Love By The Book (7 page)

Chapter 12

A short while later, a light rapping on the door made me look up from my book. I wasn’t reading anymore—just sitting, arms folded, staring down at the cover before me. The door squealed softly on its hinges.

“Meggs, are you still up?” Carlita whispered, ducking her head around the door.

I bit my lip for a moment before making a decision. “Sure, come on in. We need to talk.”

“You bet we do.” She stepped into the tiny room and eased the door shut behind her. We both kept our voices low, mindful of the man asleep in the next room.

She climbed onto the bed and sat down, cross-legged. “Who is this guy? I’m still waiting for an explanation on that. I tried to quiz him while you were showering and got nothing. What does he do for a living? He wouldn’t tell me. Where does he live? Who are his family? Also nothing.”

“I was as clueless as you a few hours ago,” I said. “When we left the hospital I was thinking,
do I even wanna go off with this strange
—”

“Whoa. Hold on. This is the nutcase from the hospital? The crazy loon who doesn’t know his own name?”

“Shh,” I shushed her, glancing toward the door. “Yes, it’s him. But keep it down, will you? I’ve had enough embarrassing incidents for one night.”

“I don’t care if he hears. If I’d known you were dragging some crazy home, no way would I have let him stay here. How do we know he won’t do anything psycho during the night?”

“He’s not dangerous,” I insisted, frowning. “At least I don’t think he is.”

“You don’t
think
?”

I waved her to silence. “Will you just be quiet and listen? I’m trying to tell you something. I think I’ve finally figured out who he is.”

Carlita immediately sobered. “So spill it,” she encouraged. “I’m listening.”

I paused, chewing on my bottom lip again. I glanced down at the book across my knees.

“It’s gonna sound pretty fantastic. No, beyond fantastic—more like crazy. Impossible. Insane.”

She raised dark brows. “Craziness doesn’t faze me. I put up with you, don’t I?”

I shook my head. “This is serious, Carlita. I don’t want any laughing, and above all no shrieking. He can’t hear this.”

Carlita shrugged. “Fine. Hit me. I can take the truth. Who is he?”

Instead of answering, I handed her
Noble Hearts
. “Here. Read this part.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”

I cut her off. “Just read,” I said seriously.

With another shrug, my friend turned her eyes to the passage I indicated. Aloud she read, “The duke had had responsibility thrust on him from an early age. He was scarcely past his sixteenth birthday and was away attending school when word came of the untimely death of his father, who had been killed in a riding accident—”

Her words were cut off as I snatched the book back from her hands. Flipping back to the first chapter, I paused at another spot I had marked. “Here. Read this next.”

“Have you been marking my book with a highlighter?”

“Car
lita
.”

“Okay, okay, I’m reading it.”

She read aloud, “His nose was aquiline in a narrow face and if there was a slightly haughty tilt to his brow it was only—”

“Read the part about his long-fingered scholar’s hands,” I suggested. “Or his wheat colored hair or how his emerald tinted eyes gazed out at the world with a hint of
knowingness
.”

“I’ve read the book before, Megan, remember? I already know what the duke looks like.”

“Apparently not. Because you don’t recognize him when you’ve got him right under your nose.”

She frowned. “It’s late, Meggs. Either my brain is very fuzzy from exhaustion or—and this is the more likely angle—you’re not making any sense.”

“The book’s duke is
my
Duke,” I emphasized carefully. “My Duke is
the
duke. Don’t you see? The descriptions match! And even that bit about his father. I happen to know my Duke’s father died in just that same way when he was a teenager away at school. He told me so just today.”

Carlita looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. The fact she didn’t laugh but just looked sympathetic only made it worse. “Sweetie, I know you’ve been under a lot of stress lately and with it being such a long time since you’ve been home with your family you’re probably feeling pretty lonely. And I haven’t helped any, always being on my way out the door someplace.”

“It’s not that,” I protested. “I mean, everything you’ve said is true but it has nothing to do with Duke.”

“Meggs, Meggs,” my friend interrupted. “It’s okay. I understand what you’re feeling.”

“You do?”

