Gilding Lillian Read online

  “Have you been waiting long?”

  “What?” Fascinated by her burlesque technique, the mundane question did not register at first. “No, not very long.”

  “You should have come inside.”

  “I didn’t feel it was right since I’d refused yesterday.”

  She turned to him, searching his face intently.

  “You wish to see him?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does,” she insisted, slapping her gloves on top of her felt wool bag. “Do you?”

  “It’s too late now.”

  “No. It is not.”

  Before he could do anything to stop her, she opened the door on her side of the car and exited. He followed, jogging to catch up to her and bringing her to a halt with a light touch to the small of her back.

  “Wait!”

  “No, we must hurry for you to see him. Come.”

  She took him by the hand, the weaving of her fingers with his an intimate, though strangely natural, act. He was towed behind her as she strode through the funeral home.

  “Just a moment!” she called out as they entered a room where four men were preparing Leonard’s casket to transport it to the waiting hearse. “Please, we need one more moment.”

  One man broke away from the group, his arms opening wide as he approached. Griffin recognized him as the man who had spoken with her earlier.

  “Lillian? Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, David. Let me introduce Leonard’s son, this is Mr. Griffin Bennett.”

  “Mr. Bennett,” he repeated taking Griffin’s hand in a firm grip. “David Briar. My condolences. Is there something I can do for you?”

  Before Griffin could answer, Lillian replied.

  “He’s only just arrived and would like to pay his respects.”

  “Of course.” Releasing Griffin’s hand, he turned to the three men standing around the casket doing a reasonable impression of the military’s “at ease” stance. “Gentlemen?”

  Without a word, the three turned in unison and exited the room. David led Griffin and Lillian to the side of the casket and reverentially opened the lid. After making certain it was secure, he excused himself.

  “Take your time,” Lillian said softly.

  He hadn’t realized he was still holding her hand. But when she attempted to slip her fingers from his, he tightened his grip.

  “No. Stay.”

  She looked at him for a long moment then nodded. Griffin turned from her to face the man he hadn’t seen in nearly twenty years.

  His father’s age showed in the usual ways. His hair had been reduced to a half-crown which curved around the back of his head from ear to ear. Once the same dark brown as Griffin’s, it had turned an icy white. The skin of his neck above the starched white color of his dress shirt was wrinkled and loose. His jowls sagged. He had the look of a wizened mage minus the beard and mustache.

  Leonard had always hated facial hair. He used to say he couldn’t trust a man who covered his face. Remembering, Griffin ran the tips of his fingers over the smooth shaved skin around his own mouth. The first thing he’d done after learning his father was dead was shave off the mustache and goatee he’d worn for much of his adult life. It had been some sort of instinctive and primal ritual of grief.

  He shifted his hand from his face to his father’s. Notwithstanding the excellent work of the undertaker, the ravages of disease showed themselves in the etched lines around Leonard’s mouth and eyes and the sunken nature of his cheeks.

  “Was he in a lot of pain?”

  “Yes,” Lillian confirmed without hesitation. “But it was managed.”

  Griffin looked at her. Her unflinching gaze assured him she would tell him whatever he needed to know, no matter how ugly.

  “Did he ask for me?”

  “Often.” The weight of the one word bowed his head and returned his contemplation to his father’s expressionless face. “Toward the end, more for your mother.”

  “That must have been difficult for you,” he acknowledged absently.

  “No.” Her denial was soft but sure. “He loved Helena deeply.”

  She said it without an ounce of jealousy, not even the slightest hint of annoyance. She said his mother’s name with a reverence rooted in understanding and respect.

  He turned to her, searching her face for some answers to the questions which continued to mount in his head every moment he spent with her. Who was she? What was her angle? Beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, what the hell had she been doing with a sickly, older man who intended to leave his fortune to his estranged son? And, knowing that, why had she stayed, planned the funeral, insisted Griffin have the opportunity to say goodbye? Why was she still holding his hand?

  “Who are you?”

  For several long moments, they stared at one another.

  “David,” she said beneath her breath.

  Griffin was about to correct her when he realized she was telling him they were no longer alone.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” David Briar offered from the doorway. “But I’m afraid we really must be going.”

  “Of course,” Lillian squeezed Griffin’s hand then released it before he could stop her. “Griffin?”

  She had turned her gaze to him.

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized they were a lie. He wasn’t fine. Hadn’t been fine since hearing an unfamiliar, accented voice telling him his father was dead.

  He’d left home at eighteen to escape the unbearable weight of obligation to the reputations of two venerable Bostonian families and the expectations of an increasingly overbearing father. After Helena’s death, Leonard had turned all of his attention to his only child. It had not been the kind of attention Griffin had needed or wanted. Without his mother’s tempering influence, life had become suffocating. He’d rejected his family and his home in what he had seen as an act of self-preservation.

