What She Doesn't Know by Beverly Barton Page B

Yvonne was nowhere in sight. Had she, too, escaped somewhere upstairs?
    “Can anyone tell me where Mrs. Carter is?” he asked the hired help working feverishly to replenish the food and wine trays.
    “Mrs. Carter is on the back porch.” An attractive young woman dressed in the white shirt and black slacks that made up the catering service uniform smiled warmly, giving him a flirtatious look.
    “Thank you.”
    “Anytime, Mr. Devereaux.”
    Ignoring the girl’s subtle come-on, Max marched through the kitchen and into the adjacent mudroom, then opened the back door and stepped out onto the porch. He heard them before he saw them—Yvonne and Jolie sitting side-by-side on the far end of the porch, their hips poised on the wide banister railing.
    “Won’t you even consider it, for Clarice’s sake?” Yvonne asked.
    Jolie shook her head. “Nothing short of my returning to Belle Rose on a permanent basis would satisfy Aunt Clarice, and that simply isn’t going to happen.”
    “Then give her a few days. Surely you can put aside your dislike for your father’s second family long enough to—”
    “Dislike is too mild a word. I despise Georgette. And I don’t trust Max. I’m afraid I can’t disguise such strong emotions, not even for Aunt Clarice’s sake.”
    “What about your sister? You can’t possible hate Mallory.”
    “She’s my half sister. And you’re right. I don’t hate her. With her having Georgette for a mother, I feel absolutely nothing for her but pity.”
    Max had two options—he could go back inside the house or he could make his presence known. Choosing the latter, he cleared his throat. The two women glanced his way. Yvonne slid off the banister railing. Jolie sat there staring at him.
    “Yvonne, Mother would like a cup of mint tea,” Max said. “Would you mind preparing it for her? She’s in the front parlor.”
    “Yes, of course,” Yvonne replied, then looked back at Jolie. “You behave yourself. Remember you’re a Desmond.”
    Yvonne passed Max and went straight inside the house. With Jolie’s hostile gaze still boring into him, he moved toward her, one slow, deliberate step at a time. Before he reached her, she slid off the banister and onto her feet, then started to walk away. He reached out and grabbed her left wrist, halting her escape.
    “Don’t rush off,” he said.
    She jerked on her wrist, but he held fast. “Let go of me.”
    “Not just yet. Not until—”
    She raised her right arm, lifting her hand in preparation for attack. Just as she swung at him, he grabbed her right wrist and manacled it to the left. They glowered at each other.
    “My mother doesn’t deserve your hatred and my sister doesn’t need your pity.”
    She wriggled, trying to free herself, but to no avail. “I see I can add eavesdropping to your many sins.”
    “I don’t care what you think of me or what you say about me,” he told her, tightening his hold on her wrists and bringing them upward until he held them between their chests. “But if you hurt my mother or sister, you’ll answer to me.”
    “Is that a threat?” She narrowed her gaze until her eyes were mere slits.
    “Take it however you wish. I just want you to know that I protect what’s mine.”
    “How very noble of you. Tell me, Max, does eliminating obstacles to your mother’s happiness fall under the jurisdiction of protecting your own?”
    Damn the bitch! She had all but accused him of murder. He released his tenacious hold on her. “You’ve learned to fight dirty, haven’t you?”
    “It’s survival of the fittest in this world, isn’t it? And believe me, I am a survivor. So, you’d better pray that my father didn’t give me any power over your precious family, because if he did…” She smiled wickedly.
    “A battle to the death?” he asked, already knowing the answer. Nothing would please Jolie Royale more than destroying his mother.

    At eight o’clock that evening Garland Wells gathered the family in