Sean

Chapter 3

By the time Laurel pulled up in front of the Rand mansion, it was nearly five in the evening. She hid a yawn behind her hand and tried to stretch the kinks out of her neck. The flight from Honolulu to Los Angeles and then to Boston had been a grind and she was ready for a hot shower and soft bed.

Her solitary honeymoon had been exactly what she'd needed to come to grips with what had happened on her wedding day. Laurel turned off the ignition and rested her hands on the steering wheel. Edward's deception had been bad enough, but considering her reaction to Sean Quinn, maybe it was best that her fiancé had skipped the wedding.

She'd thought a marriage without love would be at least tolerable. Edward was charming and intelligent and he'd seemed to genuinely care about her. But just one evening spent with Sean Quinn had been enough to show her how wrong she'd been.

Passions she hadn't known she possessed had suddenly surfaced. Every time Sean had touched her, her heart had beat a little faster and her knees had turned to jelly. Edward had never caused such a reaction. One kiss from her stand-in bridegroom had proved that fact.

Gathering the last ounce of her energy, Laurel stepped out of her car. Her bags seemed to weigh a ton as she dragged them to the front door. She punched the code into the security system, then opened the door, pulling her bags in behind her.

As she glanced around the foyer, her thoughts returned to her wedding night. A tiny shiver raced through her as she remembered that last kiss; Sean trapping her against the wall, overwhelming her with his lips and his hands. A groan slipped from her throat.

"Welcome home, Miss Laurel."

Laurel jumped at the sound of Alistair's chipper voice, a tiny scream slipping from her throat. She turned as he hurried toward her. Hefting up her bags, he smiled warmly. "And where is Mr. Edward?"

"What are you doing here?" Laurel asked.

"Your uncle decided to stay here for a time. He heard about a coin auction at Sotheby's in New York City and was anxious to attend, so he decided not to go back to Maine until later this month. You look very tired. Isn't Mr. Edward with you?"

She scrambled to make up an excuse for her absent husband. Her uncle's presence had not been part of the plan! "I-I dropped him off at his apartment so he could pack up a few of his things. He didn't have time before the wedding. I'm going to go back into town to pick him up in an hour."

"And how was your honeymoon? Very romantic, I trust."

"Oh, very! We had a… a wonderful time," she said, trying to sound enthusiastic. "The beaches were beautiful and I-we walked every day." Laurel had never been an accomplished liar and Alistair was a shrewd man. A quick retreat was in order before he suspected the truth. "I-I better go pick up Edward."

"I thought you said he'd be expecting you in an hour."

She forced a smile. "Well, the honeymoon isn't over. I can't stand being away from him for a single second." Laurel backed toward the door, then slipped out and hurried to her car. "Damn," she muttered. "Damn, damn, damn." Now what was she supposed to do? She'd never anticipated this wrinkle in her plan.

Over the past two weeks in Hawaii, she'd formulated a perfect strategy. She'd collect her inheritance, wait a few months, then write to her uncle to tell him that the marriage had been a mistake. She'd even decided to use the real Edward's past to her advantage. She'd married a con man who was already married. So, she'd fulfilled the requirements to get her trust fund-technically. The only part that worried her was that her uncle could be a capricious man and he might decide that a failed marriage wasn't a marriage at all.

"I need a husband," she muttered to herself as she pulled out of the driveway. "I have a husband. A bought-and-paid-for husband. I just have to find him."

As she drove toward Boston, Laurel rummaged through her purse for her cell phone. The information operator answered and Laurel requested the phone number for Sean Quinn. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I don't have a listing for Sean Quinn."

"Try S. Quinn."

"No, ma'am."

Laurel groaned. How could she have been so stupid? For ten thousand dollars, she should have at least requested his phone number. There had to be some way to find the man. "What about Quinn's Pub?" she asked. "It's in South Boston."

She waited for a few moments, holding her breath until the operator came on the line. "Here's the number." An automated voice recited the digits and Laurel quickly committed them to memory before she dialed. A minute later she had the address of the pub and directions on how to get there.

Until now, seeing Sean again had never been an option. But after what had happened between them, Laurel had fantasized about another encounter-nearly every waking moment of her "honeymoon." She'd nearly asked him to come with her to Hawaii that night, as they'd said their farewells, and regretted not doing so.

As she wove through traffic, she tried to formulate the best approach to her problem. Ten thousand dollars had been a high price to pay for one day's work. Maybe she could convince him that he owed her more time. If he requested more money, she might be able to find a few hundred. The money she'd given him had been the last from her wedding fund, a reasonable expense she'd thought. Or maybe she could convince him to wait for a cut of her trust fund.

