grabbing Sally’s hand for sisterly support. She had always been timid, too scared of horses to ever try riding, and too easily browbeaten by their mother who could be truly scary when she flew out of control. Which didn’t happen often. It had never happened in front of their father. But if things didn’t go as she planned, as she expected…
Lady Ellen started walking, head held high, determinedly ignoring the man accompanying her. Both Sally and Jane breathed a sigh of relief and followed, keeping pace with the lead couple. Not that they were a couple, Sally thought, not by any stretch of imagination. Her mother and Jack Maguire were two separate units, and the sense they were heading towards a nasty collision had her own nerves twitching and her heart at a gallop.
She studied the back of Jack Maguire’s head, fiercely wishing she could see into the workings of his brain. He had pulled back from making trouble ten years ago and kept away from the family, but whatever embargo he must have accepted during that time had obviously been lifted by his father’s death. Sally could almost smell trouble in the air, positively sulphurous now for having been held back for so long.
They moved beyond the last pew, beyond ears that might hear.
“Didn’t you get my letter, telling you not to come to the funeral?” her mother sliced at Jack Maguire in a low, venomous tone.
“Did you really expect me to respect your wishes, Lady Ellen?” he drawled sotto voce, the words dripping with derision.
“Your father wouldn’t have wanted it.”
“My father is beyond speaking for himself.”
“He didn’t want you with him all these years.”
“On the contrary, we lunched regularly together. You were kept out of our relationship.”
Sally tensed, her mind bombarded by one shock after another, and nervously aware that her mother’s supposedly unassailable stance had just been seriously undermined. How would she react to this claim?
“I don’t believe you.” Flat denial.
“Ask his secretary. She made the appointments,” came the mocking reply. “Or any one of his executive staff, all of whom are well aware of the connection.”
It certainly answered why the seat in the front pew had been vacant for him! Besides, he spoke with such confidence, Sally could not disbelieve him. And, in her heart of hearts, she was glad he had managed to strike up a relationship with his father, even if it did make her mother furious. All these years of having been shut out from the family had not been right.
They emerged from the cathedral. The funeral attendants lifted the coffin from the trolley to carry it down the steps to the waiting hearse. During the pause while this procedure got underway, they stood in silence, the heat of the midsummer afternoon beating down on them.
Sally wondered what was steaming through her mother’s mind. The loss of authority would certainly make her burn, yet she should concede Jack Maguire’s right to be here. It was the gracious thing to do. Besides, she couldn’t make him go away. This man was not about to bend to her will. He was not of the same breed as the highly civilised, born-to-wealth bachelors her mother kept pushing at her and Jane; more a dark, dangerous animal, primed to pounce.
A little shiver ran down her spine.
Fear or excitement?
She wasn’t sure.
Would he speak to her when they moved down to stand behind the hearse? She wanted him to. She wanted a connection with him. Though that was an unlikely outcome, given the circumstances.
Obviously he had conceded to his father’s wish to keep the family separated during his lifetime, and although that time was now gone, Jack Maguire had no reason to care about the feelings of people who’d never shown any caring for his. Writing him a letter to say he wasn’t welcome at his own father’s funeral must have been like a red rag to a bull.
“Please have the decency to leave,” her mother hissed at him.
“I think the more decent thing is for me to be here, Lady Ellen,” he coolly replied.
“You don’t belong with us.” Spoken more vehemently as the funeral attendants moved beyond close earshot.
“True. But today belongs to my father,” he retorted pointedly. “Not you and your daughters.”
“We had more of him than you did,” she shot back in a flare of temper.
Sally caught a glimpse of icy contempt on his face as he replied, “Well, I hope you stored up a treasure-house of memories, because that’s all the treasure you’re going to get.”
“What do you mean by that?”
He disdained an answer, moving forward to begin descending the steps to the sidewalk.
Her mother hastily followed, grabbing his arm to command his attention. “What do you mean by that?” she repeated, the urgency in her voice revealing deep concern over his last comment.
Sally didn’t understand it. Didn’t he simply mean that his father was beyond supplying any more memories?
He looked down at the hand clutching him, then directly at his antagonist, raising a sardonic eyebrow. “Do you need my support, Lady Ellen?”
“I do not!” she snapped, instantly removing her hold, tossing her head back and marching on down the steps to the sidewalk.
Jack Maguire strolled after her, not caring about her taking the lead. As she and Jane followed, Sally couldn’t help thinking the TV cameras would use this bit of footage for a provocative piece on the widow and the son. And her mother would be furious about that, too, though it was her own fault for losing the control she’d demanded of her daughters.
The four of them stood on the sidewalk together as the coffin was loaded into the hearse and the many floral tributes were arranged around it.
“I will not have you riding in the mourning car with us,” her mother warned the man who wouldn’t go away at her command.
“I have no intention of mourning with you, Lady Ellen. I really don’t care for your company,” he stated dryly, then turned his gaze to Sally, the riveting blue eyes intent on capturing and holding her attention.
Her pulse-rate instantly zoomed. It was impossible to look away. Besides which, she didn’t want to. He was such a fascinating man, challenging, dangerous, and so good-looking her stomach was all aflutter, registering a strong sexual interest in him, which wasn’t sensible at all but well and truly activated nevertheless.
“I must say mourning becomes you, Sally,” he said with an ironic twist. “I’ve never seen any woman look quite so beautiful at a funeral.”
Heat surged through her again. No one had ever called her beautiful, and for him to do it…though more likely it was a sly hit at her mother whose beauty invariably did draw comment. For one of her daughters to be viewed as outshining her…yes, he wanted to put her mother down, every way he could.
She could have said she’d never seen any man look quite so handsome—it was the truth—but her mother
