The Engagement Party

Well, not him. Matthew flicked the raindrops from his hair. The smile she’d almost coaxed out of him rapidly turned into a defiant scowl. He was not here to lust after a teasing little flirt who was oh-so-confident of her appeal. He couldn’t allow anything or anyone to divert him, even temporarily, from the vital mission that had brought him to Clover.

He suspected that Hannah Farley could be far more than a temporary distraction. Becoming absorbed in her might easily become a full-time preoccupation. Matthew steeled himself against her allure. She was tempting but not irresistible. He could and would resist.

“Save it, sweetie,” he growled. “What you’re selling, I’m not buying.”

Hannah heaved an exasperated groan. “Are you one of those vain, tiresome men who thinks that any time a woman smiles at him, she’s coming on to him? Well, let me assure you that I am not, Mr. Granger.”

Matthew watched the warmth fade from her gray eyes as they narrowed to slits under her dark brows, watched her smile turn into a frown as fierce as his own. He was appalled that he felt regret, that he wanted to recall his insult and make her smile at him again. Her spell was potent indeed!

That feminine power of hers refueled his determination to send her on her way. Safely out of his way. She’d made it plain that she resented male condescension; therefore it became his weapon of choice.

“I guess it’s time for me to tell you that you’re beautiful when you’re angry.” He taunted her with his tone, with his expression. “The way you toss your hair, the way your eyes flash—baby, you project the image of glamorous anger as well as any soap-opera queen.”

Only his eyes, hot and intent, belied his cocky attitude.

Katie was right there to catch the laptop case before it hit the ground. She had rightly anticipated Hannah’s next move. “Hannah, please, the party,” she prompted under her breath. “It would be so helpful to me if you would go down and—”

“Throw the unruly mob out into the rain?” Matthew suggested. “I’m surprised none of the other tenants has complained about the noise. When I checked into this place, I thought it would provide the quiet I was seeking. Instead, there is a rowdy party going on downstairs with the Hit Parade from Hell playing in the background. Is this a nightly occurrence, Miss Jones? If so—”

“If you wanted a dark, quiet place, why didn’t you check into the city morgue?” Hannah said crossly. “The accommodations there would be ideal for an icy stiff like you.”

Matthew actually laughed. “Touché to you, too, Miss Farley.”

It was Hannah’s turn to be rendered speechless. Matthew Granger was attractive in a severely masculine way when he was angry and upset but he was absolutely charismatic when his dark eyes sparkled with humor and his face was lit with laughter.

Hannah slid a sidelong glance in Katie’s direction. If Katie had been equally floored by Matthew’s charisma, she was covering her reaction well. Katie appeared more concerned with balancing the dripping-wet computer case than gaping breathlessly at the mercurial Matthew Granger.

Which Hannah found herself doing, much to her own disconcertment. She took inventory of his face—and his body. He was not a classically handsome man but he had interesting features. The sharp blade of a nose and hard slash of a mouth were as compelling as his black eyes, arched by black brows. He was lean and muscular and almost vibrating with a restless energy that she instantly understood because she possessed it herself. A need to make things happen. An edginess combined with a daring need for something that hadn’t been found because it had yet to be identified.

“Mr. Granger, if I may, I’ll set the computer down here.” Katie laid it safely down in a dry spot and wiped her hands on the skirt of her light summer dress. “And I’ll get the key to room 206. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Don’t forget to take your sidekick with you,” Matthew called after her, as Katie fled down the hall.

Hannah folded her arms across her chest. She decided then and there not to do anything to accommodate him. If he wanted her gone, she would stay put. “I won’t conveniently go away, giving you free rein to bully and disparage poor Katie. She obviously needs your business and you’re taking full advantage of that fact.”

“What about you?” taunted Matthew. “According to Katie, you’re a shop owner. Shouldn’t you be patronizing me as a potential customer for your wares—whatever they might be?”

Hannah gave him a dismissive laugh. “I certainly don’t need to cultivate the likes of you.”

“Because you’re a rich girl whose shop is just a diversion until a suitable candidate for your privileged little hand shows up?”

“My shop holds its own, not that it’s any business of yours. And I am definitely not in a rush to marry anyone,” she added, a little too fervently.