When she pulled up in front of the pub, Laurel said a quick prayer, hoping that she'd find him quickly. She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror, then grabbed her purse and dashed on a bit of lipstick. Satisfied that she looked as good as a jet-lagged honeymooner could look, she stepped out of the car and hurried inside.

Lively Irish music played. A beautiful wood bar, reminiscent of nineteenth-century pubs, ran along one wall, its mirror reflecting the dim lighting. On her only visit to Dublin on a college summer vacation, she'd visited pubs just like Quinn's. A white-haired barkeep nodded at her as she approached.

"I'm hoping you might know where I can find Sean Quinn."

"And what would you be wantin' with Sean?" the man asked, his Irish accent thick.

"I have a private matter I need to discuss," Laurel said. "Do you know how I can reach him?"

"I wouldn't know that. Why don't you leave him a note and if he comes in I'll-"

"No," Laurel said, growing impatient with the runaround. "I have to find him now."

The man shook his head. "I don't know who you think you are, but-"

"I'm his wife," Laurel blurted. The old man froze, his expression a mask of astonishment, and she silently cursed her quick tongue. She hadn't meant to say it, but she needed to find Sean. "Not exactly his wife, but-"

"One minute," the man interrupted. "I'll just ring him." He hurried off to the far end of the bar and, after a short phone conversation, returned to her. "He's on his way."

"Thank you," Laurel said, a knot tightening in her stomach. Her hands flitted to her hair and she nervously smoothed the wrinkled skirt of her sundress. If she was going to make this work, she needed to control her rash behavior. All her life, she'd been too impulsive, too reckless, never looking before she leaped. That's what had gotten her into this mess in the first place-marrying a man she didn't even know.

She glanced up and found the bartender watching her with a suspicious glint in his eye. "Can I get you anything to drink, lass?"

"White wine would be nice," she said.

As she sipped her drink, Laurel casually observed her surroundings. In the rear of the pub, stained-glass lamps illuminated a pool table and dartboards hung from the walls. A chalkboard menu near the bar boasted Irish favorites including corned beef and cabbage, Irish stew and something called Dublin Coddle.

Laurel's stomach growled and she realized that she hadn't eaten for nearly six hours. She waved to the bartender and he approached, this time a bit more warily. "I'd like to order something to eat. Some soup?"

"We've got a nice potato soup. Or maybe ye'd prefer pea and ham soup. We also might have some clam chowder left from yesterday."

"Potato, please," Laurel said.

"Let me get you a bowl."

After he left, Laurel gulped down the rest of her wine, hoping that it might fortify her courage. She'd paid Sean to pose as her bridegroom for a day and he had no obligation to help her. How could she convince him to resume his role? What kind of offer might he accept?

Laurel wasn't certain how much a woman ought to pay for a husband but figured it couldn't be more than the man would make at a day-to-day job. After all, the job wasn't that difficult. She'd start with twenty thousand and negotiate from there. Twenty thousand out of five million was a small price to pay.

"Here you go, lass. Potato soup. And that's soda bread." He rested his arms on the bar and watched her eat. "Tell me, when did you and my son get married?"

The spoonful of potato soup was halfway down her throat when the old man posed the question. Laurel coughed, snatching up her napkin. Her eyes began to water and Sean's father reached across the bar and slapped her on the back. "Your… your son?"

"Sean is my son. I'm Seamus Quinn. And you'd be?"

"Laurel Rand."

"I'm surprised that Sean didn't tell us he'd found himself a wife. But then, the boy never did talk much."

"Well, I'm not exactly his wife. Not technically." She quickly stood and grabbed her purse, wiping at her runny eyes. "Will you excuse me? I'll be right back."

The ladies' room was in the rear of the bar, past the pool table. When she got inside, she locked the door behind her, then stood in front of the mirror and wiped at the smudged mascara beneath her eyes. "Calm down," she murmured. "If he accepts your offer, then you'll be fine. And if he refuses, you'll deal with it."

With a soft curse, she opened her purse and pulled out her cosmetics bag. A tiny vial contained her favorite perfume and she dabbed a bit on before pulling out her mascara and lipstick. She'd have to use every advantage that she had, including scented skin, smouldering eyes and a sexy mouth.

