Sweet Revenge

“Your long shots must pay off.”
    “Usually.” With her he was counting on it. “What do you do when you’re not walking in London?”
    “I walk someplace else, shop someplace else. When one city becomes tedious, there’s always another.”
    He might have believed it if he hadn’t seen those flickers of passion in her eyes. This was no bored former debutante with too much money and too much time. “Are you going back to New York when you’re done with London?”
    “I haven’t decided.” How dreary life would be, she thought, if she lived as she pretended. “I thought I might try somewhere hot for the holidays.”
    There was a joke here, he thought. It was just behind her eyes, just edging the tone of her voice. Philip wondered if he’d find it amusing when he heard the punch line.
    “Jaquir is hot.”
    It wasn’t a joke he saw in her eyes now, but the passion, swift, vital, and quickly concealed. “Yes.” Her voice was flat and disinterested. “But I prefer the tropics to the desert.”
    He knew he could prod, and had decided to when the phone interrupted him. “Sorry,” he said, then lifted the receiver. “Chamberlain.” There was only the briefest sigh. “Hello, Mum.”
    Adrianne lifted a brow. If it hadn’t been for the slightly sheepish expression in the word, she wouldn’t have believed he had a mother, much less one who would call him on his car phone. Amused, she topped off his glass, then her own.
    “No, I haven’t forgotten. It’s on for tomorrow. Anything at all, I’m sure you’ll look wonderful. Of course I’m not annoyed. On my way to dinner.” He glanced at Adrianne. “Yes, I do. No, you haven’t. Mum …” The sigh came again. “I really don’t think it’s—yes, of course.” He lowered the receiver to his knee. “My mother. She’d like to say hello to you.”
    “Oh.” Nonplussed, Adrianne stared at the phone.
    “She’s harmless.”
    Feeling foolish, she took the receiver. “Hello.”
    “Hello, dearie. That’s a lovely car, isn’t it?”
    The voice had none of Philip’s smoothness, and the accent veered toward cockney. Adrianne automatically glanced around the Rolls and smiled. “Yes, it is.”
    “Always makes me feel like a queen. What’s your name, dear?”
    “Adrianne, Adrianne Spring.” She didn’t notice that she’d dropped her title and used her mother’s maiden name as she did with those she felt comfortable with. But Philip did.
    “Pretty name. You have a lovely time now He’s a good boy, my Phil. Handsome, too, isn’t he?”
    Eyes bright with humor, Adrianne grinned at Philip. It was the first time the full warmth of her was offered to him. “Yes, he is. Very.”
    “Don’t let him charm you too quick, dearie. He can be a rogue.”
    “Really?” Adrianne eyed Philip over the rim of her glass. “I’ll remember that. It was nice talking to you, Mrs. Chamberlain.”
    “You just call me Mary. Everyone does. Have Phil bring you by anytime. We’ll have some tea and a nice chat.”
    “Thank you. Good night.” Still grinning, she handed the phone back to Philip.
    “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mum. No, she’s not pretty. Her eyes are crossed, she has a harelip, and warts. Go watch the telly. I love you too.” He hung up, then took a long sip of wine. “Sorry.”
    “Don’t be.” The phone call had changed her feelings for him. It would be difficult for her to be cool to a man who had both love and affection for his mother. “She sounds delightful.”
    “She is. She’s the love of my life.”
    She paused a moment, studying. “I believe you mean it.”
    “I do.”
    “And your father? Is he as delightful?”
    “I wouldn’t know.”
    If she understood anything, it was the need to draw a shade over private family business. “Why did you tell her my eyes were crossed?”
    With a laugh he took her hand and brought it to his lips. “For your own good, Adrianne.” His lips lingered there while his gaze held hers. “She’s desperate for a daughter-in-law.”
    “I see.”
    “And grandchildren.”
    “I see,” she repeated, and drew her hand away.
    The inn was all he had promised. But then, she’d chosen it for Madeline because it was quiet, out of the way, and unabashedly romantic. The manager she’d met just that afternoon greeted her with a bow and not a flicker of recognition.
    There was a huge, ox-roasting fireplace where logs as thick as a man’s trunk blazed behind a gilt-edged screen. They kept up a hot, humming