Guardian Groom Page 5

  To her immense satisfaction, Grant turned crimson again.

  “I knew damned well you weren’t a child then. Hell, no child would have—”

  “What interlude in the elevator?”

  Crista looked at Horace Blackburn, whose rabbity face wore a puzzled expression.

  “I’ll tell you what interlude,” she snapped—and then she stopped. There was no way she could explain what had happened, not without Grant twisting the facts to make her seem the guilty party. “Never mind,” she said stiffly. “We just—Mr. Landon and I had a difference of opinion, that’s all.”

  “We still have a difference of opinion,” Grant said coldly. “Miss Adams does not approve of me—and I most certainly do not approve of her.”

  “Miss Adams, Mr. Landon—please.” Horace Blackburn rose from his chair. He was still smiling, but his face was shiny with sweat. “Please,” he repeated, “if we could just get down to business…?”

  Grant’s expression was grim. “That’s an excellent suggestion, Blackburn, especially since it’s what I’ve been trying to do for days.”

  “Good, good. In that case, let’s all sit down, shall we?”

  Crista folded her arms over her breasts. Grant undid the button on his suit jacket and jammed his hands into his pockets. After a moment, Blackburn sighed and sank down into his chair.

  “I’m sorry about the mix-up, Mr. Landon. Of course my secretary should have put you through to me in Italy. And she should have given you the Adams file.”

  “What Adams file?” Crista demanded.

  Grant smiled tightly. “The one that would have told me you weren’t twelve years old—among other things.”

  Crista gave him a withering look. “What business is it of yours how old I am?”

  What business indeed? Grant thought. He didn’t know if he wanted to put his fist through the wall or burst out laughing. Here he was, Crista Adams’s guardian. All this time, he’d been thinking braces and boarding schools when it should have been bras and beauty salons—although, he thought with a sudden tightening of his body, he doubted if the woman he’d held in his arms in that elevator had need for either.

  Incredible, he thought. He was responsible for a woman—not a child—a beautiful, reckless woman with the face of a Madonna, the temperament of a wildcat, the morals of a—a Jezebel…

  “Listen here,” Crista said. Her voice was cold and hard and it drew the attention of both men. “Either I get answers, or I’m walking out that door.” Her eyes flashed to Blackburn’s face. “You’ve got five seconds, friend, starting now.”

  “My dear Miss Adams—”

  “I am certainly not your ‘dear’ anything! And the countdown has already started. You’ve got three seconds left.”

  “Miss Adams—”

  Crista snatched her purse from the chair. “So long, everybody. I’m out of here.”

  “All right!” Blackburn took a deep breath. “I can see that I am not going to be able to conduct this meeting as I’d planned. We are here to discuss the terms of your late uncle’s will. I had thought to read it in its entirety, but it would seem—”

  “Get to the bottom line, please.” Grant shot back his cuff and looked at his watch. “I’ve a luncheon appointment, and I’ve no intention of missing it.”

  “And I have to get to work,” Crista said tightly, “so if you—”

  Grant laughed. Crista swiveled toward him, her eyes flashing.

  “Does that amuse you, Mr. Landon? That some of us have to work for a living?”

  “Not at all, Miss Adams. I was just wondering what sort of, ah, work it is that you do.”

  “Honest work,” she snapped. “Something a man like you wouldn’t understand.”

  Grant’s gaze drifted slowly over her. Her hair hung wildly about her face, her raincoat was still damp in patches, and the broken boot heel made her stance uneven.

  Even so, she looked untamed and magnificent, and he remembered how it had felt to hold her in his arms…

  His jaw tightened. Damn, he thought, and he turned to Horace Blackburn.

  “She’s right, Blackburn. You’ve got five seconds. After that, you’ll be sitting in this office and talking to yourself.”

  Blackburn took off his glasses, laid them on his desk, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “Very well. Miss Adams, as I’d indicated, we are here to deal with the last will and testament of your late uncle Simon.” He paused. “As for Mr. Landon—he is here in lieu of his late father.”