Sean stepped inside Quinn's Pub and scanned the bar for his father. Seamus had called ten minutes before, frantic, insisting that Sean come down to the pub immediately. He'd claimed an emergency but had refused to give details, so Sean had no choice but to leave the Red Sox game he'd been watching on television and head down to the bar a few hours early.

When he walked in, he'd assumed that the crowd had been too much for Seamus to handle and he'd needed an extra pair of hands. But the Saturday evening crowd was about what he'd expected for the early hour. Sean ducked beneath the end of the bar. As he nabbed an apron and wrapped it around his waist, he saw his father hurrying toward him from the back of the pub.

"Good, you're here," he muttered.

"What's wrong?"

Seamus grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him closer. "She's here. In the toilet."

"Who is here?"

"Yer wife. She and I had a little chin-wag and the lass says yer married."

Sean frowned. Lately, women had gone to greater lengths to entice the last remaining Quinn brother, but this was- Oh, hell. Could his father be talking about Laurel Rand? "What did she look like, Da?"

"Like a woman who just caught herself a husband."

"Blonde? Wavy hair?" He held his hand up to his chin. "About so tall?"

"Said her name was Laurie or-"

Sean didn't bother with the rest of the conversation with his father. He yanked off the apron, tossed it on the bar and headed for the ladies' room. When he'd left Laurel that night after the wedding, he'd told himself it was the last he'd see of her. And though he was curious about the attraction he'd felt for her, he knew better than to dwell on it. He wasn't ready to fall in love and he suspected he never would be.

The door to the ladies' room swung open an instant before he reached for the knob. Laurel stood in front of him, wide-eyed and wary. Sean searched for something to say. A variety of opening lines raced through his head and he opened his mouth, ready to give one of them a try. What was it about Laurel? One minute, conversation with her was so easy, the next, he lost all capacity to speak, all ability to think straight.

Suddenly, Laurel threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. At first he was too stunned to reciprocate. But when her lips parted slightly, Sean didn't see any reason not to enjoy what she offered. He slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her nearer, deepening the kiss until she went soft in his arms. And when Laurel finally pulled away, her face was flushed and her eyes bright. A tiny smile twitched at the corners of her mouth, so she was obviously satisfied with his response.

"Hello," Sean said.

"Hi. I suppose you're wondering what I'm doing here."

"No." In truth, from the instant his mouth met hers, he hadn't cared why she'd come. The kiss was a good enough reason. Over the past two weeks he'd nearly forgotten what she tasted like, how she felt in his arms. And it hadn't taken much to bring it back. One kiss.

"No?"

"Well, maybe," Sean said. "How was Hawaii?"

"Sunny, warm, beautiful. As the only single woman renting a honeymoon bungalow, I felt a little out of place. But I needed the time away. And it was a nice way to celebrate my twenty-sixth birthday."

Sean reached out and tucked an errant strand of her hair behind her ear. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks," she said. "Another year older, but not any wiser."

"Laurel, what are you doing here?"

"I-I just wanted to see you." She paused, then shook her head. "That's not true. Uncle Sinclair has moved into the mansion for a while. Something about a corn auction in New York. Of course, he'd never think to rent a hotel room when I've got eight empty bedrooms."

"Have you told him about Edward?"

She shifted uneasily. "I need a favor. I know I said you'd just have to pose as my groom for a day, but I think I might need you for a little longer. And I was wondering if I could… rent you for a few more weeks?"

"Rent me?"

"Hire you. I just need you to be my husband again." She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the ladies' room. "There's something I didn't tell you the day of the wedding," Laurel admitted. "I wasn't just worried about the embarrassment. I needed to get married that day."

Sean's gaze automatically dropped to her belly. "You're pregnant?"

"No!" Laurel cried. "I had to get married before my twenty-sixth birthday so I could get the five million dollars from my trust fund," she blurted. "My uncle is the administrator of the trust that my father left me when he died. He seems to think I can't handle the money unless I'm married."

"So this wasn't about humiliation?" Sean asked. "It was about money." The woman he thought he'd "married" disappeared in front of his eyes. He now knew the attraction they'd shared had been nothing more than an act fueled by a mercenary nature.

"I need that money. Now. If I don't marry, then I have to wait until I'm thirty-one. That's five years from now and I can't wait."

"Not enough money for designer fashions and expensive jewelry?" Sean asked, a sarcastic edge to his voice.

"No! That's not it."

He'd been so captivated by her honesty and now he found that had all been a facade. She wasn't any different than any other woman-only interested in what he could do for her, what he might give her, what she could take. Sean shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans to keep himself from touching her again. He shouldn't have trusted her. He knew better than to trust a woman-even one as beautiful as Laurel Rand. "What are you offering?"

