Title: Marriage by Contract Chapter 2
Author: Ashley
E-mail: Nuriko56@hotmail.com
Standard Disclaimer Apply  


At a few minutes past four every Friday afternoon, end-of-week celebrants from 
Wall Street's financial offices began pouring out into the streets. Lounges 
and bars filled up with regulars intent on getting the weekend off to a quick 
start.	Darien and Chad, who had made a ritual of toasting the week's end 
together since their university days, snagged the last pair of empty leather 
stools at the mahogany bar at The Watering Hole and exchanged friendly 
greetings with Ken, the bartender.	"Evening, gentlemen," Ken said. "The usual?"
	"Yes," Chad answered, but Darien shook his head.	"I'll have a Coke."
	"A Coke?" Chad said, lifting his eyebrows. "What's the matter, pal? Did 
that dame's right hook rattle your brain?"
	Darien touched his hand gingerly to his jaw. "It was a good shot," he 
said grumpily. "Is there a mark?"	"A little shadow, maybe, right there--"
	"Ouch!" Darien drew a sharp breath just as the bartender put an ice-
filled glass and an open bottle of Coke in front of him. He took an ice cube 
from the glass, wrapped it in his handkerchief and held it gently against his 
jaw. "Maybe this will help. I don't really feel like trying to explain a lump 
on my jaw to my grandfather."
	"Ah," Chad said, "now I get it. No booze because you're making the long 
drive out to see the old man, right?"
	"You've got it." Darien waggled his jaw carefully from side to side. 
"Can you believe that dame? She walks around, shows off damned near everything 
she's got, then gets ticked off when a guy notices. Whatever happen to decorum?"
	"Decorum?"
	"Yes. Decorum. You know, less cleavage, less leg, less of everything on 
display."
	Chad's brows rose just a little. "This from the man who once dated Miss 
November?"
	True enough, Darien thought with surprise. When had he ever cared how 
much a woman showed? If she was good-looking, the more, the better.
	His eyes met Chad's. "It was Miss December," he said, smiling. "Don't 
you remember those little bells?"
	Chad chuckled. "Man, do I ever!" Frowning, he peered at Darien's jaw. 
"That bruise is turning color. You'd better run up a tale Grandpa will buy."
	Darien sighed. "The hell with it. If he asks, I'll tell him the truth. 
He'll probably tell me the girl gave me exactly what I deserved."
	"The old man hasn't changed, huh?"
	"Unlike the female of the species," Darien said with a fond smile, "my 
grandfather is always predictable."
	So was an evening in the Kincaid house, Darien thought as Chad excused 
himself and headed for the lavatory.
	Drinks first, in the old-fashioned sitting room. Bourbon for Darien, 
seltzer for James since he'd given up whiskey on orders of his doctors. Then 
Agnes Brimley, his grandfather's prune-faced housekeeper would call them into 
the dining room for a medically approved dinner of gritty brown rice, mushy 
vegetables and stringy chicken. Dessert would have the look, smell and texture 
of pulverized soap.
	Then the old man would shut the door on both logic and the disapproving 
Miss Brimley, light up one of the ropy cigars that were his sole remaining 
vice, fix Darien with a rheumy eye and deliver The Lecture of the Month.
	The World and How Much Better it Had Been Seventy Years Ago always the 
choice opener. Second with come Advice on How to Manage Kincaid, Incorporated-
-even though in the five years Darien had been running the development firm 
his grandfather had founded, he'd built it form being an east coast success to 
a national conglomerate.
	But those were only warm-ups to James's favorite lecture, which always 
began with the words, "Time is passing, my boy," and ended with admonition 
that Darien was going to be twenty-seven soon and that it was time he settled 
down.	Darien smiled. And he would sit through it all without more than a token 
protest. What would the pundits of high finance make of that? Darien Kincaid, 
the man Time magazine had dubbed The Lone Raider, would endure the lectures 
for the simplest, most complex of reasons--because he loved his grandfather 
and grandfather loved him, even if the old man would sooner eat nails than 
admit it.	His grandfather had raised him and Kenji both, after their parents' 
messy divorce. Now, with Kanji gone, neither Darien nor the old man had anyone 
else to care about.	"So, what about Ann?"
