“You’d be quite willing to let me seduce you, I suppose.”

“Come on, Janey. If that kiss wasn’t an invitation—”

“I was not kissing you!” Her voice was fierce and Maddy jerked in surprise and wailed. Janey scooped the baby up into her arms, and Maddy relaxed again, her face nestled against Janey’s breast.

“I assure you,” Webb said cheerfully, “I do know a kiss when I—”

“I want you to understand I’m not interested in you personally. My only goal is the money you promised me!”

“Want to place a little bet? That it won’t be the last suggestive kiss you’ll ever give me?”

Welcome to DADDY BOOM!

Just look who’s holding the baby now! Following on from our highly popular BABY BOOM series, Harlequin Romance® is proud to bring you DADDY BOOM, full of babies, bachelors and happy-ever-afters. Meet irresistible heroes who are about to discover that there’s a first time for everything—even fatherhood!

Fifth in our series is The Tycoon’s Baby by Leigh Michaels.

Look out for Outback Wife and Mother by Barbara Hannay.

Who says bachelors and babies don’t mix?

The Tycoon’s Baby

Leigh Michaels

DADDY BOOM

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

THE ROOM RANG with the sound of a toddler’s giggles. Webb raised himself up on one elbow and leaned over the pajama-clad child who was sprawled on the Oriental rug in front of the fireplace. He growled gently as he threatened once more to gobble her tummy, and she shrieked with delight and yanked his hair.

Nearby, a white-uniformed woman shifted to the edge of her chair and said, “Mr. Copeland, it’s Madeline’s bedtime.”

Who cares? Webb wanted to say. I don’t, and Madeline certainly doesn’t. “I’ve only seen my little girl for twenty minutes all day, Mrs. Wilson. Can’t her bedtime be put off for a while?”

The nurse’s expression was stern. “I’d say you’ve already managed that. You’ve got her so agitated it’ll take an hour just to get her settled.”

Webb sighed and made a vow to himself that tomorrow he would get out of the office on time, no matter what. “All right.” He bent over the toddler again. “Maddy, playtime’s over. Give me a kiss before you go up to bed.”

Madeline’s enormous brown eyes—her mother’s eyes—pleaded silently, but Webb gathered her close and stood up. He rubbed his cheek against her soft dark hair and kissed her rosy cheek, then handed her over to the nurse and watched the pair of them cross the marble-tiled foyer and climb the winding stairs.

The tiny woman perched on a low rocking chair at one side of the fireplace didn’t look up from the mass of rose-colored yarn in her lap. The flicker of the flames cast long shadows, which emphasized the deep lines etched in her face. “I don’t know why you put up with that woman, Webb.”

“Because she’s the best baby nurse in Cook County.”

Camilla Copeland sniffed. “Says who?”

“She was highly recommended.”

“She’s rigid.”

“Gran, you can’t have it both ways. I’ve heard you say yourself that children need schedules.”

“I said they need security and stability. That does not mean I’m in favor of regimentation.”

Webb buttoned the collar of his pin-striped shirt and settled his tie back into place. “Gran, please don’t start this again.” But he might as well have tried to stop a battleship.

“Madeline’s only fifteen months old. Don’t you think it’s a bit early for her to be living a boarding school life-style, all bells and whistles and rules?” Camilla Copeland looked straight at her grandson and added firmly, “The child needs a mother.”

Webb dropped into a chair. He might as well make himself as comfortable as possible. They’d had this discussion a dozen times at least, and he knew better than to think he could cut it short now, because, once launched, Camilla was inexorable.

Her voice softened. “I know it affected you horribly, when Sibyl...went—”

“You have no idea, Gran.”

“But it’s been more than a year since she died, and it’s time for you to get on with your life.”

“I am getting on with my life. What I don’t plan to do is get married again—ever.”

“Oh, my dear.” Camilla’s voice was soft. “I know that you’ve been stunned—almost in a daze—ever since the accident. But you mustn’t assume that because you haven’t felt any interest in women in this past year that you never will. Those...urges...aren’t gone, Webb.”

Despite his annoyance with her, Webb had to bite back a laugh. Dear old Gran, with her Victorian way of putting things! She’d even turned just a little pink, bless her heart. Or was that simply the firelight reflecting off the half-finished sweater in her lap?

Camilla turned her knitting and started another row. “Someday, Webb, I promise you’ll be eager to have a woman in your life again.”

Webb wondered what she’d say if he pointed out that he’d only ruled out marriage, not the possibility of another woman in his life.

“And it’ll be easier for Madeline to accept a stepmother now than it will be later.” Camilla nodded firmly, as if she’d nailed her point and was assured there could be no argument.

Webb blinked in surprise. He’d thought he could practically recite this entire conversation from beginning to end with all its variations, but that last line had been a completely new twist. He felt like a skier who’d wandered off the marked trail and found himself speeding down the side of an entirely different mountain.

“Now wait a minute,” he said. “Because you’re so certain that someday I’ll decide to get married again, you think I should leap into it right now—whether I’m ready or not—because Maddy’s the right age to bond with a stepmother?”

“I didn’t say you should leap,” Camilla said. “I said you shouldn’t write off the possibility.”

Webb shook his head. “No, you weren’t nearly that flexible, Gran. So let’s assume I take your advice and get married, against my better judgment, purely so Maddy can have a stepmother—”

“I never indicated that you should consider only what’s best for Madeline. I expect you’d have a few criteria of your own.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Webb said with mock humility. “I’m grateful to have a say in this.”

“Don’t be impudent, Webb.” Camilla pushed her knitting needles deep into the mass of pink yarn. “There’s the bell, and we won’t be able to finish this discussion over dinner.”

Because the butler would hear, Webb thought. Thank heaven for small blessings.

“But I want your promise that you’ll think it over.”

Webb offered his arm. “I assure you, Gran,” he said gravely, “that I’ll give the idea all the consideration it deserves.”

Camilla’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t leap on the irony in his voice. “And we’ll talk about this again.”

That, Webb thought, is precisely what I’m afraid of.

* * *

AS THE CLOCK neared three, the mood of the students in the lecture hall shifted from attentive to restless. Papers shuffled, notebooks closed, books scraped as they were loaded into backpacks. Finally, in the middle of a sentence, the professor seemed to notice the time. “Test next Monday,” he reminded, “after the Thanksgiving break.” The rush to the door began.

Janey Griffin stayed in her seat at the back corner of the room, finishing up her notes and waiting for the traffic jam to clear. In a couple of minutes, she’d be able to walk straight through the building without having to dodge the crowds. Besides, she needed to finish writing down the professor’s last line of logic before she left the room, because she’d never be able to reconstruct it tonight after work.

Outside the classroom, a petite blonde was waiting for her, leaning against the wall with her books folded in her arms. She fell into step beside Janey. “Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”

Janey shook her head. “I’m due at work in an hour. You can walk over to the apartment with me if you like, and talk while I change clothes. What is it, Ellen? Boyfriend problems again?”

“Dennis is being a jerk.” Ellen sounded almost absentminded. “But that’s nothing new. I can’t believe you’ve still got this job.”

“Why? I’m a good worker. In another month, I’ll be finished with my probation, and I’ll even get a raise—”

“And another noisy, greasy, disgusting machine to run.”

“Somebody has to make drive shafts, honey, or your little red car would be a paperweight instead of transportation.” Janey dodged traffic to cross the street, which separated the campus from a residential area.

Ellen broke into a run to catch up. “But why does it have to be you? If you soak your hands for a year, you’ll never get all the grease out of your skin. I can’t believe you haven’t quit by now.”

