Trouble in High Heels

Chapter Seven

Geoffrey Taylor heard the chord in his head. It would lead into the bridge of his current musical creation. He heard the sound of a cat screaming in the background, beyond the closed wooden door of his music room, and he tried to shut it out, narrowing his concentration on the beautiful sounds inside his head.

He stretched his fingers into a chord on the century-old grand piano and played. He frowned. Not quite right. It didn’t quite match-

The wooden door burst open. A plump woman with wet orange hair and a wet red face shrieked at him. “Geoffrey, the loo is broken again! We need to get it fixed! Permanently,” his stepsister, Danielle, added.

Geoffrey frowned. He wanted that note, that chord. If he could just get that one chord, it would be enough for now. Holding up his hand and mentally shutting off his stepsister’s shrieks, he continued on the keyboard. Almost there, almost-

“Geoffrey!” His stepmother’s voice interrupted his concentration.

Geoffrey gave up. His stepmother’s voice was the ultimate mood killer. He looked up at the face that had made his late father tumble like the proverbial Jack from Jack and Jill. Although her youthful glow was dimming and lines were beginning to appear around her eyes and mouth, her skin still looked like a porcelain doll’s, her lips were lush and pink, and her eyes were blue like the summer sky.

Geoffrey knew the truth, however. Behind those innocent-looking blue eyes lurked the instincts of a killer shark with a voracious, unquenchable appetite for designer clothing, jewels, antiques, holidays in Monte Carlo, and generally living beyond her means.

“Geoffrey, look at your sister. This has gone entirely too far. The manor is in total disrepair. Your father never would have permitted the home of generations of Taylors to deteriorate into this kind of condition.”

His father wouldn’t have been permitted to permit it. Charlene would have nagged him twenty-four hours a day, and then his father would have gone into debt to keep his yellow rose from Texas happy. “I’m sorry, Charlene, but as you know, my father may have left his title behind, but he didn’t leave the kind of money you’ve grown accustomed to spending.”

Geoffrey couldn’t recall how many times he’d repeated the same words to Charlene during the last three years.

“Yes, but Gilmore is your responsibility now. You are the heir. Your father trusted you to care for Danielle and me.”

Unlike his father, Geoffrey wasn’t the least bit chauvinistic. As far as Geoffrey was concerned, it was high time Charlene got a job to help support her spending habits. “I’ll remind you that my father was deeply indebted and we almost lost Gilmore because of it. I managed to cover his debts and provide us with a modest income.”

“Selling collectibles on eBay,” Danielle said with a snort. “Why can’t you get a real job instead of spending all your time in here playing your weird music?”

Geoffrey ground his teeth. He was a classically trained musician with special abilities in composing music. He knew that one day he would be paid well for his work. Until then, he needed to continue the discipline of putting down on paper the music that soared through his mind. He also needed to be frugal.

“Danielle needs to go to college,” Charlene told him. “NYU in Manhattan.”

Geoffrey tensed, feeling a sickening sense of foreboding. “But she hasn’t been accepted, has she?”

“Of course she has,” Charlene said. “I met the wife of the president at one of the parties I attended in New York several years ago. We stayed in touch.”

“Does she have a scholarship?”

“No, but Danielle has worked hard on her studies the past two years. She took her father’s death very hard. Despite that, she’s done well, and her efforts should be rewarded.”

Geoffrey bit the inside of his cheek. “That’s going to be dreadfully expensive. Are you sure there isn’t another-” He cleared his throat. “-more reasonable option?”

Charlene narrowed her eyes to slits. “You have a lot of nerve considering you’ve spent years in the finest schools earning a doctorate that will qualify you to ask the question ‘Would you like fries with that?’”

“I was offered scholarships,” he retorted.

Charlene’s cheeks turned scarlet, almost purple. The color of her rage, he thought. He’d seen it many times before.

She pursed her lips. “Danielle, I need to speak to Geoffrey alone. Run along and clean up.”

“But Mother-”

“Now,” Charlene said.

Danielle gave a huff and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

Charlene closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply.

“Are you feeling faint?” Geoffrey asked hopefully.

“No. I’m aligning myself with my inner core.”

Her inner core? He hadn’t known she had an inner core. In fact, Geoffrey had always suspected Charlene’s backbone was formed from some slimy form of rubber. Her morals depended on the day, the situation, whom she needed to impress, and, most important, what she wanted.

