Kay Hooper - The Haviland Touch

WYATTS FOLLY
It had been ten years since Spencer Wyatt had jilted Drew Haviland for another man. Now she was free--and more damnably desirable than ever. Drew vowed to seek repayment for Spencers broken pledge, planned to ruthlessly take what had been promised to him. But closer inspection told him that Spencer was in dire straits...and needed him desperately.
Spencer was determined to find the legendary Hapsburg Cross, the lifelong aim of her dying father. Drew was the only man who could help--but he also had the power to hurt her. Though danger lurked at every corner of her quest, Spencer feared above all the perilous passion she had fled so long ago... and Drew Havilands seductive oath of vengeance...

The man behind the massive antique desk reached one elegant but curiously powerful hand into the chamois bag his visitor had just set before him and pulled out a heavy, ornate necklace. The instant light caught them, a half-dozen green stones threw shards of color in a glittering show of emerald fire.

I told you it was something, didnt I? Thirty thousand, Haviland, and not a penny less.

Without commenting aloud, Drew Haviland produced a jewelers lens and studied the necklace intently under the bright light of his desk lamp. The six large teardrop emeralds came under his scrutiny, as well as the numerous smaller diamonds and the craftsmanship of the gold work. Finally he raised his head, slipped the lens back into his pocket and looked at the other man. He was smiling slightly.

Thirty thousand, Hanson?

Hanson knew that smile, and his own was a bit uneasy. You cant say it isnt worth it.

Let me ask you, Drew said pleasantly. Is it worth a decade or so in jail?

I told you it wasnt stolen, and it isnt, Hanson protested quickly.

The silence lengthened, and Drews usually amused blue eyes were curiously flat as he stared across the desk at the other man. Finally he said in a very soft voice, These are the Wyatt emeralds, Hanson.

A look of surprise crossed Hansons face, swiftly followed by comprehension. Hell, he muttered, Id forgotten that youd probably know them.

Yes, I know them.

Something about that level voice made Hanson rush on quickly, even nervously. But not stolen, I swear. The the lady came to me. She said she needed the money and couldnt sell the necklace on the open market. I didnt ask why.

Drew gazed at the chamois bag resting in the center of his neat blotter and asked mildly, How much did you give her for it, Hanson?

Thats not a fair question, Hanson muttered. He might have said more, but when those vivid, usually amused blue eyes lifted to meet his he decided not to bother. Several years experience in dealing with the urbane and aristocratic Haviland had taught him that underneath that smooth exterior was an iron will, a rare but explosive temper and the kind of sheer physical strength it wasnt wise to provoke. Sighing, Hanson said, Ten thousand.

Ill give you fifteen.

What? But-

Thats five thousand for your trouble. And since your trouble consisted of hardly more than a few minutes work, you shouldnt feel cheated.

I could find another buyer.

No, you couldnt. Drew smiled. Id see to that.

Hanson eyed him resentfully. You would, too, damn you.

Certainly I would. Is it a deal?

What choice do I have?

Half an hour later, Drew stood at a large window of his study and stared out into the night. The room behind him was empty, the visitor having departed with fifteen thousand dollars in cash, and the chamois bag containing a costly necklace resting on the desk blotter. Drew hadnt looked at the necklace again after his first methodical examination, but if asked he could have described it in minute detail.

The Wyatt emeralds.

When had he first seen them? Eleven years ago? No, twelve. He couldnt even pretend to himself that hed forgotten. It had been twelve years ago. The first time he had seen her. She had been a heartbreaker even then. Miss Spencer Wyatt, barely sixteen years old and already a belle of Washington, D.C., society. Her mothers death the year before had pushed her early into the position of her fathers hostess, and she had claimed that responsibility with a grace and poise far beyond her years.

Drew could still remember, with disturbing clarity, the sight of her at one end of the long dining table. The promise of great beauty had shone in her flawless complexion and delicate bone structure, in the wide-spaced gray eyes that held intelligence and humor as well as an unusual sweetness. Her shining raven hair had been swept up in a sophisticated style, shed worn very little makeup, albeit expertly applied, and the green of her dress had complemented the emeralds perfectly. Her figure had been trim but girlishly plump; within the next two years the puppy fat had vanished, leaving seductively womanly curves on a petite and slender frame.

Washington society regarded her as a woman long before the law agreed, and considering her fathers preoccupation with his own affairs as well as his doting fondness of her, she might have been expected to run wild with a kind of freedom few teenagers in her position enjoyed. But she hadnt. She had clearly enjoyed the parties and other social events, yet had been at the top of her class in the private school she attended and had steadfastly refused to go out with any man other than her father alone until she turned eighteen.

Allan Wyatt was no ones idea of a stern father and, in fact, openly and proudly said that Spencer ran her own life. He would have granted her far more freedom than she accepted, particularly since he was by nature an indulgent man and openly adored his only child. Spencer hadnt taken advantage, at least not in that way. Drew had believed then that her poised social mask had hidden an innate shyness; she had sometimes seemed a little nervous and wary in his company.

Innocence, he had thought. For all her surface confidence and polish, she had been a very young woman whod had a fairly sheltered upbringing, and more than once Drew had seen a look almost of dismay in her eyes whenever some eager swain had showered her with compliments or tried to get her alone. She had seemed more comfortable when those around her adhered to at least the surface courtesy that convention demanded, as if she felt safer when the rules were plainly marked.

* * *

Staring out the window and blind to the night landscape of the gracious Washington suburb where he kept a house. Drew moved slightly, restlessly, a frown crossing his face as the memories refused to leave him alone.

Would it have all been different, he wondered , if he had not chosen to play by those rules? If he had followed his instincts? Hed wanted her from the first time he had set eyes on her, but shed been too young then and he had known it. Two years of watching her, of feeding the hunger inside him with prosaic dinner-table conversations and sedate dances while he waited with what patience he could muster for her to grow up.

Apparently he waited too long. He could still remember, too vividly, his bitterness and anger, and pushed it aside with an effort. Ten years was a long time, he reminded himself. He was over that now, had been over it for years. He hadnt wasted a thought on Spencer Wyatt.

Drew turned away from the window and returned to his desk, sitting down in the chair and staring at the chamois bag on the blotter. Why had she sold the necklace? It had been in her family for generations, the famous Wyatt emeralds, and had been, he remembered reluctantly, a personal favorite of hers. With all the Wyatt jewelry hers after her mothers death, shed had her pick of a number of exquisite pieces, but the emeralds had been most often around her slender throat.