Provoked (Forbidden Crush #2)

Chapter 15

15

Rafael the thirteenth Duke of Greenwood paced the nearly empty corridor between the stalls of the dilapidated stables. Only the two carriage horses and a small pony used by the staff to run errands in the village were in residence. He missed Diablo, his all black hunter more than he was willing to admit. Despite his high-strung nature, the horse had a way of listening that Rafe found helpful in working out a constructive solution to his problems.

Without the stallion, he was on his own, but that didn’t stop him from talking out loud.

“She’s an innocent. Someone filled her head with radical ideas but like a tot repeating words, she didn’t really understand what she was saying.” Satisfied with that conclusion, Rafe’s spine straightened. It was true. This particular scrape was a matter of circumstance and not one of Kitty’s wild starts.

An idea burst into his head, and he smiled for the first time since late yesterday. It had taken him this long to get over the shock of Kitty whipping off her nightrail and the sight of her nude body, all soft curves and milk-white skin. He would kiss her. Kiss her like the doxy she claimed equality with. That would be enough to show her the error of her thinking without doing any actual harm. He pictured the shocked look of horror on Kitty’s expressive face and imagined her running back into the house in tears.

A frown twisted his elegant lips. He didn’t want to break her spirit. Merely guide her to the proper behavior in and out of the bedroom for a newly minted young duchess. Then when he deigned to join her in their marriage bed, she would submit.

His frown deepened. Of course, he didn’t want her frozen in terror or distaste, but surely there was a happy (and proper) median?

So should he kiss her like he intended? He paused before completing a neat turn to pace back the other way. Would she see that as him giving in to her demands? His lips curved upward again. What if he demanded that she kiss him?

I can’t hold back the snort of disbelief at the duke’s smug male arrogance. Naturally, my glance drifts to another arrogant male of my acquaintance. Justin is stretched out on the couch, fast asleep. He declared that he’d had enough of the bed and I can see his point. He’s been staring at the same four walls for quite a few days now.

I’m going to head upstairs in a minute so I can wash the bed linens while he’s not using them. Justin’s color does look much better, and he’s due back for a checkup tomorrow. The doctors all raised holy hell when he insisted on leaving before they’d okayed it but they weren’t so mean as to deny him follow-ups.

Maybe over dinner I can introduce some of the thoughts swirling through my head about the future. We haven’t discussed it beyond the general sense from Justin that whatever is happening between us will eventually fizzle out. But even if that’s true, I don’t see why the fizzling needs to happen within the state of New York. And I’m not so sure… maybe Justin just needs to shift his perspective. Or maybe I do .

I sigh and set the book aside. Standing, I take the few steps over to Justin and slide my sketchbooks out from under his protective arm. I think he was genuinely impressed, but I’m not sure if that was because of the designs themselves or if he’d assumed that I wasn’t old enough or capable of producing anything professional.

Quietly, I head up the stairs and deposit the books back in my workroom. Stripping the bed in Justin’s room, I ponder the good and bad of domestic chores. If this were Justin’s condo, the housekeeper would be doing this. I frown, contemplating that life in a new light. Yes, it would mean more time for designing, but at the same time, I like taking care of him. No, I’m not submitting an application for a 1950s housewife, I would certainly let him do the dishes. But I like being in our own little cocoon, nobody but Fred to know the inner workings of our private life. And I’m sure even Fred will head back east once Margot is under control.

I start the washer in the laundry room off the kitchen and contemplate our dinner options. I could make a pizza… or fold that over into a calzone. Or go in an entirely different ethnic direction and use some of the leftover bits and pieces to make a stir fry. When Fred’s gray head appears in the doorway, I decide on pizza. I doubt he’s a picky eater, but I think I can manage something close to the New York style he’s probably missing by now.

“Any word on Margot?” I ask him quietly.

Fred grimaces. “No. The leads in Vegas ran out. There’s no sign of her. She might be headed back here or on to greener pastures in California. At this point, she’s bound to know people are looking for her, so she may have changed her appearance.”

Frowning, I turn the pizza dough over in my hands. None of that matches up with the sharp and aggressive woman I remember. Running away and hiding isn’t her style. Is she planning something new? My mind drifts back to the book I’m reading. If my life were as it usually is, I’d have that finished by now. But it’s not like I haven’t read a million like it. So… if this really were a Regency romance, what would Margot be doing right now?

