Chapter 19
19
I can’t believe I almost missed it. The only reason I knew to tune into Margot’s media farce is Rose happened to hear about it in one of her author groups, of all places. The instant I saw the satisfied smirk on Margot’s face, I knew this was going to be big trouble. Five minutes in, I’m already trying to call Justin, but he’s not answering. Either he’s dead or he has his phone on silent. By this point, he should be answering just to yell at me to stop, even if he doesn’t want to talk about it.
Heaving a mighty sigh of frustration, I consider my other options. There aren’t any. But I’m not just going to sit here and watch everything around Justin implode without doing something . Maybe I’m being selfish in demanding his attention, but I’m not losing him to Margot’s manipulations. Not this time. I pace Rose’s lovely guestroom. She offered to put the show up on the bigger TV in the living room, but I opted to be alone for this. Partially so I could swear unreservedly but also because this is my problem and sympathy, as lovely as it would be, isn’t going to solve it.
My cell rings right as I make a sharp turn by the door. I rush over and almost miss it because Justin is actually calling me back?
“H-h-hello?” I quaver, as if I didn’t have an entire speech ready five minutes ago.
Justin sighs in my ear. “Stop panicking, Ingrid. Just stay put in Washington until this blows over. Understand me? The best thing you can do to help is to stay out of the way.”
I grind my teeth. I don’t believe him. “No.”
“No?” he half laughs in disbelief. “Ingrid. The paparazzi would tear you to shreds and I don’t mean that figuratively. Please stay where you are.”
“I’m not going to let her destroy you like this, Justin. Particularly when she’s trying to use me to do it!” I spit out.
He sighs again. “We both know nothing happened, sweetness. That’s what truly matters. Don’t let it get to you.”
Too late. “What are you going to do?” Might as well discover if he has any better plans up his sleeve before I start formulating my own.
“I don’t know yet. At the moment, this is all salacious innuendo. And it would be hard to sue her for malicious defamation when she’s out of the country and apparently not planning on returning.”
“Can’t you go after the network? Or whoever is paying her?”
I can practically hear his shrug over the phone. “Maybe, but it would be long odds. Particularly if the contract doesn’t specify what she’s supposed to say. It’s better for now not to add to the furor. In six months or so we can file quietly for a divorce and since you’ve made your opinion of New York abundantly clear, probably nobody will be the wiser and it will all blow over. ”
My heart falls into my stomach, and I sink slowly onto the bed. He wants a divorce? Or is he just giving up on any chance of an us? My intuition says it’s the latter. He’s not going to fight. Not for himself and not for me. Only to protect my interests, which he sees as me being better off without him nearby. I straighten my spine.
“No Justin. Just no. I’m not divorcing you and I’m not letting you martyr yourself.” And for the first time ever, I hang up on him. And this time, I’m the one ignoring his forthcoming calls. Eventually I slide my phone under my underwear in my suitcase so I don’t have to listen to the angry buzzing after I turned off the ringtone. He is so infuriating!
I go back to pacing while I wrack my brains for a solution. Anything really that will break the status quo.
My brain refuses to cooperate and when a cramp starts in my calf muscle, I flop down onto the bed in despair. The book stuffed under my pillow makes its presence known when my head lands there. I fish it out. I’m not in the mood for romance, but maybe there’s a solution buried in the storyline somewhere. I scan the words hopefully and with desperation.
Rafe strode across the lower fields with authority. He was determined to get as far away from the house and Kitty as humanly possible. Maybe then his brain would re-engage and he could come up with a plan to get them out of this mess.
A part of him sunk at the very thought. He was rather enjoying teasing Kitty, getting her riled up and blushing. But less so when she turned the tables on him. Although he was forced to acknowledge he wasn’t bored. Something he’d been complaining about to his close friends with ever more frequency.
His fists clenched spontaneously with a possessive jealousy at the thought of introducing Kitty to his friends. At some point, he would have to. And while he enjoyed their company, the thought of any of them, even his oldest friend Carmichael, flirting with her, made his blood boil. And yet he knew that in their circles, after a few heirs were obtained, it would be perfectly normal for a man’s friends to, er um, form their own opinions as it were. Not his Kitty! She was his. No man would ever join her in her bed except him, and that was final.
He swiveled abruptly to return to the house and inform her of this, and then stopped dead in his tracks. He was acting like a lovesick fool.
Rafe began walking again, more slowly this time, still in the direction of the small manor house. He realized that his thoughts were just as radical and outlandish as Kitty’s words had been two days ago. And they weren’t nearly as in conflict as he’d previously believed. The last thing he wanted was a coolly sophisticated duchess who would sleep with all his friends while he trolled their wives in turn. He wanted Kitty and nobody but Kitty and he’d be damned if she was going to have anyone else but him whether she wanted it that way or not.
“Kitty!” he growled loudly as soon as he entered the small foyer of the house. “My study. Now!” He didn’t wait for a response, simply stalked down the hall towards the door to the room the housekeeper referred to as the library, but since it only held about ten old books, Rafe preferred a more generic term. He stood at the window, his hands clenched behind his back while he waited.
“You rang?” Kitty announced her presence with dry humor. He swiveled to take her in. She didn’t look nearly as disheveled as he felt.
“Have a seat,” he finally said, more gently indicating the lone armchair in the corner.
Kitty blinked and then gingerly sat on the edge of the chair as if braced for escape.
“I don’t want you sleeping with any of my friends,” he grumbled.
Kitty’s lips twitched. “We have that in common, then. I don’t want to sleep with any of them either.”
