(2)
Those discoveries were still in their grasp when Laura moved over into his arms the next morning and leaned in for a lingering, lazy kiss.
"You're even more beautiful first thing in the morning than I imagined you'd be," he breathed when they separated.
A blush tinted Laura's cheeks. "Thanks. Although, strictly speaking, this isn't the first time you've seen me first thing in the morning." She began to tick off the list. "The night they blew up my house, the night we spent under I-10, the night in the triple-x movie house on Sunset, at the sleep clinic, that stakeout at –"
"True enough," he agreed. "But the circumstances were a little different, eh? You didn't wake up in my arms."
"I guess not. Sorry. You know I can't take a compliment."
"Yes, well, we'll have to work on that." Grabbing his pillow, he propped himself up on an elbow and with his free hand reached over and smoothed the hair off her cheek. His tousled hair fell across his forehead; his eyes were soft and serious. "So tell me. Any regrets?"
"A few, I guess." When his face fell, she realized she'd made a blunder and hastened to reassure him. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I just wish we'd figured all this out a lot sooner. Think of the trouble we would have saved – with Keyes, with the INS…Think how much frustration we might have saved ourselves."
"Ah." He grinned. "My thoughts precisely – and what I've been telling you all along, if you'll recall."
"I know. It's my fault because I ignored what you were saying to me. I was concentrating on what I expected you to say, what I thought you were saying. But last night I realized something. All this time I've been attaching so much importance to your saying the words, I forgot that my father and Wilson both said them, and they both left. You've never said them, and you've stayed for years."
She had spoken slowly, with difficulty, her brows knitted as if she were threading through a maze of clues. Remington watched her with the same deep tenderness as the night before. "The reason I never said them, Laura, was because I didn't know how, not the ones you need to hear, anyway. I told you that at the Friedlich spa, remember? The only way I knew was to show you. It's all I've ever known, just like I've read you all these years by what you've done for me. Giving me a name and a home – teaching me the business, trusting me as your partner, binding up my bruises, defending me from frame-ups – forgiving me blunder after blunder – coming 5,000 miles last fall to bring me home - That's why I've never insisted on a commitment in words from you. Your deeds proved it, you see. But I did need to share this with you." And he made a gesture that encompassed the two of them and the bed.
"Me, too, only I didn't know it - or didn't want to admit it."
Remington raised an eyebrow. "Mrs. Steele, do my ears deceive me, or are you telling me what I think you're telling me?
"Depends on what you think I'm telling you," she replied, laughing.
"Merely that you've acknowledged that actions are significant. And that by making love at this stage of our relationship, we've proven our affection…pledged our devotion…demonstrated our commitment without words, so to speak."
"You'd be correct, Mr. Steele. And you know how I hate to admit I'm wrong."
"That I do," he said. In that characteristic way he had, he tipped her face up to his with a gentle finger beneath her chin and bent to kiss her. "Well, then," he went on when they finally drew apart, "on the heels of that unprecedented statement, I'd like to make one of my own."
"Oh?"
"Yes." He cleared his throat gruffly. "You were right, too. A commitment does need words. Which leads me to my next admission." For a moment, his lashes veiled his blue eyes; then he looked straight at her. "Laura, I love you. With all my heart, I do."
"I know," she said again. "You convinced me last night. But thanks for saying it. And in case hearing the words is worth anything to you, I love you, too."
Though her lips were trembling in an effort to suppress imminent tears, she smiled at him. He was quiet for a beat; his face worked; he was struggling for control, just as she was. Laura watched in amazement as his chest and shoulders heaved in silent emotion. Even she, who knew him so well, didn't get the significance of the moment: this was the first time in his life that someone he trusted had said "I love you" in return, and meant it.
"They're worth quite a lot, actually," he said at length, his voice cracking. "Perhaps more than I can ever tell you." His voice failed altogether then. "Come here," he whispered, and opened his arms to her.
But it was she who gathered him to her, pressed his head to her shoulder, and held him close, her cheek against his hair. One of the few things she and Remington had in common was that neither cried easily, or often, or, if they could help it, in the presence of other people. But over the past several days, reminiscing about Daniel, Remington had once or twice come remarkably close. That had been like peeling back a layer of an onion, and this was, too, a deeper glimpse into the heart of him, as well as the abandonment of another of the defenses they'd each hidden behind so long. Her own tears were beginning to flow; she let them come, and knew that they were both crying from a mixture of joy and grief, regret and relief.
It didn't take long for the desire for comfort to evolve into plain physical desire, or for their embrace to heat into the preliminaries to making love. Soon afterward, Remington was rolling over with her, and they began to laugh, slightly giddy with the newfound freedom of giving themselves completely to one another in the full assurance of being accepted and cherished.
