The Gift-Wrapped Groom Read Online Free Page B

make.”
    Winsome studied the resolute look on his granddaughter’s face. He obviously wasn’t easy about acquiescing, but he finally did and nodded toward the large, beautiful mahogany desk that dwarfed the far corner of the book-lined study.
    â€œMake yourself comfortable. Ask any questions you desire. You will not find Nicholas wanting. I will remain within hearing range. The proprieties must be maintained, you understand.”
    Noel flashed her grandfather a look. She clearly did not believe proprieties were behind his continued presence at all. Yes, this was a very strange relationship these two had, not at all like the respectful and warm one he had shared with his maternal grandfather in Russia. So many years ago. More than a lifetime ago.
    Nicholas forcibly pushed away those memories as he followed Winsome’s gesture and took a seat in one of the two chairs in front of the desk. He expected Noel to take the other. But instead, she circled the desk and sat in her grandfather’s chair. As he caught the small frown on Winsome’s face, Nicholas decided that the move had been both bold and calculated.
    She had claimed a part of her grandfather’s territory deliberately. Did she have so little respect for her elders? Did she take Winsome’s chair to provoke him?
    No. He could see it now. She did so to tell her grandfather that she intended to supplant his previous control over the situation.
    Ah, now he was beginning to understand. That must have been why at first she had seemed in opposition to him. His sudden appearance and Russian heritage had been a surprise. Noel Winsome was a woman who did not like surprises.
    Too bad. He had a feeling he would be presenting her with a few at the conclusion of this “question” period.
    He wasn’t concerned about what she would ask. After all, this was merely a contract between them—a contract that was benefiting her as it was him. Emotion had no part in it.
    That was one of the reasons he had agreed. He had no heart to give. That had died four years ago in his beloved Russia. He would not pretend to feel what he could not, or be what he could not.
    Her tone had become businesslike—crisp and clear. She was looking at his face, but avoiding his eyes. “I take it you speak, read and write English fluently, Dr. Baranov?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAre you an honorable man? That is to say, if you give your word, will you keep it?”
    â€œYes.”
    She picked up and twirled a ballpoint pen between her fingers as though needing to give them something to do. She slid a piece of loose notebook paper around the top of the desk until it lay in front of her. Casually, she began to scribble on it.
    â€œWhat is your doctorate in?”
    Her real attention did not seem to be on this question. Nicholas doubted very much whether she was interested in his answer. So why did she bother to ask? What was going on in the mind of this woman?
    â€œPhysics,” he answered.
    â€œWhat does a Russian citizen do with a doctorate in physics?”
    â€œThis Russian citizen became a nuclear physicist.”
    The scribbling paused. Her head came up. “You’ve been involved in making atomic weapons?”
    His answer to this question clearly interested her. Were he to answer yes, Nicholas had a feeling this interview would be over. So, now he knew she was for peace—at least between countries. Between man and woman, well, that appeared to be another matter altogether.
    â€œMy area of expertise was and is concerned with the cleanup of nuclear waste, Miss Winsome.”
    â€œAre you a communist?”
    â€œA socialist.”
    â€œWhat about the unrest within the government among socialism, communism and capitalism?”
    He shrugged. “It is struggle. Always struggle.”
    Her eyes dipped again, the momentary interest gone. The scribbling resumed.
    â€œHow old are