My hands still on the dough. She’d be spreading rumors throughout the ton so that when Kitty and the duke return to society, they’re met with closed doors and cold shoulders.

“Fred,” my voice is filled with vengeance, at least enough to make Fred’s bushy eyebrows quiver, “can you check if anyone has started rumors about Justin’s firm? Or about his sudden disappearance from society?”

Fred’s forehead creases in bewilderment. I can’t blame him. I’m fairly certain he’s never read a Regency romance in his life. And I don’t have time to educate him.

“You’ve met Margot. Is she really the type to run and hide like this? Maybe it’s all been a distraction once her original plot failed while she implements Plan B.”

His eyes narrow in thought as his eternally suspicious brain works the problem.

“I’ll check.” He spins abruptly on his heel and leaves the kitchen. I pound the dough extra hard against the cutting board. Working out my frustration with the general situation and my desire to pound one particular redhead into the ground.

I’m dragging my sorry ass around the bedroom in slow motion. I’ve no idea if it’s helping or hurting my recovery, but it’s something to do. Fred stalks in with a glower. I pause with one hand on the dresser to keep myself upright and raise an eyebrow of inquiry.

“Girl was right. Someone is spreading rumors that the firm is under investigation.”

“For what? It’s not an investment firm, for Christ’s sake. Just a bunch of sorry lawyers. And what do you mean the girl was right? I’m assuming you’re referring to Ingrid,” I add dryly.

Fred rolls his eyes at me. It must be catching. “What other girl is there? She asked me to check, said hiding wasn’t typical of Margot and damn it all, she’s right. I should have seen it first.”

Ah. Fred’s pride is smarting, but I think I detect a tiny glimmer of pride in his unofficial protégé. Or adopted granddaughter depending on the day. I shuffle my way slowly over to the bed and sink down. The journey gives me time to think. “Women’s minds are devious, Fred. Don’t beat yourself up because another one got there first.” I bite back the groan as I stretch out and let the mattress take my weight.

Fred snorts. “Well, what are you going to do about it? Just sit there and take it?”

I shake my head slowly. “No. But a full frontal assault will simply backfire. We need something much more subtle that will draw her out in the open. Then the authorities can clean up the mess.”

My words receive nothing more than a blank stare. Fred is much more about the direct approach once information has been uncovered. My knee joints are aching and I’m cursing the frailty of my body once again. “We should head back to New York. It’s too hard to coordinate shit from here, and I can keep Ingrid safer in the penthouse.”

“You tell your little wife that yet?” Fred asks dryly.

“Tell me what?” Ingrid asks quietly from the doorway. Her eyes are anxious, but her voice is steady .

“It’s time to go home,” I tell her calmly and brace myself for the explosion.

But if anything, Ingrid’s voice goes softer. “What do you mean?”

“I can keep you safer in New York.”

Her eyes widen. “No. I am home. Right here.”

I shake my head at her, wincing as the impending headache chooses that moment to penetrate my resistance. Rubbing my hand over my forehead, I remind her, “New York has more resources, I can hire someone to guard you. You won’t be a prisoner.”

“No, Justin. You do what you have to do to keep yourself safe, but I’m not going back to the city. Oh, and dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes. Do you want to eat up here or downstairs?”

The headache is banging on my brain. “Here,” I capitulate and close my eyes. “This conversation isn’t over, but it is on hold until this headache goes away.”

Instantly cool soft fingers are rubbing my temples. I relax into her hands, practically purring like a cat at the relief it brings. I hear a distant snort from Fred and then echoing footsteps as he departs.

Ingrid gently encourages me to relax. I’m resistant because there’s still so much we need to resolve. I can’t help thinking that if we don’t solve the location problem, then whatever this is between us won’t be strong enough to survive more than a few weeks. And that seems… unfortunate. She continues to apply gentle pressure to the stress points at my temples.

Her phone rings from somewhere on her person. I don’t want to open my eyes to pinpoint the location. It keeps ringing, stops briefly, and then rings again. Whoever is calling really wants to get in touch with her.

“Shouldn’t you answer that?” I finally ask dryly.

“In a minute. You’re still really tight,” she responds softly .

“Thought that was supposed to be my line,” I tease her gently.