“It’s good money, and the hours are compatible with the classes I need to take. Besides, what would I do instead? Wait tables? Sorry, dear, but I’d rather smell of machine oil than french-fry grease. To say nothing of dealing with obnoxious customers...”

Which wouldn’t be any easier than dealing with the jerks on the manufacturing line, she reminded herself.

Ellen seemed to have read her mind. “Are the men still harassing you?”

“Now and then,” Janey admitted. She pulled out her keys as she ducked down the stairs beside a run-down old house to her apartment in the basement.

“What does that mean? Is it a constant hassle, or do they let you take breaks from it once in a while?” Ellen shook her head. “And you still haven’t reported them?”

“What good would it do? I’d just get myself labeled a troublemaker, which is hardly what I want before I’m even through my trial employment period. The things they do are never so clearly abusive that it’s obvious, you know, or the supervisors would have seen it already.”

“So go over their heads.”

“Oh, right. I’ll just march into Webb Copeland’s office and announce that he has a bunch of sexist redneck jerks working on the manufacturing line. And I’m sure he’ll promote me to corporate vice president and put me in charge of sensitivity training.”

She pushed the door open. The apartment looked worse than usual, with her roommate’s clothes and belongings strewn across the living-room furniture.

Ellen looked around. “Has Kasey been hosting police raids? It looks like someone’s been executing a search warrant in here.”

Janey smiled. “Actually it’s an improvement over the upholstery. Kasey has better taste in clothes than the landlord does in furniture.”

Ellen’s face was tight. “You have a horrible job, you study the most incredible hours, you live in a rat hole...”

“Ellen, please—”

“I just hate it that you have to work so hard for this!” Tears gleamed in Ellen’s eyes, and her fists clenched.

Janey said lightly, “Oh, it’s good for my soul to work hard. Besides, it’s what I get for not starting college on time. Since I had a job those few years in between and I actually made a little money, I can’t get any real financial help now.” She unearthed a box of tissues buried under a pile of Kasey’s sweaters and handed it to Ellen.

Absently Ellen pulled a tissue from the box. “Maybe my father could loan you some money.”

“Don’t you dare ask him,” Janey ordered. “Even if he had the spare cash, it wouldn’t be fair to put him on the spot. Anyway, I won’t ask anybody to loan me money unless I can come up with something to offer as security—and that’s about as likely as being struck by lightning. Look, Ellen, I know you only bring it up because you care. But being reminded of my circumstances doesn’t change them, it just encourages me to feel sorry for myself.”

Ellen sniffed and blew her nose. “I have never known you to feel sorry for yourself.”

Janey smiled. “I’m glad to find out it doesn’t show.” She went into her tiny bedroom to change into the faded jeans and shabby flannel shirt she wore to work.

She wiped off her makeup, since in the factory’s heat it would slide off her face anyway, and pulled her hair into a tight braid, which would keep it out of reach of the machines she’d be running—and tried to put what Ellen had said out of her mind.

It wasn’t as if anyone was holding a gun to her head, forcing her to live this way, Janey reminded herself. She’d chosen to sacrifice her living standard and to work at a job she didn’t like because her long-term goals were more important.

In another couple of years, she’d be far enough along in her education to qualify for internships in her field, and she’d be able to build experience and develop contacts that would help in her eventual search for a full-time job. But most internships didn’t pay, and even if she was lucky enough to land one of the few that did, she couldn’t make enough money to support herself and finish her last year of school, too.

So in the meantime she needed to put away all the money she could—and that meant for the next two years she’d be working the swing shift at Copeland Products.

Two more years of running noisy, messy machines, carving and bending solid metal into vehicle parts. Two more years of fellow employees who were unused to working side by side with women on the production line, men who vented their discomfort in crude remarks. Two more years of coming home after midnight exhausted and filthy, to be greeted by a stack of homework and an alarm clock already ticking ominously toward a too-early morning.

Two more years. It sounded like eternity.

Janey took a deep breath and forced herself to smile. She’d take it one day at a time, and she’d pull through...because she had to.

* * *

THE COPELAND PRODUCTS factory was brilliantly lit and incredibly noisy, for even during the change of shifts the machines kept running. As Janey crossed the factory floor to check in with her supervisor, her safety goggles were still dangling on their strap around her neck, but she made sure her electronic earmuffs were already in place. The earmuffs were less than comfortable, but the up-to-date engineering muted the roar of the machinery while allowing the human voice to come through loud and strong. Janey wasn’t so sure that was really a technological advance; given her choice, she’d have opted for cotton balls instead so she wouldn’t have to listen to her fellow workers. Certain ones of them, at any rate.

She arrived at her assigned post with a minute to spare, and the man who’d operated the machine on the day shift stepped aside. “It’s been running a little wild,” he said. “I’ve been adjusting it all day, but it keeps throwing the shavings instead of dropping them into the bin. I’m starting to think we’ve got a bad batch of steel and it’s not the machine at all.”

“Great,” Janey muttered, and watched intently as he showed her the adjustments he’d made. As soon as he left she pulled up a tall stool so she could perch high enough to keep an eye on every moving part. If she was going to have to baby-sit the machine, she might as well be comfortable.

The man at the next machine called, “Wish I could sit down on the job.”

She looked over in surprise. The man who usually ran that piece of equipment—the one who so frequently entertained himself by tossing suggestive remarks at Janey—was nowhere to be seen, and this worker was obviously settling in for the shift.

The wave of relief that surged over Janey surprised her just a little. She hadn’t realized how tightly controlled she’d been until suddenly she was free of the need to guard herself at every moment.

Enjoy it while it lasts, she told herself. He’ll probably be back tomorrow.

Despite the warnings, the machine seemed to be on its best behavior through the first half of the shift. As her hands automatically moved pieces from the supply pile to the machine to the pallet full of processed metal ready to move on to the next step, Janey’s brain was reviewing that last lecture and thinking ahead to next week’s test.

It was almost time for her midshift break when the machine began to groan and rattle as the day worker had warned it might, and she slowed it to a crawl and reached for the tool kit.

She had just opened the safety guard to make the necessary adjustments when the substitute worker next to her suggested that the two of them coordinate their break time so they could spend a few minutes in the back seat of his car—and he didn’t hesitate to describe the activity he had in mind.

Janey was so taken aback that she turned to stare at him, and in the instant her attention was distracted the cutting blade caught and jerked and flung a red-hot fragment. It hit the unprotected skin on the side of her neck, and she heard the sizzle even before she felt the heat.

She dropped the safety guard shut and cupped a gloved hand over the wound, wincing as the pain surged in waves like an incoming tide.

Within a minute the supervisor was beside her. “Dammit, Griffin,” he said, “we were working our way up to a perfect injury-free month, and now you do this.”

The man at the next machine said virtuously, “It’s a good thing I asked you about your family just then, Griffin. If you hadn’t turned your head you’d have gotten that piece of steel right in the face.”

Between the pain and his bold-faced lie, Janey was too stunned even to speak.

“That’s about the way it looks to me,” the supervisor said. “What were you thinking of to open the safety guard, anyway?”

From behind Janey came another voice—rich and deep, with a note which almost sounded like kindness. “Gentlemen, let’s treat the injury before we dissect the accident.”

Slowly, as if she were a music box figurine with no say in her own movements, Janey turned to face the man who’d spoken.

She’d seen Webb Copeland before, of course; he frequently walked the production lines, though not usually at this hour of the evening. But she’d never been this close to him before.