“Why not? Every woman I’ve ever known has been burning to find a husband and take that long walk down the aisle, all decked out in white lace and sequins.”

“Good heavens, what kind of women have you been spending time with?”

“Ones with bad taste in wedding attire?”

“Not to mention bad taste in men, if they’re burning to take that long walk down the aisle with you!”

He grinned. “I didn’t say they all wanted to marry me. I said they all wanted to get married. Just like you do, honey. Let me guess. You want some tall, elegant Southern aristocrat who’ll keep you in the grand style you’ve always been accustomed to. Or maybe a good-looking, fun-loving socialite who glides along on his connections and his boyish charm.”

“Been there. Done that.” Hannah feigned boredom, but she was far from bored. There was a current of sexual tension sizzling between them, which energized her, challenged her, too.

“So you’re a lady with a past? I’m intrigued.”

“Don’t be. You’re not my type.”

“You’re saying I don’t stand a chance with you?” He sounded amused, not insulted.

“Not a chance,” Hannah affirmed. She sashayed by him, deeper into the room, taking care to avoid the water dripping steadily from the various leaks in the ceiling.

On top of the bureau lay a big canvas bag, which was half open and crammed full of notebooks, folders and books, both paperback and hardcover. She peered inside, but before she could glimpse any of the titles, Matthew stalked across the room to stand between her and the bureau, blocking both her view and her access to the bag.

“Do you make a habit of barging into people’s rooms and snooping through their things?” His tone was light but his dark eyes were hard and forbidding.

“What do you have in there that you don’t want me to see?” Hannah asked curiously. When she took a step closer, he sidestepped her, continuing to block her view of the bag and its contents.

“Why do you feel the need to know?” he countered.

“I don’t.” Hannah shrugged. “But you’re awfully defensive about it. Are you one of those creepy perverts who travels with his own personal stash of hard-core pornography?”

“You do have an interesting imagination.” Matthew tried but failed to suppress a grin. “But the answer is no. Sorry if I’ve disappointed you.”

Her body reacted to his smile, her heartbeat accelerating as hot little quivers pierced her abdomen. Hannah tried to will them away. “Why are you here in Clover, Mr. Granger?” she demanded sharply.

“I’m a writer.” His eyes held hers. “This bag holds research and reference materials. I’m here to...gather information for the book I plan to write.”

“I checked room 206 and it’s fine.” Katie rushed into the room, panting from exertion. “Shall we get you moved in there, Mr. Granger?”

“I would appreciate that. And please call me Matthew.” He zipped up his canvas tote and grabbed its straps. “Lead the way, Miss Jones.”

“If we’ve moved to a first-name basis, you must use Katie, please.” Katie was relieved that his fury seemed to have abated and that he was willing to be placated. “May I carry something for you, Matthew?”

“The laptop.” Matthew pointed, and Katie scooped it up.

“Katie, did you know he’s a writer?” Hannah eyed him dubiously. “At least he claims he is. He says he’s here to do research for his book.”

“A writer here in Clover?” Katie paused at the threshold. “Are you going to write a book about the town?” she asked him eagerly. “I read a wonderful novel about Savannah a few months ago and—”

“I know the book,” Matthew cut in. “Mine won’t be anything like it. I’m going to describe the insect life of a small Southern coastal town. Clover seemed a likely setting.”

“You’re writing a book about insects in Clover?” Hannah was incredulous.

“I’m sure it will be very interesting,” Katie said diplomatically.

“Will it be like a textbook?” pressed Hannah.

“Like, yes.” Matthew’s eyes mocked her. “I promise to send you both an autographed copy.”

“I don’t believe for one minute that you’re here to write an insect textbook,” Hannah declared boldly. The gleam in his dark eyes was all the proof she needed to know that he was putting them on. Katie was too polite to call him on it, but Hannah had nothing to lose. He wasn’t her tenant. “And I don’t—”

“As long as you’re determined to stick around, you may as well make yourself useful, angel face. Take my shirts from the closet and bring them to 206,” Matthew directed Hannah.

He didn’t wait around to see if she followed his orders. Obviously he expected to be obeyed, just as he had assumed that Katie would follow him upstairs after he’d issued his earlier command. Matthew strode from the room, Katie at his heels.

“Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir.” Hannah gave a mock salute. The man barked out orders like a general on the battlefield. But it was her curiosity, not any sense of obedience, that drove her to open the closet door.

An assortment of shirts was hung neatly on hangers on the rod, and Hannah draped them over her arm. From the number of them, it appeared that Matthew Granger planned to stick around for a while. There were also two lightweight summer suits hanging there. Hannah decided she could carry them, too.

She felt the hard lump in the inside pocket of the jacket as she added the suits to her load. The same innate curiosity that had prompted her to examine the books inside his canvas bag caused her to investigate the bulge in the pocket.

Hannah’s eyes widened in shocked alarm when she pulled out a small, gleamingly polished handgun.

Two

Hannah dropped the gun back into the pocket as if scalded by its touch. Her heart thumped wildly against her ribs. She hadn’t believed Matthew’s lame assertion about being here to research and write about insect life in Clover, and the sight of this gun confirmed her doubts.

Why would he carry a gun? Was he a police officer? She knew Ford Maguire, sheriff of Clover; just yesterday she’d had coffee with him at the diner, and he hadn’t mentioned anything about a new officer coming to town. And it seemed logical that Katie would’ve mentioned that her new tenant was a cop when she’d introduced him.

Unless Katie didn’t know. Perhaps Matthew Granger was doing some sort of undercover investigation that required total secrecy. But what? Clover was not exactly a hotbed of crime. Oh, there were the occasional domestic disputes, petty larceny and disorderly-conduct arrests, but the downtrodden Polk clan usually figured in most of those. Certainly, no secret agent was necessary to deal with the Polks!

That left the other side of the law.

Was Matthew Granger a criminal who’d chosen to hide out here at the boardinghouse? Laying low until the heat is off, as a movie gangster would say. It occurred to Hannah that the only things she knew about gangsters were from the movies because she had never met a bona fide mobster in her life.

But here was Matthew Granger, dressed all in black, projecting an aura of danger, demanding and insolent and secretive. He definitely had not wanted her to see what was in that canvas bag of his, although why a criminal would take pains to hide his reading material escaped her. Unless the titles offered some sort of clues or evidence against him? Perhaps the books were simply decoys, hiding the real secrets in the bottom of the crammed satchel? Drugs?

Hannah shivered. What else did racketeers do? Laundering money, bookmaking, loan-sharking. Murder-for-hire? She flinched. She did not want Matthew Granger to be a criminal! A telling insight that unnerved her as much as the possibility that he was one.

Nervously, Hannah hung the suits back in the closet. She didn’t want Matthew Granger—if that was his real name—to know that she knew he had a gun. She heard his voice and Katie’s outside the room and quickly slammed the closet door.

“I have your shirts,” she sang out, hurrying into the hall, where she came face-to-face with Matthew. “They go to 206, right?”

“You have amazing recall, little girl,” he growled.

She met his eyes—they were dark and hot and challenging—and a sharp thrill tore through her. What she should be feeling was fear, Hannah admonished herself as she fairly ran down the hall to room 206. She would not be attracted to a gangster! Not even Grandmother, the soul of patience and understanding, would condone such lunacy.

She hung his shirts inside the closet in his new room and turned to see the canvas bay lying on the floor beside the bed. A quick peek assured her that there was no one in the hall, so Hannah succumbed to temptation, pulled the zipper half open and reached into the bag.

She examined the hardcover titles first. Inside the Criminal Mind, a textbook written by a psychiatrist. Three other books on the personalities of serial killers by three different criminologists. Was Matthew Granger a criminologist or psychologist himself, taking a vacation in Clover? If he was accustomed to the crime-infested urban scene, Clover would be a welcome change of pace for him. Her anxiety began to dissolve; she preferred this new, favorable theory.

She next turned her attention to the paperbacks, which were all bestselling thrillers. Hannah recognized the names of the authors but hadn’t read any of the books. She preferred historical novels with plenty of romance. There were none of those in the bag.

Delving deeper, she pulled out a beat-up copy of The First Families of South Carolina, a privately published book that also graced the shelves of the Farley family library, although that particular copy was in mint condition. There was a thick piece of folded paper in Matthew’s tattered copy, perhaps marking a page?

