“When Bradfords marry,” Grandfather Bradford used to say, “they marry for keeps.” Because there had never been a divorce in the long Bradford history, Dylan had been encouraged to sow his wild oats—like his father and grandfather had—before settling down.

But now, with his mother’s death weighing on him, Dylan felt trapped in a meaningless lifestyle and critical of the self-centered women he dated—like supermodel Maya Griffin. He wouldn’t mind the idea of settling down with someone cool, confident, and capable. Someone smart, stylish, and sophisticated. Like his mother and sister.

But women like them were few and far between on the party scene.

He stared out the window as they left Manhattan, concerned that the all-show, no-substance women he dated reflected the kind of man he’d become. His gray mood darkened even more, like the stormy sky overhead.

“My cousin from Houston will be here next month.” Linc broke the silence with studied casualness. “Remember meeting Victoria last Christmas?”

Oh, God, save him from matchmaking friends and relatives. “I think so. Tall? Blond? Interested in horses and...” He searched his memory. “Decorating?”

“Fashion design. That’s why she’s moving to New York.” Natalie exchanged a conspiratorial look with Linc. “And since we’ll have our hands full with a new baby, we’re hoping you might show her around.”

A knee-jerk refusal nearly exploded from his mouth, but he hauled it back in. Although Natalie had been trying to fix him up for years, it was unlike Linc to interfere. They must like this girl, and clearly, Dylan wasn’t having any luck finding the right woman on his own. He sighed and slouched lower. “Let me know when she gets here.”

His brother-in-law reached around Natalie to pound Dylan’s shoulder. “You won’t regret it.”

“If I do, I’ll make sure you do, too,” he warned. “Don’t prepare the pre-nup just yet. I’m only agreeing to meet her, that’s all.”

Following an elbow to the ribs and a speaking look from Natalie, Linc backed off with raised hands. “I understand.”

She snuggled closer to her husband and turned to Dylan. “Why do you think Lawrence wants to see us after the will’s read today?”

“Maybe he intends to advise us on investments or tax issues.”

“You’re the financial whiz kid. He’s more likely to ask for your advice.” She rested her crossed arms on her tummy and studied him. “You know more than you’re saying, don’t you? Tell me.”

“Go ahead,” Linc urged. “You know she won’t let up until you do.”

“Mother warned me that Karen Hammonds—”

“Dad’s publicist, before he died,” Natalie explained to Linc.

“—has penned an exposé of life on the campaign trail with Dad. You know how protective Mom was of his reputation.”

“That witch!” Natalie bit out. “Who cares what she has to say after all this time? Anything she knows about Dad is more than twenty years old and probably a lie.”

“If there was any dirty laundry lurking around out there, someone would have aired it a long time ago. So Lawrence’s request to meet with us may not have anything to do with Karen.” Noting the circles under his sister’s eyes, he wished he hadn’t speculated. “How are you holding up? If you want to skip out on this appointment today, just say so. I can handle it alone. Or Lawrence will wait, if we ask him to.”

She crossed her eyes at him. “Dylan, I’m pregnant, not incapacitated.”

Sympathy would fail beneath her hormonally rampant mood swings, but he gave it a shot. “Yesterday’s funeral has worn us all down, especially after the strain of Mother’s illness. Pregnancy must increase the pressure.”

Natalie pursed her lips. “Actually, the pregnancy soothes me, the way being with Josh does. It makes me feel a special bond with Mom and Dad. And kind of proud to know that I’m extending their legacy.” Tears welled. “Does that sound like the ultimate conceit?”

“Not at all, love.” Linc gave her his handkerchief along with a reassuring squeeze.  “It’s sweet.”

And just like that, Dylan felt that pang again. The one he’d felt a lot lately. The one that made him feel isolated and alone.

Elegant as a maestro, Lawrence Sutton arranged himself behind the Louis XIV desk that now belonged to Natalie—along with the rest of Margaret Bradford’s New Haven estate. Natalie and Linc sat opposite the attorney in matching Chippendale chairs. Too tense to sit, Dylan hovered behind them.

All of the will’s bequeaths and legacies had been announced earlier. No big surprises, but now Dylan geared himself up for whatever bombshell Lawrence had saved just for them.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am about your mother’s death.” He removed his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his aristocratic nose. “I served her interests to the best of my abilities and pledge to do the same for both of you, as long as you require my services.”

“Thank you,” Natalie said. “Mother appreciated your loyalty, and so do we.”

The old man steepled his fingers together and drew a deep breath. “There are two final pieces of business your mother wanted me to share with you in private. One of them is regarding a holding she left for Dylan.”

“What else is there?” For tax purposes, she’d divvied up most of her personal property years ago. He and Natalie needed or wanted nothing else. And the Matthew Bradford Foundation was well-funded.

“The cabin in East Langden, Maine.” The attorney drew the words out with all due gravity. “Where your father died.”

Gripping Linc’s hand with white knuckles, Natalie gasped. “That can’t be right. The family camp there belonged to the Bradfords.”

“I guess it belonged to Dad, and she inherited it after he died.” Dylan’s thoughts raced full speed ahead, but only questions with no answers emerged. “Why didn’t she get rid of it? It seems like it would have been more appropriate for Grandfather or Uncle Arthur to have maintained it all this time.”

Natalie frowned. “And why not tell us about it?”

“As far as I know, she’d only been there a handful of times, and that was before Dad’s death.” Dylan rubbed his temple where pulsing tension had developed into a sharp staccato.

“Can’t you picture Mother dressed in Versace and cooking a gourmet meal in a kitchen that hadn’t been remodeled since the Truman administration?” His sister threw him a nostalgic grin.

Propping his shoulder against an eighteenth-century armoire, Dylan turned back to Lawrence. “What more do you know about this?”

“Not much, but I believe it ties in with this other business.” The lawyer squared his shoulders. “Last year, your mother received a letter of inquiry from a young man claiming to be your father’s son.”

“That’s impossible.” Dylan looked to his sister for agreement.

Natalie and Linc wore matching expressions of disbelief. Linc slipped his arm around her and pulled her against him.

She echoed Dylan’s opinion. “Impossible.”

He turned back to Lawrence. “What type of ‘inquiry’?”

“Yes, and by whom?” Linc asked.

“What does the claimant want?” Natalie finished. “Money?”

The old man opened a file on the desk. “His name is Clayton Harris. He said he’d simply like to have the matter of his paternity confirmed. Apparently he bears a marked similarity in appearance to the Bradford men. And it’s long been the rumor in the town where he was raised.”

“Rumor!” The word burst from Dylan’s mouth like a curse. “Why the hell would you allow Mother to be distressed during her last months over a bloody rumor?”

Lawrence stiffened at the criticism. “She corresponded with the young man without immediately taking me into her confidence.”

“She wouldn’t have done that,” Natalie insisted. “She always said that acknowledging rumors only gave them credence.”

“Apparently, the gist of her response was that there was no truth to the story and the young man should look elsewhere for his paternity.” The attorney’s lips thinned into a disapproving line. “He threatened to take your father’s estate to court if she didn’t take the allegation seriously.”