“Sure. When I was growing up my parents weren’t around a lot so I started to invent imaginary friends. I thought the princesses from my favorite cartoons were real. The characters from my bedtime stories used to come and visit me…The difference is I was eight and you’re
twenty
-eight.”

“You don’t get it. I’m not pretending. I’m not playing some game here. It’s just that the answers to everything are all so obvious now. Am I the only one who can see them?”

I held out a hand and ticked the facts off on my fingers. “First, I felt as if I knew him from somewhere right away. Why should I feel that? I’d never seen him before in my life. How could I recognize him like I did if I’d never seen him? He recognized me too. I sensed it. He even said it when I visited him in the hospital, that he felt as if he knew me.”

“Second.” I held up another finger. “It would explain the car driver’s description of him appearing out of nowhere. I was just reading the part where the duke met the heroine when all of a sudden this guy materializes out of thin air—”

“I think you’re being a touch melodramatic,” Carlita put in. “No one actually said ‘materialized.’”

I didn’t let her finish. “Third, it fits with his amnesia story. If I somehow dragged him from his own world or time or whatever and brought him over to this one, wouldn’t that mess with his head?”

“It should. It’s messing with mine. He’s a fictional character, Meggs. There is no other world or dimension or whatever that we can just yank people out of.”

I ignored that and rushed ahead. “And finally, it can’t be coincidence that I keep learning all these new things about my Duke and then the book comes along and repeats them. I believe it’s true, Carlita.” I looked seriously at my friend. “I’ve actually come to believe the character from the book has been brought to life. And now by some weird coincidence, or maybe its design, we’ve stumbled into each other.”

“Oh, really?” Carlita said. “And who would you then say was responsible for this magical transportation? You think Virginia Lace is some kind of witch or something? The book was written by this middle-aged spinster who probably never stole a kiss in her life.”

“Be careful what you say about us middle-aged spinsters,” I teased. “Sometimes even we get what we wish for.”

“And this is what you wished for?” She was incredulous. “Wow. Maybe I should’ve wished a bit harder when I was reading that book. That and every other steamy novel whose hero I’ve ever fallen for.”

I looked at her sympathetically. “I can’t explain why it didn’t happen for you, Carlita. I don’t even know how it’s happening to me.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let’s stop a minute. Just put everything on hold, okay? Can you come out of your fantasy world long enough to listen to what I have to say?”

I nodded. “I’ll try.”

But inside I was still giddy. Giddy with excitement, giddy with hope. And fear, there was a touch of that in me as well. This was all so amazing and hard to take in I could hardly sort out my feelings just now. What did you do with a fictional character once you had dreamed him to life? It was an awesome responsibility, I suddenly realized. What if I decided I didn’t want him after all? Would he just go back to wherever he had come from? Would he die or scatter on the wind like ashes or something?

Carlita broke into my thoughts, seizing me by the shoulders. “Now pay attention to me. I’m going to ask you for a favor. I’ve never asked you for many of those before, have I?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Then do this one thing for me. Don’t say or do anything wild or rash until you’ve fully checked this guy out. If at the end of a cool, reasonable investigation we find all evidence points to the conclusion this Duke is
the
duke, all well and good.”

She sounded as if she had to force herself to say that last part, so unlikely was it in her mind. “But if at the end of that time he fails to convince, we find pieces that don’t add up, or we trip him up in his memory game… Promise me that you’ll let him—and the rest of this whole silly idea—go.”

I started to protest, but she didn’t allow me the chance. “Come on. Trust me,” she urged. “I’m suggesting this for your own good. If you’re totally convinced he is who you want him to be then it shouldn’t be so hard for him to prove himself, should it?”

“And how do you suggest I go about trying to prove he is or isn’t the hero from the novel?”

She got up from the bed. “That’s for you to decide. This is your game. I’m just the ref.”

I frowned down at the book in my lap. “And just how long is this business going to last?”

“Forty-eight hours. Give yourself two days to make up your mind about him. That’s all I’m asking.”

I nodded with a sudden resolve. “I’ll do it.” After all, if I was one hundred percent confident in this idea, like Carlita said, why should I be afraid to uncover the truth? It was only the means of discovering it that should be a challenge.

After my roommate had gone I lay awake long into the night, forming my plans. This is going to be simple, I told myself.