	Darien looked up at Chad eased himself onto the stool again.	"What about her?"
	"She can't be thrilled to be without you this evening, considering how 
she fusses over our weekly boys' night out."
	Darien grimaced. "If it's all the same with you I'd rather not talk about Ann."
	"Problems?"	"Well, I forgot her birthday."
	"Which is why we ended up in Montano's."
	"Yeah, but there's more." Darien sighed. "I thought we understood each 
other. She didn't want anything permanent and neither did I. Now she's staring 
to talk about how all her friends are getting married and having babies."
	"I hope you told her you're too young to end your life."
	Darien lifted his glass, brought it to his lips, gazed into the dark 
liquid and then put it down again, untouched. 	"The thing of it is, I'm not."
	Chad recoiled in horror. "What?"
	"We're pushing middle-age, in case you hadn't noticed."
	"At twenty-seven?" Chad began to grin. "I get it. You're anticipating 
Grandpa Kincaid's lecture about Getting Married, Settling Down, and Producing 
Little Kincaids to comfort him in his old age."
	"There are times I almost think he's right." Darien mouth twisted. 
"After all, my brother's dead, and heaven knows his marriage didn't produce 
any heirs."	"Yeah. That was a fiasco, wasn't it?"
	"What else could it have been? Kenji got himself hitched to San 
Francisco's own version of Jezebel."
	"Ilene Eldridge, right? I remember." Chad sighed. "Look, pal, this is 
America. Kingdoms are not lost because the Prince Royal has yet to take 
himself a bride. Tell that to the old man, why don't you?"
	Darien ran his finger along the edge of his glass. "My grandfather's 
gotten very old," he said softly. "Time passes, you know."
	"Tying on the ball and chain won't stop the clock from ticking," Chad 
said bluntly, "but if you think it will, there's always Ann."
	Darien grinned. Even back in their undergraduate days at Harvard, Chad 
had had a way of bringing things back to basics.
	"Thanks, but no thanks. Marriage just isn't man's natural state."
	"I'll drink to that."
	"Hell, just look at the Kincaid. My mother celebrated her fifteenth 
anniversary by asking my father for a divorce so she could go off and become 
an anthropologist. My father fell for his secretary a year later and 
disappeared into parts unknown. My brother married a woman who saw dollar 
signs whenever she looked at him…" 	"Marriage sucks," Chad said agreeably.
	"My grandfather's always telling me that his marriage was a joy, but why 
wouldn't it have been? The rules were simpler. My grandmother was an old-
fashioned woman. Pleasant, sweet-tempered, eager to please."
	Chad sighed. "That's how women were raised in those days, pal. A girl 
was raised to be a lady. To play piano, serve tea and embroider doilies, to 
bring a man his slippers and his newspaper…"
	Darien's brows lifted. "We're talking about a wife," he said gently, 
"not a cocker spaniel."
	"And with it all," Chad said, ignoring the interruption, "she'd be 
gorgeous and more than willing."
	An image suddenly swept into Darien's mind. He saw the blonde from the 
Montano's, saw himself stripping her of that velvet cape. He saw her naked 
under his hands, all tanned, silky skin, high, sweet breasts and gently curved 
hips…	Damn! Darien reached for his glass and drank the last of the chilled Coke.
	"If I could find a babe like that, I'd marry her myself," Chad said 
emphatically.
	"Who wouldn't?" Darien grinned, glanced at his watch, and stood up. 
"You're describing a proper wife. But they haven't made a model like that in 
years. And that's exactly what I'm going to point out to my grandfather." He 
took out his wallet and tossed a couple of bills on the bar. "Thanks for the 
talk, friend. It was just what I needed."	Chad smiled modestly. "My pleasure."
