hurry, we couldn’t take everything.”

He nodded. “That was a long time ago,” he noted again. “Other people have lived here since.”

She took a deep breath and tried to smile. “I know. But I have to look and see.” She met his gaze and tried to maintain her dignity, but she knew he could see the pleading in her eyes. “Please, Marc. I really need to see what’s in the attic.”

He gazed at her for a long moment. The sweet, quiet way she’d asked him made him want to help her more than anything else! If she would put away the threat of antagonism that always seemed just a comment away, they might get on quite well with each other.

He shrugged. “Let’s go take a look.”

To her chagrin, he shoved the attic door open with no problem at all and then followed her up into the dusty area. The light from his flashlight made eerie shadows as it flickered through the beams. The ceiling was low and they both had to bend over to make their way toward where boxes and old suitcases were stacked.

Torie sorted through the boxes quickly, then turned to the luggage. Most items belonged to other people, but there was a suitcase that looked familiar. Marc gave the locks a jab with his pocketknife and they sprang open.

Torie stared at what was inside, more moved than she’d expected. These were the remnants of another life, far, far away, but she recognized them immediately. Her mother’s wool coat. Her own band uniform. Her father’s sweaters.

And beneath all that, a photo album and a stack of papers. She went through the papers anxiously, heart beating. Marc watched her, wondering what she was looking for. He didn’t ask again.

She’d set the photo album aside carelessly and he wondered why. He picked it up and leafed through it while she searched, holding the flashlight high. There was that chubby young girl Torie had once been. Seeing the pictures made him smile.

“How did you manage to make such a big change from the annoying little squirt you used to be?” he asked her dryly.

“Magic,” she shot back, not looking up from her search. “I traded a cow for a handful of beans.”

“Right.”

The pictures showed a loving family living at Shangri-La—his home—and none of them were any relation to him. Sort of weird. Jarvis the butler was just as he remembered him—full dignity with a touch of reserve. He remembered Torie’s mother, too, a pretty woman with a slightly worried, fragile look.

“Darn,” Torie muttered at last, sitting back. “It’s not here.”

He waited for a moment, but she didn’t say any more, and he moved impatiently.

“What? What are you looking for?”

She ignored him and began to put things back in the suitcase.

Assuming she would want the photo album, he held onto it.

“Take a look at these pictures,” he said, opening the album to a shot of Torie in her younger, more rounded past.

She took a deep breath and shook her head, avoiding even looking his way. “I can’t,” she said, her voice strangely choked. “Not now. I just can’t.”

He watched her curiously, touched by the emotion he heard in her voice. Life hurt pretty much everybody, one way or another, but it seemed life had really done a number on Torie. Still, he couldn’t believe she wouldn’t want the pictures eventually. He tucked the album under his arm and led the way back down into the house.

“What now?” he asked her.

She looked tired and a bit defeated. Not finding whatever it was that she’d been looking for seemed to have crushed her for the time being. He had a fleeting thought that this might be the time to press her, to poke around in her psyche and get to the truth of what she was doing here, what she really hoped to accomplish. But when he looked at her sad, pretty face, he didn’t have the heart for it. Maybe later.

“I guess I might as well go back to bed,” she said, holding her chin high with seeming effort. “I can’t really look any place else until it’s light.”