There’s a brief pause, and then she bursts into giggles. Not the shy teenager kind, but rather the laughter of a young woman who can’t quite believe I’m capable of making mildly dirty jokes.

“Fine. Just for that, I’ll leave you to whatever fantasies you’ve been entertaining. But may I remind you that so far you’ve been all talk and no action?” Her dramatic sniff of disdain is completely spoiled by the light kiss she drops on my forehead immediately after. A soft rustle indicates her departure from the room, and then a few minutes later, I hear excited squeals from down the hall. I wait impatiently for her to return and fill me in, but she doesn’t. Certainly not before my brain decides a nap would be in order.

I can’t quite contain my glee. Justin has been thinking about truly making love to me. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have occurred to him to make that lame joke, right? I hug that thought tight as I enter my workroom at the end of the hall to check my phone. The calls were all from Rose, so I don’t bother to listen to the voicemails she left. I’d rather hear the news directly from her.

She picks up almost immediately. “Well, about time you peeled yourself away from your forbidden love nest, Ing.”

I blush even though she has no reason to talk. “It’s not like that. And I doubt that’s why you called. Where’s my baby?”

Rose’s laugh is long and full of joy. “Sleeping while her daddy recounts all her fingers and toes. For a man that wasn’t sure he wanted kids…”

“Maybe that’s why. Maybe he knew he’d fall under her spell the minute she arrived,” I suggest quietly.

“You know,” Rose responds thoughtfully, “you might be on to something there. Self protective instinct or something. Well, too late now. She’s here, and he’s got eyes only for her. Occasionally he worries about me too, but it’s more of an afterthought,” she quips cheerfully.

“That doesn’t bother you?” I’m so confused.

“Not in the slightest. By the time we can, um, resume our, uh, routine? He’ll have leveled out. I’m definitely not going to complain if it means he changes most of the diapers.”

“She’s what, a week old and you’re already complaining?” I tease her.

“I was never under any delusions that her shit would smell like roses. But anyway, why don’t you come check for yourself? Aiden has to head back to work next week and I could use some company. Wanna come for a visit?”

Desperately. I need my bestie and I need to see the new addition to their happy little fantasyland where all the impossible things work out. “Yes,” I answer unequivocally. “But I don’t want to leave Justin here alone. Although…” It occurs to me that if I’m not here, Justin can be free to return to New York. “Let me work out a few things and I’ll look at flights. Any dates I should avoid? Do you have a big baby reveal ceremony planned or something?”

Rose scoffs, “Clearly, you need to get your ass over here and reacquaint yourself with your best friend. Dad has already been and gone. Aiden very generously let him hold her. Briefly. He’s planning to come back in about six months when he can interact with her a little more. Plus, I think he needs some time to reprocess that his daughter has been fucking his best friend. Kinda hard to ignore that when Aurora looks so much like him.”

“But he’s okay with it, really? He’s not going to distance himself from his own granddaughter, is he?” My heart hurts for the new little girl at the very thought.

“Naw, she’s got him wrapped around her tiny finger. And Dad will be fine. It just takes him a little while to get used to the new normal. I think he’s mentally avoided the topic of sex before now. Which is good. I wouldn’t want him thinking too hard about it!” She giggles. “But being a doctor and all, he does know where babies come from, even one as special as Aurora.”

“I can’t wait to see her,” I gush quietly. I really can’t. “Is her hair red? Can you tell yet?”

“No idea. She’s got some blonde fuzz that might be a bit reddish in the light, but hard to tell. She could end up dark like Aiden too,” she reminds me.

“I hope those were pictures you were blowing up my phone with.”

She laughs. “I didn’t want to send any until I talked to you. Now that you’ve agreed to visit, you’re allowed one picture.”

“Are you blackmailing me?” I hoot in disbelief.

“Yes. You want to see the goods, you’ve got to come in person.”

“Fine. I’d better go and start making that happen then.”

We hang up and I spend a few minutes puttering in my workroom thinking about what kind of jewelry I could make as a baby gift? Maybe a little tiny bracelet that she couldn’t choke on? Or… I dance as I put away some of the mess and then remember that Justin is waiting for his dinner. I walk softly down the hall and peek in the doorway. He’s asleep, his brow less furrowed than it was earlier. Good, maybe he’s getting some proper rest. I tiptoe down the stairs so as not to wake him.