A Proper Wife. Sandra Marton

but James shifted suddenly in his chair and peered beyond Ryan, his eyes lighting with pleasure.

      “Devon, my dear. Please come in. I want you to meet my grandson.”

      Even before Ryan turned, before he saw her, he knew.

      There, standing in the doorway, was the same gorgeous, evil-tempered blonde who’d slugged him six hours earlier in Montano’s.

      CHAPTER THREE

      RYAN had heard it said that in moments of danger, time seemed to stand still.

      That had never been his experience. He liked danger: it was one of the things that had made him so successful in business. When things got dicey, when other men blinked, Ryan only felt his heartbeat quicken. And then time would seem to speed up. Events, words, gestures would clip by at a lightning-quick rate, so that afterward he’d have to sit down and sort them all out.

      Now, as he confronted the demure, sweet-tempered, old-fashioned girl his grandfather had hand-selected as his bride, Ryan knew for the first time what people meant when they spoke about a moment frozen in time.

      He could feel each beat of his heart, hear each breath as he drew it. He could see Bettina, standing just beyond the girl, her blood-red lips moving so slowly that the words were undecipherable.

      But the most incredible part of the experience was watching the tangle of emotions pass across Devon’s face. Recognition first, and then disbelief. Then shock. And finally, horror.

      Whatever she had expected to find in this house tonight, he had to be her worst nightmare come true.

      But she couldn’t be any more stunned than he was. Devon Franklin, sitting by the fireside with an embroidery hoop in her lap? Chatting politely with the other ladies of the sewing circle before returning home to cook her husband’s dinner?

      Ryan almost laughed. It was easier to imagine Jack the Ripper hired to carve roasts at a dinner party.

      But it was easy to see why James had been fooled. The girl was a chameleon. She could take on whatever coloration she needed. At Montano’s, she’d been the portrait of sexy sophistication: blond hair loose and flowing, eyes ringed with kohl, long legs flashing seductively beneath the ankle-length, velvet cape.

      Tonight she looked as chaste as a nun ready to take her vows. Her silky hair was bundled back into a loose knot, her face was scrubbed free of makeup, and her delectable body and long legs were hidden beneath a gray wool dress that hung to midcalf.

      And yet, if anything, she was more beautiful than before.

      Ryan’s eyes narrowed. Her beauty didn’t change reality. She was a woman who had learned she could get whatever she wanted by trading on her looks. It was no accident that she should turn up for a visit with an old man, pretending to be Miss Innocence.

      The whole pathetic scheme was obvious. Devon Franklin had created herself to suit his grandfather’s tastes. James was not just an old man, he was an old-fashioned one nearing the end of his life, he had lots of money and only one heir.

      Bettina and her daughter had seen a golden opportunity and moved on it.

      A surge of anger roiled Ryan’s blood. It was not only a ridiculous scam, it was a cruel one to try and pull on a frail old man. Neither woman had thought, if they’d thought at all, that the old man’s grandson could stop them.

      And Devon, he thought grimly, had not thought about him at all.

      He started forward, his eyes fixed to hers, relishing the look of dread that would soon replace the horror in her face....

      “Ryan!”

      Bettina’s squeal of delight shattered the silence. She hurtled past Devon and threw herself at him, rising off her toes as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

      “Oh, Ryan, how wonderful! I hoped you might be here tonight! How lovely to see you again after so many years.”

      Ryan clasped Bettina’s forearms and set her on her feet.

      “Hello, Bettina.” He smiled tightly as he took in the flushed, artfully made-up face, the hennaed curls, the lush body verging on ripeness. “It has been a long time, hasn’t it? But I can see you haven’t changed at all.”

      Bettina giggled. “It’s sweet of you to say so.” Her hand went to her hair; she patted it into place as she looked at James. “Hello, Grandfather Kincaid. You’re looking well.”

      “I’m still breathing, if that’s what you mean.”

      Bettina giggled again. “Such a charming sense of humor,” she said gaily. She swung around and held her hand out to her daughter. “Come and give your grandpa a kiss, darling.”

      Ryan watched with grim pleasure as the girl took a minute to pull herself together. Then she squared her shoulders and stepped into the center of the room.

      Did she think she could bluff it out?

      “Good evening, Mr. Kincaid,” she said. Her voice was softer than Ryan remembered it, but then, it would have to be, to suit the role she was playing. “Thank you for inviting us this evening.”

      “Nonsense, darling.” Bettina’s smile was as bright as neon. “There’s no need to be so formal with your grandfather.”

      Ryan saw something flash in the girl’s eyes. “He isn’t my grandfather, Mother.”

      “Why, Devon. Don’t be so silly. Of course he is.”

      “Mother...”

      Devon’s voice was low but there seemed to be a thread of warning in it. Ryan’s eyes narrowed. The game was getting interesting.

      “Leave the girl alone, Bettina. She can address me however she likes.” James smiled and held out his hand. “Come here, girl, and let me see you.”

      Ryan’s mouth thinned. Was that the plan? To contrast Bettina’s avarice with the girl’s modesty?

      He almost smiled. It was clever, but it didn’t fool him.

      

      Devon looked at James’s outstretched hand. She wanted to look anywhere but at the man she now knew was Ryan Kincaid.

      Damn, she thought, it’s not possible!

      Bettina had not shut up from the instant they’d gotten into the Kincaid limousine. She’d rattled on and on about how much James Kincaid had liked Devon. She’d talked about how he’d never had a daughter or a granddaughter. And, oh, she’d said, she just knew how impressed he’d been with Devon when he’d had them to dinner the previous week; he’d never taken his eyes off her.

      Devon hadn’t replied and eventually Bettina had changed the subject. Perhaps Ryan would be there tonight, she’d said, and sighed girlishly. Did Devon remember him? He’d been at the old man’s house the night Gordon had brought them there for dinner.

      Devon had said she didn’t and let it go at that. What was the point in adding that all she could remember of that night was wishing the floor beneath the dining room table would open and swallow her whole? It had been horrible, hearing the contempt in the old man’s voice each time he spoke to Bettina; it had been even more horrible, watching her mother crawl.

      And then there’d been Gordon’s younger brother who’d come in late, left early, and never so much as looked at her in between.

      Ryan, his name was, and Bettina had babbled on and on about him all the way here tonight, about his good looks and his money and his bachelor eligibility.

      “Devon!”

      She looked up. Bettina was staring at her, her eyes shooting sparks, her smile fixed and feral.

      “Grandfather Kincaid is waiting,” she said sharply.

      Devon swallowed and started forward. Ryan was standing in her way; she expected