Because Lucas had made plans for the afternoon and early evening, Taylor decided to go and visit the twins. Lucas would never know she'd left the hotel. She wouldn't have to hurry her visit either, she realized, and found herself smiling in anticipation. If luck stayed on her side, she might even be able to talk Mrs. Bartlesmith into going with her and the babies. The notion was highly unlikely, but any hope, no matter how small, was worth a try.

Taylor didn't have any intention of being specific with the nanny until they were well on their way. The less anyone knew about her true destination, the better. She might even hint they were headed for Texas.

Victoria turned in one direction at the landing on their floor, and Taylor and Lucas turned down the opposite corridor. Her husband's long-legged stride was impossible to match without running, and she refused to run in such an elegant hotel.

"Please slow down or let go of me and I'll follow behind you."

Lucas immediately let go of her. He walked ahead, unlocked the door, and then stood there waiting for her.

"Ever heard the expression'slow as molasses'?" he asked.

Taylor went inside the bedroom before answering. "No."

"It applies to you."

Taylor ignored the barb. She went into the bedroom alcove in search of the papers she wanted to take along to the bankers. She'd made a considerable list of questions to ask and didn't want to forget any of them. Everything had to be settled before she disappeared… and before Lucas went back to his mountains.

She collected the papers, folded them, then went in search of her gloves. Lucas blocked her path.

"I meant it, Taylor. I want you to change out of that godawful dress."

"It's appropriate attire."

"You gave your grandmother your word," he argued. He went over to her wardrobe and pulled the doors open. Then he began to sort through her clothes. He wasn't certain why it mattered to him, but she'd given her word, and by God she was going to keep it. A last request had to be honored, and Lucas was going to see that it was.

He grabbed a dress and hanger and turned to Taylor. "Here, wear this. Hurry, we'll be late."

She almost laughed when she saw the gown he'd chosen. "Red? You want me to wear a red dress."

"It will do."

She laughed. "It's an evening gown, sir, and not at all appropriate."

"I like it," he insisted. "And so would your grandmother."

He was walking toward her with the dress in hand. The man was out of his mind if he thought she was going to wear a velvet evening gown to meet the bankers.

"It doesn't fit properly," she lied.

"You're wearing it," he said again.

"Madam would not approve."

She folded her arms across her chest and stood her ground. She wasn't going to give in, and that was that.

From the stubborn set of his jaw, she concluded he wasn't going to give in either. It appeared they had reached a stalemate. Then he went and weighed the argument in his favor.

"Of course Madam would approve. They wear bright colors in heaven, Taylor. I'm sure of it. Now put the thing on. We're going to be late."

She was overwhelmed by what he'd just said to her. He was being completely outrageous. And wonderful. They wear bright colors in heaven. Without a doubt, that was the nicest thing he could have said to her. It wasn't the color or the dress or even what they wore up there, if indeed they wore anything at all, it was the fact that he believed Madam had made it to heaven.

"Lucas Ross, you're a very charming man. Did you know Madam called you my prince when she first told me about you?"

He was exasperated with her. She wasn't making any sense, talking such nonsense. Her voice had turned as soft and soothing as a gentle summer breeze. He couldn't imagine what had caused the sudden transformation. One minute she was shaking her head at him and frowning like an old maid schoolmarm, and the next she was looking like she was going to start crying or kiss him. He didn't know what had come over her, but he was determined to set her straight on this charming business.

"Taylor, I'm neither a prince nor am I charming. I'm only being a gentleman to accommodate you. It's a damn strain," he added. "Honest to God, I don't know how much longer I can keep up the pretense."

She didn't believe him. "Oh?" she challenged. "Pray tell me please, what would you do now, this very minute, if you weren't behaving in a gentlemanly fashion."

"Do you mean tell you what I'd really like to do?"

"Yes."

He grinned. "Get you naked."

She turned as red as the dress. He laughed. "You wanted me to be honest, didn't you?"

"Yes, of course." He had her so rattled, she couldn't think straight. "I'll wear the dress," she stammered out. "With a coat on top." A black coat, she silently added, and one that would cover her from head to ankle. She wasn't going to take the wrap off either, no matter how hot it was inside the banker's building.

She snatched the dress out of his hands and turned to go back into the alcove to change. "It's horribly low cut," she remarked. "I do tend to spill out of the thing."

He reached over her shoulder and grabbed the dress out of her hands.

Taylor ended up wearing a white blouse and navy blue skirt. Lucas was pacing by the time she had added a brightly colored ribbon to her hair.

As it turned out, they were five minutes early. Lucas was quick to point out they would have been late if he hadn't insisted they take a carriage to their destination.

Mr. Harry Sherman met them at the door of the bank. He escorted them into the president's office where Mr. Peter Summers waited for them. Sherman was the elder of the two gentlemen. In England, he'd been a good friend as well as an advisor to Madam for long years. He was almost as old, close to sixty, but five years ago, and just one month after his wife of twenty years had finally succumbed to a long, debilitating illness, he announced he was leaving England. He wanted an adventure, he explained, and had volunteered to help with the opening of the bank's Boston branch. Madam had been astounded, for she believed Harry to be set in his ways. She supported his decision, however, and even helped him get established by depositing a large amount in the American branch. They had stayed friends and wrote to each other at least once every two weeks.