He was taller than she’d thought. Or perhaps it was the charcoal trench coat he wore, open over a pin-striped gray suit, which emphasized both his height and the width of his shoulders.

His eyes, she noted, were the same silvery gray as the steel she handled every day, though they didn’t look as chilly. His dark brows were drawn together, giving his entire face an expression of concern that was even more appealing than his good looks.

And then Janey noticed something really odd. The smell of oil in the factory was so strong that she’d never been aware of any other scent before. But now from four feet away she could breathe the essence of Webb Copeland’s cologne. In fact, the aroma made her feel just a little dizzy...

His eyes narrowed. “You’re going to the infirmary right now to get that burn looked at. In fact, I’ll take you down.”

Janey’s feminist streak wanted to say, I’ll go to the infirmary when and if I darned well please, and I don’t need to be delivered there like a package. But common sense interceded and she obediently walked beside him across the factory floor to the door that led to the office wing.

As the roar of the factory faded, Janey realized she was still wearing her electronic earmuffs, and she snatched them off. The office wing stretched before them, its silence almost more deafening than the roar of the machines.

She broke it hesitantly. “I don’t even know where the infirmary is.”

“If that’s your way of telling me you’re not in the habit of injuring yourself on the job, don’t worry,” he said with a trace of humor. “If you were, I’d have heard about it by now.”

“That’s not... I just meant I’ve only been in the office wing once, and that was the day I was hired.”

“When was that?”

Janey said reluctantly, “Two months ago.” She wondered if he was thinking, as she was, that there was still another month to go before the company would decide if she was an employee they wanted to keep or more trouble than she was worth.

Great move, Janey, she told herself. You don’t only break the safety record, but you do it right in front of the boss. And then you point out how inexperienced you are.

A middle-aged woman in a long white lab coat stepped out of a room at the end of a hallway. “The supervisor called to tell me you were on the way,” she said. “Let me take a look.” She inspected the side of Janey’s neck and shook her head. “Second degree burn—bad enough, but it’s not large and not particularly deep. It’ll hurt like fury for a while, and you’ll probably have a very interesting scar. Come on in. Let’s get it clean so we can see about minimizing the damage.”

The toe of Janey’s steel-reinforced work shoe caught on the threshold of the treatment room, and she stumbled.

Webb Copeland caught her arm and steadied her. “Those things aren’t much like ballet slippers, are they?”

“Not unless ballet slippers weigh half a ton apiece.” She glanced around the room and decided to sit in a chair rather than climb onto the examining table. “I wouldn’t know, because I never took dance lessons.”

He said evenly, “Of course not. I beg your pardon.”

Embarrassed at her sharpness, Janey rubbed her temple. “Sorry to snap at you. Look, I didn’t intend to come off like a clinging vine just now. I don’t make a habit of tripping over thin air and expecting the nearest man to catch me. I jog. I lift weights.” At least I used to, when I had time, she thought. “I even changed the oil in my car when I had one. So if you’re harboring any doubts about whether I really can run that machine, Mr. Copeland—”

He leaned against a rank of stainless steel cabinets. “I thought you’d get to the point eventually.”

The nurse interrupted. “Hold still for a minute. This is only antibacterial soap, but it’ll sting a bit.”

And that was an understatement of the same magnitude as saying that Lake Michigan was damp, Janey thought. She tried to fight back the tears, but she wasn’t entirely successful.

Webb Copeland opened a cabinet door and peered inside. If he was displaying tact by not watching her cry, Janey thought, she appreciated the gesture.

He started pushing bottles around. “Do you still keep antacids on hand, Nadine?”

So much for tact, Janey told herself. She should have expected he’d have an agenda of his own.

The nurse nodded. “Bottom shelf, on the left.”

He found the bottle and dumped three tablets into his palm.

“Sorry to upset your stomach,” Janey muttered.

He paused with the tablets halfway to his mouth. “When it comes to giving me heartburn, you can’t begin to compete with my grandmother, Ms.... I don’t seem to remember your name.”

But of course after this you’ll never forget it, Janey thought. She wanted to kick herself for drawing his attention once more. “Griffin.” She could almost hear the click in his brain as he filed the information away.

He put the bottle back and leaned against the cabinet once more. “Now tell me what happened with that machine.”

She described as clearly as she could what had gone wrong, and by the time she was done the nurse had finished treating the burn on her neck and covered it with a bandage to keep it clean.

Webb Copeland said nothing at all, just looked thoughtful.

The nurse counted out some painkillers into an envelope and handed it to Janey, and told her to stop by the infirmary again in a day or two to have the wound checked for infection.

Janey thanked her and gathered up her gloves and her electronic earmuffs. She had to force herself to stand up, and the thought of going back to work, of struggling once more with that machine, was hardly inviting. But she had a small burn, not a major disability—and the boss was watching.

Webb Copeland fell into step beside her in the hallway. Janey didn’t look at him. “It was nice of you to stay,” she said finally. “You didn’t have to.”

“I should thank you,” he said. “I’d exhausted all my excuses for working late, and you provided me with a new one.”

Janey frowned. Why should he need excuses for working late? In fact, why didn’t he want to go home?

He followed her onto the factory floor. For a moment Janey wondered why, until she remembered that he’d been on his way out of the building when she’d been injured.

The supervisor was inspecting her machine. “That certainly took long enough,” he said tartly as she approached. “What did they do? Skin grafts?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “There doesn’t appear to be anything wrong with the machinery. So unless you can give me a reason why I shouldn’t put you on report for carelessness, Griffin—”

Janey thought about it, and shook her head. The lecher at the next machine had been the catalyst, but she had been careless, opening the guard like that and then allowing her mind to wander.

“Then get back to work,” the supervisor ordered.

Behind her, Webb Copeland cleared his throat. “There will be no report of carelessness, because that machine is to be tagged as dangerous and taken out of production till we can get a repairman in to look at it. And since she has no equipment to work with, Ms. Griffin is not going back to work tonight, she is going home. Right now.”

The supervisor’s jaw dropped. The lecher at the next work station gasped.

Janey winced. But she could hardly stand in the middle of the factory and argue about it, so she meekly got her coat and keys from her locker in the break room and followed Webb Copeland out the employees’ entrance. She stopped on the curb as the November wind cut through her coat.

“Did you say you don’t have a car?” he asked.

“The bus will be along soon. Mr. Copeland, I wish you hadn’t done that.”

“Which part? And why not?”

“All of it—because there’ll be a lot of talk.”

“About what?”

“It’s obvious you don’t hang out with the guys on the factory floor, or you’d know.” But it was cold, and her neck hurt, and he’d probably think she was conceited even to suggest that the workers were probably talking about the two of them right now. It was too late to do anything about it anyway. “Never mind,” she muttered. “By the way, I hate to sound miserly, but is my paycheck going to be docked because I’m leaving early?”

“Since it’s not your fault, no. Come on, I’ll drive you home. It’s silly to wait in the cold for a bus.” He started off without even a look to see if she was coming along.

For some reason she’d pictured him in a low-slung, two-passenger convertible—but instead his car was midsized and quietly luxurious. “Of course,” she muttered. “Grandma.”

Webb slid behind the wheel. “I beg your pardon? I didn’t quite catch that.”

Janey was too embarrassed at being caught talking to herself even to duck the question. “I was just speculating that your grandmother would find it hard to get in and out of a Corvette.”

He frowned. “You don’t know my grandmother, do you?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I don’t. What would I have in common with her?”

