"We can work that out. Is there anything else in the way of our getting to know each other?"

"Like what?" Sloan asked evasively, but he saw through her ploy in an instant.

"Let's not play games with each other. I've already played them all, and you wouldn't enjoy them even if you knew how to play them."

Stalling for time, Sloan looked at the small seashell she'd picked up on the beach and pretended to examine it. He waited in silence until she had no choice except to meet his gaze; then he said, "One of the things I like about you is that you are refreshingly open and honest. However, there is something that bothers you when you're alone with me. What is it?"

Sloan wondered how honest and refreshing he'd think she was if she told him the truth. What bothers me when I'm alone with you is that I'm not an interior designer, I'm a cop working under cover, and I'm not here to reunite with my father. I'm here to spy on him. Paul isn't my friend; he's an FBI agent who is here for the same reason. Oh, and by the way, he'd also like me to find out what I can about you. She wasn't innocent and honest; in fact, she was probably the most deceitful person he'd ever met. She was also so attracted to him that her stomach knotted just thinking about how he'd react when he found out the truth.

"Are you attracted to me?" he asked bluntly.

Sloan had the distinct feeling he already knew the answer. "You know what," she said shakily, "let's not be too honest."

He was still laughing when he leaned down and kissed her lightly on the mouth. "There, that's out of the way. The first one is the hardest. Things will be easier now."

Sloan stared at him, her mind reeling with disbelief and longing and dread.

Sloan half expected Noah to leave her at the back door, but he followed her inside. She could hear Paul's voice followed by a burst of laughter that seemed strangely discordant in this house of stultifying dignity and dark wood. "It sounds like they're all in the dining room," she remarked to Noah as she followed the sounds down the hall.

The family had finished breakfast, and Paris was looking at an open photo album with Paul leaning over her shoulder. "That tennis racquet was almost as big as you were," he remarked with a chuckle.

"She was three years old there," Edith put in. "That's the same age I was when I started my lessons."

They looked up as Noah and Sloan walked in, and Carter's smile froze. "Have you two been together all morning?"

"My father and Courtney waylaid Sloan on the beach and forced her to have breakfast with us," Noah said smoothly.

Carter relaxed, his good humor restored. "Better watch out for Douglas, Sloan. He's quite a ladies' man."

Edith was never completely good-humored, Sloan noted as the old woman gave Noah a dark look. "You ought to put a muzzle on that child, Noah. Her manners are atrocious."

"She's lonely and bored," Sloan contradicted gentry. "She's extremely bright, she doesn't know anyone here, and she's surrounded by adults. Her only diversion is to shock and annoy. Children do that." In apology for having openly disagreed with her, Sloan patted Edith's shoulder and said, "Good morning, Great-grandmother."

The old lady's scowl relaxed into its habitual but less daunting frown. "Good morning," she replied stiffly.

"Sloan is very fond of children," Noah put in, helping himself to a cup of coffee from the silver pot on the sideboard. "Even Courtney."

"I don't like children," Edith bluntly reminded him. "You and I have that in common, as I recall."

"We do indeed," Noah agreed.

"That has been my only objection to you marrying Paris."

That very personal remark caused the servant at the sideboard to back out of the room through a side door, and Sloan decided to follow his lead. "I need to wash up," she said, making the first excuse that came to mind as she backed through the archway into the main hall. "I got maple syrup on my fingers when I picked up the pitcher. Excuse me."

Paul stood up. "I need to get something out of my car," he said, but when he walked out of the dining room, he went only as far as the living room across the hall. Picking up a magazine from the coffee table, he thumbed, through it.

"I'm quite serious, Noah," Edith said severely in the dining room. "I haven't survived for ninety-five years only to see my family line come to an end with Paris."

"Aren't you forgetting about Sloan?" Noah asked in an attempt to simultaneously remind her that Sloan was part of the family and avoid a discussion of nonexistent marital plans between Paris and him.

"I did forget about Sloan," she admitted, looking slightly chastened. "I suppose I haven't known her long enough to automatically think of her in that way; however you're quite right."

Noah was perfectly satisfied with her answer, but Carter's next remark set off a chain reaction of surprise followed by an instantaneous blast of anger: "Whether Sloan has children or not, she can never carry on the family line," Carter said curtly. "The idea is preposterous. She doesn't know anything about being a Reynolds, and it's thirty years too late to begin teaching her. Her children will reflect her own upbringing, her own values, not ours."

"She could learn," Paris put in bravely.

"I didn't ask your opinion, Paris. Although you may already regard her as a full-fledged member of our family, no one else will. Our friends don't know her, they've never even heard of her, and they'd never accept—"

"I have a solution for your problem, Carter," Noah interrupted with an edge to his voice. "What are your plans for tonight?"

"I haven't made any specific plans for evenings while Sloan and Paul are here," he said, taken aback by Noah's tone. "I assumed Paris and you would probably want to spend some of your evenings with them going out on the town and doing whatever it is you young people like to do."

"Good. Since no one has made specific plans for tonight, you can give a party to introduce Sloan to your friends and make damned certain they accept her."

"Impossible," Carter scoffed, already shaking his head in the negative.

"Imperative," Noah contradicted coolly. "The longer you delay, the more conjecture there will be about her and about why you're afraid for people to meet her. My father has undoubtedly mentioned her to his friends, and word will spread like wildfire."

"Be reasonable! She's only going to be here for two weeks, and then she'll be gone. Besides, I think the ordeal of a party would be too stressful for her."