(3)
A clamor from downstairs roused them hours later. They'd slept longer than they meant to; the servants, usually overly attentive, had failed to appear with breakfast, either because they were still recovering from their celebration the night before, or because Mildred had warned them away from the honeymooners. Somewhere a heavy door slammed with a thud, awakening echoes in distant corridors. There were pounding footsteps and distant shouting. Remington groaned as he disentangled himself from Laura's arms and levered himself upright. "Good Lord! I give them the castle and this is how they repay me?"
Laura sat up, too. "Something tells me that's not the servants, Mr. Steele."
The shouting had moved near enough for them to distinguish one voice that rose above the rest. "You got another thing coming if you think you're gonna keep me out of here! I'm not leaving til I see Laura!"
Recognition dawned on them simultaneously.
"Roselli?"
"Tony?"
"Come on!" Flinging back the covers, Remington leaped from the bed to throw on a pair of pajama bottoms, tossing Laura's robe to her. They jammed their feet into slippers and raced down the hallway to the main staircase.
Pandemonium met their eyes. Mikeline O'Flynn, flushed with exertion, was defending the reception hall with a heavy crossbow. The bow was trained on Tony Roselli, who was straining against the grip of two footmen who had him pinned near the hall door. Maids and footmen had gathered in clusters in the hallway and around the foot of the staircase while Mildred barred the bottom step. "Listen, buster," she was saying, "nobody gets up to see Mrs. Steele without her okay. You got that? Especially not a phony-baloney archeologist-spy-home wrecker like you!"
Remington and Laura exchanged a glance before clattering down the stairs. "What in bloody hell is going on here?" Remington exclaimed.
Twenty-odd pairs of eyes swung their way. "Beggin' your pardon, Your Lordship," Mikeline said, "but as Mr. Roselli was taken by the police from these very premises only two days ago, and turned over to the authorities in London, we didn't think it fittin' for him to lurk about without a by-your-leave from Your Lordship and Your Ladyship – beggin' your pardon, indeed, if we've overstepped, sir."
"Oh, Chief, I'm sorry," Mildred added. "We didn't mean to disturb you, but this lowlife won't take no for an answer."
"You got that right!" Tony Roselli resembled nothing so much as a goaded bull, his nostrils flared, his heavy eyebrows drawn together in a scowl. "I came to see Laura, and I'm not leaving til I talk to her."
Remington made an encompassing gesture with both hands as hls eyes swept the hall. "At ease, MIkeline. At ease, Mildred. Everyone else, back to your respective duties, okay? Everything's under control. All right? Bye-bye." As the servants slowly dispersed, Mikeline among them, he added in an undertone to Mildred, "Take a stroll out to the groundskeeper's office, see if any of the lads are about and bring 'em back straightaway – the biggest and brawniest you can find. Off you go." As she left, he turned his gaze to Roselli. His stance was open, his expression genial, but Laura sensed the coiled alertness underneath. The streetfighting instincts honed during his London boyhood were never closer to the surface than in moments like these. "What's all this about then, mate?"
"None of your business. Mate." Released by the footmen, Roselli made an elaborate show of rolling his shoulders, twitching his jacket straight and tugging down his cuffs. "I'm here to talk to Laura."
"Really, Antony, is that the tone to take? Is this how you show your gratitude? After we took you in, a wanted fugitive, helped you slip safely out of England into Ireland, sheltered you, snatched you from the clutches of the Russians on more than one occasion, thwarted the murderous design of your traitorous colleague, Fitch –"
"Fuck that, Steele. And fuck the buddy-buddy shit. Way I see it, you would've thrown my ass to the wolves back in England if I hadn't had that Shannon Wayne's statement to keep you in line. As it was, you turned me over to the police first chance you got – "
"To save your hide!" Remington interjected.
"Whatever. You better make sure you don't cross me again, if you don't want your head blown off one day when you least expect it. Like I said, I'm here to talk to Laura."
Laura had been silent during the exchange, and now she surveyed him coolly, arms akimbo. "I thought we already said everything there was to say, Tony."
"Unh-unh. Not by a long shot." He jerked his head at Remington. "Take a walk. The lady and I want some time alone."
"Really? Afraid my wife disagrees, old chap. I distinctly heard her say you've nothing to talk about."
By now Roselli was openly sneering. "Well, yeah, what else is she supposed to say with you standing right there? Take my advice and get your skinny ass and your snotty accent outta my sight so Laura and I can get down to business." He dismissed Remington with a curl of his lip. "Laura, listen. I meant what I said. I'm not giving up on you." Making a visible effort to turn on the charm, he took a few steps toward her. "If there's something he's got on you, some hold he has to strong arm you into this phony marriage, I'll get you out of it. You don't have to be scared of him. He's a pussy, anyway. Just say the word and come away with me."
