His One-Night Mistress(33)

Robert was the large, rather dilapidated bear that traveled everywhere  with her. "Good. I've told your mother I'll bring you home tomorrow  afternoon."

Lia said easily, "Marise, we have some news for you. Big news that we  hope will make you very happy." As she glanced over at Seth, she was  smiling. "Why don't I tell her, Seth?"

He tried to loosen the tension in his jaw. "Go ahead."

"We're going to be married, Marise. Your father and I."

Marise looked from one to the other of them, her eyes huge. "Will Dad live with us?"

Finally Seth found his voice. "Sometimes I have to travel for work, just  as your mother does, and sometimes we could spend weekends in  Manhattan. But most of the time, I'll be living here."                       
       
           



       

"Like a real dad?"

"I'll do my best," he pledged, his throat tight.

Marise threw her arms around her mother. "I won't mind sharing you. Not with Dad."

There were tears sparkling on Lia's lashes. Suddenly tired of pretense,  Seth put his arm around her, pulling her close. "We could get married in  the garden," he said.

"Can Suzy come?" Marise asked.

"It'll be a small wedding," Lia said, giving Seth another of those brilliant, fake smiles.

"It'll be perfect," Marise warbled and started dancing around the kitchen. "Why don't you come with us to the movies, Mum?"

Seth felt a tiny shudder travel the length of Lia's body. She said  calmly, "I have to practice for the Carnegie concert, sweetie. Maybe  next time … you should get on your way. I packed a few sandwiches, Seth,  and some juice."

"Thanks," he said. "Want to put them in the car, Marise?"

As his daughter skipped out of the kitchen, he turned Lia in his arms,  ignoring her resistance, and kissed her full on the mouth in an  impressive mixture of anger, frustration and desire. "There," he said,  "that feels better."

She'd been rigid in his embrace. He added, baring his teeth in a smile,  "I'll tell you one thing-it won't be boring, being married to you."

Then he strode out of the kitchen to join his daughter.





Four days later, Seth was one of the crowd taking their seats in  Carnegie Hall. This time he wasn't in a tuxedo heading for an exclusive  box seat; he was in casual clothes, sitting quite far back and to one  side on the parquet level, along with a thousand other listeners.

He didn't want Lia to see him.

Above his head shone the circle of lights that memorialized the wedding  band Andrew Carnegie had given his wife. An ironic touch, Seth thought,  with his own wedding due to happen in just over a week.

He hadn't gone to bed with Lia since the night in Prague; he'd invited  her back to his brownstone tonight, but she'd refused. She was icily  polite with him when they were alone, and overly animated when Marise  was around. He wasn't sure which he disliked more. But if his fiery,  argumentative Lia were to return, she wouldn't be marrying him. He  couldn't have it both ways.

He'd gotten what he wanted, at the cost of driving Lia underground to a  place where she was unreachable: he felt a million miles away from the  woman who would be his wife in less than ten days. Was this why he was  here, to try to reconnect with her in some way?

Pretty pathetic, he thought, and settled in his red plush seat to read the program.

Last night had been even more pathetic. Unable to sleep, he'd prowled  around the house from midnight to three in the morning, rearranging  books that didn't need rearranging, doing a wash that could have waited  another day. Running from his own questions.

Why couldn't he fall in love with Lia?

That was the only question that mattered. To which he always came up  with the same answer: the barrier that had slammed down when he was  eight was firmly locked in place.

He was still behind it, Seth thought as the orchestra tuned up; and it was from behind it that he watched his beautiful Lia.

She wasn't his. Not really.

Because he didn't love her.

As she walked onstage in a shimmer of black silk, Seth forced himself to  pay attention. But at the intermission, he got up and left the massive  brown brick building on the corner of 7th Avenue. Thrusting his hands in  his pockets, he walked east on 57th, then north on Madison toward his  brownstone.

Lia had made at least three mistakes in the first movement of the  concerto; although she'd recovered each time with lightning speed, he  knew the critics would savage her the next day.

He felt responsible. Him and his ultimatum.

But how could they call off the wedding? Marise would be devastated.

He let himself indoors and ran upstairs, hoping against hope that Lia  might have left a message on his machine during the intermission. She  hadn't. And although he stayed up until well past two, she didn't  contact him. He even got up early the next morning, praying that she'd  share with him her feelings about two very lukewarm reviews.

At nine-thirty, when Seth was getting out of the shower, the doorbell  rang. He dragged on a pair of jeans, tried to subdue his wet hair and  took the stairs two at a time. But when he pulled the door open, it  wasn't Lia standing on the step. It was Eleonore, his mother.

Seth's face froze with shock. "Mother-is something wrong?"

"Are you going to invite me in?" she said tartly. "Or keep me waiting on the front step?"                       
       
           



       

"Sure … come in. I've got fresh coffee on, would you like some?"

"For heaven's sake, put some clothes on, Seth."

"I wasn't expecting you," he said dryly. "Make yourself at home, I'll be right down."

When he came back, Eleonore was sitting ramrod-straight in the living  room in a very expensive chair made by a Finnish designer. She said  irritably, "This chair is astonishingly comfortable-I can't imagine  why."

He passed her a paper-thin porcelain cup of coffee. Eleonore took a sip  and put the cup down on a leather-topped table. For once, she seemed to  have nothing to say. Seth said casually, "You got my invitation to the  wedding?"

"Yes. To the fiddle player. I thought you were against marriage."

"I am. Marise wants us to get married … so we are."

Looking out the window, Eleonore said stiffly, "Will your father be there?"

Seth nodded. "He and Marise hit it off right away."

"You know he's left me. He'll never forgive me. The child all those  years ago. And now keeping his grandchild a secret from him the last  eight years."

"You could meet Marise, if you wanted to."

"I never thought he'd leave me!"

In the morning light coming through the tall windows, Seth could see his  mother had aged in the last few weeks. Or was it simply that she'd lost  some of her formidable self-control? "It came as a surprise to me,  too," he said.

Eleonore bowed her head, twisting her fingers with their array of diamonds. "I-I miss him."

"He's changed," Seth said. "He'll never take orders from you again."

"I realize that, Seth," Eleonore snapped. "I'm not in my dotage yet."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

Eleonore fiddled with the diamond-studded bracelet of her watch. "I'm  afraid to contact him. He might say he wants a divorce. That he's  finished with me."

"He told me about your childhood, how-"

"He had no business telling you that!"

"Yes, he did," Seth said forcibly, "because it helped me understand you.  You were never loved as a child-not as you should have been. You were  beaten and abused instead. So you've been protecting yourself from love  ever since. Refusing to give anyone else what you'd been so brutally  denied."

But wasn't he speaking of himself? For years he'd been protecting himself in just the same way.

"Love's a trap," his mother retorted. "Let it in, and it destroys you."

"The lack of it is destroying you now," Seth said. "I can see it in your face."

Eleonore's mouth thinned. "How dare you talk to me that way."

But both of them had heard the quaver in her voice. "Phone Dad," Seth  said gently. "I don't think he's ever stopped loving you … why don't you  see if I'm right?"

"If you're wrong, then I'll make a complete and utter fool of myself."

"If you don't get in touch with him, then you're a coward," Seth said grimly; and once again knew he was talking to himself.

"After I ran away from home, I swore I'd never be afraid of anyone again," Eleonore said haughtily.

Seth held out the portable phone. "Prove it to me."

"It would seem I've misjudged you, Seth-you've inherited more than your share of my pushiness."