My Man Pendleton(71)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

Her father, chuckled, too, though the sound of his laughter was more menacing. “Didn’t you see the way she was looking at him? Kit is completely smitten. You know how she is when she finds something she really likes. She wouldn’t give up Pendleton now if her life—or one hundred million dollars—depended on it.”

Holt uttered an exasperated sound. “Don’t be so sure. Even if she’s fallen in love with him—which is still open to debate, if you ask me—that doesn’t necessarily mean she’ll be marrying him before the deadline. It would be just like her to tie the knot the day after Mama’s deadline, just to piss us all off.”

Maybe, Kit responded silently. Then she pushed the thought away. It was immaterial. Marriage, regardless of the timing, was out of the question, at least where Pendleton was concerned. Because it wasn’t like he wanted to marry her. The only wedding he’d be showing up for would be his ex-wife’s.

“Trust me,” her father continued in a confident tone of voice that snapped her attention back around. “Pendleton will make damned sure they’re married before the deadline.”

“Oh?” Holt replied mildly, echoing the very word circling in Kit’s head. “He doesn’t seem to me to care one way or another. And even if he did, he’s the type of man who would respect Kit’s wishes in the matter. If she wanted to wait, he’d wait, too. He doesn’t even have a stake in this thing.”

“Oh, yes, he does.”

“He does?”

Kit realized she whispered the words out loud herself at the same time her brother uttered them to her father. She covered her mouth with one hand, lest she slip up like that again. Still, she couldn’t deny the sick feeling that settled in the pit of her stomach at the unmistakable certainty in her father’s voice.

“Damn right he has a stake in this,” he stated further, too adamantly for her comfort. “I made it clear to Pendleton the day after Kit moved in with him that there would be a nice, fat reward for any man who took her on as his lawful wedded wife, thereby saving the family a bundle.”

“Oh, Dad. No. Please. Tell me you didn’t do that.”

For a moment, Kit thought she had said those words aloud, too. Then she realized it was Holt who echoed the plea erupting in her head.

“Of course I did that,” her father said, his voice colored with impatience. “I told Pendleton I paid that little prick Michael Derringer a quarter-million to abandon Kit, then assured him I could be even more generous to any man who would marry her now.”

The dinner she consumed less than an hour ago rolled over in Kit’s belly like a dead, bloated fish, threatening to replay itself on the foyer carpet. With no small effort, she kept herself from spilling her guts all over her mother’s favorite Aubusson. With an even greater effort, she kept herself from sobbing out loud.

Well, what did she expect? she asked herself. She should have known her father would do something like this. She should have realized the only reason Pendleton was tolerating her presence in his life was because he’d been promised a substantial reward for his trouble. She should be in no way surprised to discover his motivation all along had been financial, not emotional.

But Kit was surprised. And that surprised her. Because if she was surprised to discover Pendleton was only wooing her for her monetary value, then somewhere deep inside herself, she had started to believe—to really, truly, honestly believe—that he liked her. Perhaps even loved her. Loved her. Katherine Atherton McClellan. And not the Hensley millions.

She should have known better. Any logical human being would have realized what was going on from the beginning. Any logical human being would have been able to see exactly what was what. Unfortunately, it was kind of hard to be logical when your heart was calling all the shots. And then, when your heart starting breaking into a million pieces… Well, forget about it.

Although her father and brother continued to talk—Holt’s voice, she noted vaguely, becoming remarkably angry about something—Kit knew she’d heard enough. No longer caring where her purse was—no longer caring about much of anything—she made her way silently back through the house. When she got to the kitchen, she only stood for a moment, gazing out the window at the sleek little sports car idling in the darkness, its parking lights glowing in anticipation of her return.

Pendleton had made it clear he wanted to make love the minute they arrived home. Until a few moments ago, that was what she wanted, too. Now that was going to be something of a problem. Because Kit suddenly realized that what she told him the night before was true. Although, at the time, she only made it up in an effort to put him off, she realized now that she really didn’t intend ever to make love with a man again unless she loved him and he loved her.

Last night, subconsciously anyway, she knew—she thought—Pendleton loved her. Tonight, however, she understood the truth. And knowing what she did, there was no way she could tumble into bed with him when they got home. Or ever again, for that matter.

This one-sided stuff, she thought as she made her way slowly and without enthusiasm toward the back door, was really for the birds. Not only that, but it sure could make a person powerful sick to her stomach.

Chapter 17

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

Pendleton cupped one hand over Kit’s forehead, the other behind her nape, but she barely acknowledged either gesture. Instead, she only lay in bed looking pale and fragile, little changed from how she appeared the night before. She didn’t feel feverish, he noted, taking some heart in that, but she did look like ten miles of bad road. The Jersey Turnpike, as a matter of fact. Right around Exit 7, if he wasn’t mistaken. Trenton.

She became ill just as they were leaving her father’s house the night before, and the closer they got to home, the sicker she felt. By the time they walked in the back door, she barely had the strength to walk across the kitchen. He ended up scooping her into his arms to carry her up to bed, and then being caught completely off-guard when she suddenly—and with surprising strength for one so sick—fought hard enough to make him put her back down again. He only watched in mystification as she feebly made her way up the stairs and into the bathroom, unaided in spite of her obvious need for help.

She didn’t come out again until after he turned in himself. Certainly, he’d had no intention of trying to make love with her, but when he scooted his body next to hers, just to be close to her, draping an arm carefully over her waist, she asked him to move away. She told him the feel of his skin against hers was painful. Although he’d heard high fevers could do that—make a person’s skin hurt—Kit hadn’t felt feverish then, either. Still, she was clearly sick with something.