Ten
Chapter One
“I think I must be lost,” Kristen Morris Devereaux said to the butler who had answered the front door of the Tudor mansion. If her directions were correct, this was the home of Grant, Evan and Chas Brewster, the men from whom she wanted to get custody of her sister’s triplets. She understood that the Brewsters were far from poor, but she hadn’t expected them to have a butler and a mansion. If this was their home, they were people so far out of her social sphere she’d look like nothing but a country bumpkin to them.
For the first time since she discovered she wasn’t alone in the world, she felt a stab of reality poke her enthusiastic bubble of hope. Still, she held her smile in place. She had to do this.
“I’m looking for the Brewster residence.”
“This is the Brewster residence,” the butler responded.
“Good,” she said, though inside her spirits sank. She forced herself to smile again. “I’m Kristen Devereaux.”
For a few seconds, the man only stared at her, obviously taking in her appearance from head to toe and pausing on her simple red dress which wasn’t shabby or disgraceful, but probably didn’t meet the standards of people who could afford a butler.
His questionable inspection strengthened her will. After suffering the loss of her husband, then her only sister, Kristen had learned life wasn’t always easy. With so much at stake, she had resolved to be tough, persistent, even downright pushy if she needed to be. If he was trying to shatter that confidence, he’d have to do much better than peer at her as if her clothes confused him.
He did.
He smiled.
One small upward movement of his lips shifted the angles and planes of his face, transforming him from a gatekeeper bully into Prince Charming at the ball. The brown eyes that were so suspicious became warm and welcoming. With his beautiful shiny black hair, black beard and absolutely perfect face, he was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. Over six feet, but not bulky or too well muscled, he wore his tuxedo with an easy grace, a languid sexuality. Her gaze ambling up his beautiful body and returning to his face, Kristen suddenly recognized he was gorgeous, and all her self-assurance fluttered away like the four-and-twenty black birds exiting the pie.
“Hello, Ms. Devereaux,” he said kindly, extending his hand to shake hers, setting off an odd chain reaction of tingles that started in Kristen’s stomach and spiraled downward to her toes.
When he released her hand, he smiled at her again. “Can I take you out to speak with Lily?”
“Lily?” Kristen asked, breathless and baffled. She didn’t have a clue who Lily was, but more than that, from this gentleman’s sexy smile she could tell he was a charmer—probably somebody well accustomed to having women fall at his feet. Though that should have automatically repelled her, Kristen felt another unexpected jolt of pleasure because the look on his face also told her he found her as attractive as she found him.
“Lily, the bride.” he said, grinning foolishly.
Kristen squelched the urge to close her eyes and groan out loud. The bride? Oh, for Pete’s sake! This guy wasn’t the butler. He was a member of a wedding party. She’d arrived just in time for a wedding! He thought she was an inappropriately dressed guest and from the way she was ogling him he also thought she was so smitten with him that she’d forgotten the bride’s name.
Great. Just great. Even before she explained who she was she’d made a fool of herself.
A smart woman would take herself and her inappropriate red dress into town to find a room for the night and return in the morning when all the festivities had died down. Sounded like a darned good idea to her.
“Actually I’m—”
“Here you are, Grant.”
Wearing a tuxedo and looking every bit as relaxed and regal as the gentleman at the front door, the man who interrupted Kristen appeared to be another member of the wedding party. As if only noticing Kristen, he gave her a polite, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I’m Evan Brewster,” he said, extending his hand to shake hers.
Suddenly realizing she was in the thick of things, Kristen’s heart thumped and her limbs turned to rubber, but she took Evan’s hand and returned his smile. “Kristen Devereaux,” she said.
“And I’m Grant Brewster,” Grant said, nudging his brother aside. “My brother Evan is married. I am not,” he said shamelessly. “Would you like to dance?”
“You don’t have time to dance, Grant,” Evan said. Even as he spoke a short blond woman, probably in her sixties, shuffled up behind him, carrying a baby.
The child wore a frilly pink dress, white tights and shiny black patent-leather Mary Janes. Before Kristen could notice any real detail like the color of the child’s eyes and whether she had the perfect pert nose of all Morris children, a tall red-haired woman appeared carrying another baby. This one was a boy. And behind that woman was a young, beautiful brunette, carrying another girl. This baby wore a dress identical to the dress the first baby wore, but this little girl’s hair was pitch-black. And she had brown eyes as dark and as clear as Grant Brewster’s.
Filled with wonder, Kristen only stared at the children while Evan Brewster spoke.
“There’s too much excitement outside for the kids, and all three of them could use a nap. But Mrs. Romani can’t handle them alone.”
“I can’t handle one baby alone,” the seasoned blonde in the black leather miniskirt reminded gruffly. “I’m not even trying with three.”
Grant sighed, but Kristen recognized his dilemma immediately. Both he and his brother were wearing tuxedos and the young woman holding the dark-haired little girl wore an autumn-orange gown. Obviously all three of them were in the wedding party.
And the babies were Kristen’s sister’s triplets.
Not only were they around the right age, ten months, but Kristen could see the green of Angela’s eyes in the first little girl, and the boy had Angela’s sandy-brown hair. These were Angela’s babies. She could feel it in her bones.
“I could help with the children.” Kristen heard herself say the words before she actually registered the thought. Because she was the triplets’ aunt, and because the Brewsters were obviously preoccupied, it just seemed to make sense for her to be the one to take the children off their hands.
“If you’re putting them down for a nap, all Mrs. Romani and I have to do is keep them company in the nursery until they fall asleep.”
Grant’s gaze traveled over to her
