The Mogul's Maybe Marriage (17 page)

His arch tone was enough to bring a blush to her cheeks. Good. The color brought out the sparkle in her eyes. “Like what?” she asked, faking a tone of perfect innocence. She knew exactly what she was doing to him. She laughed as he shifted beside her, adjusting his suddenly uncomfortable summer-weight trousers.

God, she was beautiful tonight. The forest-green of her dress set off her eyes, complemented the jet-black hair that she wore down, perfectly straight, a challenge to all those women who thought that primping and preening would make them more attractive. Her body was responding to the baby's needs; every curve that had initially sparked his attention was more voluptuous than ever.

He considered ordering the driver to take a detour. After all, what would his grandmother do if they were late? She couldn't very well interrogate him in public, could she?

Ethan shook his head. Grandmother could do exactly that. And she would, too.

No. Better to go to the party. Hear a few short speeches in honor of himself and the woman who was the mother of his child. Eat some incredibly overpriced appetizers. Drink some of the world's finest alcohol. And then come home, to see what he could do about raising another smile on Sloane's lips.

Ethan's obvious appreciation of her appearance made Sloane a little less apprehensive as the car pulled into the sweeping circular driveway of the Waverly condominium. A doorman helped her out of the backseat as Ethan gave brisk instructions to the driver.

As they stood in the elevator, Ethan took her hand, twining his fingers with hers. He squeezed once, meeting her eyes in the mirrored door, and she smiled back at
him, cursing herself for feeling nervous about a simple party.

Every building in Washington was subject to a height restriction. There were only twelve stories to travel in the privacy of the elevator car. All too soon, the door opened. All too soon, they were ushered into a stunning apartment. All too soon, Sloane was swept up in the chaos of a party in full swing.

It seemed as if a dozen men waited to shake Ethan's hand, to offer him their hearty congratulations. She pasted a smile on her lips as he was pulled away from her. Before she could begin the hard work of finding someone to chat with, Margaret glided across the room.

The older woman wore a dramatic pink suit with wide lapels and a cinched waist. Sloane couldn't imagine anyone else wearing the outfit. She also couldn't imagine anyone questioning Margaret's choice—not with the triple strand of pearls that hung halfway down her chest, an authoritative reminder of Margaret's wealth.

Sloane was surprised that Margaret folded her into an embrace. She could smell baby powder on the older woman, along with just a hint of lilac. Margaret spoke first. “You look lovely this evening, dear.”

“Thank you,” Sloane said, a little surprised by the warmth of the greeting. “It's so kind of you to throw a party in our honor.”

“You're feeling well?” Margaret glanced at Sloane's waist, her smile indulgent.

“Very well, thank you.”

Margaret switched her attention to Sloane's face. The older woman's gaze was intense, as if she were suddenly communicating in some secret language. “I want you to know how much I appreciate what you've done for Ethan. He's a changed man since he met you.”

“Oh, I don't think—”

“I do,” Margaret said firmly. “I can see it in his face. In the way he walks down the hallway at work. He's more relaxed, more
confident
than I've ever seen him before.”

Sloane could hardly imagine Ethan being any thing other than confident. Nevertheless, grand mothers viewed their grandsons through different lenses than did the rest of the world. And Sloane certainly wasn't going to argue with her hostess.

“Oh, bother,” Margaret said. “The senator is waving me over. I really should be a proper hostess.”

“Please,” Sloane said. “Don't let me keep you.” She watched, a little awestruck, as Margaret floated across the room to shake hands with one of the most influential men in Washington.

Only then did Sloane remember that she hadn't mentioned Lionel Hampton, hadn't thanked Margaret for her donation to AFAA. She gritted her teeth in exasperation. Well, there'd be another opportunity at some point in the evening.

Sloane looked around the room. This was a different world, far removed from the foster homes and uncertainty she'd known as a child. How could anyone growing up in this
not
be confident? Sloane saw Ethan standing near the grand piano, surrounded by a circle of dark-suited men. She recognized the junior senator from New York, and a Supreme Court justice, both offering their hearty congratulations.

