Provoked (Forbidden Crush #2)

Chapter 3

3

My nerves subside somewhat when I finally make it to the aisle of the airplane to deplane and see Justin’s broad shoulders disappearing onto the gangway. I’m able to stay well back as everyone troops to the exit. I exhale with a whoosh when he disappears out the main doors of the airport, not even bothering with more than his sleek, expensive carryon. He’s not here for me. Maybe he’s finally heeded my advice and is taking a vacation?

Pleased at the thought, I find a luggage cart and retrieve my baggage from the conveyor belt. I’m supposed to go to one end of the terminal for the small plane that will take me to Montana. My new landlord said he’d have someone pick me up from the airfield and then, once I’m settled, take me back into town to see what’s available in the used car lot. He didn’t say it, but I got the impression that he was worried I’d be taken advantage of without a man attached. He’s probably right. More so because I’m not from Montana than my gender, I think. I can haggle in an Asian market with the best of them. One of the few skills I picked up traveling with my parents that has actually come in useful.

I send a quick text to Rose with the picture of the tiny plane I’m waiting to board. There’s just one guy loading the luggage into the back and I’ll bet he’s the pilot, too. Rose immediately responds.

Text me the minute you are on the ground again!

I had kind of hoped to meet some new people on this leg of the trip. Since their destination would be going close to where I’m headed, they might count as new neighbors. But as we taxi down the small runway, I know that’s not going to happen. The other passengers seem nice enough. Although most of them are middle-age men who look like ranchers, but the engine noise is so pervasive I can’t hear myself think, let alone the person on the other side of the narrow aisle. I sigh and take out my book.

The Duke is out looking for his runaway ward and getting angrier by the minute. A shiver of delight cascades down my spine and I settle back in my seat. I want Rafe to finally acknowledge his feelings for Kitty, but I’m probably going to have to wait until the end of the book for that to happen.

There she is, the little minx. The shy smile she offers the man selling bread in the market has me ready to roar with fury. Bound for the Americas, eh? More like hiding out in London with some upstart hoping to get his hands on her fortune. I’ll have her back at Greenwood tonight. And there she shall stay until any hint of scandal has been forgotten by the ton. I don’t care if that means she’s the oldest deb to ever enter Almacks. She should have thought of that before running off.

I follow her back through the narrow streets, curious to see where she’s taken refuge. I could just sweep her over my shoulder, but that would attract unwanted attention. And I need to deal with whoever lured her here in the first place. Kathryn stops in front of a slightly shabby but tidy edifice. The door opens and I catch the glimpse of an elderly retainer. Glowering, I follow her up the steps.

The old man stops me in his tracks with an experienced stare. “No gentlemen may enter, sir.”

“Why the hell not?”

He shakes his white head without answering and closes the door.

“Kitty!” I bellow into the gap as the surprisingly stout door shuts in my face. I stare at the black enamel. Unbelievable. I knock firmly on the door. I will not be so easily assuaged from my mission.

The door remains firmly shut. Shouting out that I’m a duke and must be obeyed probably won’t be as effective as it ought to be. An older woman with a stout satchel approaches and eyes me with concern.

“Madam, what is this establishment?” I ask with a barely constrained snarl. Her eyes widen, but she answers promptly. “It’s a boarding house. If you didn’t know that, why are you on the landing?”

“Will you please tell whoever is in charge that I expect Miss Kathryn Dalrymple to pack and present herself here in ten minutes or I will fetch the constabulary,” I hiss with deadly calm.

The woman draws herself up. “Who are you to make such demands?”

“I, madame, am Rafael, fourteenth Duke of Greenwood.” I give her a short, sharp bow and gesture to the front door. She pulls it open just far enough to slip inside with a wild glance back at me. I smile with no humor and take out my pocket watch.

I close the book over my finger, holding my place and sigh with frustration. When will the Duke be angry enough to kiss her? And when he finally loses his cool, will he spank her first? I’m tempted to check. This author sometimes goes spicy and sometimes not. But I want to savor this one, it’s why I haven’t devoured it in one sitting. Now that I’m no longer dreaming about Justin, I need to love vicariously, and books are the safest outlet. I glance out the small window and watch the fields and farms below turn to forests. My eyes drift shut — the anxiety of the previous flight finally draining from my body and leaving me limp.

