The Man Must Marry(15)

"He must have gotten his white hair from living with all of you," she shot back, giving another tug on her arm.

"I'm going to kiss you again if you don't quit squirming," Sam said, leaning closer.

"I suppose you do need the practice," she drawled.

And so began Bram's wake. Friends, enemies, business acquaintances, and   foreign dignitaries all passed by Bram's beautiful casket and smiling   face; the parade lasted four hours. Willa lasted nearly three.

By then, her hair had escaped again, she had a small run in one   stocking, and she'd spilled tea on her dress. Her forced smile had   waned, and her shoulders were drooping. Sam escorted her to the office,   sat her down in front of a roaring fire, stole her shoes, and propped   her feet on an ottoman. He then placed a full glass of Johnnie Walker   Black in her hand, telling her to relax, that they'd join her as soon as   they could.

An hour later, the three brothers entered the office in desperate need of something to drink themselves.

"I've been trying to figure out this room," Willa said as she held out   her glass for Sam to refill. Picking up the bottle of scotch, Sam   noticed it wasn't her first refill.

"What's to figure out?" Jesse asked.

"Why are there four desks in Bram's office?"

"There are four of us who work here," Ben explained, taking a seat across from her and immediately pulling off his tie.

"This room is bigger than my house. Heck, the desks are bigger than my truck."

Willamina Kent was a little tipsy. She wasn't slurring her words yet, but her eyes were glazed, and her

hand was waving at the desks under discussion.

"Bram set this office up when we came to live with him," Jesse   explained, pulling up another chair to face her. "He insisted we sit   here evenings with him and do our homework. He gave us each a desk, a   computer, and a phone," he added, pulling off his own tie with a sigh.

"This room looks like a public library."

"It practically is," Sam agreed, handing her a much-watered-down drink.   Her head was going to hurt come morning. He just hoped she was  recovered  by the time the will was read. A woman should be … all together  to hear  her fate.

"Was that guy really a duke? The one you introduced me to?" she asked, changing subjects randomly.

"Yup. His Grace, Peter of Kent," Jesse said. "Any relation, Willa?"

"No." She snorted just as she was about to take a sip of her scotch,   showering her dress with another stain. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

Tipsy, Willa's eyes turned crystalline blue, making Sam think he was looking deep into the ocean's soul.

"How much have you had to drink tonight?" Jesse asked, studying her with narrowed eyes.

"Not much."

"You're going to have to carry her up the stairs, Sam, if you don't take that glass away from her," Ben warned.

Willa snorted again. "We'd both be killed when his legs gave out halfway   up. How is your knee?" she asked Sam, referring to the vicious kick   he'd received from Richard Bates. Then her eyes suddenly widened, and   she sat up straight. "Ohmygosh! That reminds me,Shelby called. What   happened to Richard?" she asked Ben.                       
       
           



       

"What do you mean?" He studied the swirl of the ice in his glass.

"He didn't arrive home. What did you do with him?"

"You said you're trying to talk your sister into divorcing him, so Jesse and I bought you a little time alone with her."

Willa's face paled. "How?" she squeaked.

"Richard Bates is on a slow boat toItaly ," Jesse said. "You'll have a   couple of weeks to talk some sense into your sister, what with the red   tape he'll have to go through for not having a passport."

"You shanghaied him?"

"Tidewater had a cargo ship leaving port this morning."

"You can't do that!"

"Well, Willa, we did," Ben said with a sigh as he stood up. "So, do you want help to your room or not?

I'm beat."

"But what am I going to tellShelby ?"

"Tell her to get the hell out of her marriage. She's got two weeks to start divorce proceedings in peace."

"But she's got two kids!"

"Is Richard Bates a jerk or not?" Sam growled, removing the drink she was clutching in her hands.

"He's a first-class jerk."

"Does she love him?"

"She … she might," Willa admitted, her eyes pained.

"Then your interference is unwelcome."

"But he's mean toShelby -and she just takes it."

"Then she will have to deal with him. You can't divorce Richard for her, Willa.Shelby 's got to do that herself."

"But what about the kids?"

"Will they be better off with Richard or without him?"

"I don't know," she whispered, looking down at her lap. "I just don't   know." She looked back up at Sam. "Shelby's really pretty, and she used   to be so full of life. She's six years older than me, and I've always   looked up to her. That's why it's so hard to see her like this."

"Like what, exactly?" Ben asked. "Does he abuse her?"

"Emotionally, I think.Shelby 's become withdrawn. Especially since … the accident."

"What accident?" Sam asked.

"The accident where I crashed my car and maimed my niece for life."

Only the ticking of the mantel clock broke the silence.

Small pieces of what Sam saw as a very complicated puzzle suddenly began   falling into place. Willa felt guilty for driving the car that had   crashed, for crippling her niece, and for her sister's unhappiness now.   Willamina Kent had spent the last five years as crippled as her niece. A   guilty conscience could be a debilitating thing. And of all the  dragons  to slay, it was probably the hardest.

Abram Sinclair had known exactly that when he'd written his will; when he'd decided to send Willa three knights to rescue her.

Sam blew out a tired sigh. He looked at his brothers, who were staring   at the woman they'd all come to care for in only three days. The little   partridge fromMaine had roosted in their hearts, guilelessly and  without  intent but packing a small nation of troubles.

No wonder Bram was smiling. The old man had known his bequest would keep   all four of them so mad at him they'd be too busy to mourn him.

In just three months, it would be over. Then Sam would take his bride to   visit Bram's grave-where, if they listened hard enough, they'd  probably  hear the old wolf laughing his head off.

Chapter Seven

Apparently unwilling to leaveanything to chance, Abram Sinclair had   written his own eulogy. It was succinct and as arrogant as the man   himself. Spencer read it at graveside before an impressively large   assembly.

Some of you here have been waiting for this day to come, while some of   you have been dreading it. I may be dead, but I promise I won't be   forgotten. Don't any of you cry for me. I'm with my Rose now. And with   my sons. Hopefully.

I had a good life and enjoyed myself for the most part. I knew the love   of a good woman and the joy of raising my three grandsons to manhood.   Just so you'll know, I'll be watching you boys, so don't disappoint me.   Take the empire I've built, and triple it. Get married, you rogues.  Have  lots of babies, and tell them about me.

And you damn well better be kind in the telling.

Smile for me. Hell, laugh if you like. That's what I'll be doing. And   Willamina? You'd better get your thinking straight, girl. I've already   started you on the right path; take my gift in the spirit I've given it.

Good-bye. And good luck to you all.

Willa sighed as Spencer's voice trailed off. Oh, how she had come to   love Abram Sinclair. Fate, in the form of a white-haired, eccentric old   man, had finally caught up with her. Abram's cryptic last words still   echoing through the beautiful little cemetery, the mourners began a slow   procession back to the house. She didn't want to go back to that   imposing office and listen to Spencer read Abram's will. But the lawyer   had told her that she must attend, ignoring her protests. She just   wanted to go home to her safe and simple life. She wanted to put this   last month and a half behind her and put the hopes and dreams Abram   Sinclair had conjured up behind her.                       
       
           



       

Willa suddenly realized that she was alone with Jesse, Ben, and Sam.   They were looking at her, their faces drawn and their shoulders stiff.   "Will you put this on his casket for me, please?" she asked Jesse,   holding out the rose.