“So much power, all in one living room.”

Sloane started at the voice. She turned around to see Zach, a friendly smile brightening the lawyer's face. He held a highball glass, filled with some amber liquid and ice. His suit looked a little rumpled, and there was
a spot on his tie. Sloane caught herself liking the easygoing man more than ever. She said, “Do you ever feel like you're caught up in a masquerade, and any minute now someone is going to rip off your mask?”

“Every day,” Zach said, taking a sip from the glass in his hand. “Every single day.”

“But you've been coming to this sort of thing for years! Don't you get used to it?”

Zach shrugged. “In a way. Ethan used to invite me when we were kids. Margaret always let him have one friend along, so that he wouldn't get
too
lonely among all the grown-ups.”

“From what I hear, Margaret was probably hoping that your good behavior would rub off on him.”

“It didn't work out that way. I just learned bigger and better ways to get into trouble.”

Sloane answered dryly, “I can see how that would happen.”

Zach laughed at her tone. “You can see why Margaret worked so hard to get Ethan to settle down. She just wanted to host one single cocktail party where he didn't cause a scandal. After all those years, I could hardly believe it, when she finally found the magic key.”

“Magic key?”

Zach drank again. “You know, the whole ultimatum thing.” He curled his fingers into quotation marks, as if he were reciting something Margaret had said. “A wedding by her birthday, or she was stepping down from the Board and giving everything to AFAA. I never thought it would work, but she proved me wrong. It made all those weeks of writing the stock transfer agreement worth it.”

Margaret's birthday.

Everything to AFAA.

No wonder Ethan had pushed for a wedding before the baby was born.

Sloane felt the blood rush from her face. She made some halfhearted excuse to Zach, something that might actually have sounded like a joke, and then she stumbled off to the edge of the room. She needed to sit down. Needed to catch her breath. Needed to make sense out of the nightmare words Zach had just cast off so blithely.

Before Sloane could escape, though, Margaret was at the front of the room, summoning her guests to silence. Ethan broke away from his coterie of friends, crossing to Sloane with an easy smile. His fingers were light on her elbow as he said, “Time to sing for our supper.”

Ethan was astonished at how pale Sloane had become. Maybe he'd been wrong to bring her here, wrong to let Grandmother plan this ridiculous party. It was so tiring to be on display, to meet and greet business acquaintances and friends. He should have put his foot down. He should have insisted that they forget about the party, about letting Margaret show them off to everyone.

Too late now.

He settled one hand across the small of Sloane's back. She shied away from him, though, as if she were burned by his touch. As if she resented his dragging her here. He scowled toward his grandmother, annoyed to see that she had finally succeeded in breaking through the cocktail party chatter. All eyes were on Margaret Hartwell.

And her eyes were on him. On him and Sloane. He leaned close and whispered, “Are you all right?”

For answer, Sloane merely pulled her arm away from him. She followed him to the front of the room, though, and he had to be content with standing next to her, fight
ing the urge to give her his arm to lean on, to make their excuses and get them out of the damned room altogether.

Apparently unaware of Sloane's distress, his grandmother said, “Friends! I thank you all for joining me this evening, to celebrate an event I never thought I'd live to see.”

Ethan heard the good-natured laughter of the guests, heightened by the drinks they'd already enjoyed. His grandmother went on, spinning out a story about how Ethan had been a wild little boy, how he had always refused to mind her, how he had run away and hidden from her in the National Museum of Natural History. She made people laugh, recounting Ethan's first experience in the Hartwell Genetics boardroom, when he had refused to give in to a strident board member, matching age and money with his own unique brand of stubbornness.

Grandmother's voice grew suspiciously thick, though, as she lifted her glass in the air. “I see that my grandson was only conditioning me to accept his headstrong ways, preparing me to rejoice in the finest decision of his adult life. My darling Ethan has chosen to bring Sloane Davenport into our family. Ethan, Sloane, may you have many joyful years together!”

