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He raked his fingers through his hair, wondering if he would ever be able to have a simple conversation with his mother that didn’t involve her trying to push, pull or pry. “Did she tell you that?”
“Of course not. But you don’t think I could see that all those clothes were fresh off the rack of whatever expensive boutiques Atlanta boasts these days? Why did you buy her a brand-new wardrobe?”
She wasn’t asking because she disapproved but because Elizabeth Holcroft was a lifelong student of human nature and his answer would tell her a lot about his relationship with Caroline.
“She doesn’t have much. I thought she’d feel more comfortable if she looked as if she fit in.”
“Is that the truth? Or did you think you had to dress her up so we would accept her?”
“That never crossed my mind.” And it hadn’t. Not really.
She’d needed something to wear to all the parties his mother wanted them to attend. But in the end, he’d bought the clothes because he’d had fun watching her resist the lure of sensuous fabrics and lose every battle. Her financial struggles had forced her to avoid anything frivolous, and what could be more frivolous that spending thousands of dollars on clothes?
“She’s proud and stubborn,” he said. “Doesn’t like me to spend money on her, but you should have seen how much she enjoyed the shopping spree once we got past the first few purchases.” He grinned at the memory. “It was like a kid getting a puppy for Christmas.”
“Good.” His mother squeezed his forearm. “I thought maybe you were ashamed because she comes from a simple background.”
Simon saw Caroline had been right to tell his mother the truth about where she was from. She wasn’t the sort to pretend to be something she wasn’t. At least not unless the likes of him backed her into a corner and compelled her to go against her nature. No, Caroline was exactly the woman she appeared to be.
And damn, if that wasn’t refreshing after some of the women he dated.
“Or did you think because she didn’t have any money of her own that we would think she was after yours?”
“Of course not,” Simon exploded. “But have you looked at your home and how you live? Can you not see that the girl is overwhelmed to be in this environment? At least with the new clothes she can appear as if she fits in.”
“And if she appears to fit in, she will begin to believe she does?” Elizabeth guessed, her eyes softening with fondness. “How very clever you are.”
He grunted dismissively at his mother’s praise, but was glad he’d pleased her. That’s what bringing Caroline to Savannah had been all about. Giving his mother a wonderful Christmas.
“I suppose she told you how we met too.”
“That she cleaned your house?” Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, that’s charming.”
Simon wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan. He’d concocted an elaborate and romantic tale about their first meeting only to be shot down. He imagined Dane’s amusement when he heard the true story. “I’m not sure the rest of my family will agree.”
“You mean Dane and Francine? You’re probably right. But I don’t think you have to worry about Caroline as much as you think. There’s a lot of steel beneath that soft-spoken exterior.” His mother framed his face with her hands and grinned at him. “I like this side of you.”
“What side is that?”
“Protective.”
Is that how he was behaving? He didn’t recall feeling protective about a woman before. That made him sound territorial. Like he’d claimed her as his own. As if all the attraction he felt for Caroline was somehow tangled with something besides simple lust. Like emotion. Not an uncomplicated emotion like fondness, but something that might go deeper.
Simon shied away from exploring too far, and by the time he and his mother emerged from the lower level, he’d convinced himself that she was reading too much into his behavior. Sure, he wanted to shield Caroline from anyone’s negative opinion, but that was nothing more than courtesy. It certainly wasn’t because he felt possessive.
Or so he thought until he rounded the corner and entered the parlor his mother preferred to use during the winter months. This particular room had pale cream paint on the walls and French doors that led out on to the back terrace, beyond which were the pool and gardens.
His cousin, Harold, stood beside the fireplace, leaning against the intricately carved mantel. He had obviously begun his happy hour early because his face was flushed and he was dominating the discussion with a loud, off-color story about someone named June or Jen. Simon couldn’t have said which because his attention had locked on one of the two curved sofas that flanked a scalloped coffee table.
Upholstered in pale green, one held Simon’s aunt and uncle, Jerry and Delores Holcroft. Caroline and Dane occupied the other one, and he was holding her hand. Correction; he was caressing her hand and looked very much like he wished he had her alone to do a whole lot more.
Every hair on Simon’s body stood up. His instincts shouted at him to charge across the room and punch his brother in the face. He’d actually taken a step in that direction when his mother appeared at his side gracefully balancing a silver tray of martini glasses.
She handed him a glass. “I told your father he was putting too much vermouth in the martinis, but he never listens to me.” She took stock of his expression and frowned. “Simon, are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he growled. “Excuse me while I go rescue my fiancée.”
A part of his mind registered that he was glaring, but until Caroline looked up and spotted him bearing down on her, he didn’t realize how angry he was. Dane smirked up at him as Simon neared, adding fuel to the annoyance raging inside him.
