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about the way the white-jacketed man waited unnerved her. He expected, Meg realized, for her to let him take over.
    As she stepped from the cab, accepting the offered arm of the now gently smiling man, Meg said, "I still have to pay for the cab."
    "You go on inside, Miz Ponthier, and I'll take care of everything."
    "Oh, I'm not—" Meg's eyes widened and she said, "Call me Meg, please!"
    The man nodded. "Very well, Miz Meg. I am Horton."
    And Horton's job was to take care of things. Meg backed away from the cab up the sweep of steps that led to the side of the largest house she'd ever been privileged to visit.
    Privileged?
    Meg shivered again and rubbed her hands together, then tucked them in her pockets. Whoever lived inside this house would take one look at her and know Jules hadn't really meant to marry her. Even the orphanage where Meg had lived her early years hadn't been as large as Ponthier Place.
    The double French doors opened and Meg paused halfway up the steps to see who'd come to greet her. After encountering Horton, she half-expected a uniformed maid to drop a curtsy. Instead, she looked straight into the stormy eyes of Parker Ponthier.
    The last person Parker had expected on the doorstep of the family home was Jules's posthumous bride. He'd already withstood the condolences of one great aunt, one cousin, Jules's boyhood pal and fellow dilettante Kinky de LaSalle, and Dr. Prejean, all of whom were now gathered in the Great Parlor.
    That congregation had him looking forward to the escape offered by the necessity of retrieving the widowed Mrs. Ponthier from the Hotel Maurepas. Now with her arrival he was pretty much trapped. Parker frowned at the thought.
    "You're not at all happy to see me, are you?"
    Parker ignored her comment and glanced out to where Horton had finished his business with the cabbie and begun his slow walk back to the steps. Horton never hurried. Facing her, Parker said, "No doubt that's why you took a cab." Annoying woman.
    Unfortunately, Parker thought, this woman wasn't just annoying. She was stubborn, gutsy, intelligent. And attractive. She leaned slightly forward, and even beneath her coat, her figure caught his eye. Her dark eyes flashed a challenge at him, as if daring him to continue gazing at her body. Parker mastered his thoughts, and as he did, he realized he remained in the doorway, effectively blocking her entry.
    By this time, Horton had climbed the steps and waited, not without a slight frown suggested in his bland expression. Around Horton, the long-time family retainer who functioned as butler, houseman, and surrogate father, even Jules had minded his manners.
    And so under Horton's watchful gaze, Parker forced himself to move and held the door wide. "Welcome to Jules's home," he said, the words almost lodging in his throat.
    From Horton, Parker received an approving nod. From Meg, a wide-eyed stare. She did, however, precede him into the foyer.
    "You might have waited for me," he murmured.
    She shot him a look that warned she could hold her own against him. "I'm not in the habit of waiting for people who insult me."
    Parker raised his brows. She could indeed hold her own.
    "May I take your coat, Miz Meg?"
    She smiled and started to shrug out of a lightweight coat that couldn't have done much to shield her from the wind that had kicked up the otherwise calm December afternoon.
    "I'll do that," Parker said, catching the coat as she let it slip from her arms. In his mind, he saw himself not stopping with her coat, but moving to free her of her other clothing. He grasped her coat and pushed the wayward image from his mind.
    Instead of thanking Parker, Meg bestowed a genuine smile on the houseman as he nodded, loosed the coat from Par ker's grasp, and stepped back.
    It wasn't at all the same sort of smile she'd given him. No, that had been more of a challenge, a gesture that proclaimed, "You won't catch me at my game and by the way, I don't like you either."
    A prickle of pride teased