“Hear, hear!” cried the guests, and Ethan inclined his head as dozens of glasses were raised in his—in
their
—honor.

Knowing what was expected of him, he leaned down to kiss his grandmother's cheek, murmuring, “Thank you.”

Her eyes sparkled as she settled a dry hand along his jaw. Her lips trembled with a surprising show of emotion. He had to admit, though, that she looked happier
than she had in years. Happier, and healthier—as if she could live another eighty years.

Ethan smiled at the crowd as he slipped his arm around Sloane's waist. She felt stiff as a board next to him. Poor thing. She hadn't been in this spotlight before, hadn't been the center of attention for dozens of well-wishers. He wished that he could say something private to her, that he could whisk her away. Just a few more moments, though, a few more polite words. Then they would be done with the formal part of the evening. He'd be able to get them out of the room in half an hour, tops.

He cleared this throat before addressing the waiting guests. “I suspect that my grandmother has been saving up a lifetime of stories, waiting to bring them out when my daughter is born, to teach her all the ways that she can make my life miserable. Or I should say,
our
lives miserable. Sloane, I suppose I'm lucky that you didn't hear any of these tales before you foolishly agreed to marry me. It's too late now! No changing your mind.”

Sloane heard the crowd's appreciative chuckles. She felt Ethan's right hand fold over hers. She saw him raise his glass. She heard him say, “I ask each of you to drink to my continued good fortune. May I always be as lucky as I was the day that Sloane Davenport agreed to be my wife.”

Sloane looked down at their joined hands. She knew that the guests would think that she was being shy, demure. She suspected that even Ethan would think that she was simply overcome with nerves at being the center of this spectacle. As their daughter delivered a strong kick, though, Sloane realized that she was counting the seconds until she could escape.

Margaret's birthday. Stock transfer agreement.

Zach's words kept pounding through her brain. Her engagement, her pending marriage, Ethan saying that he loved her—it was all one grand charade. It was all a business deal. Her hand in marriage. Margaret's stock for Hartwell Genetics. AFAA left out in the cold.

Not entirely in the cold. The foundation would get the consolation prize of Margaret's grand gift. The check that the old woman had written to cover Sloane's Hope Project.

This must be the way that big money did things. I'll scratch your back; you scratch mine. You marry my grandson; I'll give you back your job.

Sloane's head was reeling. With the speeches done, guests surged around them, offering congratulations to Ethan, best wishes to her. Sloane responded with a lifetime of learned politeness, smiling absently, making all the expected replies. The crowd eased between her and Ethan, and Sloane was relieved to have some space, to get away from the complete
awareness
that she felt whenever he stood next to her.

Ethan grimaced as he finished shaking hands with a congressman from South Carolina. He'd somehow agreed to meet the man for breakfast the following week, to discuss the possibility of opening a manufacturing plant just outside of Charleston.

By the time Ethan managed to shrug off the politician, he realized that Sloane was halfway across the room. She was steadier on her feet now, but his heart twisted in his chest as he saw just how vulnerable she looked. Her graceful shoulders seemed so inadequate to the task of navigating the crowd…?.

He took two steps to follow her, ready to spirit her away to the Town Car and home and a restorative dinner of scrambled eggs and toast, alone in the privacy of
their kitchen. Before he could follow through, though, he heard his grandmother's voice, piercing the tangle of party conversation. “Ethan, darling. There's someone I want you to meet.”

He shot one more look toward Sloane's disappearing back. She must be heading down the hallway, toward Grandmother's living quarters. Sloane could put her feet up there, take a break from the chaos of the party. He'd rescue her soon enough.

He remembered to curve his lips into a smile before he turned back to the newest business connection his grandmother was presenting.

Sloane reached the elevator, relieved that her escape had gone undetected. She'd been prepared with an excuse for anyone who stopped her—she just needed to lie down for a few minutes, put her feet up in one of Margaret's grand guest rooms. No one had noticed when Sloane left the living room, though. No one cared. The wheels of big business just kept on turning.