She seemed taken aback by his question, but Sean didn't regret asking. If this was all about money, then he'd be damned if he was going to offer his services for free.

"I've thought about that. We'd have to negotiate reasonable compensation. And we can do that later. For now, I need you to get your things and come home with me."

Sean leaned back against the bathroom door and observed her shrewdly. He'd wondered over the past few weeks whether he'd fallen victim to the Quinn family curse, whether coming to Laurel's rescue that day might cost him his freedom. But he was happy to see that he'd battled the curse and come up the winner. There was no way this scheming woman would ever capture his heart.

"Not until we come to terms," he said. "How long will my services be required?"

"At least a month," she said.

"My day rate is five hundred dollars," he said, padding the figure a bit. "Thirty days at five hundred is fifteen thousand. Of course, expenses are extra."

"Your day rate? Are you a plumber?"

"I'm a private investigator," Sean said. "Remember?"

"Right! That's perfect then. Five hundred a day, plus expenses, limited to an additional five thousand." She held out her hand and he shook it.

Her fingers were warm and delicate in his hand and, for a moment, Sean didn't want to let go. Cursing inwardly, he pulled his hand away. "It's a deal."

"Good, then let's go. We'll have to get your things. I told Alistair we'd be back in an hour. That gives us just enough time to get our story straight."

Sean nodded, then opened the bathroom door, stepping aside to let her pass. As they walked through the pub, he let his hand rest on the small of her back. It was something a husband would do. He'd seen his brothers do the same for the women they loved. Yet when he touched Laurel, it was easy to forget that everything between them was a charade.

"I'm leaving, Da," Sean shouted. "I won't be back for a few weeks. Give Rudy a call. He'll fill in for me."

"Yah can't leave me in the lurch!" Seamus shouted.

"You'll be fine," he murmured.

Laurel's car was parked in front of the bar. She circled around to the driver's side and Sean followed her, then held out his hand. "What?" she asked.

"Keys. I'm the husband. The husband always drives."

"Not in this marriage. My car is very temperamental."

"Are we going to have our first argument?"

Grudgingly, she slapped the keys into his hand and walked around to the passenger side. Sean slipped behind the wheel, then reached over to unlock her door. But she didn't open it. "Get in," he said.

She peered through the window, rapping on it with her knuckles. "Husbands open car doors for their wives."

Sean groaned. For a guy who wasn't really married, he was already following orders like a henpecked spouse. He crawled back out of the car, jogged around to Laurel's side and yanked open the door. "Make sure you complain about my driving," he suggested. "And give me all the wrong directions. Isn't that what wives do?"

As he shut her door, Sean suppressed a grin. Maybe this "marriage" would be just what he needed-to convince himself that marriage would never be an option for the only remaining Quinn bachelor.

They returned to the house an hour later, Alistair welcoming them both at the front door. He reached to take Sean's duffel, but Sean shook his head and insisted on carrying it upstairs. Laurel made a mental note to tell her "husband" that he'd need to be especially careful around Alistair. The butler was fiercely loyal to Sinclair and any suspicions on his part would be immediately relayed to her uncle.

"I've taken the liberty of preparing a light meal for you," Alistair said, following them both up the stairs. "Sandwiches, a roasted vegetable salad and a fresh blueberry crumble. I've put it in your bedroom. Mr. Sinclair would like you to join him for brandy in the library after you've settled in."

He opened the door to Laurel's bedroom and walked inside, switching on a lamp next to the small sofa. "Would you like me to unpack for you?" Alistair asked Sean.

"No, I can take care of that." Sean reached for his wallet, but Laurel grabbed his arm to stop him.

"We'll be fine," she said. "Let Uncle know that we'll be down in twenty minutes. Thank you, Alistair."

When the butler had left the room, she heard Sean release a tightly held breath. "I was going to tip him," he said. "That wasn't right?"

"No, Alistair is an employee of my uncle Sinclair. But he takes care of me-and you now-because he wants to. Not because he has to."

She crossed the room to the small sofa set in an alcove. Alistair had set out the tray on a tea table beside it. She picked up one of Alistair's famous cucumber-and-cream-cheese sandwiches and took a bite. "Are you hungry? Alistair is a really good cook."

"No," he said. He stood in the center of the room as if he wasn't sure what he should do.