She opened her eyes. “A week ago, I did something which I believe will ease the burden you have felt in providing for Danielle and myself since your father passed away.”

Geoffrey’s stomach dropped. “You didn’t sell the piano,” he said. The piano had been in his family for generations. It was his prize possession.

It was his prize possession even though it technically belonged to his stepmother. In a fit of passion-driven insanity, Geofrey’s father had altered his will immediately after his marriage to Charlene and left some of the contents of the house to his new bride. Those contents included the piano. He would live in a box in order to keep that piano.

“No, although I’ve considered it once or twice. Since you’re quite obsessed with continuing to pursue a career in music despite the fact that you haven’t profited from it in any shape or form, I decided it was time to take extraordinary measures.”

A terrible dread grabbed at his throat. “What extraordinary measures?”

She cleared her throat and lowered her voice as if she were taking him in her confidence with a juicy piece of gossip. “A friend of mine in Texas told me that a very, very wealthy heiress wants to get married and her business manager is screening prospects. I faxed in your information, and I’m happy to say they’re willing to give you a chance to meet her.”

Horrified beyond words, Geoffrey stood. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all,” she said and swept her blonde hair behind one ear. “It’s the perfect solution. If you marry this woman, you can fulfill your father’s request that you take care of Danielle and me and at the same time continue your endless pursuit of your musical career with no pressure.”

“You’ve gone mad. I’m not going to be bartered off like some-some prize cow so you can shop yourself into oblivion.” He raked his hand through his hair. “It’s barbaric.”

Charlene planted her perfectly manicured hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t be a pussy. Women have been doing this kind of thing for years. It’s the perfect solution. It’s not as if you even have a love life.” She paused a half beat. “You haven’t gone to the other side, have you?”

Geoffrey stifled a groan. The other side was Charlene’s way of referring to homosexuality. Since Charlene preferred generalizations and Geoffrey had been musical his entire life, he knew the possibility of his being gay lurked in her devious small mind. Being gay right now would come in bloody handy. He was almost tempted… But no, knowing Charlene, she would find another way to torture him.

“Just because I’m heterosexual doesn’t mean I’m a candidate to stud this woman from Texas,” he told her. “If marriage is such a great solution, why don’t you do it again?”

Her eyes widened, and she lifted her hand to her throat in a perfectly choreographed gasp. “I can’t believe you’d suggest that to your father’s wife. You have no heart, no honor.”

Geoffrey looked heavenward for help. Oh, no. Now he would get the martyred-widow speech.

“I was married to your father for twenty years. I took you as my son.”

To his eternal regret.

“I bore him a daughter.”

Charlene had moaned and groaned through the entire nine months.

“We loved each other dearly.”

She’d loved his title dearly.

“I’m not going to marry some woman I’ve never met and live in Texas. You may as well be sending me to hell,” he said. “Besides, she probably wouldn’t find me her type.”

“I’ve already thought of that,” she said with unflattering speed. “I’ve made an appointment with my hairstylist for you. I’ve also arranged a facial for you. Those circles under your eyes are dreadful. We can’t do much about your body on short notice, but we can probably make you look a little more firm with a few hours at the gym and some new clothes. Then all you have to do is try to be charming, which I realize will be a stretch, darling, but I have some reading material for you to peruse between now and Tuesday.”

Geoffrey didn’t think she could have horrified him more, but he’d underestimated her. “You’ve lost your mind. I don’t know who this woman is. I don’t even know her name, what she looks like. She could be a descendant of Attila the Hun for all we know.”

“You’ll find out who she is when you arrive in Dallas. The important things that you need to know are that she wants to get married and she’s loaded. Your job is to be charming.”

Geoffrey put his foot down. “I’m not doing this, Charlene. And don’t try shoving any more guilt trips down my throat, because it won’t work. This would be the same as prostitution. I will not do it. There’s nothing you can say to make me change my mind.”

She met his gaze and sighed. “All right, I’ll give you a choice. Find a way to get Danielle’s tuition by Tuesday, or you’re getting on the plane to Dallas. Otherwise…”

Her voice drifted off and she gave his piano a longing, sinister glance. She slid her fingers along the wood lightly.

His gut clenched. “You wouldn’t,” he said.

“It would never be my first choice,” she said. “But oh, yes, Geoffrey, I would.” She met his gaze again. “Much luck on eBay.”

Jackson was going insane.