  Standing over his father’s body, he began to understand. Time and distance had not severed the connection. It had taken death. But instead of feeling free, Griffin felt untethered, out of control and spiraling into the unknown. He hadn’t eluded anything. His responsibilities had waited patiently for his return, confident he would be drawn back because no matter how far he might run or how much he might achieve, Griffin could not escape the fact he was his father’s son.

  “Thank you, David,” Lillian addressed the funeral director pulling Griffin from his reverie.

  “Yes, thank you.” Griffin took the younger man’s hand in his own and shook it solemnly. “I appreciate it.”

  “I’m glad you were able to make it here in time to say goodbye to your father, Mr. Bennett,” David told him sincerely.

  “So am I.”

  Griffin followed Lillian out of the room and back outside to the limousine. He quick-stepped around her to open the door, offering a hand in assistance as she dipped below the doorframe and stepped up into the interior. He marveled at her ability to make the awkward maneuver seem graceful and then he got inside, pulling the door shut behind him.

  “Thank you.” He hated to disturb the reverential hush of the passenger compartment but knew his time alone with her would be limited and there were several things he needed to discuss with her. “It meant…I didn’t realize…”

  “Yes,” she supplied when he ran out of words. “No matter what happened between the two of you, he was your father. You will always be his son.”

  “Yes, I will.” He turned away from her eerily perceptive understanding to look out the window at the passing scenery. “My meeting with Nathan Wurst…”

  “Yes?” she prompted when he failed to continue.

  So much had changed since yesterday; he didn’t know where to start.

  “I have to be present to sign the paperwork,” he blurted before turning to gauge her response.

  “I’m sorry. I know it is not what you’d hoped.”

  He
noted her lack of surprise. She had known exactly what he would learn when he met with the estate attorney. He couldn’t blame her for not telling him. He wouldn’t have believed her.

  “No, it’s not, but I should have expected it. My obligations are more complicated than simply attending my father’s funeral.”

  “They are,” she agreed. “What are your plans?”

  “I’ve spoken with my partner and arranged for a leave of absence.”

  “That seems reasonable.” She nodded.

  “And I thought I’d take you up on your offer to stay at the house.”

  “As I told you, it is your house. You don’t need my invitation or approval.”

  “Actually, I do.” There was something immensely satisfying about causing her confused expression, no matter how fleeting. “I discussed disclaiming with Mr. Wurst.”

  “Disclaiming?”

  “Yes, refusing the inheritance.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would you do that?”

  “Why would I?” Her bewilderment irked him. “You’ve completely bought into my father’s delusion, haven’t you? I have friends, a business…a life. This.” He gestured with a sweep of his arm. “It’s the past.”

  “But it’s your past, your legacy. It’s meant to be protected and passed on, as your father wished—”

  “The point is,” he interrupted, disinclined to hear more of her impassioned lecture. “I can only stay in the house as your guest.”

  “You wish me to remain as well?”

  “It’s not actually a matter of wishing. If I enjoy the benefits of any part of the estate before making my decision, I could be considered legally bound to the entire bequest. Mr. Wurst assured me if I stayed in the house as your guest, I’d be protected. And I’d rather not take a chance. The short of it is if you’re there, I’ll stay.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  The solemn set of her mouth had no effect on its lushness or his ever-present desire to taste it. Mentally shaking himself, he took a deep breath and let it out through his lips in a steady stream.

  “Would your reluctance have anything to do with my behavior yesterday?” He cleared his throat, unexpected tension making it difficult for him to swallow. “Because I realize I should have apologized…I don’t know…I…”

  She lifted her hand as if warding off his words. The wide sleeve of her coat slipped down her arm, revealing a thin blue vein traversing the translucent skin of the underside of her wrist. It pulsed hypnotically. In a trance, he reached out, putting his fingertips to the pulsating flesh.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered, her dress rustling in the quiet as she shifted in her seat.

  “I don’t know.”

  He found it difficult to tear his gaze away from the place where he touched her, but when he did he saw the gold flecks of her eyes had begun their telltale transformation. He slanted toward her as if drawn by her gravity.

  “No!”

  She snatched her arm away, her hands coming together in her lap, and turned to gaze out the car window.

  Her certain denial broke the connection. He let his hand fall to the seat between them, finding the sensual hillock of her discarded gloves with his fingers. He explored their leather folds while considering her profile. What the hell was wrong with him? She hadn’t done anything in the least bit provocative. He couldn’t blame her if she refused to speak to him, never mind help him. Why would she?

  “These incidents must cease.” She considered him over her shoulder.

  “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “There is too much at stake here. I won’t have the issues at hand confused by something as trivial as an inconvenient sexual attraction.”

  “Trivial,” he parroted, unable to reconcile the word with the intensity of his desire. “You have my word.”

  Pleased with the conviction in his voice, he leveled his most sincere gaze at her. She stared back, once again giving him the sense of taking his measure.

  “Fine,” she granted after a weighty pause. “After the services, we will go to your hotel and get your things.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She faced him squarely, the determination in her eyes awesome to behold.