Laurel moved to the dresser, pulled open the top drawer, then scooped out all her underwear. "You can use this for your clothes. I'll clean out another drawer if you need it. And there's plenty of room in the closet." She looked down at her underwear, then walked over to the wardrobe, pulled open the door and tossed the lingerie inside. "The bathroom is through there." Laurel pointed to the door. "You'll need to change before we go downstairs."

Sean looked down at the clothes he was wearing. "What's wrong with what I have on?"

Laurel let her gaze drift down from his handsome face to his long, lean body. He wore a T-shirt and jeans like no other man could; the T-shirt stretched tight over his muscled chest, the black jeans riding low on his hips. "Uncle insists that everyone dress for the evening."

"We're having a drink."

"It's after six. It's one of his rules. Now, what did you bring along?"

"Jeans, T-shirts." Sean strode over to the bed and rummaged through his duffel. He pulled out a black sweater and held it up. "How about this?"

"You don't have a jacket and tie?"

"I don't own a jacket and tie," Sean said. "Whenever I need to dress up, I borrow something from my brother Brian."

"We'll have to shop tomorrow." She crossed to the closet. "I think Edward may have left something here."

"I'm not wearing his clothes." He grabbed his duffel and crossed the room to the dresser. But before he put his clothes inside, he held out a stray piece of her lingerie. A lacy red bra.

A blush warming her cheeks, Laurel grabbed it from his hand. She took his sweater, as well, and smoothed her hand over the fine silk knit. The designer label was a surprise.

"My sister-in-law gave it to me for Christmas. I've never worn it."

"This will be fine. We'll buy you some new things when we get a chance."

He grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and yanked it over his head. It happened so quickly that Laurel didn't have a chance to prepare, or to find something else to occupy her eyes. Her gaze fell to his chest, smooth and finely muscled. He was lean and hard, yet Laurel suspected it didn't come from working out at a health club. He just didn't seem the type.

She swallowed hard, then handed him the sweater. "We… we need to get our story straight about the honeymoon. I think you should let me do most of the talking. Add a few details here and there, but don't say too much."

"I never do," Sean replied.

"And we need to discuss public displays of affection. We have to appear… comfortable with each other. Uncle Sinclair needs to see that we're in love, but we shouldn't hang all over each other. Uncle has very old-fashioned ideas about decorum and propriety."

"Tell me what to do," Sean said.

"Well, we can hold hands," she suggested.

He reached out and took her hand, then wove his fingers through hers. His touch sent a current through her body, so strong that she had to fight the impulse to pull away.

"How's that?" he asked.

"Good. And you can touch me in other ways. Put your arm around me."

He slipped his other arm around her waist. "Like this?" he asked as he pulled her close, her hand pinned behind her back.

"And… and then, you could…"

"Kiss you?" he asked, pressing his lips to her cheek.

"Yes."

He moved to her neck and a wave of sensation washed through her as he bit softly. "How about here?"

A ragged breath slipped from her throat. "I think that would be a little… too… oh, that feels good."

He suddenly pulled away, as if the contact hadn't fazed him at all. "Maybe that's going too far." Laurel blinked, then nodded. "You're right. Touching is fine. A kiss on the cheek occasionally. But nothing else." She stepped away from him and sat on the sofa, pressing her hands between her knees to keep them from trembling. "If Uncle asks you strange questions, just go along. Answer as best you can. He never stays on one subject for too long."

"He shouldn't be hard to trick. When do you think he'll give you your money?"

"I don't want to trick him. The money is mine. My father left it to me. He just made the mistake of naming Uncle Sinclair as administrator of the trust, so Sinclair makes up the rules about when I can have the money. I need it now."

"Why do you need it now?"

"I just do," Laurel said. She'd never told anyone about her plans for the arts center. Until now, it had been a dream. She'd filled notebooks with her ideas, everything from curriculum to design of the classrooms to the teachers she'd try to hire. But she was almost superstitious about telling anyone, worried that any negative comment might ruin her perfect dream. "My reasons are my own," she said. "And they're none of your business."

Sean shrugged. "Just curious." He slipped the sweater over his head, then raked his hands through his hair. "I think we're ready."

Laurel strode to the door. "All right, Edward. Uncle Sinclair gets impatient when he's kept waiting."

As she walked down the wide staircase, Laurel tried to calm her frustration. She'd thought it would be easy to carry out the charade. Once Sinclair was certain she and "Edward" had married for the right reasons, he'd turn over her money. He wouldn't dare make her give it back once the marriage failed.

