Madam had always said that Sherman had the brains in the business and Summers had the charisma. Her grandmother had certainly been right with her evaluation, Taylor thought with a smile as Peter Summers oozed compliment after compliment. He was as slick as oil and as sincere as a sweet-talking dandy. Taylor didn't remember ever being introduced to Summers, but he assured her they had met. She'd been quite young, he recalled, and had hung onto her grandmother's skirts most of the time he was there. He tried but couldn't coax a smile out of her.
"Your behavior was quite amusing," he told her. "And a bit peculiar. Your uncle Malcolm was there, but each time he left the library, you let go of your grandmother's skirts and became quite the imp. You were into one thing after another. Your grandmother was very indulgent. She let you have free rein. You were busy digging through her desk, looking for treasures I suppose, but the minute your uncle returned to the study, you hightailed it back to your grandmother's skirts again. The pattern was repeated several times, as your uncle was coming and going every other ten minutes or so. I believe he was indulging in a drink or two of whiskey out in the hallway."
"Probably," Taylor replied. "Madam wouldn't allow anyone to drink any spirits in her company."
The banker continued to recollect one humorous incident after another. All involved Taylor's odd behavior around her uncle Malcolm.
She wasn't smiling over the memories. Lucas wondered how long it would take Summers to realize she didn't find anything amusing about her uncle. She'd been afraid of him when she was a little girl. Lucas listened to the stories and came to that easy conclusion. What surprised him was that Taylor was still afraid of the man. The way she clenched her hands together, added to the look in her eyes, indicated her fear bordered on terror.
He was about to change the topic when Summers finished with his recollections and asked Taylor if she'd had a calm voyage from London. Sherman joined in the conversation. Lucas stood behind his wife while the two gentlemen continued to fawn over her. They were harmless enough, he supposed, but he still didn't like the way the younger man stared at Taylor.
Harry Sherman waited until Taylor was once again engaged in conversation with his colleague, then motioned Lucas to the back of the room. In a low voice he asked if Taylor had heard about her grandmother's death.
"Her uncle Andrew sent a telegram," he explained.
Sherman looked relieved. "I hated to be the one to tell her. The two of them were very close, like mother and daughter. I can barely take it in myself. I'll miss her."
Taylor was just taking her seat when Sherman asked Lucas if she were up to going over all the details in the will. "Her grandmother made several changes, and I don't believe Taylor is aware of all the ramifications. The terms are going to cause quite a stir in the family. Mark my words, there's going to be trouble."
An hour later, after all the conditions had been explained, Taylor was feeling sick to her stomach.
Lucas thought she'd become ill. She looked ready to pass out. Her complexion had turned as white as her gloves. Summers had already left his office in search of witnesses to the documents Taylor would have to sign, and Sherman, observing the swift change in his client, went to fetch a glass of water for her. He told Lucas grief was surely the culprit, and talking about dear Lady Esther's last wishes was simply proving to be too much for Taylor to endure.
Lucas sat next to Taylor. He waited until they were alone, then reached over and took hold of her hand.
"Are you going to be all right?"
She didn't answer him. She was staring down at her hands and seemed to be lost in thought.
He squeezed her hand to get her attention, and when that action didn't get any response, he reached over and took hold of her chin. He gently nudged her to look at him.
There were tears in her eyes. She was trembling. Taylor wasn't battling her grief. She was fighting her fear. Her eyes told the truth. She was terrified all right, and he was determined to find out why.
"Oh, Lucas, what has Madam done?" She grabbed hold of his hand and held tight.
He was taken aback by the question. "Are you upset because she left so much of her money to charities, Taylor?" He answered his own question before she could. "No, of course you aren't. You probably suggested she divide her fortune in such a manner. You're still going to receive quite a lot of money. Didn't you expect it?"
"Madam shouldn't have done it. Don't you see? He'll have to come after me now. He won't have any choice. He'll do anything to get the money."
She had a death grip on his hand. She was getting all worked up, and he didn't have a clue as to what to say or do to calm her down. She was going to have to explain the threat before he could confront it.
Taylor turned her gaze back to her lap. She knew she had to get her emotions under control. Lucas must think she was out of her mind.
"I'm feeling better now," she lied. She managed a weak smile and looked up at him.
He was frowning with concern. "I'm sorry," she blurted out. "I didn't mean to go on and on like that. It was just such a surprise. I'm fine now, really."
He wasn't buying that nonsense for a minute. "You asked the question, What am I going to do? You're married now, Taylor. The question therefore becomes, What are we going to do? Got that?"
He sounded gruff and looked angry. He was acting very like a prince again, she thought.
Her Prince Charming. Lord, whatever had she done to the man? He deserved better. He shouldn't have been saddled with a marriage he didn't want and relatives like Malcolm.
He squeezed her hand then and she realized he was waiting for an answer. She nodded just to placate him. "Yes, I've got it," she said. "The question should be, What are we going to do?"
He grunted. She guessed that meant he was satisfied. "You're a very charming man, Lucas Ross, even when you make those obscene sounds in the back of your throat."
He shook his head at her. He wasn't going to let her change the subject.
"Tell me what it is we have to do something about. I can't help you until I know what the problem is."
"Yes, of course."
He waited a full minute before he realized she wasn't going to say another word.
He decided he would have to prod the worry out of her. "You said, he'll come after you for the money. You were referring to your uncle Malcolm, weren't you?"
She looked up at him and slowly nodded.
"Now that you're married, he can't touch your inheritance."
"I realize that."
She tried to stand up. He stopped her by grabbing hold of her.
"Not so fast," he ordered. "Tell me why you're upset."
She was saved from having to answer him when Summers and Sherman came back into the office. Sherman handed her a glass of water. Lucas had to let go of her hands so she could accept the drink. She took advantage of the opportunity and stood up. She took a sip of the water, handed the glass back to the banker with a thank you for his kindness, and then walked across the office to stand near the window. She folded her arms across her waist, her gaze on the pedestrians rushing back and forth on the street below.
Summers took his seat behind the desk. He turned in his chair to look at his client.
"My dear, you're going to have to sign a few papers in order to gain access to your funds."
She turned around. "What happens if I refuse to sign?"
Summers thought she was jesting with him. The notion that anyone would deliberately turn down any amount of money made him smile.
"It wouldn't matter if you signed or not," he said. "It's really just a formality for the bank's records. The money will stay in trust, earning you a handsome figure in interest if you decide not to spend any of it now."