  “Wonderful.” Crista tapped her foot impatiently. “Why not go downstairs and invite some people off the street? I mean, if we’re going to have a party—”

  “You should be aware that Mr. Landon is a more than appropriate substitute, Miss Adams. He is a man of excellent standing in the community—”

  “Hah!”

  “And a member of the bar.”

  “So he’s already told me. Would you like me to applaud?”

  “Miss Adams—”

  “Look, why don’t I save us both a lot of time? I know why I’m here, Mr. Blackburn.” She took a breath, wondering why what she was about to say suddenly seemed to put a lump in her throat. “You—you want to tell me that my uncle didn’t leave me anything.”

  Blackburn’s eyes rounded. “What? Oh, Miss Adams—”

  “But that’s fine. I didn’t expect him to. I knew how he felt about me, and—and…”

  Crista bit her lip. What was wrong with her? She hadn’t wanted anything from Simon, not while he was alive, certainly not after his death. So why had her voice taken on this faint tremor?

  She’d been a fool to have convinced herself that there’d be any pleasure in a face-to-face confrontation. Coming here had been a mistake, and it was time to put it behind her.

  “Look,” she said, “let’s get this over with, okay? Read me what you have to read me, or let me sign whatever I have to sign, and—”

  “Miss Adams.” Blackburn’s face took on a look of great solemnity. “Miss Adams, it is my duty to inform you that you are the sole heir to Simon Adams’s estate.”

  The words seemed to echo through the room. She was what? Crista thought, staring at Horace Blackburn.

  “I’m what?” she whispered.

  “It’s all yours,” Blackburn said with another phony smile. “The house. The stock and bond portfolios. The real-estate holdings. You’ve just become a very wealthy young woman.”

  Crista groped behind her for the chair and then collapsed into it.

  “But—but that’s impossible,” she murmured. “Uncle Simon didn’t love me. He didn’t even like me. He thought I was—that I was—”

  “Indeed,” Blackburn said. He was still smiling, but his voice was tinged with disapproval. “Nonetheless, you are the last direct descendant of the Adams bloodline. Your uncle could not bring himself to give away to strangers what generations of Adamses had amassed.”

  “Generous to the end,” Crista said with a choked little laugh. She took a deep breath and looked at Blackburn. “I still don’t believe it. There must be some mistake.”

  “There’s no mistake, Miss Adams.” Blackburn licked his lips. “But there is a proviso.”

  Grant’s sharp bark of laughter cut across the attorney’s words. Crista looked at him.

  “Sorry,” he said, but she could tell he was not sorry at all. “Go on, Blackburn,” he said. “Tell her the rest.”

  Blackburn cleared his throat. “It’s not at all an unusual proviso, Miss Adams. Many wills—especially when the inheritance is as large as this one—contain similar restrictions, and—”

  Something cold seemed to twist inside Crista’s belly. Whatever was coming, she was not going to like it.

  “What restrictions?”

  Blackburn picked up his glasses and carefully put them back on. Then he looked at Crista.

  “Grant Landon is to be your guardian.”

  Somewhere inside the walls of Horace Blackburn’s private office, a
woman’s voice rose in a quick burst of shrill laughter. It took Crista a moment to realize the laughter had come from her own throat.

  A joke, she thought, staring blankly at her uncle’s attorney, that’s what this is. A very bad joke.

  “You have—you have a strange sense of humor, Mr. Blackburn. All this, just to see if you can get a rise out of me?”

  “Miss Adams, I assure you—”

  “Well, let me tell you something.” Crista’s chair flew backward as she shot to her feet. “I don’t think it’s funny!”

  “Believe me,” Blackburn said stiffly, “I see no humor in this situation, either.”

  “Then—then what…?”

  “What I’ve told you is true, Miss Adams. Your uncle willed everything to you.”

  “And—and the rest? The stuff about—about that man being my guardian…?” Crista swallowed dryly. “That can’t be right. Why would—I mean, how could—”

  “Hell!” She turned as Grant came toward her, his eyes flat and cold, his mouth hard. He stopped in front of her, his powerful body blocking out everything else. “Let me lay it on the line for you, lady. Your uncle figured you’d get your hands on his money and blow it all. Isn’t that right, Blackburn?”

