Chapter 24 #2
“Derrick’s been watching the car all night, my lord,” George said cheerfully. “Shall I bring it around, then?”
“No need,” Cameron said. “I’m in haste.”
“As you will, my lord.”
Three minutes later, he was pulling his door shut and his phone out of his pocket. He looked at George as he slid in under the wheel.
“Private conversation,” Cameron said sternly.
“Of course, my lord.”
Perhaps he should have been worried about his private business remaining private, but George was, as Alistair had said more than once, a vault.
Cameron might have been discreet about what he said in front of the man, but he was confident what he’d said had never gone any further.
He took a deep breath, blew it out, then dialed Sunny’s number.
She picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Where are you?” he asked without preamble. He had to know.
She was silent for a long minute. “Where you dropped me off.”
He let out the breath he realized he’d been holding all day.
He actually had to put his hand over his eyes then rub his face to keep from making some unwholesome sound of relief.
He ignored the hard reality that he should have been terrified that she was still in London and not on her way to Seattle where she would have been safe.
The saints pity him for a fool, but he wouldn’t send her away if she was willing to stay.
“I asked them to extend my reservation,” she said hesitantly. “They were kind enough to do so.”
“Exactly what you should have done, of course,” he said without hesitation. He paused. “What are you doing presently?”
“Getting ready to watch a TV program on medieval Highland wooing practices.”
He would have smiled, but he was too winded. “That should be interesting.”
She was silent for so long, he wondered if she’d hung up on him. He even went so far as to check his phone to see if they were still connected.
“You might have an opinion on it,” she said finally. “Maybe you’d better come watch it with me. Can you?”
He lost the rest of his breath. “Of course. I’m on my way back to town now.”
She was silent for another minute. “I won’t sleep with you, Robert Francis.”
He smiled at the name. “I didn’t think you would. And don’t call me Francis.”
“I could call you worse.”
“You could indeed,” he agreed.
“Hurry,” she said, then she hung up.
Cameron leaned his head back against the headrest and shook.
By the saints, it was worse than battle.
He didn’t know what had convinced her to stay, but he imagined it hadn’t been anything he’d sent her.
Perhaps she wanted him to come to her hotel so she could slide a dirk between his ribs to repay him for the pain he’d caused her.
Perhaps she’d only stayed so she could tear into him in person—though she could have done that over the phone from anywhere.
He decided that it was probably best to simply not think at all for the next little while. She would say what she had to say to him, he would fall to his knees and beg her to stay, then he would figure out how in the hell he was going to keep her safe.
The one thing he was certain of was that he could never, ever let her go again. Not now. He wouldn’t survive it.
“The Ritz, please, George,” he said, when he thought he could speak calmly.
“How bourgeois of you, my lord.”
Cameron grunted, then leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. He allowed himself the pleasure of trusting that he would get to his destination safely and as quickly as the posted speed would allow.
In time, George pulled up in front of the Ritz and stopped. “Shall I wait?”
Cameron unbuckled his seat belt and leaned up. “I’ll walk back. Go home and put your feet up. In fact, take tomorrow off as well. I’ll manage on my own.”
George turned and looked at him with a smile. “Himself is feeling magnanimous tonight. Dare I assume it isn’t only because he escaped the party early?”
Cameron pursed his lips. “I was about to suggest that you should take the week off—”
“Very magnanimous.”
Cameron smiled at him, then slowly sobered. “Thank you for your discretion, George, and your loyalty. I appreciate both.”
George chewed on his words for a moment or two, then turned and faced forward with his hands on the wheel.
“My lord, I watch you turn backflips for that harridan in Windsor who spends your money and dishonors you. I’m not sure why you’re here at the Ritz, but the thought of what awaits you here has cheered you and that cheers me.
As does a week off,” he added, shooting Cameron a smile over his shoulder.
Cameron clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Enjoy. I’ll make sure Penelope knows not to call you.”
“Yet more sunshine coming my way.”
Cameron thought he couldn’t lose his breath again, but apparently he was wrong. “I’m due for some as well, I think.”
“I daresay you are, my lord.”
Cameron got out, shut the door behind him, then looked about him for anything unusual.