	"This time when the old man launches into the Why Don't You Settle Down 
speech, I'll sing him a chorus of I Want A Girl Just Like the Girl that 
Married Dear Old Grandad. Then I'll fold my arms, sit back, and smile." 
	As he had since childhood, Darien sat to James's right at the Kincaid 
dining room table. But tonight was nothing like those childhood dinners. It 
was nothing like the hideous dinners of the past several years, either. 
	Darien frowned. What in the hell was going on?
	Prepared for the sort of awful meal he'd described to Chad, he'd come 
close to falling out of his chair when Miss Brimley had come marching in with 
the first course.	"Ah," James had said happily.
	"Ah," Darien had dutifully repeated, and prepared for the worst. But 
when his grandfather had uncovered the tureen, a wonderful scent had wafted to 
Darien's nostrils.	"Lobster bisque?" he'd said incredulously.
	"Lobster bisque," James had replied.	Agnes Brimley had glared.
	The bisque had been followed by well-marbled beef, baked potatoes 
slathered in sour cream, and tossed green salad with Roquefort dressing.
	"And a good claret to wash it all down, of course," James had said.
	Now, with the meal ending, Darien cleared his throat.
	"Are we…celebrating something, Grandfather?" he asked carefully.
	James looked up from his plate. A strange little smile skimmed across 
his mouth.
	"I hadn't thought of it that way, my boy, but yes, I suppose you might 
say that we are."	Darien nodded. "And what would it be, sir?"
	James smiled and shook his head. "No more questions for now, Darien. 
We'll talk after dessert, I promise."
	As if on signal, Miss Brimley banged open the service door, the very 
briskness of her step an indication she disapproved of whatever it was she 
carried on the oval silver platter in her hands.	"Dessert," she said coldly.
	Darien stared at the platter as she extended it to him. He hadn't seen 
such an assortment of goodies since childhood. Tiny golden creampuffs, bite-
size chocolate eclairs, chunky square of shortbread…
	He raised shocked eyes to Miss Brimley. "Are those white-chocolate brownies?" 
	She sniffed. "Indeed."
	He started to reach for one, thought of the workout he put himself 
through each morning, and drew back his hand.	"I, ah, I don't think so, thanks."
	The housekeeper's expression softened, if only slightly. "At least 
someone's still using his brain as God intended!"
	James wheezed out a laugh. "If you are trying to ruin my appetite, 
Brimley," he said, helping himself to one of everything, "it will pain you to 
know you are not succeeding. Bring in the coffee, if you please. Real coffee, 
not that decaffeinated swill you've been pawning off on me all these years. 
Then shut the door and leave us alone."
	When she'd done as ordered, James sighed, reached inside his vest, took 
out a cigar--an act that only recently had seemed daring but which now was all 
but fraught with innocence, Darien thought dazedly--and bit of the end.
	"Excellent meal, my boy, don't you think?"
	Darien rose and took his grandfather's old-fashioned cigar lighter from 
its place on the mantel. 
	"I suppose that depends on your definition of excellent," he said, his 
tone wry. He held out the lighter and flicked the wheel. "Julia Child would 
probably agree, but I suspect your doctors would take a different view."
	"Doctors," James said dismissively. "Shamans, you mean, beating their 
drums and dancing around the fire when we all know the best they can hope to 
do is delay the inevitable."
	Darien grinned. "Your diet may have changed but I see your disposition 
is still as sweet as ever."
	The old man chuckled, then drew on the cigar until the tip glowed bright red.
	"So," he said, blowing out a wreath of smoke, "what's new in your life, 
young man?"	"Why don't you tell me what's new in yours first?"
	James's lids drooped down over his eyes. "What could be? I spend my days 
taking pills and eating pablum."	"Not tonight."
	"No." James smiled. "Not tonight."
	"You said you'd explain that cholesterol-laden feast once we'd finished it."
	"You don't mind if we had a chat first, do you?"
	Darien frowned. His grandfather's tone was light. Why, then, did he feel 
so uneasy?	"No, of course not. What would you like to talk about?"