Why then did I feel this nagging sense of doubt in the back of my mind? I had been full of certainty earlier. Carlita’s unbelief had forced me to stand firm. But now that I was alone doubts were nibbling away chunks of my confidence.

By the time dawn’s cold, gray light crept through my bedroom window to find me still staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, I had come to acknowledge the truth. This game wouldn’t be played solely for Carlita’s benefit. I too needed further convincing.

Chapter 13

Gazing at my reflection in the mirror that morning confirmed my fears. I looked like a wreck. Or like I’d been lying awake all night laying out my plans. The face staring back at me was anything but fresh and confident—the appearance I needed to summon today. My eyes were puffy and ringed by dark circles. My hair was tousled, and my face still held pillow lines.

I was a disgrace to Avon representatives everywhere.

I cracked my bedroom door and peered into the living room to be sure Duke was still snoozing on the couch before making a run for the bathroom. Just now he was the last person I wanted to bump into. Not after last night’s overheard conversation. Slipping into the safety of the bathroom, I breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind me.

All the while I was brushing my teeth I was going over my plan for the day. I’d already spent several of my forty-eight hours lying awake plotting my next move. I couldn’t afford to waste any more of them. By the time I left the bathroom there was only one part of the day I hadn’t planned out yet. What I would say or do the first time I came face to face with Duke after the awkward situation of last night? I’d been trying mightily to think about anything
but
that.

During my quick dash back to the bedroom, however, that first meeting was thrust suddenly on me, as I stumbled and all but collided into an unexpected figure waiting outside the door. He had a cup of coffee in one hand and some of the dark liquid sloshed out over the front of his shirt as he sidestepped me in passing.

“Sorry, sorry,” I rushed, hurrying past without meeting his eyes. Head ducked, I didn’t stop until I was back in my room. Slamming the door, I leaned my head back against it and groaned in frustration. I
would
have to run into him like that.

Determined to avoid any more such encounters, I dressed quickly in a pair of straight legged jeans and an earth green chiffon top that complimented my eyes. Pausing just long enough to add earrings and makeup, including an extra layer of concealer under my raccoon eyes, I cast a final glance toward the mirror, gathered my courage, and stepped out the door.

There he was, seated at the counter with his head bent over a bowl of cereal.

Carlita was nowhere in sight, I noted with a sinking heart. I had expected another presence to help me get through this first uncomfortable encounter. All the same, he had already turned at the sound of my door opening and was watching me approach so there was nothing for it but to move forward, feigning a breeziness I didn’t feel.

“I see you’ve found some breakfast,” I said, entering the kitchen and snagging a cup of low fat yogurt from the fridge. I kept my tone casual and hoped he wouldn’t notice that I didn’t quite meet his eyes. I had decided the best approach was just to act as if nothing had happened at all. As far as I was concerned the incident last night had never occurred, or so I would make believe.

He seemed willing to play along. “Yes. Your charming friend showed me around your kitchen and invited me to wait on myself. And she showed me how to work this amazing contraption called a coffee maker. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” I said.
Charming friend
. He wouldn’t be calling Carlita charming if he could’ve heard all she’d had to say about him last night. Turning my back to hide a grimace, I got the juice out of the refrigerator and poured myself a glass. Scrambling up onto the stool beside him, I dreaded what I suspected would be a long stretch of uneasy silence, punctuated by noisy crunching and slurping.

Fortunately, I was spared that when he started a conversation right away. “These are pleasant rooms you keep here. I don’t know that I’ve ever passed a more comfortable night than I did sleeping on that piece of furniture.”

I smiled. “Thanks for the lie, but you don’t have to be polite. This place is a roach pit, and that sofa is older than I am. It’s just temporary, until I get my career going and then I’ll be kissing this rat’s den goodbye.”

“Really? What kind of career is that? I thought you mentioned before you were out of employment.”

“I am. It’s just that…” I let my sentence trail off, feeling strangely uncomfortable discussing my artistic dreams with him. I didn’t talk about those much. Not even with Carlita or my own family.

He came to my rescue. “Just that someday you hope to do better for yourself. I understand.”

We were interrupted by Carlita entering the kitchen. “Ah, good. You’re both up. I thought you were going to sleep through the day. Not that I’d blame you, but us working girls don’t get so lucky.”