Seeing nothing, he put his head down and walked quickly into the hotel.
He introduced himself to the night manager, who was happy to call upstairs and see if Miss Phillips might still be awake.
The man asked no questions and Cameron volunteered no answers.
He was remarkably relieved when he was informed that Miss Phillips was indeed still receiving callers and he could certainly go up.
Cameron rode up in the lift, then walked down the hallway and stopped in front of her door. He stood there for a moment, then knocked softly.
The door opened soon after. Sunny was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with her feet bare.
She wasn’t wearing a jacket or holding on to her suitcase, which led him to believe that she didn’t plan on running out the door anytime soon.
She was wearing the strand of pearls he’d bought her tucked into her shirt.
And she looked as if she’d been weeping since he’d last seen her.
She made room for him to come inside, shut the door, then stepped back away from him. She wouldn’t meet his eyes; she merely stood there and shook.
He put his hands in his pockets. “Thank you for calling me, Sunshine. I—”
He never saw her move. One moment, she was standing in front of him, the next she had thrown herself at him and had flung her arms around his neck. She held on to him as if time itself threatened to drag her away.
He had to take a step backward to keep his balance, then he steadied them both, wrapped his arms around her, and clutched her to him with equal fervor.
He buried his face in her hair and picked her up off her feet where he could hold her even more tightly.
Sobs racked her body, forcing tears to his eyes in spite of his best attempts to stop them.
“Ach, Sunny,” he whispered against her ear. “Sunshine, my love, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t let me go,” she said, her voice catching.
“By the saints, Sunshine, I never will,” he said fiercely. And he wouldn’t, damn those Ainsworths to hell. Whatever he had to do to keep her near him—safely—he would. He buried his face in her hair. “Today almost destroyed me.”
“Me, too.”
He continued to hold her tightly against him as she fought to catch her breath. He was just so bloody grateful to have her in his arms, he couldn’t do anything but keep her there.
A great while later, he let her slide back to her feet. He smoothed his hand over her hair, he rubbed his hands soothingly over her back, he murmured thanks in her ear so many times, he feared the words would lose their meaning.
But she didn’t loosen her death grip on his neck.
And he didn’t release her.
It took him quite a while longer to decide that perhaps he should carry her over to a chair, but before he could, she pushed out of his arms.
“I’m done,” she said with a gulp, backing away from him. “I’m done weeping over you, you bloody awful man. I will never, ever cry over you again. I’m finished.”
He almost managed a smile. Almost. “I hope I never give you reason to again.”
She wrapped her arms around herself and looked at him, tears still streaming down her face. “Do you want to know why I’m here?”
He found himself quite suddenly very reluctant to hear it, lest it be something less than he dared hope for. He put his hands in his pockets. “I’m not sure. Do I?”
“You might.”
“Please be gentle.”
She didn’t smile. “I’m here because once upon a time you protected me with your own life,” she began in a low voice.
“Once upon a time you would have handfasted with me if there hadn’t been three dozen of your murderous kinsmen cluttering up your threshold.
You were willing to give up everything that you were comfortable with to stay with me.
” She was silent for several very long moments, then she met his gaze.
“It seemed as if I should be willing to do the same for you.”
He had a very difficult time swallowing. He could only stare at her, speechless.
She blinked rapidly, looked up at the ceiling, then surrendered and dragged her arm across her eyes. “I told you once that I wouldn’t be your refuge, but I changed my mind because, despite what you said yesterday, I think that’s exactly what you need.”
“My refuge,” he echoed, finding that he could hardly say the word.
She nodded. “That’s what I’m offering you. Me, as your refuge. If you want me.”
His heart was so full of so many things he couldn’t begin to identify, he could hardly think clearly.
What he did know was that he had gravely underestimated the woman in front of him.
She brewed an exceptional cup of tea, had lovely, healing hands, and a smile that left him daydreaming of summer meadows.
But underneath all that sweetness was a woman of such courage that any medieval laird with two wits to rub together would have fallen to his knees in gratitude to have called her his.
Which he would do, after he had held her in his arms long enough to satisfy himself. He took a deep breath, then reached out and pulled her back into his arms.