	"I told you. What's new in your life?"
	"Well, let's see… We've decided to bid on that property in Santa Fe, and 
the subdivision we're developing outside Vegas will--"
	"How did you get that bruise on your jaw?"
	Darien grinned. "Would you believe it if I said I bumped against the 
shower door, reaching down for the soap?"
	"No." James said, his eyebrows lifting. "I would not. Did some irate 
husband give it to you?"
	"Grandfather!" Darien shook his head. "I'm surprised at you," he said, 
trying not to smile. "You know I believe in the sanctity of marriage."
	The old man got a strange look in his face. "I'm counting on that. And 
I'm still waiting to hear how you came by that bruise."
	"Suppose I said a woman gave it to me?"
	James chuckled. "I'd say you probably more than deserved it. All right, 
don't tell me how it happened. I don't suppose it matters." He tapped his 
cigar against the rim of an ashtray. "What else is new?"
	"Well, that Vegas subdivision--"
	"Yes, yes," James said impatiently. "I'm sure Kincaid, Incorporated, is 
doing fine. You've made an enormous success of the company, more than I ever 
did, and we both know it."
	Darien laughed. "Wait a minute," he said. "This is too much for one 
evening. First that meal, then flattery--"
	"I meant," James said, his voice overriding Darien's, "what's new in 
your private life?"
	"Ah." Darien smiled and sat down. "We go straight to the bottom line. 
You want to know if I've proposed marriage to anyone between now and the last 
time I saw you."
	"Not to 'anyone'," his grandfather said without smiling back. "To a 
woman who would make a good wife."	"A proper wife," Darien said, and chuckled.
	"I see nothing amusing here, young man!"
	"I was thinking of a conversation I had with Chad Ross--you remember 
Chad, don't you, sir?"	"I do. I take it he had not settled down yet, either."
	"I'm not sure you appreciate how the world has changed," Darien said 
gently. "Women aren't what they were."
	"They are precisely what they were. There have always been women men 
should marry. The trick is to find them."	"Well, when I find one--"
	"When, indeed," James said sharply. "At the rate you're going, it will 
be never. And time is passing."
	"Grandfather," Darien said firmly, "I really have no wish to discuss 
this tonight."
	The old man gave him a searching look. Then he sighed and stubbed out 
his cigar.	"This room is drafty. Let's go into the library."
	Darien rose to his feet. "Let me help you, sir," he said as James put 
his hands on the arms of the chair. It was an offer he made each time he saw 
James struggling to stand. The response was always the same. "I'm not in my 
grave yet," the old man would say.	But not tonight.
	"Yes," his grandfather said, "I suppose you'd better."
	Darien's eyes shot to the old man's face, but it gave nothing away. He 
eased him to his feet, led him across the hall to the library where a fire 
blazed in the hearth despite the mildness of the fall evening, and settled him 
into a leather wing chair.	James sighed. "That's better. Now pour some cognac."
	Darien started to object, then thought better of it. Why not cognac? 
Compared to dinner, cognac was small change. He poured drinks, handed one 
snifter to his grandfather, then drew a chair to the fire and sat down.
	"All right, Grandfather," he said, "let's have it."
	"Have what?" James assumed an air of innocence.
	Darien's eyes narrowed. "You've pushed me as far as I'm going to go. Now 
I want some answers. What's going on?"	"Why are young men always so impatient?"
	"Grandfather…" Darien said, his tone a warning.
	"All right, all right. I suppose you know that my eighty-seventh 
birthday is fast approaching."
	"So you gave yourself an early gift? A meal that would make your doctors 
tear out their hair if they saw it?"
	"This is my life, not theirs." James's eyes met his grandson's. "Do you 
remember any of what you learned in Sunday school, my boy?"
	"Well," Darien said carefully, "that depends."
	"I'm referring to the biblical injunction that a man is entitled to live 
three score years and ten." James smiled. "I've done a bit better than that."
	Darien smiled, too. "You always managed to get a good return on your 
investments, sir."