“An excellent question,” he murmured. “Where do you live?”

She gave him the general direction and thought fleetingly about having him drop her off on campus instead of at her door. But why should it matter if Webb Copeland thought she lived in a slum?

It didn’t, she told herself defiantly. Because he didn’t matter. Not at all.

* * *

THE ENGINE PURRED as the car drew up next to one of the most bedraggled houses Webb had ever seen. He gave the place a glance and said, “I’ll wait till you’re inside.”

Janey paused, half in and half out of the car. “Don’t bother. I walk two blocks home from the bus stop every night, later than this, all by myself.”

He waited nevertheless, watching intently till he saw a light come on in the basement apartment. Then he sat back and tapped his fingers on the leather-wrapped steering wheel, and indulged himself in a long, slow smile.

She’s perfect, he told himself. Utterly and absolutely perfect.

* * *

THE MOMENT SHE walked into the employee break room the next day, Janey knew it was going to be worse than she’d thought possible. The looks were bad enough—sly sideways glances that slithered away like snakes when she tried to face them down. But as soon as she turned her back to get her safety equipment from her locker, the whispers started.

“Bet the big boss wouldn’t have walked me to the infirmary.”

“Or held your hand while the nasty nurse hurt you.”

“Or taken you home afterward.”

There was a snort of laughter. “I wonder if it was worth his while.”

Janey had had enough. She turned to face them and said clearly, “If you mean, did Webb Copeland spend the night—no, he didn’t.”

One of the men leered. “Well, it probably wouldn’t take all night,” he said pointedly.

Janey flung her locker door shut and strode toward the factory entrance. Just outside the break room stood an elderly woman with half-glasses perched on her nose, holding a clipboard. She looked from it to Janey and asked, “Are you Ms. Griffin?”

“Unfortunately for me,” Janey snapped, “yes.”

The woman was unfazed. “Then if you’ll come with me? I’m Mr. Copeland’s private secretary, and he wishes to speak with you.”

Janey stopped in midstep. “Is that so? Well, I’ve got a few things I wouldn’t mind saying to him, too. Lead the way.”

They wended down a different hall from the one which led to the infirmary. The farther they walked, Janey noticed, the grander the surroundings became. The carpets were deeper, the walls were papered or paneled instead of merely painted, and each office they passed was larger than the last.

And each person they met seemed increasingly startled at the sight of the two of them. Janey found some grim humor in that; the contrast between her—steel-toed shoes, safety goggles, electronic earmuffs and all—and the elegantly-turned-out white-haired secretary must be a stunner.

At the end of the building, as far as it was possible to get from the factory floor, the secretary opened a heavy teak door and said, “Mr. Copeland? Ms. Griffin is here.”

Janey took two steps forward into an enormous office and watched as Webb Copeland rose slowly from behind an enormous desk.

Irrationally she found herself thinking that it hadn’t been the trench coat that had made him look so tall last night. He really was as imposing as he’d seemed.

“Have a seat,” he said, and gestured toward a pair of armchairs, which stood before a marble fireplace in one corner of the office. “I’d like to have a little chat.”

“Well, that goes double for me.” Janey eyed the pale blue watered silk, which covered the armchairs. She knew perfectly well that her jeans were as clean as they ever again could be, but here and there stains still marked the fabric. If any of them transferred to that delicate silk...

Then it was Webb Copeland’s problem, she thought defiantly. She hadn’t asked to be brought here. She sat down with a deliberately possessive thump, the kind that—when she’d been a teenager—had always made her mother cringe and plead for her to be more careful of the springs.

To her disappointment, Webb Copeland didn’t flinch—he smiled. “Actually,” he said gently, “I want to ask you a question.” He sat down across from her, carefully adjusted the crease in his trousers, and leaned back in his chair. “Ms. Griffin, how would you like to be engaged to me for a while?”

CHAPTER TWO

WEBB COPELAND’S EYES were so wide and guileless, his smile so serene, and his voice so cool and deliberate that for a few seconds Janey didn’t realize she was dealing with a man in the midst of a psychotic episode. And just how did one handle this particular variety of nutcase? Humor him? Try to reason things out? Scream and run?

“Engaged?” she managed to say. “You’re certain that’s what you meant to say? Because you surely don’t mean engaged like the step before getting married—do you?”

“Not in this case. I mean, yes, that’s exactly the kind of engagement I have in mind, but there’s no question of marriage. That’s the whole point.”

Janey put the tips of two fingers against her temple and rubbed at a throbbing vein. “I think you’d better take it from the top, Mr. Copeland. And is there such a thing as a coffee machine at this end of the building? I think I’m going to need some.”

He smiled. “Louise can no doubt find you a cup. Cream and sugar?”

“Just black.”

He went to the door and called the secretary’s name.

While his back was turned, Janey took a better look around the office. There was only one door, and Webb Copeland’s body was still blocking it. But one wall was entirely glass, and though most of the windows were set solidly in place the bottom panels obviously opened for ventilation. They were shallow, but surely she could punch out the screen and slither through on her back...

On the other hand, Janey had never been the scream-and-run type. Honesty forced her to admit, however, that wasn’t the reason she was sticking around. The truth was if she didn’t hear all of this story she’d be lying awake every night for the rest of her life trying to figure it out.

Webb came back with two heavy ceramic mugs, which bore the Copeland Products logo. Janey was just a little disappointed to see that the cups were precisely the same as those in the employee break room. Wasn’t that one of the perks of the executive wing—getting to drink out of real china?

The coffee was better, though—obviously fresh, which in her two months of working there had never been the case in the break room.

She held the mug in both hands. “You were saying?”

“Oh, yes, from the top.” Webb sat down again. “Just over a year ago, my wife lost control of her car on an icy road and was killed.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve heard about the accident, of course, but I’d forgotten.” She saw his raised eyebrows and said, “Employees talk, Mr. Copeland.”

“About my wife?”

Janey said dryly, “They talk about everything. If I’d known it was going to affect me personally, I’d have paid more attention to that particular story. At least, I assume you wouldn’t be telling me unless it is going to affect me personally?”

He smiled a little, but he didn’t answer directly. “Our daughter, Madeline, was less than two months old when her mother died.”

“Oh.” Janey hadn’t heard that part of the story. “The poor child.”

“She’s doing quite well. She has a nurse, and my grandmother moved in to provide a guiding hand.” He sipped his coffee. “That’s the problem, actually—my grandmother. She’s convinced I should get married again, for Maddy’s sake, and she’s trying to persuade me.”

Janey’s eyebrows arched. “Come on, Mr. Copeland—you have five hundred employees, and you don’t have any trouble at all bossing them around. Do you expect me to believe you can’t tell your grandmother to mind her own business?”

“I have. And she’s actually stopped talking about it—the last time she brought up the subject directly was almost three weeks ago. But ever since we had that last little chat about how badly Madeline needs a stepmother, my house hasn’t been a safe place for me to go near.”

Janey frowned. “Because you told her off? If she’s so angry—”

“Oh, she’s far from angry. She’s just determined, and she’s turned my house into a social center. That’s fine with me—she has a right to entertain her friends. It’s just that all of her friends suddenly seem to be single, under thirty, and pretty in varying degrees. If I go home in time to play with Maddy before her bedtime, I’m shanghaied into joining Gran and one or another of her young lovelies at dinner.”

“That’s why you were working so late last night?”

He nodded. “I was dodging a blonde. Luckily I spotted her before Gran saw me, so I escaped the dinner routine. But I barely made it out the door, and I expect the blonde stayed the whole evening waiting for me to show up again.”