Rafe glared at her. Kitty bit her lower lip and stayed silent.
“What I’m trying to say is that I won’t allow you to…” he paused an d took a deep breath. “Your lower class leanings may have rubbed off on me,” he mumbled. But Kitty had clearly heard him because her eyes widened. She wisely held back any commentary.
“And consequently, I’m willing to entertain your earlier request to educate you in the art of pleasure, but only on one condition.”
He waited impatiently for his words to sink in. His heart fell slightly when Kitty’s face filled with trepidation instead of the victory he’d anticipated. The silence between them lengthened. Until Kitty sucked in a breath and finally inquired, “What condition, my lord?”
Her gaze met his. The normal challenge in them softened with resignation.
“That you only practice them with me. And since I don’t entirely trust you not to run away again, starting tonight we will share a bedchamber so that I know for certain I have your undivided attention,” he growled.
Kitty’s lower jaw dropped and then, finally, the sunshine returned to her expression. A tiny smirk played on the cupid’s bow of her upper lip. She lowered her gaze. “Yes, my lord.” It was the most demure he’d ever seen her.
Okay, that’s not directly helpful, but it reminds me of other regencies I’ve read where the cattish diamond of the first water spoils the reputation of the heroine. Then said plucky heroine enlists the help of either the hero or the hero’s family to trap her into revealing her machinations. Justin won’t help. But his family…
The lightbulb goes off and I sit straight up. His family. The one he doesn’t spend time with because he thinks they have nothing in common. If I went there… and talked to them and explained. Maybe? I mean, they could be horrible people who want nothing to do with him, but then if that turns out to be true, he’d be none the wiser.
I start flinging my belongings back into the suitcase until I remember that I don’t actually know what town Justin is from. Maybe I’d better sort out the logistics before I head for the airport…
Fred called at six a.m. to warn me that my apartment building was surrounded by paparazzi, eager to be the first to run to press with my image. Effectively, I’m trapped in my ivory tower. The building management will get the police in at some point, probably within the hour, but that won’t reduce the target on my back.
And now I owe Fred something special. I think he’s worked harder in the last month after retirement than he did the two years prior. Not that I’m faulting him for that. I wanted eyes I could trust on Ingrid, and despite his gruff demeanor, I knew Fred’s loyalty was second to none. Although… these days I think I am second because at some point Ingrid became his honorary granddaughter.
I stare down at the miniaturized cars and pedestrians on the street below. From here, I can’t see the throngs of reporters, but I don’t doubt their presence for a second. The real question is what to do about it in the long term. ‘No comment’ will make me sound guilty. A passionate denial will too. And in the end, what does it matter if it means I’ve effectively lost Ingrid, anyway? Living together would only continue to keep the flames of gossip and innuendo alive for years. Ingrid deserves far better than that.
Sighing, I turn away from the windows and head to the kitchen for breakfast. The cereal I pour into a bowl tastes like sawdust. I flip on the small TV mounted to the wall to see if a distraction will help. Apparently, Kate likes to watch travel shows while she cleans because that’s what loads. Balmy scenes of palm trees wave over turquoise seas while a chipper real- estate agent promises good bargains are still to be had. Apparently, you can snatch up a two-bedroom cottage two blocks from the beach for only $200,000. I eye the luxurious appointments in my kitchen. What would five mil buy me on a tropical island? Think Ingrid would run away with me to hide in obscurity for the next five decades? I shrug, realizing that she probably would go but I’m not the schmuck that would ask her to give up her dreams and her friends like that. She needs more family around her, not less.
It’s over, I realize with sudden clarity. I’ll stay until I know the clouds have moved from over her head, maybe six to eight months for that, and then I’ll sell up and clear out. Someplace where nobody knows me and nobody can be bothered to find out who I am. Strangely, and perhaps sadly, my business won’t be affected by this. Even people who might be inclined to believe the rumors won’t shy away from hiring my firm. If anything, the notoriety may serve as free advertising.
I blame my general lack of concern on my recuperation from the accident. But the truth is, my heart doesn’t care about the long line of would-be clients on the waiting list. They’re endless and they don’t represent a new challenge to be conquered. I’m not sure what does. Maybe I should take this down time, holed up in my aerie as a chance to figure out what the hell I want out of life, particularly if I can’t have Ingrid in it. I thought I knew and on the days when it didn’t seem that fulfilling, I honestly didn’t care. I was simply indifferent. Even my current client list has been delegated to other attorneys in the firm while I’m out recuperating, so there’s nothing there to distract me at the moment.
Now I feel restless. And I want to see Ingrid’s face to make sure for myself that she’s not tying herself up in knots over this. I give in to temptation and pick up my phone from the counter. Frowning, I dial Ingrid and listen to it go straight to voicemail. Is she already being hounded to the point she needed to turn her phone off? I send her a text message instead.
Please check in and let me know you’re okay.
There’s no immediate response. Sighing, I give up on that temporarily and sit down on the couch in the living room to start making a list.
When I head into the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee, I check my phone again. Well, at least Ingrid responded, but I’d hardly call it a satisfactory reply.
I’m good.
What the fuck does that mean? That she’s okay considering, or she’s not, but she doesn’t want me to worry? Or worse, she’s pissed off and panicking? My fingers start to tap out a reply, but then I pause and delete the few words I’d entered. I need to start putting more distance between me and Ingrid, for her sake. And that means now. I set the phone down gingerly and head down the hall to take a shower. Ingrid is safe with her friends.