	"I went on that hideous no-fat, no-sugar, no-taste regimen seven years 
ago at the urging of my doctors. They convinced me that a man of eighty, who's 
survived the ort of surgery that kills men half that age, might improve his 
lot by eating wisely if not well."	"It was good advice."	"It was--until now."
	"Come on, Grandfather. You're not going to throw in the towel just 
because you're turning eighty-seven in a couple of months!"
	"I had my semiannual checkup last week." James's tone was brisk. "The 
doctors suggested I make certain my affairs were all in order."
	Darien's smile faded. "What do you mean?"
	"I mean not even a diet of pap can keep a man living beyond his time--
which is as it should be. No one should take up room on this over-crowded 
planet forever."	"That's nonsense!"
	"It is absolutely logical, and you know it. And before you ask…yes, I 
have sought a second medical opinion. It confirms the first. It's time to 
tally up the books."
	Darien felt his gut twist. He loved his grandfather fiercely. James had 
been his surrogate father and his professional mentor. He'd been everything, 
all the family Darien had ever known. The years had passed--of course they 
had. Still, in a way that had nothing to do with rational thought, he'd 
expected to have more time.
	"There's no reason to look so bleak, boy. I've enjoyed my life. Truly, I 
have no regrets."
	Darien cleared his throat. "What about seeing another doctor? A specialist?"
	"I told you, I already have. A battery of them. They've all muttered 
their magical incantations and read their chicken bones--and they're in 
complete agreement."
	Darien got to his feet and paced across the room. "There's got to be 
something you can do."	"There isn't."	"Something I can do, then!"	"There is."
	Darien swung around. "What? Tell me, and I'll do it."
	"Will you?" James said softly. "Can I count on you to do something that 
may, at first glance, seem…difficult?"
	Darien's eyes narrowed. "Have I ever let you down, sir?"
	The old man smiled. "No. No, you have not."
	"Tell me what you want and I'll take care of it."
	James hesitated, then cleared his throat."
	"I had a visitor last week," he said. "Two visitors, actually. Your 
brother's widow--and his stepdaughter."
	Darien frowned at the abrupt change in topic. "Ilene came to see you?"
	"Yes. With her daughter, the offspring of husband number one, Kenji's 
unlucky predecessor twice removed."
	"But why? I mean, Kenji's been dead more than a year."
	"Oh, Ilene babbled on and on about family for a while but eventually she 
got down to basics." 	"I'll bet." Darien's tone was harsh. "What did she want?"
	"Money. Not that she said so. Whatever else she is, Ilene's not stupid. 
She'd never so obvious."
	"She's obvious enough. The only one who never saw through her was Kenji."
	"Evidently he did, at the end."	"What do you mean?"
	"He not only left Ilene, he cut her out of his will."
	Darien's eyebrows angled in surprise. "Are you serious?"
	"Absolutely. He left his money to charity and his house in San Francisco 
to me."
	"Damn," Darien said softly. A slow grin crept over his mouth. "Now Ilene 
wants you do to something about it."
	"What she wants, as she so delicately put it, is for me to remember that 
she is one of us."	"The hell she is!"
	James nodded. "I agree. But there are other considerations."
	"What other considerations? The woman's no good. She must have slept in 
a hundred different beds before she set her sights on Kenji."	"Including yours?"
	Darien swung toward James. "No," he said harshly, "not including mine--
but it wasn't for lack off effort. She made that clear enough." His eyes 
narrowed. "How did you know?"
	James smiled. "I was only seventy-nine when she married Kenji," he said 
wryly. "A man in his prime can always read a woman like that."
	"Kenji couldn't," Darien said, his expression still stony.
	The old man sighed. "This isn't about your brother's inability to see 
the truth, it's about responsibility."
	"Are you saying you feel sympathy for this woman?"
	"I'm not talking about sympathy. I'm talking about responsibility. And 
family obligation. Those things are important, Darien. Surely you know that."