“Carlita,” I said. “I thought you were gone.”

“Another second and I will be.” She poured a cup of coffee for herself. “I’m running late. So what do you two have planned for the morning and afternoon? Tell me quick. I’ve only got about ten seconds.”

I hesitated, looking at Duke. We hadn’t discussed doing anything together yet. In fact there’d been no talk of seeing each other again at all after last night. Nevertheless, he was looking at me just as expectantly as Carlita was, as if waiting for me to make the decision.

I clutched at the plan I’d come up with during the wee hours of the morning. “I thought we’d go to the museum. Duke hasn’t seen a lot of the city, and no tourist should miss one of the greatest exhibits in the country.”

Duke looked accepting of the idea.

“Ah, okay then,” Carlita said easily. “You two have fun. Just don’t forget the time, if you know what I mean.”

I did know what she meant. I followed her to the door and watched her snatch her purse down from a peg on the wall. We couldn’t talk, not in front of Duke, but she tapped her watch and gave me a meaningful smile as she stepped out the door. “Duke, it was
interesting
meeting you,” she called back. “Megan, good luck.” And then she was gone.

“What did she mean by that?” Duke asked. “Good
luck?
”

“Uh, it’s nothing. Listen, we’d better get ready to clear out if we’re going to the museum today.” I wasn’t sure why I suddenly felt the need to rush. And then I remembered.
Forty-eight hours
. And the clock was already ticking.

***

Climbing the museum’s front steps and entering with a stream of people through the wide double doors felt odd to me. This wasn’t a place where I’d spent a lot of time lately but I used to come all the time, in the days when I’d been totally absorbed in my painting and my love for art.

Once we stood inside the echoing, tiled entranceway, I took Duke by the arm and steered him in the right direction.

“Come on,” I said, “we don’t need a tour group. I know this place like the back of my hand. Providing nothing’s changed.”

As we bypassed the clusters of visitors waiting for a guide and I pulled him out of the lobby area, I kept my hand tucked lightly around his arm. It wasn’t an accident, but I hoped he would think it was. I had to start somewhere in determining my level of interest and clinging to a muscular bicep was a nice place to begin.

“My favorite exhibit is this way,” I told him, leading him through the first several rooms.

“Wait, wait.” He laughed, trying to slow me down. “We don’t have to speed straight there, do we?”

I forced myself to join his laughter, though mine had an odd high-pitched quality to it, but I didn’t lose sight of my goal. I hadn’t brought him here for a casual tour. My forty-eight hours were still counting down.

Unfortunately, Duke couldn’t know of my hurry. He made several pauses before the more captivating pieces of artwork, and I was forced to stop while he admired them. My knowledge of the pieces appeared to impress him.

“This was practically my second home when I first moved to the city,” I pointed out. “I should know it by heart.” Then without planning it, I spilled out the story of how I’d loved art and painting but had eventually lost my enthusiasm after my failure to make a living from it.

He listened sympathetically, and I became so caught up in explaining my woes as we walked that I failed to notice where we were even going until we found ourselves standing before an immense wall portrait, gazing up at a youthful-faced women in a flowing red dress. The plaque beneath listed the name of the painter and read,
Portrait of an unknown lady
as the title.

“This is one of my favorite pieces,” I admitted to Duke.

“Who’s the artist?”

“You wouldn’t know his name. A nobody as great painters go. But I’ve always appreciated how the artist challenged himself in choosing to do this portrait the way he did. The subject is beautiful, but she has remarkable features that would be hard to capture on canvas. The lighting in the picture is unusual and the background complex. Everything about this piece feels like the painter was forcing himself to work under the worst conditions and enjoying the challenge.”

Duke studied the portrait. “I confess when I look at it all I see is a well painted picture of an attractive woman in red.”

“That’s all the casual observer was meant to see. But there’s a feeling that there’s more behind it, a story to be told. You’d have to be an artist to understand.”

“And you are.”

I hesitated. “I still dabble a little,” I admitted. “But I’m not great at it or anything. It’s just for fun.” I bit my lip. Somehow, brought out into the open like that, the words were painful because they felt so untrue.
It’s not only dabbling. It’s the dream of my life
. I wanted to speak up and correct myself, but held the thoughts inside.