  “Yes. He was concerned that his niece—that you, Miss Adams, lack the maturity to—”

  “So he decided to put a safety valve on his assets.” A chilly smile twisted across Grant’s lips. “And that’s where I come in.”

  “You?” Crista took a breath. “But that’s impossible! I don’t even know you. And I’m not a child. You said yourself you thought I was twelve years old, but—”

  “Never mind what I thought.” Grant’s eyes glittered. “You just became my ward. And you’ll remain my ward until you reach your twenty-first birthday.”

  Crista stared at Grant’s stony face. My God, she thought, he wasn’t kidding!

  Anger swept through her, swiftly shunting aside the shocked disbelief of the past few minutes.

  “Like hell I will,” she said through her teeth. Her eyes flashed as she spun toward Horace Blackburn. “There’s no way that’s going to happen, Horace! I am not a minor, and I am not a fool, and I will not be treated as if I were either! There’s no law that says—”

  “We’re talking about the provisions of a will, Miss Adams. Your uncle had the right to make whatever provisions he deemed suitable concerning your inheritance. It was his money.”

  “But it’s my life. Or have you ‘gentlemen’ conveniently forgotten that?”

  Blackburn gave her a condescending smile. “Mr. Landon will be there to offer guidance—”

  “Guidance? From him? I’d sooner take ‘guidance’ from a—from a snake!”

  “Miss Adams, please. This is for your own good. Your uncle hoped that with maturity would come wisdom, and—”

  “Wisdom?” She gave a hollow laugh. “I’m supposed to get wisdom in three months? Because that’s when I’ll be twenty-one, Horace. In just three short months.”

  “And three months is a very short time,” Blackburn said soothingly. “You and Mr. Landon—”

  “How did you pull this off?” Hands knotted into fists, Crista swung toward Grant and glared at him. “Just tell me that, okay? How did you get yourself appointed my guardian?”

  Grant glowered at her from under his brows. “Don’t be a complete fool,” he growled. “I didn’t even know who you were until an hour ago. If you think this has any more appeal for me than it has for you—”

  “I’ll get my own attorney, dammit!” Her chin lifted in angry defiance. “I’ll take you to court, Landon, and I’ll have this—this proviso tossed out the window!”

  “That’s your privilege,” Grant said coldly. “Of course, by the time you get this case before a judge, you’ll be blowing out the candles on your birthday cake—but that’s up to you.”

  She stared at him, her face flushed, and then she turned back to Horace Blackburn.

  “Let me get this straight. I inherited my uncle’s estate—but until I’m twenty-one, that man is my guardian.”

  Blackburn nodded. “Exactly.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “And does it work in reverse? If I refuse the inheritance, I don’t have to have anything to do with him?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow you, Miss Adams.”

  “It’s really very simple.” Crista snatched her purse from the chair and marched to the door. “Simon left me his money, and now I have to decide if it’s worth putting up with that man to get it.”

  There was an instant’s silence, and then Grant laughed. Crista swung toward him, her eyes shooting fire.

  “Do you find this amusing?”

  “You’re good. Really good. I have to give you that.”

  “Don’t give me anything, Mr. Landon. Just get out of my way!”

  “Miss Adams—”

  “And you stop ‘Miss Adamsing’ me, dammit!” Crista shrugged off Blackburn’s restraining hand. “There’s no law that says I have to accept the money, is there?”

  Blackburn’s brow furrowed. “Not exactly, but—”

  “So, I was the last person in the world Simon could leave his money to, hmm? Well, that’s too bad—because maybe I’m the last person in the world who wants it!”

  “Like it or not, young woman, you are—by law—Simon Adams’s heir. You cannot change that.”

  “But if I don’t touch the money—”

  “Whether you do or you do not, the facts will not change. Grant Landon is your legal guardian. You cannot just—”

  “I can do anything I like! My uncle never figured that out, but I did, a long time ago.”