Lori’s sisters had stayed longer than two days. It was up to four, and he’d culled five prospects from a long list. He’d put a shrink at the top of the list. If ever a woman could use one, he’d say Lori Jean Granger could. Late at night, she preyed on his mind. He was starting to wonder if she was a witch. Or a fairy.

“No fairy,” he said, shaking his head and splitting a piece of grass in half as he sat on his back porch with a beer. She just thought she was a fairy. She thought she was the Miss Fix-It Fairy with unlimited dough, and he was the heartbreaker who had to inform her of the sad truth that she was mortal like the rest of us.

He remembered how her face had paled when he’d told her he knew about the payments she was sending to the three women hiding from their abusive husbands. Jackson thought of his own mother and how she continued to hang in there with his father, despite his father’s verbal abuse. No matter how many times his father left, his mother took him back. He remembered begging her to change the locks, move away, but she would do neither.

He felt a slice of envy that Lori had been able to help women who were strangers when he hadn’t been able to get through to his own mother. He wondered how she’d done it-what kind of magic she possessed to help a beat-up person find the courage to follow through and make a new life.

Of course, nearly unlimited money didn’t hurt, he thought cynically and crushed his beer can against his chair.

Jackson was still torn about Lori. The rate at which she disposed of her fortune gave him hives. At the same time, he was starting to see how serious she was about trying to make a difference. Finding out about those women touched a sore point inside him. Her determination to keep it secret grabbed at him. In elementary school, he remembered that a history teacher had said that what a person did in secret said a lot more about what they were made of than what they did in public.

In public, Lori wore designer clothes and donated her money to crazy charities. In private, she clung fiercely to her independence at the same time she looked to her dog for acceptance while she tried to take care of the world.

Jackson felt oddly protective of her. He still wanted to talk her out of the marriage deal, but he was starting to understand her point of view, her impatience with her father’s manipulation.

He picked up the file of prospects again. One of these men was going to go through six years of heaven and hell. Heaven to be close to her. Hell not to have her.

Lori had a case of cold feet. After being around her sisters for the last several days and overhearing their lovey-dovey phone conversations with their husbands, she couldn’t help rethinking her decision to marry for access to her money. If only it wasn’t necessary, she thought, frustration zooming through her as her chauffeur negotiated the heavy traffic.

But it was, and Jackson had left a message that he wanted to meet with her tonight to show her the dossiers on five prospective husbands.

She felt another chill run through her-all the way to her feet.

It was temporary, she told herself as a doorman allowed her into the exclusive nightclub charity party. A band played in a back room while servers floated through the space with trays of champagne and food. A barrage of children’s paintings and baskets loaded with giveaways were arranged on tables for a silent auction. Lori’s friend Chloe was chairing a fund drive for children’s art programs. Lori had promised to attend, and she always tried to keep her promises.

In the back of her mind, she imagined Jackson James frowning in disapproval at her. He didn’t want her to spend a dime until she was married.

Lori made a face and wrote a bid for one of the children’s paintings. “It’s for a good cause,” she murmured.

Someone jostled her from behind, and her pen went flying.

“Bloody hell, do watch where you’re going,” a male voice said in a British accent. “Excuse me, Miss.”

The sound was so different from the Texas twang she was accustomed to hearing that it immediately caught her attention. She glanced around to find a tall man with floppy brown hair accepting a napkin and an apology from a server. He mopped at his damp jacket.

“Good start,” he muttered. “Spend the rest of the night smelling like a wino.” He glanced up at her. “Did he get any on you?”

She patted her hands over her black dress and shook her head. “No. I think you got the worst of it. Sorry,” she said, feeling pity for him. He looked so frazzled. Cute in a lost-puppy-dog sort of way.

“Par for the day. I should have gone to bed after that flight from London, but I promised a relative I would attend this function for her.”

“Would you like some champagne to drink? Would that help a little?” she asked, waving at a waiter.

“A bottle of scotch would be better,” he muttered. “But thank you. Champagne will be fine. What is this party for, anyway? My stepmother told me, but I forgot.”

“Development of the arts for children.”

He narrowed his eyes at the painting she’d just bid on. “Good cause. Definitely needs development,” he said and tossed back the champagne in two gulps.

Lori frowned. “That’s not very nice. A child painted it. You shouldn’t expect perfection. Unless you’re a snob,” she added.