Thank you for giving me an excuse, he’d said last night outside the infirmary. Janey was beginning to see what he’d meant.

“I can’t set foot inside my own door without being ambushed—but if I stay away, I don’t see my baby girl at all.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve considered shipping your grandmother off to a rest home and telling all her pals to visit her there?”

He laughed, without much humor. “It’s painfully apparent that you’ve never met my grandmother, Janey.”

“All right, so I don’t have an answer for you. You might try dragging her to a counselor, I suppose, but other than that—”

“Oh, there’s a much simpler way. I’m going to give her precisely what she’s asked for.”

“Perhaps I’ve missed something,” Janey mused. “But I think you just said you’re going to get married to keep her from pushing you to get married, and somehow that just doesn’t—”

“Not exactly. I’m going to introduce her to the woman I’ve chosen to be Maddy’s stepmother—and, incidentally, my wife.”

Janey crossed her legs and let her foot swing free. “I still don’t see why I come into this.”

“You’re perfect,” he said calmly. “She’ll hate you.”

Janey’s foot stopped in midswing. She stared at the oversized, rounded toe of her reinforced shoes. “Because I’m so different from the ladies on her list?”

“Exactly. She’ll be horrified, in fact.”

She could almost see his grandmother now—eagle-eyed, upright, impatient to pounce on the slightest gaffe, ready to judge anyone who didn’t precisely meet her specifications. He was no doubt right, Janey thought—the woman would hate her. Of course, that fact didn’t make his assessment of Janey any more flattering... “And then, after a while, you’ll break it off.”

He nodded. “And Gran will be so relieved—”

Janey finished his sentence. “—that she’ll start right in again. I don’t know what you think you’re going to gain in the long run.”

“Oh, no, she won’t. Because, you see, once she realizes the lengths I’ll go to, she won’t dare push me, ever again.”

“You mean you’re going to tell her the whole thing? Confess that it was a scam?”

“Of course not. She has to believe that I’d have gone through with it, or the whole operation’s a waste.” His eyebrows drew together. “It means, of course, that you’ll have to be the one to break it all off—or at least it’ll have to look as if you’re the one.”

“Leaving you with a broken heart,” Janey mused. “Which in itself would buy you a little time, I suppose.” She nibbled her thumbnail as she thought it over. She could see all kinds of flaws in this scheme—but then he hadn’t asked her to critique his plan, only to pretend for a while to be his fiancée. She folded her arms across her chest, looked him straight in the eye and said bluntly, “So what’s in it for me?”

He looked just a little shocked, and she wondered if it was her implied agreement or the brusque question that had startled him. Or was he just surprised that she needed to ask?

“If you say my job’s hanging on whether I cooperate—” she began suspiciously.

“Of course not. That would be sexual harassment.”

“Well, it’s good to know somebody in this company knows the definition,” Janey muttered. “So what are you offering?”

He countered, “What do you have in mind?”

She slowly finished her coffee while she thought it over, and then she set her cup down and said, “Money, of course.”

Suddenly his eyes were as chilly as storm clouds.

What on earth did he expect? Janey thought, half-amused. He’d already classified her as ignorant, uneducated and socially inept—so why shouldn’t she be a fortune hunter, too?

“And rather a lot of it.” She told him exactly how much.

He swallowed hard. “Well, you’re right about it being a lot.”

Janey relented. Being paid for her work was one thing, but the figure she’d quoted was closer to blackmail—and she’d never intended for him to give it to her outright, anyway. She might not be able to borrow money from standard sources, but with her cooperation as collateral...why not? He could afford it. “We’ll call it an interest-free loan, and—let me think—in about three years I can start paying it back.”

“Of course you will.” There was only a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but it rasped on her like tree bark against tender skin. “And why are we waiting three years? What’s this loan intended for?”

Janey shrugged. “I don’t see that it’s any of your business how I spend it. If you’re worried about me paying it off, you’ll just have to rely on my character.” She smiled sweetly and added, “Of course, if you’re not happy with the arrangements, we don’t have to continue this discussion at all.”

He let the subject hang in the silent office until Janey concluded that she’d pushed him too far. Oh, well, she thought. It was a great opportunity while it lasted. She’d gambled and lost, and there was no sense in feeling disappointed. She wasn’t any worse off than she’d been before she walked into his office.

He said, “It’s a deal.”

Janey could hardly believe she’d heard him right. Relief and satisfaction—and a bit of fear at the job she’d taken on—surged through her.

His voice was brisk. “I want to get started right away. I’ll break the news to Gran tonight, and you can come for dinner tomorrow to meet her. Seven-thirty—”

Janey shook her head. “Can’t. Remember? I work the swing shift.”

He lifted one dark eyebrow. “I assumed, with all that cash coming in, you’d be quitting your job.”

She could, of course. With the assurance of that money—enough, she’d carefully calculated, to pay her tuition and support her adequately, though not luxuriously, through the rest of her education—she didn’t need to work another day. She didn’t need to face her fellow employees again, or crush her skull with those horrible electronic earmuffs, or ride the bus across town in the middle of the night...

On the other hand, there was as yet no guarantee that she’d actually be laying her hands on Webb Copeland’s cash. That would depend on the success of this con, so she didn’t dare let go of the security her paycheck offered quite yet—and with the hope that the end was near, she could put up with it for a while longer, anyway.

“I think I’ll keep working for now,” she said.

He took a deep breath, but he didn’t argue the point. “All right. Lunch, then.”

Janey consulted her internal calendar. Tomorrow was Wednesday, the day before the Thanksgiving holiday, so all afternoon classes had been canceled. “It’ll have to be on the late side—like one o’clock.”

“That’ll work. I’ll pick you up.” He stood, obviously dismissing her.

Janey stayed firmly in her chair. “How does one dress to meet your grandmother?”

His gaze drifted slowly down the length of her body. “How about your work clothes, and after lunch I’ll drop you off here in time for your shift?”

“Don’t you think that would be just a little obvious? I thought I’d settle for painting my face like a clown and stuffing all the tissue I can find down the front of a strapless sequined dress.”

Webb smiled. It was, Janey thought, the first time she’d seen him display honest humor, and it looked good on him. The tiny lines around his eyes crinkled and his eyes glowed...

And that’s enough of that, she told herself. He was the boss, he had hired her to do a job and she wasn’t getting paid in smiles.

* * *

AFTER SHE WAS GONE, Webb called his secretary in. “You can send this back to personnel,” he said, pushing Janey’s file across the desk. “And call my grandmother, please, and tell her I want to talk to her alone tonight, so she’d better kick all the wannabe brides out of my house.”

Louise’s lips twitched. “I’ll rephrase that, if I may?” she murmured, and left without waiting for an answer.

Webb pushed his chair back, put his feet up on the corner of his desk and stared out the window. The whole thing had gone very well, he thought. If he’d constructed her himself, he couldn’t have come up with a more delightful combination for this job than Janey Griffin. Not only was she smart-mouthed, hard-edged, and entirely lacking in tact—qualities guaranteed to send Camilla Copeland straight up the nearest wall—but she was very nicely packaged as well. Janey was not beautiful, of course; in that department she couldn’t begin to compete with the women Camilla had been throwing at him. But even in her work clothes Janey was attractive enough—tall, slender, straight-backed, with curves in the right places and huge hazel eyes and well-shaped little ears and a firm if stubborn small chin and pleasant, ordinary brown hair—that his grandmother wouldn’t have to ponder the question of how she’d initially captured Webb’s attention.