Hannah turned to it. The heading at the top of the page read “The Wyndhams.” That family, who was so important, wealthy and influential within the state that they rated two entire chapters in the book, had a major branch in Clover. The collective Wyndham tribe boasted judges and senators, past and present, along with the usual assortment of attorneys and financiers. All the Wyndhams were well educated and cultured, sophisticated and socially prominent, a credit to their glorious name and history.

Hannah knew them, of course. While the Farley family did not possess the enormous wealth and political power of the Wyndham family, the Farleys were well-bred and well connected and therefore considered worthy to socialize with the grand Wyndhams. Hannah’s oldest sister, Sarah, had gone to school with Esme Wyndham Chase; now their young daughters were friends.

The closed and clannish upper-class social scene had never appealed to Hannah. She stared at the book and wondered why on earth Matthew Granger was reading about it.

Her eyes flicked over the thrillers and the behavioral studies of real-life criminals. One thing was certain; he had wildly divergent tastes in books. And there wasn’t a thing in the bag having to do with insects, either. He had been kidding her and Katie, though he teased so seriously, it was difficult to tell.

And then she saw the map. It had been there all along, although it hadn’t registered until right now that the thick folded paper, marking the chapter on the Wyndhams, was a map. She unfolded it. A map of Clover.

Her eyes immediately focused on the red circle drawn near the outskirts of town. Beside it, handwritten in the same red ink were the words “Wyndham estate.”

Hannah drew a sharp breath. Why would he mark the Wyndham estate on this map? It wasn’t as if it was a tourist attraction! Her imagination began to conjure up yet another scenario, supplanting her comfortable criminologist-on-holiday theory.

What if Matthew Granger was a cat burglar who’d come to Clover to rob the Wyndhams? She had been to the family mansion and knew it was a virtual treasure trove filled with priceless antiques and paintings and objets d’art, which had been collected by generations of Wyndhams. It was an antiques dealer’s dream, though Hannah had never, ever approached any Wyndham about selling anything. They would’ve considered any commercial interest crass and ill-bred, and Hannah knew it.

But suppose Matthew Granger had been hired by some fanatical dealer or collector determined to possess what the Wyndhams would never sell? Or perhaps he was acting on his own, hoping to make a killing in the black market, which thrived on stolen treasures? Every cat burglar she’d ever seen in the movies dressed in black, just like Matthew, the better to sneak around on rooftops in the dark, she presumed.

And then there were the Wyndham jewels, a fabulous collection that had graced the throats and wrists and fingers of generations of Wyndham women. Just last month at a charity ball, Hannah had seen the stunning heirloom emerald necklace and matching earrings worn by the incomparable Alexandra Wyndham, that genteel paragon of beauty and class.

She swallowed. That necklace alone could secure a jewel thief a luxurious retirement—if he could remove it from the Wyndham estate. Was Matthew Granger here to try?

Hannah closed her eyes and tried to still the wild pounding of her heart. What should she do? Alert Sheriff Maguire to warn the Wyndhams? But she had no evidence of any wrongdoing or even potential wrongdoing, only her own anxious speculations. She could almost hear Ford Maguire tell her so. It didn’t help that he still thought of her as a flighty little schoolgirl who’d played with his younger sister, Lucy.

Matthew’s and Katie’s voices sounded in the hall. Hannah glanced down at the map and the book in her hand. She couldn’t let him catch her going through his things!

Just as she slipped the map back into the book, she noticed a name written in ink at the bottom of the chapter’s opening page. Alexandra Wyndham. Hannah gasped. She’d envisioned Alexandra in her emeralds, and now her name had turned up in Matthew Granger’s book. As his primary target? The coincidence was creepy enough to make her hair stand on end!

Matthew and Katie were very near, practically outside the door. Hannah had just enough time to rezip the bag and plop down on the edge of the bed. She crossed her legs, affecting a languorous pose while studying her crimson-painted fingernails.

Matthew’s eyes brushed over her, lingering on her lips before lowering to the fullness of her breasts straining against the silver bodice of her dress. Her short shirt had ridden high, exposing her well-shaped silken legs.

