carrying my brother’s child.”
“We’ve already established that—according to you,” she said pointedly.
She didn’t add that she had retained Spencer to look into Sullivan’s background for her. Though there seemed to be no real reason to doubt Travis, she wanted verification that he was who he claimed to be and that the situation was exactly the way he presented it.
Why in heaven’s name would he make any of this up? “What does that mean?”
Marlene shrugged. “What proof do I have that you’re not conducting some elaborate ruse?”
She knew it sounded as if she were fishing, but stranger things had happened. Not all uncanny situations took place in the pages of a book.
Now she was being absurd. He took a small step backward. Anything more would have caused him to bump into the wall. “Do I honestly look like a man conducting a ruse?”
Marlene strove to look bored. In truth, she was growing uneasy. She looked around for someone to rescue her from Travis.
“I don’t know. People don’t come with labels stuck to their foreheads.” She thought of a newspaper story she’d read recently about the breakup of a black market that dealt in selling stolen babies to desperate, childless couples. “You might not be who you say you are. For all I know, you might be involved in some sort of blackmail scheme.”
“And what is Cynthia?” he asked mildly. “My front woman?”
He made her feel like an idiot. He had managed to rattle her so that she wasn’t making any sense. Something else to hold against him.
“I have to admit,” she said primly, silently damning him to hell, “your knowing Cynthia does verify your identity.”
“Thank you.” With Marlene, it was going to be one small step at a time. He had no other choice if he wanted to settle this without publicity. “So now are you willing to listen to my proposition?”
She raised her chin, a cool smile on her lips. She would be willing to bet that he was just as averse to a scene as she was. Escape would be simple as long as she kept her head.
“I wouldn’t go that far. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
“Work?” He looked around the room with its elegantly dressed people and tastefully arranged Christmas decorations. Cynthia Breckinridge had been determined to throw the first holiday party of the season, and she had succeeded royally. “But this is a party.”
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