The Engagement Party. Barbara Boswell

nonsense. Katie was too tactful—and too interested in keeping him as a paying guest—to question the story, but Hannah had no such reticence.

      And why should she? As the beautiful daughter of one of the first families in the state, she undoubtedly played by her own set of rules. And he was accustomed to making and breaking his own. An affair with her would be a disaster. She would expect things of him and from him, demand them even. The last thing he needed right now was a demanding woman who wouldn’t respect his need for boundaries and control.

      No, he wasn’t willing or ready to get mixed up with the beautiful Miss Farley, however hot and hard she made him. He had to focus all his thoughts and energy on his secret mission, learning as much as he could about his birth parents. Only then could he make an informed, intelligent decision about whether or not to meet them and, possibly, introduce himself to them.

      The surge of sexual energy made him restless, eager to turn the pulsating tension into action. Why not begin his investigation tonight?

      It was as good a time as any to start, he decided, placing the canvas bag in the closet and pocketing his room key. He had an invitation from Miss Katie Jones herself to join the party of Clover citizens downstairs. He could ask some subtle questions, perhaps pick up some information about Alexandra and Jesse, as he’d come to think of them. Never mother and father. He preferred to view them distantly, like characters in a novel: interesting to contemplate but having nothing to do with him or his life.

      He assured himself that the fact that Hannah Kaye Farley was there had nothing at all to do with his decision to join the party.

      The music and the laughter grew louder as he walked downstairs. He stood at the threshold of the crowded living room and watched the couples dancing to some old rhythm-and-blues classics. He recognized some of the songs but not the fast, rather intricate dance steps they were doing. Hannah was one of the best dancers, animated and lithe and vibrant as she moved with her partners, and she seemed to have several.

      Matthew tried to turn his eyes to others in the crowd. Invariably his gaze returned to Hannah.

      “She’s a knockout, isn’t she?” A smiling blond preppy type joined Matthew and handed him a drink.

      Matthew accepted the glass. “Who?” he asked, and the other man laughed.

      “Hey, it’s nothing to hide. Every guy in town has been slavering over Hannah Farley for years. Unfortunately, she never slavers back. She likes to play things strictly as friends.”

      “Is that so?” Matthew took a gulp of the drink, which was straight bourbon on ice. The liquid burned a fiery path down his throat and seemed to ignite sparks deep within him.

      “I’m Blaine Spencer, a friend of Ben Harper’s.” The toothsome preppy introduced himself. “And I know you’re Matthew Granger. I understand you’ll be staying at the boardinghouse while you do some scientific research here in Clover?”

      “News travels fast,” murmured Matthew. He found his new acquaintance overbearing and presumptuous. He had not been slavering over Hannah Farley like some slack-jawed dolt!

      “Katie filled me in when she sent this drink over to you,” Blaine replied amiably. “She said you seemed more the bourbon on the rocks than the wine-punch type.”

      “Wine punch?” Matthew grimaced at the concept.

      “I believe the ladies are partial to it.” Blain winked. “So, Matt, I guess Hannah wins your vote as the best shagger here tonight. Am I right, my friend?”

      “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Matthew said testily.

      Blaine took no offense. “The dance is called the shag. We’re in the midst of a highly competitive contest here tonight. My partner and I have already been eliminated. The shag was a classic fixture in the beach towns during the sixties and we like to keep the spirit alive. Every kid in Clover learns the shag and passes the steps along to future generations.”

      Matthew finished his drink in one gulp. “This is a very strange town.”

      “We Clover natives like to think of ourselves as colorful. Originals.” Blaine grinned, seemingly impervious to insult. “Clover is a timeless place, where the past is intermingled with today and tomorrow will—”

      “Are you a real-estate agent?” Matthew demanded. “You might as well save your spiel because I’m not planning on buying any property here.”

      Blaine laughed. “I’m a dentist, Matt. My office is a few blocks farther down on Clover Street, near the Beauty Boutique.”

      “I’ll keep that in mind if I lose a filling,” Matthew muttered. Since his new friend seemed disinclined to leave—had Katie asked him to baby-sit her new tenant?—he decided to use Blaine’s affable presence to his own ends. “So you’re a Clover native, huh?”

      “Born and raised here, like my daddy and his daddy before him,” Blaine said proudly.

      “I guess you know the, uh—” Matthew paused. His pulses were pounding in his ears, so loudly they almost drowned out the blare of the shag dance tunes. “The Wyndhams.” For the first time, he dared to use the name of his birth mother’s family—his family—in conversation.

      “The Wyndhams!” Blaine looked pleased. “Well, I don’t know them personally, of course. I mean, I’m not in their social orbit. They’re in the stratosphere of society and my family and friends are earthbound, if you get my drift. But occasionally I see members of the Wyndham family when they come into town to shop. Good-looking people. Classy. Upper classy.”

      Mention Alexandra Wyndham, Matthew silently urged himself. Say her name. He felt almost sick with anticipation, desperate to hear even the slightest bit of information about the woman who had given birth to him. And had given him up. His mouth was dry. He couldn’t get the words out.

      “Hannah knows the Wyndhams,” Blaine continued. “Her family socializes with them. The Farleys are up there, too, you know.”

      Matthew scowled at his frustration. He was not here to discuss the Farleys!

      “You wouldn’t catch the Wyndhams or the Farleys at a party at the Clover Street Boardinghouse. Of course, Hannah is nothing like the rest of the Farleys.”

      “Because she chooses to socialize with you earthbound peasants?”

      Blaine laughed good-naturedly. “Hannah can mix with anyone. Say, would you like me to introduce you to her? She’ll probably dance with you if you ask. She’s very gracious.”

      “Just a little Carolina belle brimming with Southern hospitality?” Matthew remembered their contentious meeting upstairs when she’d been far from gracious or hospitable. He watched her now, flirting with every guy at the party, and his face hardened. “I think I’ll pass on the privilege of doing the shag with Hannah Farley, but thanks for offering, Biff.”

      “Blaine.”

      Matthew took a deep breath. “Whatever.”

      Three

      From the corner of her eye, Hannah watched Matthew Granger talking to Blaine Spencer as the two men stood together watching the dancers. She had known the exact moment that Matthew had set foot in the living room, as if she possessed some kind of psychic radar that attuned her to his presence. She was acutely aware of him every second, knowing when he was watching her—which was almost constantly, except for those moments when he’d turned his eyes on the others.

      She’d known the instant he looked at Maureen Fitzgerald, Sean’s cousin, a striking, sexy redhead whom Hannah had always liked. Until she’d watched Matthew Granger smile slightly at Maureen. Then she’d felt a disgraceful urge to dunk the other woman’s head in the punch bowl!

      Hannah continued to dance and laugh and flirt, her nerves tingly and taut. She realized that she was overdoing