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“It’s gorgeous—but not as gorgeous as you,” she replied, eyeing the rebellious lock of hair that was always falling over his left eye.
“The staff won’t come in if the door is closed,” he murmured, taking her into his arms. “God I’ve missed you.”
Hastily leading her to a dark brown, leather sofa, he pulled her down with him.
“Stewart, what if someone comes—?“
“They won’t,” he assured her, then kissing her urgently, he unfastened her blouse, deftly unsnapped her bra, and buried his head in her naked breasts. As his hand moved under her skirt and slid into her panties, she closed her eyes, loving his fervent attention.
“What the blazes ...?”
The deep voice had boomed through the air.
Stunned and startled, they fell apart, and Stephanie found herself staring at the shocked faces of his parents.
“Stewart! What’s the meaning of this?” his mother shrilled as Stephanie grabbed her blouse and awkwardly tried to put it back on. “Such disgraceful behavior. I cannot believe this of you.”
With her face burning, Stephanie fumbled with her buttons, then made a vain attempt at straightening her hair.
“Mother. I’m terribly sorry,” Stewart stammered. “I thought you were gone until tomorrow.”
Still mortified and humiliated, cowering at his side, Stephanie dared to peek at her. The thin, bony woman with the taut face of a thousand lifts, was furiously scowling. Making a sharp guttural sound, she looked Stephanie up and down, then turned and marched away.
“Stewart, really,” his father grunted with a heavy sigh, then shaking his head, he turned and hurried after his wife.
Sinking back down on the sofa, Stephanie saw all her dreams in tatters, and though she was desperate to leave, Stewart wouldn’t hear of it.
“I can smooth things over,” he promised. “I know how to handle them. Trust me.”
But Stewart was wrong.
At breakfast the following morning, served in the great dining hall, it was only his father, Jules Baxter, who appeared. Despite his power and fortune, Stephanie could see it was his mother who ruled the home.
“Dad, Stephanie and I have decided we should head back to school,” Stewart declared. “We need to get settled and make sure our schedules are sorted out.”
Jules turned slightly red and looked at him.
“Stewart, you know Millicent is highly strung. It’s all that aristocratic British blood running through her veins. She’ll get over the shock soon enough.”
“Thanks, dad,” Stewart murmured, watching his father bite into a piece of toast, “but I’m not expecting miracles.”
“I’m sure we can—“ then he suddenly began to cough.
“Dad? Are you okay?”
But Stephanie knew Jules was anything but okay, and watched in horror as the man’s plump face turned crimson.
“Dad!” Stewart shouted jumping from his seat and dashing to his father side.
He slapped his father on the back, then grabbed a glass of water and thrust it at him, but the old man’s arms simply flailed wildly, and letting out a wheezing, rasping sound, his cherubic cheeks turned purple.
Stewart screamed for someone to call 911.
Stephanie was already at the phone.
But it was too late.
Jules Baxter choked to death, and Stewart was suddenly thrust into his legacy.