There were some women, he told himself, that Gran simply wouldn’t believe he could fall for, no matter how convincing a story she heard. Janey Griffin wasn’t one of them. And yet, as soon as Camilla ran up against the smart mouth, the hard edges and the complete lack of tact...

And Janey was going to keep her job, too—just as he’d hoped she would. The idea of a prospective granddaughter-in-law who worked the swing shift on a manufacturing line—moving, carving and bending steel—was guaranteed to make Camilla turn purple. He’d been right. Janey couldn’t be more perfect.

He took his feet off his desk and got his trench coat from the closet. Louise would have made that call by now—so he might as well go home, play with his baby daughter and shock the hell out of his grandmother.

He was looking forward to it.

* * *

NOT ONLY THE supervisor but every worker on the line knew that Janey was late because she’d been summoned by the boss. And since Janey could hardly tell them what that conversation had been about, she could only pretend not to hear the comments that rippled across the factory floor.

Eventually, when she didn’t respond, the remarks settled back into a more normal pattern—still suggestive and annoying, but at least not actively cruel. And she’d been right in thinking that with an end in sight it would be easier to ignore the tasteless talk. Instead of two more years of this nonsense, she only had...weeks, perhaps?

She’d forgotten to ask how long he expected this masquerade to run, but she knew it wouldn’t be two years; the fairy tale Webb Copeland intended to spin for his grandmother couldn’t possibly hold up that long.

And when the farce was played out, she’d be sitting pretty. With cash on hand to pay her expenses, there’d be no need for her to work. She could enjoy the rest of her education, instead of enduring it. She could soak up every drop of knowledge instead of skimming the surface.

She’d have to pay all that money back, of course—and she’d do it, no matter what it took. It was obvious that Webb Copeland hadn’t believed for an instant that she intended to, but Janey regarded this loan exactly the same as if she’d gone to a bank. Apart from the matter of interest.

By the time she started making payments, she thought dreamily, she’d be working at a job she liked, and she wouldn’t be trying to balance school along with it. And she’d positively enjoy making sure he got every last cent back, if only to see the look on his face when he had to admit that she’d meant her promise all along.

Suddenly Janey realized that, though the machines still roared, the human noise on the factory floor had dropped to almost nothing. The effect was positively spooky, for it was nearly midnight—and people usually made more noise, not less, as the shift ended and they were free to go home.

She glanced around the floor, trying to spot the reason for the sudden quiet, and had to stifle a groan when she saw Webb coming straight toward her, hands in the pockets of his trench coat. She turned back to her machine and didn’t even look at him when he stopped beside her.

“Not you again,” she said. “Do you have any idea how much trouble it’s causing me to have you hanging around?”

He shrugged. “I just came to drive you home. Oh, and to give you this.” He pulled a tiny box from his pocket, snapped it open and held it out, balanced on his open palm.

Inside the velvet box, against a bed of black satin, a ring sparkled. Its brilliant center stone—nearly the size of Janey’s thumbnail—caught the overhead light and shattered it into rainbows, which danced across the factory floor. Half the employees on the line craned their necks to get a better look. The other half, Janey expected, would be along in a minute or two.

“Please tell me this is a zircon and not a diamond,” she muttered.

“Telling you that wouldn’t make it one. And the jeweler who just sold it to me wouldn’t be at all flattered.”

“Where did you find a jeweler at almost midnight? On second thought, I don’t want to know.”

“At home, watching the sports channel—but when I told him what I wanted, he was quite happy to meet me at the store. Don’t you like it? I’d have let you choose, but I thought Gran would ask questions if you weren’t wearing a ring tomorrow.”

Janey considered braining him with the nearest piece of steel. “Whether I like it is not the point. It’s bad enough you bought a rock the size of a lighthouse beacon—”

“Gran would really think something’s fishy if I didn’t.”

Of course he was thinking of his grandmother. But then it hadn’t even crossed Janey’s mind that he might consider her tastes. “But why you brought the thing here—”

“You don’t really believe our engagement is going to remain secret, do you?”

Janey looked around the factory floor at a hundred interested faces. “Not anymore,” she said dryly.

“Now that I’ve broken the news to my grandmother, it’ll spread like wildfire.”

Too late to back out now. The thought was automatic, and puzzling. Why would she even think of backing out? “I wouldn’t bet on her being eager to announce it. Was telling her as much fun as you expected it to be?”

He gave her a long, speculative look. “As a matter of fact, it was. Come on, let’s get out of here, and I’ll tell you about it.”

She’d have loved to tell him to go sit in the car and wait for her, but the night worker who was taking over from her was already standing beside the machine with his mouth hanging open, taking in every nuance. So Janey put away her safety equipment and got her coat.

Webb had left his car in the no-parking zone right by the door. “She was absolutely speechless,” he said as he opened the door for Janey. “I told her over dinner that I’d found the woman of my dreams—and once she recovered from choking on her soup she took it quite well.”

“That’s good. I’d hate for you to have a heart attack on your conscience.” She frowned. “If you have a conscience?”

He didn’t seem to have heard. “Gran wanted to go to Coq Au Vin tomorrow—she says it’s the only restaurant in town that can produce a lunch fit to celebrate an engagement.”

“Look, Mr. Copeland, I really don’t want to go on stage at some fancy restaurant without so much as a dress rehearsal, so—”

“Don’t you think you should get in the habit of calling me Webb? It’s no problem, anyway—I told her you’d rather come to the house, so you could spend some time with Madeline. And since Gran’s a bit concerned because you don’t know Maddy very well—”

“Very well? I’ve never laid eyes on the child.”

“I’ve brought her to the office to show her off a few times. You could have seen her then.”

“I’ll try to remember that. I do hope there’s only going to be one child present, because I’d hate to pick out the wrong one to go gaga over.”

“If there’s any doubt, look for brown eyes the size of Lake Michigan and you won’t go wrong. That takes care of Maddy and the lunch date. Is there anything else we need to talk about?”

“Yes. How long do you expect this to take?”

“Anxious to get your money? It’s almost the end of November now... I’d say by Christmas.”

“That’s charming,” Janey said. “Your grandmother’s going to love her Christmas present this year—not getting me in her stocking.”

“And I won’t even have to wrap it,” Webb agreed cheerfully. “Oh, now I remember the other thing. We haven’t coordinated our stories.”

“And she’s going to want details, isn’t she?”

“Well, she’s not actually nosy, so I think we can gloss over a lot of it. All I’ve told her so far is that you work at Copeland Products, and we met there.”

“How’d she take it? My job, I mean.”

“I didn’t tell her exactly where you worked. I figured tomorrow was time enough for that.”

“How about if I just leave all the oil on my hands till then and you won’t have to tell her anything at all?”

He looked at her almost sadly. “And you thought I was overdoing it with the work clothes? Anyway, I thought I should leave you as much leeway as possible. Stick to the truth as much as you can, though—I’ve found it’s always safest. I’ll just follow your lead.”

“And pick up the pieces?” Janey said dryly. As Webb stopped the car in front of her apartment, she added, “Thanks for the ride home. It gives me just enough extra time to bleach my hair and paint my fingernails lime green.”

* * *

THE APARTMENT HAD no doorbell, so Webb rapped on the door and watched in fascination as several chunks of paint vibrated loose and floated to the ground.

When she opened the door, Janey was already wearing a coat, and Webb felt a tiny tinge of anxiety. She had been joking about wearing a strapless sequined dress, hadn’t she? But she hadn’t bleached her hair, though it seemed more gold today than the plain brown he’d thought it was. And even though it was once more pulled back in a French braid, it looked softer somehow than it had at the factory.