She didn't like to lie, but the deception was necessary and it was for a good cause. She could have waited for another man to come along. But who knows when that might have happened? And how was she supposed to trust her own judgment, especially after the mistake she'd made with Edward? She certainly didn't want to wait another five years for the money.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Laurel waited. Sean joined her a few seconds later. He reached out and took her hand, slipping his fingers between hers. "Lead on," he said.

They found Sinclair sitting in the huge leather wing chair in the library. Alistair had set out the brandy on a small side table and now stood silently in the shadows. As they entered, Laurel's uncle didn't bother to acknowledge them. Instead he kept his nose buried in a book.

Laurel sat on the leather sofa and motioned Sean to sit beside her. Alistair fetched them both a brandy, then resumed his place. After five minutes Sinclair finally glanced up, as if surprised that she and Sean were in the room. "Here you are then," he said, staring at Laurel. "I hope you used sunscreen."

"The weather was beautiful in Hawaii, Uncle."

"Beautiful," Sean repeated.

"Did you see any birds?"

"There were lots of birds there," Laurel said. "You would have found some new species to put on your list, Uncle. Uncle is only interested in American birds, Edward. But Hawaii is a state, so all those birds count."

He turned to Sean. "Do you like birds, Edward?"

"I do. I like ducks. Sparrows. And cardinals."

"A cardinal was the first bird I put on my list," he said. He looked down at his book again and for a long time didn't look up. Laurel took a sip of her brandy, then glanced over at Sean and shrugged.

"You like coins?" Sean asked.

Sinclair didn't answer, acting as if he hadn't heard. But Laurel knew better. He was testing Sean-Edward.

"What's your favorite coin?"

Sinclair slapped the book shut and, for a moment, Laurel thought he was angry, perturbed that Sean had interrupted his reading. "Let me show you," he said. "Alistair, bring out the Seated Liberty."

Laurel gave Sean's hand a squeeze. Her uncle loved to discuss his coin collection with anyone who would listen. And now, he had a fresh set of ears. She slowly stood and walked over to the tall cases of books, searching through the titles as she listened to Sinclair talk about the history behind the coin.

"This is a very rare coin," he said. "It was minted in 1866. There's only one other in better condition and it goes up for auction next week."

Sean seemed genuinely interested and when Sinclair brought out another coin, he pulled up a footstool and sat next to Sinclair so he could examine the coin more closely. Laurel watched him in the low light of the library, taken by how sweet he could be. How had a man like Sean Quinn managed to remain single for so long?

"This is my Liberty Capped cent," Sinclair said. "Look at those luster darts. This coin was made in 1794 and the machinery was primitive at best, so perfection is nearly impossible. This is only one of three which is graded mint."

"Wow," Sean said. "It looks brand new."

"Laurel!" Sinclair called. "Get the Breen. The copy I gave you for Christmas in 1991."

Laurel retrieved the book from the shelf where she kept it and handed it to her uncle.

"If you're interested in coins, then this is the book." Sinclair patted the cover. "The Complete Encyclopedia of U.S. and Colonial Coins."

"So, you only collect U.S. coins?"

"And Colonials," Sinclair said. "And U.S. stamps. A collector has to have some limits. That way, you don't waste money chasing things you don't really need or want." He held the coins out to Alistair, then pushed to his feet. "We'll talk again, Edward. You're an interesting young man."

"Thank you, sir," Sean said, quickly standing.

Laurel watched her uncle walk out of the room, Alistair trailing behind him, then smiled. "He gave you Breen."

"Is that good?" Sean asked.

"It's just a big book of coins, but it's like his bible. He spends hours pouring over that book. I think he must have it memorized by now."

Sean nodded, then tucked the book under his arm. "He's not going to give me a test, is he?"

Laurel giggled. "He might. But not right away." She paused, then pushed up on her toes and gave him a quick kiss on her cheek. "You're a good husband."

A tiny smile quirked his lips and he shrugged. "That's what I get paid for."

Laurel's breath caught in her throat. For a moment she'd forgotten that this was all just an act, that the handsome man standing next to her wasn't really her husband at all. "I guess it's time for bed," she murmured.

Sean held up the book. "I know what I'll do if I can't sleep." He slipped his arm around her waist as they walked out of the library and up the stairs. Laurel knew there was no need for the oddly possessive gesture. No one was watching. But she liked the way it felt when he touched her, the illusion of affection that it gave her.

But what would happen once the door to her bedroom closed? Would they continue this charade of romance or would it be strictly business? With each step, her heart beat a little faster in anticipation. This was the wedding night she hadn't had. And Laurel was afraid that morning would come all too fast.