The memorial service was torture-until the ballroom door creaked open, and an angel walked into the room.
An angel at Reginald Summerhill's memorial? Nicholas Long would never have expected it-not unless she was dispatched from Hell.
Nick looked over his shoulder, intrigued by the newcomer. She was late and dressed in a colorful hodgepodge that was more Camden than Mayfair. Her hair was in a messy topknot and she looked faded around the edges, as though she needed a bed straight off.
He was more than willing to offer his to her.
He mentally chastised himself. Bloody hell-he was at a memorial, sitting next to his stepsister Summer. He shouldn't be thinking of shagging anyone.
Summer angled her head toward his and whispered, "That's Rosalind Summerhill."
Fabulous-not only was he ogling a woman at a memorial, but he was ogling Summer's mourning half-sister. "She's late," he replied lamely.
"She lives in California. Beatrice, Viola, Portia, Imogen, and Titania all live here, though Imogen obviously travels all the time."
He glanced at the angel. "Why is she the only one who was named properly?"
"They all have Shakespearean names."
He didn't have to look at Summer to know she was resentful about being the odd man out. All her life she'd wanted to be a Summerhill sister. She knew it was impossible, given she was a bastard born to Reginald Summerhill's mistress, but that'd never stopped her from wishing.
"You're fortunate," he murmured to her. "With your luck, you'd have been named Puck."
She elbowed him, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips-the first one since they received news that their mother had died days ago.
The irony that he was a Formula One racer and yet it'd been his mother who'd died in a car crash didn't escape him.
Tabitha Welles hadn't been his biological mother-his birth mother had run away weeks after he'd been born-but Tabitha had been one in every other way from the moment his father had introduced the two of them. Nick had fallen in love with the beautiful, kind woman the same way she'd fallen in love with him. When his father's family had denied taking him in after his father's untimely death, Tabitha had joyfully kept him, saying he was already hers. She'd been a lovely woman, despite her regretful taste in men.
Like the prick, Reginald Summerhill.
He heard Tabitha tell him to mind his manners, that the dead deserved respect.
The thing was, Nick had hated the man. Reginald Summerhill, Earl of Amberlin, had been a royal ass in life. The man had doled out his affection like crumbs to a pauper.
Tabitha never tolerated any unkind thoughts about the man who kept her his dirty secret for almost thirty years. Her Reggie had been a saint in her mind, even though he'd only come around when it'd suited him.
Summer felt the same way about the man. Though how his sister could feel such a connection to a man who wouldn't claim her as his daughter baffled Nick.
He looked at Rosalind Summerhill. How did she feel about her father?
If anything, she looked angry.
Now that he knew she was one of the Summerhill sisters, he couldn't believe he hadn't guessed it. She had the noble cheekbones and blond hair that even Summer had inherited.
Nick needed to stop staring at the woman. The stepson of her father's mistress was the last person she'd want sniffing at her heels. So he focused on the drone of the speaker, one of Summerhill's pompous cronies.
Nick came by his dislike of elitist men naturally. His own father had been rich-a businessman. He'd died of a heart attack at the young age of thirty-three, when Nick had been three-years old. Because he'd been a bastard, his father's family wanted nothing to do with him. Tabitha had happily taken him in and adopted him as her own.
He didn't need a psychiatrist to tell him why he'd chosen an unconventional career path, though as a Formula One driver he was more a businessman than one would expect. Not that he was going to continue racing. He'd already been rethinking his life, but his mother's death punctuated his doubts regarding his chosen career.
He was the same age as his father when he'd died, and that made him contemplate his mortality. What did he have to show for his life but a big bank account and an empty house? Nothing that mattered.
It also made sense why Tabitha had taken up with Reginald Summerhill. He'd offered her security, of a sort. What didn't make sense was how his mother had stayed with the man, even though he was never going to leave his wife.
What especially didn't make sense was the way his sister worshipped a father who hardly paid attention to her.
Next to him, Summer sniffled.
The protective urge he always felt around her surged in him. He took her hand and squeezed it. It had to be hard for her. He'd only lost his mother; Summer had lost both her parents. This was Reginald Summerhill's memorial, but in essence it was also one for Tabitha Welles.
There was a murmur of commotion across the room, and it seemed to come from his angel Rosalind. She was engaged in a whispered conversation with one of her older sisters-he wasn't sure which one. They didn't speak out loud in any way, but they were obviously agitated by whatever they were discussing. So agitated that their mother turned from the front row and gave them an arch look.
Summer stiffened next to him, watching them as well.
He squeezed her hand again, willing the eulogy to end.
The moment the service ended, Nick stood. Thank goodness. He stretched his legs. "Shall we?"
"I want to attend the reception."
"Is that wise?"
She set her jaw, and he knew she wasn't budging. "It's the way it's going to be," she said.
"Just for a short while then." He took her arm and led her from the ballroom. "This isn't the place to make yourself known, Summer."
"Don't be daft," she said, watching the milling people with laser-sharp interest. Suddenly, she pulled away. "I'll be right back."
Before he could stop her, she shot out of the room.
He checked his watch. If she wasn't back in ten minutes, he was going after her. She'd always had a tendency to get into trouble. Only the sort of trouble had changed as she'd matured.
Nick stood on the periphery of the gathering, drinking tepid tea and trying not to draw attention to himself, which was a little difficult given his half-naked body was currently on billboards all over Europe. Fortunately, the ads were less prominent in London and dressed in a suit with his hair combed, he looked a far cry from the rumpled racer they'd exploited on the billboards.
Where was Summer? He gave his teacup to one of the servers wandering through the crowd and went in search of her.
