When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Laurel waited. Sean joined her a few seconds later. He reached out and took her hand, slipping his fingers between hers. "Lead on," he said.

They found Sinclair sitting in the huge leather wing chair in the library. Alistair had set out the brandy on a small side table and now stood silently in the shadows. As they entered, Laurel's uncle didn't bother to acknowledge them. Instead he kept his nose buried in a book.

Laurel sat on the leather sofa and motioned Sean to sit beside her. Alistair fetched them both a brandy, then resumed his place. After five minutes Sinclair finally glanced up, as if surprised that she and Sean were in the room. "Here you are then," he said, staring at Laurel. "I hope you used sunscreen."

"The weather was beautiful in Hawaii, Uncle."

"Beautiful," Sean repeated.

"Did you see any birds?"

"There were lots of birds there," Laurel said. "You would have found some new species to put on your list, Uncle. Uncle is only interested in American birds, Edward. But Hawaii is a state, so all those birds count."

He turned to Sean. "Do you like birds, Edward?"

"I do. I like ducks. Sparrows. And cardinals."

"A cardinal was the first bird I put on my list," he said. He looked down at his book again and for a long time didn't look up. Laurel took a sip of her brandy, then glanced over at Sean and shrugged.

"You like coins?" Sean asked.

Sinclair didn't answer, acting as if he hadn't heard. But Laurel knew better. He was testing Sean-Edward.

"What's your favorite coin?"

Sinclair slapped the book shut and, for a moment, Laurel thought he was angry, perturbed that Sean had interrupted his reading. "Let me show you," he said. "Alistair, bring out the Seated Liberty."

Laurel gave Sean's hand a squeeze. Her uncle loved to discuss his coin collection with anyone who would listen. And now, he had a fresh set of ears. She slowly stood and walked over to the tall cases of books, searching through the titles as she listened to Sinclair talk about the history behind the coin.

"This is a very rare coin," he said. "It was minted in 1866. There's only one other in better condition and it goes up for auction next week."

Sean seemed genuinely interested and when Sinclair brought out another coin, he pulled up a footstool and sat next to Sinclair so he could examine the coin more closely. Laurel watched him in the low light of the library, taken by how sweet he could be. How had a man like Sean Quinn managed to remain single for so long?

"This is my Liberty Capped cent," Sinclair said. "Look at those luster darts. This coin was made in 1794 and the machinery was primitive at best, so perfection is nearly impossible. This is only one of three which is graded mint."

"Wow," Sean said. "It looks brand new."

"Laurel!" Sinclair called. "Get the Breen. The copy I gave you for Christmas in 1991."

Laurel retrieved the book from the shelf where she kept it and handed it to her uncle.

"If you're interested in coins, then this is the book." Sinclair patted the cover. "The Complete Encyclopedia of U.S. and Colonial Coins."

"So, you only collect U.S. coins?"

"And Colonials," Sinclair said. "And U.S. stamps. A collector has to have some limits. That way, you don't waste money chasing things you don't really need or want." He held the coins out to Alistair, then pushed to his feet. "We'll talk again, Edward. You're an interesting young man."

"Thank you, sir," Sean said, quickly standing.

Laurel watched her uncle walk out of the room, Alistair trailing behind him, then smiled. "He gave you Breen."

"Is that good?" Sean asked.

"It's just a big book of coins, but it's like his bible. He spends hours pouring over that book. I think he must have it memorized by now."

Sean nodded, then tucked the book under his arm. "He's not going to give me a test, is he?"

Laurel giggled. "He might. But not right away." She paused, then pushed up on her toes and gave him a quick kiss on her cheek. "You're a good husband."

A tiny smile quirked his lips and he shrugged. "That's what I get paid for."

Laurel's breath caught in her throat. For a moment she'd forgotten that this was all just an act, that the handsome man standing next to her wasn't really her husband at all. "I guess it's time for bed," she murmured.

Sean held up the book. "I know what I'll do if I can't sleep." He slipped his arm around her waist as they walked out of the library and up the stairs. Laurel knew there was no need for the oddly possessive gesture. No one was watching. But she liked the way it felt when he touched her, the illusion of affection that it gave her.