	Darien looked at James's lined face, and at the hand holding the cognac 
glass and its slight but perceptible tremor, and he forced himself to swallow 
his anger.	"You're right, so if you're about to tell me you've decided to deed 
Ilene that house in San Francisco or include her in your will, you needn't 
worry. What you do with your estate is your business, sir. You don't owe me 
any explanations."	"But you wouldn't approve."	"No. I wouldn't."
	James laughed. "Direct, as always."
	Darien smiled back at the old man. "I wonder where I could possibly 
picked such a trait?"
	"Believe me, my boy, I have no intention of giving Ilene anything. I'd 
never countermand Kenji's desires."	"Well, then, I don't see--"
	"Did I mention that her daughter was with her?"
	"Yes." Darien crossed the room and poured himself some more cognac. "She 
must be…what? Seventeen? Eighteen? The last time I saw her--the only time I 
saw her, come to think of it--was the evening before Kenji moved to the coast. 
He brought Ilene and the girl here for dinner."
	"Your memory is better then mine. I didn't remember that girl at all."
	"That's because there's nothing o remember. The child sat like a lump. 
She was a gawky-looking thing, all bones and knees, decked out in frills that 
didn't become her."
	James smiled. "You'll be glad to hear she's improved somewhat," he said dryly.
	"Well, I suppose she's past the awkward age."
	"Indeed," James said, holding out his empty glass and nodding toward the 
cognac bottle.
	Darien looked at the glass in the old man's hand, hesitated, then gave a 
mental shrug. What did it matter now?
	"Meaning," he said as he poured the cognac, "she's a chip off the old block?"
	"Like her mother? No, not at all. They don't even look like. The girl 
must take after her father. She's very fair." James smiled. "Ilene was got all 
up in some purple thing like a pair of Doctor Denton's, only two sizes too 
small and without attached feet."
	Darien laughed. "A catsuit, I think it's called."
	"But the girl was dressed at if she were going to have tea with the 
Queen. Demure little suit, white blouse with a blow at the throat, yellow hair 
skinned back in a bun."
	"Probably as much a costume as Ilene's," Darien said with a shrug. 
"Maybe they figured you'd be an easier touch if the girl looked sweet and 
innocent."
	"It's possible, but somehow I don't think so. The girl was very quiet. 
Ilene kept trying to involve her in the conversation but she just sat there, 
quiet as a mouse."	"Still a lump, it would seem."
	"Well, Ilene certainly did all the talking. She says Kenji cut her out 
of his will in a fit of temper."	Darien snorted. "She only wishes!"
	"I didn't believe it, either. So after they'd left, I phoned my attorney 
and had him do some checking." James smiled coldly. "Cutting Ilene out had 
been deliberate, all right. Seems Kenji had found her in bed with some man."
	Darien finished his cognac, put down his glass, and folded his arms over 
his chest.	"I hope you phoned Ilene and told her that."
	"I haven't told her anything, Darien. I wanted to speak with you first. 
You see, my attorney learned something quite unexpected. It seems Kenji had 
intended to make another change in his will."	"What kind of change?"
	"The week before his death, he stopped by to see his lawyer. He said 
he'd been thinking about the girl."	"Ilene's daughter?"
	James nodded. "He said Ilene had shuttled her off to boarding school as 
soon as they were married because she didn't want a child underfoot and he 
felt guilty, not having done anything to stop it. He said he'd never paid her 
enough attention or fulfilled the obligations of a stepfather."
	Darien sighed. He was beginning to see the picture.
	"Look, Grandfather, if you want to continue paying the girl's tuition--"
	James chuckled. "She's twenty-three, Darien. She'd been out of school 
for four years. And I can see why Kenji was concerned about her. She's not 
like all the young women one sees today. There's no hard edge to her, no 
sophistication. I suppose it's the boarding school that did it. It's one of 
those old-fashioned places that hardly exists anymore, where young women are 
taught to be proper ladies. According to Ilene, the girl plays piano, 
embroiders, even knows how to serve a proper tea."
	Darien laughed. "Maybe w should introduce her to Chad."