“I’d have been waiting outside,” she said, “but I’m afraid this ring and this neighborhood are not a good combination.” She waved her left hand; even in the shadowed basement stairway the diamond stood out like a searchlight.

“No lime green polish?” he asked, and was ashamed of himself for feeling relieved.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but my roommate used the last of the bottle just before I got home last night. She loaned me a dress to make up for it, though.”

The tinge of anxiety grew stronger, but before he could say anything, Janey stepped outside and pulled the door shut.

“I’m surprised,” she said as he slid behind the wheel, “that you didn’t bring your grandmother along just so she could see the neighborhood. Or are you reserving that in case you need a knockout punch for later?”

She sounded a little testy, Webb thought. But of course she’d be nervous; even someone who knew what to expect would no doubt feel edgy about meeting Camilla Copeland for the first time. “Why do you live here, anyway? I know I’m not paying you a fortune—not yet, at any rate—but you make decent money.”

She didn’t look at him. “Because both Lakeshore Towers and the Marina were full when I was looking for a place to live.”

Which meant she didn’t want to tell him. Well, she obviously wasn’t proud of the place—so maybe it just meant she’d gotten over her head in debt somehow and was ashamed of it. Of course, that didn’t bode well for her promise to repay the phenomenal amount of money he’d agreed to give her when this was over. Not that he’d taken her seriously in the first place.

Considering the differences in the neighborhoods, it seemed an incredibly short distance from Janey’s basement apartment to the Greek Revival mansion which the Copelands had handed down from generation to generation for more than a hundred years. Webb parked the car directly in front of the main door, in the elegant curve of the driveway, and turned to see Janey’s reaction to his house.

All he could see was the back of her French braid. She was staring out the window, and he thought he heard her gulp.

He followed her gaze, wondering which feature had made the strongest impression on her. The half-dozen thirty-foot-tall Doric columns that framed the front portico? The classic egg-and-dart cornice just under the roof line? More likely it was the sheer size of the place that had awed her so.

He walked around the car to open her door. “It is a bit overwhelming, isn’t it? I forget that myself sometimes, until I’ve been away from it awhile.”

For a long moment he thought she hadn’t heard him, and even when she pulled her gaze away from the house she seemed to have trouble focusing on his face. “This is incredible,” she said. Her voice was shaky and little more than a breath.

He was beginning to feel a bit nervous himself, not so much over facing his grandmother as for fear of what Janey might do. The last thing he’d expected was that the impertinent and brazen young woman he’d hired for this job would fall apart at the first challenge.

He took her arm and shook her just a little—gently, in case his grandmother might happen to be looking out a window. “Don’t go to pieces on me now. You don’t have to put on a show, after all. Just be yourself.”

Janey stood her ground. “I wish I thought you meant that as a compliment.” Her voice had once more taken on the acid edge he’d already come to expect from her.

Webb grinned. It’d be all right—she was back.

The butler opened the front door as they approached, and with a tiny bow he offered to take their coats. Janey didn’t seem to notice; she stopped three steps inside the foyer, tipped her head back and stared up two full stories at the ceiling. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “But I’d never in my life have expected to see this.”

Webb wasn’t quite sure if she was talking to him or the butler, and he wasn’t about to ask. He took hold of her coat collar and whispered, “Don’t overdo it, all right?”

She let him slip her coat off, but Webb wasn’t sure she’d heard him; she was gawking at the winding staircase when Camilla Copeland appeared in the door of the big parlor.

“Come on, darling,” he said in a deliberate stage whisper.

Finally Janey blinked and seemed to return to earth.

Camilla had come forward with a hand outstretched. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Janey.”

Webb thought her voice sounded a little strained, and he felt a momentary pang of conscience. But it was only momentary; after all, if it hadn’t been for Camilla’s less-than-subtle matchmaking efforts he’d never have dreamed of bringing Janey Griffin home to meet her. And it wasn’t as if this state of affairs was going to last forever, anyway—just long enough for Camilla to get the message that if she tried to manipulate him, she wasn’t going to like the results.

For the moment, he was simply pleased that they were off to a good beginning. Now if Janey carried through with her part...

“What a beautiful suit,” Camilla said, and for the first time Webb dared to take a good look at what Janey was wearing.

It wasn’t strapless, and it wasn’t covered with sequins. In fact, her gray tweed skirt and jacket could have passed muster almost anywhere.

And yet it wasn’t quite right, somehow. The skirt was shorter than fashion dictated, which probably meant that it was at least two years old. Camilla would notice that in a flash. And he was sure his grandmother hadn’t missed the white camisole that peeked out from under the jacket, any more than he had. Lots of women were wearing them—but this one stood out from the crowd. Not only wasn’t there much of it, but the silky fabric draped and the lace trim teased, and the combination made it quite obvious that it hadn’t taken tissue paper to fill out Janey’s figure. It was a wonder Camilla hadn’t had apoplexy.

As far as the skirt was concerned, though, he had to admit that any woman with legs like Janey’s would be foolish to keep them hidden—whether or not it was fashionable.

Janey smoothed a hand down over her skirt. “Thank you. I’ll tell my roommate. I borrowed the whole outfit from her, because I didn’t have anything nearly like it of my own.”

Camilla’s smile froze.

Webb wanted to applaud. Instead he decided to capitalize on the situation. “I’ll bet you don’t even own a dress, do you, Janey? I’ve never seen you wearing one. And you should have watched her practicing how to walk in heels, Gran. I haven’t seen anything so funny in years. After wearing those heavy work shoes with the steel toes all the time—” He paused, as if he was startled by Camilla’s expression. “Oh, did I forget to tell you, Gran, that Janey works in the factory at Copeland Products?”

Camilla looked as if she was trying to fight off a cramp. Webb turned to Janey to see if she was savoring the moment and was startled to catch a spark of irritation in her eyes.

“How very interesting.” Camilla took a deep breath. “Do come into the parlor, Janey. It’ll be a few minutes until lunch is served, so let’s take advantage of the chance to chat and get to know each other.” She led the way.

Janey started to follow Camilla, but within three feet she’d stopped once more to look around. “It’s amazing, isn’t it, that with the size of this space, voices don’t echo.”

“It’s an engineering feat,” Webb said. “Even though the walls look straight, they’re actually curved just enough to push the sound on, not bounce it back. Believe me, you don’t want the details. It’s far too complicated.”

She looked straight at him, and though he didn’t understand why, Webb felt icy tingles slither down his spine. He was glad Camilla was already in the parlor, settling herself in her favorite chair by the fireplace, too far away to get a good view of the face-off in the foyer.

Janey’s voice was very low, and it was so sweet it could induce a diabetic coma all by itself. “Too complicated for me to understand? Is that what you meant?”

“Not exactly. I just thought it was hardly your sort of—”

“And you probably also think I couldn’t possibly comprehend that though this house is an extremely late example of the Greek revival style, it’s architecturally significant not only because of the acoustical engineering techniques that Henry Bellows employed when he designed it but because it’s one of the first residences he built with steel framing and not just timber and masonry. You’re right—it’s completely beyond me.”

She spun on her heel and swept into the parlor.

There wasn’t an echo in the hall, he reminded himself. There never had been, for Henry Bellows’s engineering skills had prevented it.

But Webb’s ears were ringing nevertheless.