I’m jolted awake when the wheels of the plane touch down on the tarmac. For a moment I forget where I am, but then it all comes flooding back. I sigh and slip my book back in my purse. There’s no space for even a carryon here, so I groggily follow the other passengers down the rickety metal steps that make up the inside of the door. We form a funny little queue of tired people walking across the tarmac towards what looks to be basically a shed. A tractor pulling a cart moves past us towards the plane — I guess to collect the luggage. A tall man in worn jeans and a plaid shirt with a cowboy hat pulled down over his eyes lounges against one of the beams supporting the overhang of the shed. Abruptly, he pushes up the hat with a finger and deep green eyes meet mine. He purses his lips thoughtfully.

“Ingrid?” he asks in a husky drawl.

“That’s me!” I respond a little too brightly.

The man scans me from head to toe with a thoughtful expression. It feels more assessing than sexual, which is good, I guess? He shakes his head slightly as if confused and then says, “I’m Danvers. You want to point to your luggage?”

I blink. And scan the concrete. Sure enough, there’s a pile of bags being unloaded.

“Uh, the pale blue ones.” I point to the biggest bag.

Danvers’s eyebrows go up. “All of them?”

I nod. “I’m moving here, not just visiting.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners and his lips — that’s a smirk if ever I saw one. But he doesn’t say anything, just tips his hat and starts towards the mound of bags. Efficiently and somewhat impressively, he grabs two in each hand and starts walking steadily around the corner of the building. I gape and then scurry after him. He doesn’t seem inclined to worry if I’m coming or not.

My bags are placed neatly in the back of a massive, shiny black truck. When he turns around, Danvers once again eyes me from head to toe, frowns, and then picks me up by the waist. I squeak in surprise, but he already has my feet resting on the running board while he opens the passenger door. He picks me up again and sets me gently on the seat. He pauses as he’s shutting the door, gives me a wink and comments, “You’re too short.”

Of all the —! I am not too short! But in the interest of getting to my new house as quickly as possible, I let it go. When he’s started the engine and pulled out of the gravel lot that doesn’t even have spaces marked, I ask sweetly, “So, Danvers, is that your first or last name?”

He glances briefly my way before turning his attention back to the road. Finally he drawls, “Does it matter?”

I flush and turn my face towards the window. Apparently not. But now I’m embarrassed because in my imagination he’s imagining that I was asking because I was thinking about marrying him or sleeping with him or something. I bite my lower lip to keep from denying these unspoken accusations. But I’d really like to wipe that smirk off his face.

It does finally disappear when he drives us down a long narrow driveway lined with old leafy trees. It ends in front of a quaint cottage that was once the original farmhouse for the ranch. But there was a fire and a major remodel that reduced it in size by a half and modernized it completely. I love it to pieces and I’m so excited it looks just like I remembered it.

Except for the black SUV parked to one side and the tall dark man slowly rising to his feet from the front steps and folding his arms over his chest. I blink and check again. It is. It’s Justin. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

I realize I said that out loud only when Danvers head whips around to stare at me. Luckily, he’s already hit the brakes and we’ve come to a stop.

“Friend of yours?”

I snort. “That’s Justin. He’s my… attorney.” I finish lamely, not wanting to announce that I’ve got an untouched inheritance of several million. It could be more by now for all I know. Since I can’t access it, I don’t bother to read the financial statements Justin sends me every month. One more thing he likes to yell about.

“Why is he glaring?”

I breathe out a laugh. “Oh, that’s just his natural expression. Thanks for the ride. Are you the person taking me to look at vehicles on Saturday?”

Danvers nods hesitantly. “You don’t want lover boy taking you?”

“He’s not my lover and he’ll be long gone by then,” I state definitively.

“You want me to stay until he is?” Danvers narrows his eyes as he studies Justin through the windshield. Even from here, I can see Justin’s glower of disapproval. Sometimes I act really impulsively. Almost always I regret it soon after, but the compulsion at the time is irresistible. Like now. I lean over and kiss Danvers’s tanned cheek. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.” Then I open the door and slide out like the seat just heated to two-hundred degrees. “See you Saturday!” I call out loudly for Justin’s benefit, forgetting that my luggage is still in the back.

Danvers doesn’t though. Forget that is. He exits the truck like he’s in no particular hurry. This time he only takes one bag in each hand, so he has to make two trips. Each time, he acts like Justin isn’t even there. He places the bags neatly on the small front porch by the door. Then he tips his hat at me, a new twinkle appearing in his eye and that damn smirk back in place. “Ingrid, have a nice evening. Welcome to Montana.” The chuckle he’s been holding in escapes as he saunters back to his truck.

I turn to face Justin’s wrath with a sinking stomach.