But what would happen once the door to her bedroom closed? Would they continue this charade of romance or would it be strictly business? With each step, her heart beat a little faster in anticipation. This was the wedding night she hadn't had. And Laurel was afraid that morning would come all too fast.

Chapter 4

Sean slowly closed the door of Laurel's bedroom and leaned back against it, watching as she walked over to the huge four-poster bed. Her room, like the rest of the mansion, was richly furnished with expensive antiques and beautiful fabrics, a far cry from the tattered furnishings of the house on Kilgore Street or the hodgepodge decor of his flat in Southie.

Again and again, he'd been reminded of the two very different worlds they'd come from. The ten-thousand-dollar check in his wallet represented a fortune to him, a chance to build his business. Yet, to Laurel, it was spare change, payment for a day's work, and there was more where that came from. He couldn't really blame her. Given a chance at five million, Sean probably would have risked more than just money.

As she wandered around the room, his gaze followed her, taking in her slender body and beautiful features. He'd known a lot of women who were pretty, but Laurel's beauty eclipsed them all. She wasn't like the women he usually met. She was… classy. Smart. Sophisticated. And way out of his league.

"I think tonight went well," she murmured, running a finger over a little china rabbit that sat on her bedside table.

"Do you think he suspects?" Sean asked, setting the book he carried on the table near the sofa.

She quickly turned, concern etching her features. "Do you?"

Sean shrugged. Their audience with Uncle Sinclair had been strange at best. The old man didn't appear to be interested in the state of his niece's marriage. He'd barely noticed that Laurel was in the room, so occupied was he with his coins. But Sean knew better. "Your uncle wants you to believe he's not the full shilling."

"Full shilling?" Laurel asked. "Is that a coin joke?"

"It's my da's expression. Sinclair doesn't have all his oars in the water. He's a few sandwiches short of a picnic. He's-"

"I get it," Laurel said. "Maybe he is a little… crazy."

"But he's not crazy. He just wants you to believe he is. I think he's a pretty shrewd old guy."

Laurel fussed with the bedcovers, pulling them back and then smoothing them out until they were perfectly turned down. "I've never been able to figure him out. My mother died when I was ten and my father when I was nineteen, and Uncle Sinclair's been in charge of everything since then. He's the only family I have." Her shoulders rose and dropped. "I'm not even sure how he feels about me."

"Does it make a difference?" Sean asked.

She sat on the edge of the bed and rested her hands in her lap, studying her fingernails. Sean fought the urge to cross the room to sit beside her, to take her hands in his. All evening, he'd played the proper husband, touching her every now and then, smiling when she spoke, holding her hand as they talked with her uncle. It had seemed so natural, but now that they were alone, he couldn't bring himself to do the same. Where did the act end and the real desire begin?

"It would be nice to know there's someone in the world who really cares about me," she continued. "You have your family. They must love you very much. That has to make you feel good."

Sean's thoughts turned to his mother. Though he knew he could always count on his father and five brothers, he still hadn't resolved his issues with Fiona Quinn. "I guess so," he murmured.

It would be so easy to trust Laurel, to open up to her and to talk about problems he'd always kept to himself. But Sean had to remember Laurel was a woman and, like Fiona, she couldn't be fully trusted.

"Tell me about your family," Laurel asked.

Sean pushed away from the door and crossed the room. He grabbed up his duffel bag and finished unpacking, laying T-shirts and boxer shorts on a nearby chair. "We don't need to talk," he said.

A long silence fell over the room, Laurel's expression grim. His words caused him a pang of regret and Sean dropped what he was doing and sat next to her. Hesitantly, he reached out and took her fingers, twisting them through his as he spoke. "I'm sorry. I'm just not much for that kind of conversation. Sports, the weather, current events. I can handle that."

"No, you're right. There's no reason for us to discuss personal matters. I have to remember, you're just doing a job."

"That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

Laurel nodded, then snatched her fingers from his and rose. "I'm going to take a shower-or maybe you'd like to use the bathroom first?"

"No, go ahead," Sean said. He glanced around the room. "What are the sleeping arrangements here?"

Laurel's gaze darted to the four-poster. For a moment he thought she might invite him to share the bed with her. Though the prospect was intriguing, he knew better than to tempt fate. He quickly pointed to a small reading alcove near the other side of the room. "I can take the sofa over there."