Laura gasped her outrage; a low growl started in Remington's throat. "Back to that, are we?" And he made as if to spring at his at his adversary.
But Laura grabbed his arm and with all her might held him back. She didn't understand why Roselli was baiting him so blatantly, but she recognized a trap when she saw one – shades of Norman Keyes! - and she wasn't letting her husband fall into it. When Remington started to wrench his arm from her grasp, she shook her head at him and tightened her grip. "I'll get rid of him."
She gazed at Roselli. The frown that furrowed her brow was the one that reduced petty bureaucrats to jello and brought all but the irretrievably hardened of her chauvinistic male clients to their knees.
"Maybe you didn't understand me last time, so I'll spell it out for you now," she said evenly. "I'm where I want to be. Nobody's trapped me; nobody's blackmailing me. That picture you have of me as a damsel in distress, waiting to be rescued? It's a fantasy. The same with any notion that I'm only biding my time until I can get out of this marriage, or that I haven't chosen Mr. Steele, or that I don't want him. Do you remember me telling you it's taken us four years of trying to get this close? We've succeeded. Deal with it."
Finally it appeared as though she was getting through. He scanned them both from head to foot, for the first time registering their attire, their disheveled hair and Remington's bare chest beneath the loose folds of his robe. A dull red suffused his face from hairline to collarbone. He glowered at Laura.
"You lied to me!"
"I lied to you?" she shot back.
"You led me on!" Of Remington he demanded, "Bet she didn't tell you I called here last night, did she?"
Remington's blue eyes were like ice, but this time he kept himself under control. "No, she didn't. My wife doesn't report her activities and conversations to me, nor would I presume to expect her to. An independent, intelligent woman, our Mrs. Steele. Perfectly capable of taking care of herself, yet willing to lean on her partner – if he's the right partner. Pity you don't know her well enough to fully appreciate those qualities, though I must say, Antony, I have my doubts whether you possess the proper capacity to recognize them in the first place." His cool exterior cracked a little then, and he continued through gritted teeth, "I trust Laura implicitly, you filthy bugger, so it's no use searching for ways to shake my confidence in her."
"Yeah?" Roselli mocked. "You don't sound too sure to me. Whyn't you come here, settle it with me, instead of letting your "wife" do the talking? We'll see who appreciates who."
The moment would have escalated into irreparable violence if it hadn't been for Mildred, who bustled in with a trio of strapping young men, like a determined little tug leading a string of barges. "Here we are, Chief. This is Denis, Fergus and Finnbarr –"
Laura raised her eyebrows at Remington. "Finnbarr?" she mouthed.
"Historic Irish name," he whispered. "Quite common, actually."
"- from the groundskeeping crew. Fellas, this is His New American Lordship, Remington Steele." While the men exchanged greetings, she glanced anxiously around the room, taking in Remington's clenched fists and the tight set of Laura's jaw. She moved over to Laura. "Am I missing something?"
"Nothing, Mildred, nothing at all,' Laura bit out.
Remington promptly took up the thread. "No, indeed, nothing at all. In fact, Antony was just leaving, weren't you, Antony? Ah, yes, and these gentlemen are going to escort him out. Denis, Fergus and Finnbarr, is it? Show Mr. Roselli to the door, would you? In fact, take him as far as the gates, and make sure they're safely locked behind him. Good lads. No, Antony, I'm sorry, but I have to insist. A shame we couldn't offer you hospitality for the night, though I'm sure you understand…honeymooners, otherwise occupied, 'do not disturb'…you get my drift. But I can assure you that I speak for Mrs. Steele as well as myself when I say it's been a pleasure, a real pleasure, to welcome you to our humble castle once again."
The young men had closed in around Roselli and were inexorably steering him, step by step, into the entrance hall. He was impotent and he knew it, but that didn't stop him from spilling out threats. "Think you've seen the last of me, Steele? Think again. You, too, Mrs. Steele. What Keyes did is gonna look like Sesame Street by the time I get through with you. And, oh, yeah – it's gonna be a pleasure, a real pleasure, to watch you both fry."
The final glimpse they had of him as the door thudded shut behind him was his distorted face snarling back at them. "A pleasure! I can assure you!"
In the now-silent hall, Remington, Laura and Mildred gazed at one another blankly. "I take it back," Remington said. "Not only is Antony the ogre we thought he was, but he's also quite possibly a lunatic."
Mildred signaled her agreement with a vigorous nod. "You said it, Chief!"