	"This has nothing to do with Chad," the old man said sharply. "Are you 
paying attention to me, Darien?"
	"Certainly, sir. And she sounds…charming." She sounded either 
simpleminded or dull as dishwater, but there was no need to say that to his 
grandfather.	"At first, I was surprised Ilene would have chosen a school that 
emphasized such things but then I realized she'd hoped her daughter would make 
the right friends, perhaps meet the brother of some rich classmate and marry 
him."	"But she didn't?" Darien grinned when James shook his head. "I see. 
She's not awkward anymore, she's just homely. Poor Ilene. Her scheme backfired."
	"I wouldn't call the girl 'homely'," James said thoughtfully. "It's just 
that she's without artifice. Quite proper and demure."
	"Well, then," Darien said, trying to mask his impatience, "I'm sure 
she'll find a good husband sooner or later."
	"I'm certain of it," James said, and smiled.
	"Look, Grandfather, haven't we gotten off the subject? We were 
discussing--ah, we were talking about--"
	"My death, that's what we were discussing, and what you can do to make 
its approach easier. I'm getting to it, if you'll--" There was a knock at the 
library door. "Yes?" the old man said irritably as it opened. "What is it now, 
Brimley? Can't you bear to leave me in peace for a moment?"
	"You have guests, sir," the housekeeper said, her voice fairly humming 
with disapproval.
	"Is it nine o'clock already?" James sighed. "No wonder you were getting 
impatient, my boy. I lose track of time. I thought we had at least another 
hour before Ilene and her daughter arrived."
	Darien stared at his grandfather. "What do you mean?"
	"I asked them to come by this evening, after dinner."	"What in hell for?"
	"So you could meet her, of course."
	Darien thrust his hand into his black hair and scraped it back from his 
forehead.
	"Sir," he said gently, "I'm afraid you're a bit confused. I've met Ilene 
before, remember?"	James slapped his hands against the arms of his chair.
	"Don't patronize me, boy. I am not senile. It's my body that's failing, 
not my brain. I am not talking about Ilene. It's Serena I want you to meet."
	"Serena?"
	"Don't look so blank, for heaven's sake. Yes, Serena. Ilene's daughter. 
Your brother's stepchild."
	"But why? Look, if you want to do something for her…give her money, whatever--"
	"What I want, Darien, is that you promise to honor the request I shall 
make of you."
	"I will. I've already told you that, sir, but what does it have to do 
with--what's her name?"
	"Serena," the old man said. "And it has everything to do with her. You 
see, I've thought of a solution to all my problems."	"What problems?"
	"The ones I've spent the last hour enumerating," James said testily. 
"Haven't you been listening? My concern that you settle down with the right 
wife."	"That," Darien said with a wave of his hand.
	"Yes. That. And now this other thing that's come up, your brother's wish 
that his stepdaughter be provided for."
	"Grandfather," Darien said patiently, "I fail to see what one thing has 
to do with another."	A sly smile curved across James's mouth.
	"They have everything to do with each other. You need a wife and the 
girl needs to be taken care of." The old man chuckled. "It's quite simple, 
Darien. I have found you the proper wife and I want you to marry her."
	The words seemed to echo through the library. Behind him, in the 
fireplace, Darien heard the pop of a damp log as the heat drew the last bit of 
moisture from its core.
	That's how I feel, Darien thought dazedly, as if the last bit of air 
were being pulled from my lungs.	"You can't be serious," he said.
	"I've never been more serious. And I will remind you that you gave me 
your word. You will marry Serena Franklin."
	Franklin? Darien thought. His heart slammed against his ribs. Franklin?
	"Grandfather," he said in a strangled voice, but James shifted suddenly 
in his chair and peered beyond Darien, his eyes lighting with pleasure.
	"Serena, my dear. Please come in. I want you to meet my grandson."
	Even before Darien turned, before he saw her, he knew.
	There, standing in the doorway, was the same gorgeous, evil-tempered 
blonde who'd slugged him six hours earlier in Montano's.