  “Yes.” Grant’s voice was low and chill. “I’ll just bet you did.”

  Crista looked at him. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you might as well be a child for all the maturity you show.”

  “I beg your pardon?” she said coldly.

  “You heard me. From the minute you walked into this office, you’ve behaved like a spoiled brat.”

  “Which is it, Mr. Landon? Are you an attorney, or are you a shrink?”

  “Just listen to yourself.” Grant’s mouth thinned as his eyes swept over her. “For that matter, just look at yourself. Everything you say and do is based on petulance.”

  “While you,” Crista said with a brilliant smile, “act only out of cool, calm logic.”

  The gibe hit home. She knew he understood it as stripes of color bloomed on his cheekbones.

  “I’m not proud of the times I haven’t, I assure you,” he said in a low, taut voice.

  The memory of his kiss, of how she had responded to it, was bad enough. But to see the way he was looking at her now, to see the disgust in those hazel eyes as he remembered, too, was almost more than Crista could bear.

  “Poor Grant,” she said, fighting to keep her tone cool. “Led astray by the forces of evil. How sad.”

  “I’m glad you find this amusing, Crista. But I promise you—”

  “I don’t. I don’t find it amusing at all!” Crista took a deep breath. “I find it—I find it incredible, that—that you, of all people, should set yourself up as a paragon of righteousness.” She reached for the doorknob; her hand closed tightly around it. “You? My guardian?” She tossed her head, and the dark locks went flying. “It’s like setting the fox to guard the henhouse!”

  Crista flung open the door, stepped into the hall, and slammed it after her.

  All things considered, it was a dignified exit—but once she was safely out of sight, she gave up the pretense of dignity.

  She fled.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  AS SOON as the door closed, Grant rounded on Horace Blackburn with barely repressed fury.

  “Now, Mr. Landon,” the other man said, but Grant cut him off in midsentence.

  “Are you crazy, Blackburn? Making Crista Adams my ward—hell, the woman is no more a child than I am!”

  “According to the law—”r />
  “Dammit, don’t go quoting the law to me!”

  “I was merely going to point out that providing a guardian for an individual who has not yet attained the age of twenty-one—or even twenty-five—is perfectly within the bounds of legal precedent.”

  Grant eyed the other man coldly. “Don’t play games, Counselor. I was led to believe I was going to assume responsibility for a child.”

  “Crista Adams needs a guiding hand, Mr. Landon. Look at the performance she just put on. What adult would pretend disinterest in such a fortune? Not that I believed her.” Blackburn sank into his chair and folded his hands on his desk. “Give her time to think things over, and she’ll be more than eager to get her hands on that money.”

  “That’s not the point, dammit!” Grant gripped the beveled edges of Blackburn’s desk and leaned over it. “It is absolutely ridiculous to make me her guardian. Crista can vote. She can drive. She can marry. She can get a passport and go anywhere she pleases. She can do any damned thing she wants to do—”

  “Except spend her inheritance,” Blackburn said smugly, “thanks to my foresight.”

  “Well,” Grant said firmly, “you’ll have to find someone else to play watchdog. I’m signing off.”

  “But I’ve already petitioned the court to accept you in lieu of your father. Surely—”

  “Well, petition them again. As far as I’m concerned, if the lady wants to take her uncle’s money and spend it on—on building retirement homes for shell-shocked schoolteachers, that’s—”

  “Simon Adams took his niece into his home when she was barely thirteen, Mr. Landon.” Blackburn pursed his lips in a moue of distaste. “By then, I’m afraid, her character was formed.”

  “Listen, Blackburn, this is all very interesting, but. it has nothing to do with me, so—”

  “Crista’s mother was a dancer. Very beautiful and—how shall I put this?—very earthy. She raised the girl in her own image.” Blackburn leaned forward. “Crista was out of control by the time she came into my client’s home, Mr. Landon. She had a frivolous attitude, and as she grew older, she developed a love of…excess that greatly concerned him.”