CHAPTER THREE

EVEN BEFORE SHE’D crossed the sea of oriental carpet to where Camilla Copeland was sitting by the fireplace, Janey had already admitted to herself that telling Webb off almost under his grandmother’s nose probably hadn’t been the smartest thing she’d ever done.

But it had certainly felt good.

She took the chair Camilla indicated and held out her hands to the crackling fire. “Wood fires are so beautiful,” she said, “and so welcome on a gray day like this.”

“Then you aren’t a fan of gas logs? I’ve never liked them.” Camilla smiled. “But then I’m not the one who has to carry the wood inside or the ashes out, so perhaps I have a biased view of the subject.” She looked up. “Webb, why don’t you get Janey a sherry? Or something else—I’m sure you know better than I what she’d like.”

With her back turned to the room, Janey hadn’t heard Webb approach, and when she caught sight of him, she thought he looked as if he could quite cheerfully drop cyanide in whatever beverage she chose. She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m not much of a sherry drinker. Or anything else, really. Working around the machines has made me much more careful.”

Camilla nodded toward Janey’s left hand. “You’re being cautious with that ring as well, I hope.” She picked up a mass of rose-colored yarn from a basket beside her chair and placidly began to knit.

Janey looked down at the brilliant diamond. Last night under the factory lights it had looked almost garish. Today, as the stone reflected the flickering flames, it seemed quieter, classic—and mysterious. “Of course I wouldn’t put something this valuable at risk.”

Camilla shook her head. “No, that’s not what I meant. Years ago my father-in-law nearly lost a finger when one of the machines caught his lodge ring. Smashed it almost flat. The ring, I mean—though the finger was pretty well crushed, too.”

Webb poured a tiny glass of golden liquid for Camilla from the drinks tray, and set it on the table by her elbow. “Gran would be much more sympathetic if it had been his wedding band instead of a symbol of his mens’ club.” His voice was dry.

Was he going to pretend the whole exchange in the hallway had never happened? Eager to seize her cue, Janey looked up at him with a quick smile. But he obviously hadn’t intended the remark to be humorous, for his eyes were still chilly. He leaned against the mantel with his arms folded across his chest. He was looking at her, Janey thought, as if she’d suddenly turned into a malaria-carrying mosquito and he was figuring out how to swat her. She began to wish she’d accepted a drink anyway, just so she’d have the glass to keep her hands busy.

Camilla daintily sipped her sherry and returned to her knitting. “I’m so glad you like the house, Janey. How thoroughly unpleasant it would be to live somewhere you didn’t care for—and I’m afraid Webb would never give this place up.”

For an instant, Janey’s breath caught. But perhaps she was being too sensitive? Camilla’s first sight of her had been as Janey stared around the hall; the woman would have to be dense as a tree trunk not to have realized at a glance that Janey had been thoroughly impressed. It didn’t mean she’d overheard any of that squabble in the foyer.

Reassured, Janey found herself wondering how the dream girl Webb thought he’d hired would respond to that comment. “It’s just the right size to hold all my relatives—at least the ones who’ll be living with us”?

“It’s awe-inspiring,” she said finally. “Almost like a museum.”

“I remember that feeling when I came here as a bride.”

Was there the slightest trace of acid in Camilla’s voice?

Camilla looked up from her knitting, her eyes bright and inquisitive. “It sounded just now as if you’ve made a special study of Henry Bellows, Janey. He’s dear to our hearts, of course, but compared to the more famous architects who worked in the Chicago area he’s almost an unknown.”

Janey’s throat closed up till she was absolutely sure she’d never be able to draw a breath again. She had underestimated the acoustics of the hallway; it might not echo, but it obviously made even a whisper carry—for it was apparent Camilla Copeland had overheard a good part of that low-voiced exchange.

The only comfort Janey could find was Webb’s stunned look; he was obviously as startled as she was.

Terrific, she thought. Now he was furious and surprised. She’d really done it up big.

Camilla went on, calmly, “Architecture is one of Webb’s favorite subjects, I know—I think the interest has been handed down in the genes ever since his great-grandfather commissioned this house. Was it the love of buildings which brought you together? And how, I wonder, did that subject happen to come up on the assembly line?”

Janey reflected, almost calmly, that hers was likely to be the shortest engagement in the history of western civilization. She waited for Webb to say something that would squash her as completely as his great-grandfather’s ring.

But he was silent, apparently unwilling to step in—either to rescue her or put her out of her misery. And it was far too late for Janey to play dumb on the subject, for she didn’t dare take the chance of underestimating precisely how much Camilla had heard.

“My faculty adviser in the college of architecture is a Bellows fan,” she admitted. “He’s always using examples of his work—just a few months ago when we were studying acoustical engineering he got almost poetic about your foyer.”

Webb looked as if he were strangling.

“Of course, when I first heard about this house, I never expected to see the interior.”

“Webb must give you the complete tour after lunch,” Camilla said.

Webb pushed himself away from the fireplace. “Oh, why don’t we begin right now? Mrs. Wilson must be getting anxious to start her afternoon off, anyway, so let’s go get Madeline—shall we, Janey?”

It was less a question than a growled order. Janey cast an apologetic smile at Camilla. “I’ve been so anxious to see her nursery,” she offered. Webb’s hand closed on her arm and she had to hurry her step to keep pace with him.

He’d learned his lesson about holding private conversations in the hallway, Janey deduced. Instead he practically dragged her up the stairs and into an alcove in the upper hall, where he released her, planted his hands on his hips and glared at her.

“I had no idea she could hear me,” Janey said.

“Great excuse that is!”

“Well, you didn’t, either,” she said reasonably. “That was obvious.”

“What the hell happened? You took one look at the house, fell in love with it and decided to go for broke? Or did you already have this planned before you even got here?”

“Go for broke?” Janey frowned. “You mean try to marry you for real, in order to get this house? Not a chance. Not even a Henry Bellows masterpiece would be worth putting up with you.”

“You lied to me.”

Janey faced him squarely. “I did not. You never asked about my background—you simply assumed because of my job that I’d climbed out of the primordial ooze just last week. ‘Janey doesn’t own a dress. You should have seen her trying to learn to walk in heels!’” Her voice was bitter. “What were you planning to say next, I wonder? ‘Of course I’ll have to teach her to read and write’?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Maybe not the words, but it’s exactly what you meant.”

He looked a little ashamed of himself. “All right,” he admitted. “It’s what I wanted Gran to think, and maybe I went a little overboard. But what happened to playing your part?”

“I don’t have to have hayseeds sprouting in my hair to get the message across that we’re all wrong for each other. So what if I’m not quite the poster girl for ignorance and poverty? She’s still going to hate me, Webb.”

He looked as if he’d really like to believe her but didn’t quite dare.

Janey caught a glimpse of movement in one of the long hallways that stretched away from the staircase seemingly into infinity. She turned her head just as a woman who was wearing a heavy coat and carrying a dark-haired child in a red velvet dress came into sight.

Webb looked over Janey’s shoulder and said pleasantly, “Mrs. Wilson. I was just coming to get Maddy.”

“And about time,” the woman said flatly. “Or had you forgotten I’m supposed to have an afternoon out, not just a couple of hours?”

“I’m sorry. We were a little distracted downstairs.”

Janey couldn’t believe her ears. Webb Copeland was actually apologizing?

He took the child from the nurse’s arms. Maddy snuggled close, and Mrs. Wilson pulled a pair of gloves from her pockets and briskly put them on. Her gaze slid over Janey, summarized and dismissed her. “Since I’m not leaving on time, I will of course be later getting back as well.”

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