Madam had always said that Sherman had the brains in the business and Summers had the charisma. Her grandmother had certainly been right with her evaluation, Taylor thought with a smile as Peter Summers oozed compliment after compliment. He was as slick as oil and as sincere as a sweet-talking dandy. Taylor didn't remember ever being introduced to Summers, but he assured her they had met. She'd been quite young, he recalled, and had hung onto her grandmother's skirts most of the time he was there. He tried but couldn't coax a smile out of her.

"Your behavior was quite amusing," he told her. "And a bit peculiar. Your uncle Malcolm was there, but each time he left the library, you let go of your grandmother's skirts and became quite the imp. You were into one thing after another. Your grandmother was very indulgent. She let you have free rein. You were busy digging through her desk, looking for treasures I suppose, but the minute your uncle returned to the study, you hightailed it back to your grandmother's skirts again. The pattern was repeated several times, as your uncle was coming and going every other ten minutes or so. I believe he was indulging in a drink or two of whiskey out in the hallway."

"Probably," Taylor replied. "Madam wouldn't allow anyone to drink any spirits in her company."

The banker continued to recollect one humorous incident after another. All involved Taylor's odd behavior around her uncle Malcolm.

She wasn't smiling over the memories. Lucas wondered how long it would take Summers to realize she didn't find anything amusing about her uncle. She'd been afraid of him when she was a little girl. Lucas listened to the stories and came to that easy conclusion. What surprised him was that Taylor was still afraid of the man. The way she clenched her hands together, added to the look in her eyes, indicated her fear bordered on terror.

He was about to change the topic when Summers finished with his recollections and asked Taylor if she'd had a calm voyage from London. Sherman joined in the conversation. Lucas stood behind his wife while the two gentlemen continued to fawn over her. They were harmless enough, he supposed, but he still didn't like the way the younger man stared at Taylor.

Harry Sherman waited until Taylor was once again engaged in conversation with his colleague, then motioned Lucas to the back of the room. In a low voice he asked if Taylor had heard about her grandmother's death.

"Her uncle Andrew sent a telegram," he explained.

Sherman looked relieved. "I hated to be the one to tell her. The two of them were very close, like mother and daughter. I can barely take it in myself. I'll miss her."

Taylor was just taking her seat when Sherman asked Lucas if she were up to going over all the details in the will. "Her grandmother made several changes, and I don't believe Taylor is aware of all the ramifications. The terms are going to cause quite a stir in the family. Mark my words, there's going to be trouble."

An hour later, after all the conditions had been explained, Taylor was feeling sick to her stomach.

Lucas thought she'd become ill. She looked ready to pass out. Her complexion had turned as white as her gloves. Summers had already left his office in search of witnesses to the documents Taylor would have to sign, and Sherman, observing the swift change in his client, went to fetch a glass of water for her. He told Lucas grief was surely the culprit, and talking about dear Lady Esther's last wishes was simply proving to be too much for Taylor to endure.

Lucas sat next to Taylor. He waited until they were alone, then reached over and took hold of her hand.

"Are you going to be all right?"

She didn't answer him. She was staring down at her hands and seemed to be lost in thought.

He squeezed her hand to get her attention, and when that action didn't get any response, he reached over and took hold of her chin. He gently nudged her to look at him.

There were tears in her eyes. She was trembling. Taylor wasn't battling her grief. She was fighting her fear. Her eyes told the truth. She was terrified all right, and he was determined to find out why.

"Oh, Lucas, what has Madam done?" She grabbed hold of his hand and held tight.

He was taken aback by the question. "Are you upset because she left so much of her money to charities, Taylor?" He answered his own question before she could. "No, of course you aren't. You probably suggested she divide her fortune in such a manner. You're still going to receive quite a lot of money. Didn't you expect it?"

"Madam shouldn't have done it. Don't you see? He'll have to come after me now. He won't have any choice. He'll do anything to get the money."

She had a death grip on his hand. She was getting all worked up, and he didn't have a clue as to what to say or do to calm her down. She was going to have to explain the threat before he could confront it.

Taylor turned her gaze back to her lap. She knew she had to get her emotions under control. Lucas must think she was out of her mind.

"I'm feeling better now," she lied. She managed a weak smile and looked up at him.

He was frowning with concern. "I'm sorry," she blurted out. "I didn't mean to go on and on like that. It was just such a surprise. I'm fine now, really."

He wasn't buying that nonsense for a minute. "You asked the question, What am I going to do? You're married now, Taylor. The question therefore becomes, What are we going to do? Got that?"

He sounded gruff and looked angry. He was acting very like a prince again, she thought.

Her Prince Charming. Lord, whatever had she done to the man? He deserved better. He shouldn't have been saddled with a marriage he didn't want and relatives like Malcolm.

He squeezed her hand then and she realized he was waiting for an answer. She nodded just to placate him. "Yes, I've got it," she said. "The question should be, What are we going to do?"

He grunted. She guessed that meant he was satisfied. "You're a very charming man, Lucas Ross, even when you make those obscene sounds in the back of your throat."