  “You will stay with me at the house while you are making your decision. I am certain it is what your father would have wanted. Don’t you agree?”

  Chapter 4

  “So he’s there now?” Dylan Drumlin asked Lillian as he reached around her to close his office door.

  His hand at the small of her back, he urged her toward the chairs in front of his desk.

  “He is, darling.”

  She turned to look at him when she realized he no longer walked beside her.

  “Darling? You haven’t called me that in a very long time. What’s going on, Lillian?”

  Shaken, she clasped and unclasped her hands. His pointed question agitated her thoughts into an indecipherable whirl.

  “Egli sta minacciando…ah, forse si tratta di una manipolazione, ma non posso correre il rischio…ho fatto promesse di Leonard…ma stare…ci si sente male, pericoloso…Che altro posso fare?” She held her hands out to him imploringly.

  “Actually.” He moved close, taking her hands in his and peering down at her with an indulgent grin. “I didn’t understand most of that because my Italian is pretty rusty.”

  She gasped. “I’m so sorry. The situation is…unsettling. I forgot myself.”

  “It’s all right.” He guided her forward, settling her into the leather of a wingback chair before releasing her to perch on the edge of his desk, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m guessing we’re going to need some sustenance. Would you care for anything in particular?”

  “An herbal tea would be lovely, Dylan. Thank you.”

  “Ah, back to Dylan, are we?” He leaned back to press the silver bar on the sleek black phone system behind his hip before she could comment. “Adam?”

  “Mr. Drumlin.”

  “We’re going to need refreshments in here. The usual for me and an herbal tea.”

  “Of course. Anything in particular on the tea?”

  “Something…” He winked at her. “Soothing would be best, I think. Thank you, Adam.”

  He released the intercom button and hunched forward, hooking the edge of the desk with his fingers.

  “So, let’s try this again. Shall we? What’s happened?”

  She considered him from beneath half-lowered lids, weighing her response. She’d come to him precisely to have this conversation, but struggled with disclosing the details of, not only her personal concerns, but Griffin’s as well.

  “Whatever we discuss is confidential, no?”

  Dylan quirked his brow. “As always.”

  “I know you would not betray my confidence,” she assured him. “But…”

  “The young Mr. Bennett is involved as well?”

  “Yes.”

  “No need to worry, Lillian. As your lawyer, whatever you say to me stays in this room.”

  She nodded thoughtfully as she slipped her purse off her shoulder and settled it on her lap.

  “He is considering disclaiming his inheritance.”

  Dylan whistled long and low. “You’ve got to admire his tenacity. I don’t think my principles would stand a chance against the Bennett family fortune.” He dropped his head, appearing to consider the shine on his wingtips. “Nathan called me into their meeting on Friday, to clarify the prenup.” He fixed her with a keen stare. “Griffin seemed confounded by the terms.”

  “Just as you were, when you drafted the document.” She smiled at him.

  “True. But it was more than that. He seemed angry to me.”

  “Perhaps because he realized he would have to deal with me for longer than he intended.”

  “Perhaps.” Dylan shrugged. “But it didn’t come off that way to me.”

  “Believe me, Griffin is most anxious to put the matter of his inheritance, and what he considers his past, as far beh
ind him as fast as possible.”

  “Then, I’ve got to ask. Why all the angst and speaking in foreign tongues?” His lopsided grin appeared strained. “You’ll have an unexpected house guest for a few weeks, and then you can get on with your life.”

  There was a discrete knock at the door, forestalling their conversation. Adam entered the room carrying a tray laden with a selection of pastries, two mugs, a teapot, and a coffee press as well as the necessary accoutrements.

  Dylan got up and met his assistant halfway. “Thanks, Adam. I’ve got it from here.”

  The young man handed over the tray without question and, with a nod of acknowledgment in Lillian’s direction, left the room as discretely as he’d entered.

  She watched Dylan’s progress as he moved to the couch against the sidewall. Setting the tray on the coffee table, he motioned for her to join him. Tucking her bag beneath an arm, she rose. As she crossed the room, he tipped the small silver pot over a thick-handled porcelain mug.

  She accepted the cup from him and then sat in one of the two facing club chairs, wedging her purse between her hip and the side of the chair. After filling his cup with coffee, he relaxed into the leather sofa, an arm stretched over its back cushions, his ankle propped on the opposite knee.

  “So?” he prompted as the silence lengthened between them.

  “There is an attraction.”

  To his credit, he mastered his shock quickly. It flittered across his features before smoothing into calm interest. “I can see how that might be awkward.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it possible his interest is part of an agenda?”

  “I’m not sure I understand you.”

  “Pardon my frankness, but it would be one hell of a ‘fuck you’ to sleep with his father’s widow and then reject the inheritance.”

  Lillian smiled discretely behind the rim of her steaming mug.

  “You misunderstand.” She took a cautious sip. “There is a mutual attraction.”