Page 52 of Suzanna's Surrender
“Then listen,” he suggested, and shoved her into a chair. “Your precious children don’t have a clue what’s expected of a Dumont. They were loud and unmanageable in restaurants, whiny and fidgety on the drive. When corrected, they became defiant or sulky. At the resort, among several of my acquaintances, their behaviour was an embarrassment.”
Too incensed for fear, Suzanna pulled herself out of the chair. “In other words, they were children. I’m sorry your plans were upset, Baxter, but it’s difficult to expect a five- and six-year-old to present themselves as socially correct on all occasions. Even more difficult when they’re thrust into a situation that wasn’t any of their doing. They don’t know you.”
He swirled whiskey, swallowed. “They’re perfectly aware that I’m their father, but you’ve seen to it that they have no respect for that relationship.”
“No, you’ve seen to it.”
Deliberately he set the whiskey aside. “Do you think I don’t know what you tell them? Sweet, harmless little Suzanna.” She stepped back automatically, pleasing him.
“I don’t tell them anything about you,” she said, furious with herself for retreating.
“Oh, no? Then you didn’t mention the fact that they had a bastard brother out in Oklahoma?”
So that was it, she realized, struggling to settle. “Megan O’Riley’s brother married my sister. There was no way to keep the situation a secret, even if I had wanted to.”
“And you just couldn’t wait to sling my name around.” He gave her another shove that sent her stumbling back.
“The boy’s their half brother. They accept that, and they’re too young to understand what a despicable thing you did.”
“My affairs are mine. Don’t you forget it.” Gripping her shoulders, he pushed her up against the wall. “I have no intention of letting you get away with your pitiful plots for revenge.”
“Take your hands off me.” She twisted, but he forced her back again.
“When I’m damn good and ready. Let me warn you, Suzanna. I won’t have you spreading my private business around. If even a hint of this gets out, I’ll know where it started, and you know who’ll pay for it.”
She kept herself rigid, kept her eyes steady. “You can’t hurt me anymore.”
“Don’t count on it. You make sure your children keep this business of half brothers to themselves. If it’s mentioned again”—he tightened his grip and jerked her up on her toes—“ever, you’ll be very sorry.”
“Take your threats and get out of my house.”
“Yours?” He closed a hand around her throat. “Remember, it’s only yours because I didn’t want this crumbling anachronism. Push me, and I’ll have you back in court in a heartbeat. And I’ll have it all this time. Those children might benefit from a nice Swiss boarding school, which is exactly where they’ll be if you don’t watch your step.”
He saw her eyes change, but it wasn’t the fear he’d expected. It was fury. She lifted a hand, but before she could strike out, he was jerked away and tumbling to the floor. She watched Holt drag him up again by the collar then send him crashing into a Louis Quinze table.
She’d never seen murder in a man’s eyes before, but she recognized it in Holt’s as he pounded a fist into Baxter’s face.
“Holt, don’t—”
She started forward only to have her arm gripped with surprising strength. “Let him alone,” Colleen said, her mouth grim, her eyes bright.
He wanted to kill him, and might have, if the man had fought back. But Bax slumped in his hold, nose and mouth seeping blood. “You listen to me, you bastard.” Holt slammed him against the wall. “Put your hands on her again, and you’re dead.”
Shaken, hurting, Bax fumbled for a handkerchief. “I can have you arrested for assault.” Holding the cloth to his nose, he looked around and saw his wife standing inside the terrace doors. “I have a witness. You assaulted me and threatened my life.” It was his first taste of humiliation, and he detested it. His glance veered toward Suzanna. “You’ll regret this.”
“No, she won’t,” Colleen put in before Holt could give in to the satisfaction of smashing his fist into the sneering mouth. “But you will, you miserable, quivering, spineless swine.” She leaned heavily on her cane as she walked toward him. “You’ll regret it for what’s left of your worthless life if you ever lay hands on any member of my family again. Whatever you think you can do to us, I can do only more viciously to you. If you’re unclear about my abilities, my name is Colleen Theresa Calhoun, and I can buy and sell you twice over.”
She studied him, a pitiful man in a rumpled suit, bleeding into a silk handkerchief. “I wonder what the governor of your state—who happens to be my godchild—will have to say if I mention this scene to him.” She gave a slow, satisfied nod when she saw she was understood. “Now get your miserable hide out of my house. Young man”—she inclined her head to Holt—“you’ll be so kind as to show our guest to the door.”
“My pleasure.” Holt dragged him into the hall. The last thing Suzanna saw when she ran from the house was Yvette’s fluttering hands.
“Where did she go?” Holt demanded when he found Colleen alone in the parlor.
“To lick her wounds, I suppose. Get me a brandy. Damn it, she’ll keep a minute,” she muttered when he hesitated. Colleen eased herself into a chair and waited for her heart rate to settle. “I knew she’d had a difficult time, but I wasn’t fully aware of the extent of it. I’ve had this Dumont looked into since the divorce.” She took the brandy and drank deeply. “Pitiful excuse for a man. I still wasn’t aware he had abused her. I should have been the first time I saw that look in her eyes. My mother had the same look.” She closed her own and leaned back. “Well, if he doesn’t want to see his political ambitions go up in smoke, he’ll leave her be.” Slowly she opened her eyes and gave Holt a steely look. “You did well for yourself—I admire a man who uses his fists. I only regret I didn’t use my cane on him.”
“I think you did better. I just broke his nose, you scared the—”
“I certainly did.” She smiled and drank again. “Damn good feeling, too.” She noted that Holt was staring at the open terrace doors, his hands still fisted. Suzanna could do worse, she thought and swirled the remaining brandy. “My mother used to go to the cliffs. You might find Suzanna there. Tell her the children are having cookies and spoiling their dinner.”