Duke studied me as if picking up a sense of my thoughts. “Somehow I doubt that,” he said quietly. “You’re an intense woman. I can’t see you dabbling at anything. No, when you take up the brush, nothing will content you until you have made your art the best it can be.”

I gaped. “How can you know that? You haven’t even seen my work.”

“I don’t have to,” he said with confidence. “I know the artist and that, surely, is tantamount to knowing the work.”

My spirits felt oddly lifted. Even as I told myself it was nothing to get excited about, a simple compliment from someone who hadn’t even viewed what he was complimenting, somehow it stoked the fires of ambition within me. I wanted to fulfill his confidence in me. I wanted to be the best that I could be. Already my hands itched to hold a paintbrush, an urge I hadn’t felt much recently.

Shaking my head, I tried to put aside the feeling. I hadn’t come here for this. “Thanks, but my talent it really just middling. Now come on, there’s plenty more to see.”

I pulled him on toward my secret destination. But something had changed. The initial stiffness that had clung to us all morning had dropped away during our brief exchange. The carefree feeling from our outing yesterday had returned. As we walked, I let my hand slide down from Duke’s arm to his hand. He accepted it casually without a word or a glance, curling his fingers around mine.

There was something wonderful in just being with someone special whose company you enjoyed. Never mind whether that man was a real person or a fictional character come to life. I felt a pleasant glow inside. I hadn’t been this content in, well, ever. As we approached our destination, however, my happiness was replaced by a faint feeling of apprehension. A test still lay ahead.

I tried to keep my tone light as I said, “Well, here we are.” We had stepped into a large room, set aside from the others.

Duke seemed surprised. “This is your favorite exhibit?”

I crossed my fingers. “Uh, yeah. I love it.”

Duke looked around. “But this is just a collection of old farming equipment.”

“Not quite. It’s ‘a trip back in time,’” I read aloud from the caption over the doorway. “Step back into the lives of real men and women from the nineteenth century.”

“And the nineteenth century interests you?” he asked, a hint of amusement around his mouth. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but he had that knowing look in his eyes that never failed to put me on guard.

“Sure. I’m a big history buff. Real big. I mean, like, gargantuan.” I gave a forced laugh even but knew I was overdoing it. “Anyway, it’s not just farming implements,” I rushed on. “Look here.”

I led him over to a display in the center of the room. I read the plaque aloud. “If you were a wealthy woman living in the 1800s, you might wear something like this.” The display boasted a faceless mannequin wearing an old-fashioned, neck-to-toe length dress with a ruffled collar. A wig swept into a loose up-do sat atop the dummy’s head, and over that rested an elegant hat with yards of trailing lace and a sweeping feather.

“Hey, check out the sexy underwear.” I pointed to where the hem of the mannequin’s dress was pinned up to expose the layers of ruffled petticoats and bloomers beneath. “I bet women roasted alive in these things.”

Duke looked faintly uncomfortable and I perceived that I was somehow embarrassing him. “What? You think the dummy’s shy?” I teased. “She doesn’t seem to be complaining.” I playfully tugged up the hem of the mannequin’s dress. “I don’t hear anything.” I tugged it higher, until the waist of the dummy’s lacey petticoat was exposed. “Still nothing.”

A loud throat-clearing sounded from across the room. I froze.

“Ma’am, we have to ask that you do not touch the displays.” The statement came from a severe-faced woman wearing the tag of a museum employee.

I blushed. “Yes, of course. I was just, ah, checking for moth damage.”

The employee’s expression didn’t alter. “These antiques are priceless and very delicate,” she said as if she hadn’t heard me at all. “We ask that you don’t touch them.”

“Right. I caught that part before.” I smiled to soften the words. “I will keep my hands to myself in the future.”

As the employee drifted away I tried not to look at Duke, fearing a double disapproval. But to my surprise I heard what sounded suspiciously like a snicker coming from his direction, and that gave me the courage to meet his eyes.

“What? You’ve never felt the urge to examine a petticoat before?” I complained.

“I might have thought about it,” he admitted. “But I never followed through.”