He found her rushing down a hall, a peculiar light in her eyes. She grabbed his arm and pulled him back toward the room where everyone was gathered.
"I followed Beatrice, Rosalind, and their mother," she whispered.
He groaned. "Summer."
"It was good I did, though, because I overheard something important." She pulled him into a shadowed corner and faced him, her eyes wide and earnest. "Reginald drafted a new will before he and Mama went on their getaway. Apparently he made some significant changes."
Nick frowned. "How do you know that?"
"I overheard Jacqueline Summerhill tell them." She grabbed the front of his shirt. "Do you think he named Mama in it? They think so."
Reginald Summerhill, that egotistical bastard? Hardly. But Nick knew better than to voice that. "I suppose it's possible, but do you think it's likely?"
"Of course it's likely." She lifted her stubborn chin in the air. "Reginald loved Mama."
Reginald loved himself. "I fail to see how it matters if he left anything to Tabitha, since she's gone. She didn't have a will, did she?"
"No, but that doesn't matter." Summer leaned in. "When there's no will, the deceased's property goes to her spouse, or children if there is no spouse. So if Reginald left anything to Mama, it'd be passed on to us."
Summer would know-she was a solicitor herself, working at a leading law firm in the city.
But one thing was certain: he didn't want Reginald Summerhill's money. Besides, as one of the top Formula One drivers, he made a hefty wage, and that wasn't counting endorsements. "I don't need more money, Summer, and neither do you."
She crossed her arms. "It's not about the money."
No, for her it wasn't. She just wanted her rightful place. He felt sad for her because, as much as she wanted it, her place wasn't here. When they cast her out-as they inevitably would-she'd be hurt. He wished he could spare her that heartache, but he knew that she'd never give up.
"I know you don't believe me, but my father loved me. He was the one who encouraged me to realize my dreams by giving me the money to study law."
"True." Depositing money in her account for university had been the only decent thing Summerhill had done for Summer in Nick's opinion. A complete anomaly, but definitely decent.
"I need to know what's in the will, Nick." She bit her lip, looking like she had as a child. "The problem is they don't know where the will is. If they can't find the will, then his property is intestate and his wife inherits it all."
Nick frowned. "That doesn't seem proper."
"It's not." Summer bit her lip and looked across the room. Her gaze focused, and then she said, "Come with me."
Before he could say anything, she strode across the room straight to Rosalind Summerhill.
Oh no. Not sure what Summer was going to do but not wanting to find out, he sped up to intercept her. His legs were longer than hers, so he reached her quickly, but not quickly enough to stop her from stretching her hand out and saying, "I'm sorry for your loss," to her unsuspecting half-sister.
Rosalind glanced at him as she took Summer's hand cautiously. "Do we know each other?"
Summer shook her head. "We've never met. I'm Su-Sara," she said, giving him a look. "But I know you're Rosalind Summerhill."
Rosalind looked at him again. He saw the weariness dimming her eyes, and the urge to take her in his arms and soothe her to sleep shocked him. Instinct told him to run away, only his feet were going nowhere.
"You design wedding dresses, don't you?" Summer continued, unaware of his libidinous thoughts. "I realize this is hardly the appropriate place, but I need a wedding dress."
He mentally groaned.
Rosalind frowned at the two of them. "You're getting married?"
"No," he said as Summer said "Yes."
His half-sister gave him a look before smiling tightly at Rosalind. "Joe is my matron of honor."
He didn't realize he was Joe until Rosalind turned to him and said, "Nice to meet you, Joe."
"Most people call me Nick," he said, shooting a glare at his mad stepsister.
"Nick"-Summer surreptitiously pinched his side-"is a solicitor."
He slipped his arm around his sister's waist and squeezed. "Now's not the time, Sara. We should leave Ms. Summerhill to her other guests."
"But my wedding dress-"
Rosalind shook her head. "I won't be here long enough to design a dress, much less to make it. I custom fit all my dresses, so unless you're willing to come to San Francisco, I can't create one for you. But I can recommend a couple designers in London who are almost as good as me."
"You're that good?" Nick asked, impressed.
"The best." she said with conviction.
Maybe it was wishful thinking, but the light in her eyes made him wonder if she implied she was the best at more than dresses. "I don't doubt it."
Rosalind sipped from her teacup and grimaced. When she noticed his amused smile, she shrugged. "It's been a trying day, and there's a distinct lack of whiskey at this event."
Summer suddenly interjected, "Nick knows a great pub close by."
"I do?" Nick said.
She knocked him in the ribs.
He turned to Rosalind, who looked like she needed to be whisked away, and he badly wanted to be the man to do it. So despite himself, he couldn't help saying, "It's not far."
Surprisingly, Rosalind nodded. "Okay. I'll just get my coat."
The flash of excitement that coursed through his veins was ridiculous. He watched her walk away and resisted the urge to trail after her.
Instead, he faced his villainous stepsister. "That was poorly done."
"It was brilliant actually."
"You told her I was a solicitor."
"So that she'll find it natural to talk to you about the will if she has legal questions."
"Yes, but I know nothing about law."
"Just distract her." Summer grasped his arm and lowered her voice. "Stay close to Rosalind to find out what's going on with the will. And before you say you can't do any such thing, let me remind you that you're my brother-"
"Stepbrother," he corrected.
"-and that you promised Mama that you'd always look after me."
He wanted to point out that she was a grown woman and didn't need looking after, but if she was going to employ schemes like this ... He sighed.
Knowing she'd won, she smiled and hugged him. "Thank you, Nick. I love you."
Rosalind returned, eyeing them blatantly. He stepped back and patted Summer's head before asking, "Ready?"
"Yes." Rosalind wrapped a scarf around her neck and led the way out.