Chagrin crossed his face. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have come tonight. I’ve been sent to do something I don’t want to do. It’s put me in a bad mood.” He glanced at the painting again. “You like it?” he asked doubtfully.

“I like the colors. They’re bright and cheerful.”

“Where the devil would you hang it?”

Lori couldn’t help smiling at the question. “My decorator would hang it in the closet,” she admitted. “I would put it somewhere prominent. The foyer,” she fantasized.

Mr. England smiled at her, his eyes glinting. “Ah, you’re a rebel underneath it all. Kindred spirit. So am I.” He dipped his hand. “Geoffrey Taylor. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

What lovely manners, she thought and shook his hand. “My pleasure. I’m Lori Jean-”

“Lori Jean!” a feminine voice shrieked, interrupting her. Looking over her shoulder, Lori saw a blur of her friend Chloe, dressed in a garish combination of chartreuse and orange, just before Chloe enveloped her in a huge embrace. “I’m so glad you came. What do you think? Is it fabulous? Do you think I’ll raise any money?”

Lori smiled at Chloe’s enthusiasm. Chloe was one of the few people with whom Lori felt totally comfortable. She wore her motives and her heart on her sleeve and didn’t fit in with the die-hard society types. Everyone except Lori had been surprised when a leading heart surgeon had swept her off her feet.

“You’ve done a beautiful job, and I know you’re going to raise money, because I already see three pictures I’m bidding on.”

“Oh, perfect! Let me get you some more champagne so you’ll pay exorbitant prices and drive the demand through the roof.”

Lori laughed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Geoffrey watching her curiously. “Oh, excuse me. I should have introduced you. Chloe Braunstein is the hostess of this lovely party. This is Geoffrey-I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your last name.”

“Taylor, Geoffrey Taylor. I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Braunstein. My stepmother, Charlene, asked me to attend on her behalf.”

Chloe’s eyes widened. “You’re the duke! Or the duke’s son,” she said, waving her hand. “I’m not sure how all that works. Love the accent. My stepmother is friends with Charlene. When she told us you would attend, we were all excited. Please have some more champagne. Bid astronomical amounts on a drawing or two.” She waved her hand toward a waiter. “More champagne here. Do you mind if I steal him away for a few minutes?” she asked Lori. “Alison Crandall will have a cow when she learns I have a duke at my event. She’s such a snob.” She turned back to Geoffrey. “You don’t mind if I briefly exploit your title, do you?”

He looked momentarily speechless, then shot Lori an uncertain look.

“You did say you were a rebel at heart,” Lori reminded him.

“So I did.”

“And it’s for a good cause,” Chloe said.

He gave a short nod. “In that case, I’m at your service.”

Lori snickered as Chloe ushered Geoffrey away. Poor thing, she thought. He would become the prize steer of the evening. Taking another sip of her champagne, she meandered around the room, enjoying the children’s art. She placed bids on three pieces that grabbed her and was writing a bid for another when a large male hand closed over hers.

Lori’s heart stopped. Oh, no, not him. She cringed, closing her eyes, wishing she were anywhere but here. Wishing Jackson hadn’t found her.

“I thought we agreed you were going to rein in your spending until you take care of your inheritance.”

Lori took a deep breath, inhaling his masculine scent, and wiggled her fingers as a broad hint for him to let go of her. “My spending is relatively reined,” she said. “I haven’t bid on every piece of art I’ve seen.”

“Four,” he said. “And you offered six figures for one of them. You should change your bid.”

Horrified, Lori turned, noting that he wore yet another dark jacket that didn’t fit him properly. “Absolutely not. That would be like welshing. I couldn’t do that to Chloe. Besides, it’s for a good cause.”

“Welshing?” he echoed, lifting that dark fussy eyebrow at her again. “What about your agreement to meet with me tonight to review your candidates? What do you call your failure to show up for that?”

Lori barely resisted the urge to squirm beneath his penetrating gaze. “I forgot about a previous engagement,” she said, trying to effect an air of importance and suspecting she wasn’t succeeding.

“Spending money you don’t have yet,” he said.

Her discomfort rising a mile a minute, she lowered her voice and stepped closer. “People are starting to stare. Could we conduct this conversation somewhere else?”

He ground his teeth. “Fine,” he said and grabbed her arm. “I’ll find a place.”

Lori raced to keep up with his long stride as he led her out of the main room and down a hallway. He opened a door and pulled her inside a utility closet. Flicking on a switch, he closed the door. “Is this private enough for you?”