Katie glanced uneasily from Hannah’s seductive pose to Matthew’s fixed stare.

“My nail polish is chipped,” Hannah said with a vexed sigh. She hoped she sounded sufficiently insipid, like a self-absorbed idiot who would never bother with a follow-up of that suspicious bag.

Unfortunately, Matthew saw right through her act. “If it really is chipped, which I doubt, you probably did it trying to break into my bag,” he drawled.

Hannah’s head shot up and she met his cool, assessing gaze. He was carrying his suits, and the sight of the light gray coat—the one with the gun in its pocket—shattered her studied composure. “I did not!” she snapped, automatically hiding her hands with ten unchipped nails behind her back. “I don’t care what’s in your stupid bag!”

“What do you think, Katie?” Matthew turned to her. “Doth the lady protest too much?”

Katie opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, choosing not to take sides between her paying guest and her fellow bridesmaid.

Hannah recrossed her legs. Matthew was watching her very closely, reading every nuance in her expression, taking in her edgy, agitated behavior. She was not well skilled when it came to deception, Hannah thought glumly. She would make a terrible criminal and an even worse sleuth.

Katie, who had been pulling on Matthew’s wheeled suitcase by its strap, hoisted the case onto the bed beside Hannah. “Well, we’ll get out of your way and let you get settled here in your new room, Matthew,” Katie said heartily. “Thank you so much for your understanding and your cooperation. I hope the rest of your stay in Clover will be—”

“How long do you intend to stay in Clover, Matthew?” Hannah cut in. She forced herself to rise slowly to her feet and then sauntered toward the door, deliberately making her every movement graceful and sensual. Matthew’s dark gaze never wavered from her. It was as if she was putting on a performance for a private audience of one man only.

“My stay is open-ended. I’ll be here as long as it takes to get the job done.”

“The job being your insect research, of course,” Hannah baited him.

“Of course.” He shot her an arrogant grin, his eyes gleaming with challenge.

He knows I know he’s up to no good, Hannah thought, her nerves tingling. She pictured him casing the Wyndham estate. Pulling off the heist. The scene unfolded in her mind like a movie, with a black-clad Matthew Granger playing the lead. Her own role was more nebulous. Was she the gullible girl seduced into thinking the villain was really some sort of redeemable antihero? Or the sharp lady who set the trap and brought the felon to justice?

There was a loud whoop from the party downstairs. Katie, remembering her tenant’s expressed irritation over the noise level, caught her lower lip between her teeth and took a bolstering breath. “Matthew, I want to invite you downstairs to join the party. If you’re going to be in Clover for a while, you might enjoy meeting some—”

“Why would he need to meet people when he’s here to study bugs?” Hannah interjected scornfully.

“We have plenty of food and drinks. Maybe you would like some refreshments, Matthew?” Katie grated through her teeth. It was difficult playing the gracious hostess when Hannah kept lobbing verbal grenades at her guest. “You’re very welcome to join us if you wish,” she added cordially.

“Thanks for your kind invitation.” Matthew’s smile was genuine when he addressed Katie, but transformed into a sardonic smirk when he turned to Hannah. “But I’m not feeling particularly social. I’ll stay up here and unpack.”

“Maybe you’ll get lucky and find a spider whose web is chock-full of flies,” said Hannah. “That should make an exciting opening chapter for your book.”

Katie winced, caught Hannah’s arm and firmly hustled her out of the room. “If you should change your mind, please feel free to join us downstairs, Matthew,” Katie called over her shoulder. She half dragged Hannah down the hall. “I realize that manhandling a Farley defies social convention, and for that, I apologize,” muttered Katie. “But, Hannah, I’m desperate. I couldn’t let you start in on him again! Matthew Granger is a paying customer. He could probably sue me for that leaky roof fiasco, and last but far from least, I need his business. I have the roof to repair and plenty of vacancies until next month when I’m finally fully booked for the rest of the summer. Please try not to alienate a dependable source of income for this place.”

“Katie, surely you don’t believe that ridiculous story about his being here to write about insect life in Clover?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he is. I’ve never seen an—an insectologist, or whatever they’re called, have you? Why couldn’t he be one?”