Sin on the Run (22 page)

“I don't have a good heart,” she argued. She did things to make people feel better because it made her feel better, important even, like she was accomplishing something.

“Yes, you do. How many times did you consider smothering me with a pillow when we were in New Orleans? You hated taking care of me, but you didn't have it in you to make Dozier do it.”

“That's only because he could have screwed things up. I had no choice. I had the medical background. Stop trying to paint me as some martyr. I'm not.”

“Who is? But you're the next best thing.”

He didn't know shit. So maybe it was time she filled him in. “You think so? Do you know, when my father died, I was relieved?
Re. Lieved
. This huge weight had been taken off my back. Finally, my life was my own.
Mine
. I didn't have to take care of him anymore.” She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “After nearly twenty-five years, my life was mine to do as I wanted. Some martyr, huh? Some kind heart.”

“There are lots of people burdened with caring for a dying loved one. Are you going to sit there and say it's wrong for them to feel some relief when they're freed from that burden?”

That wasn't the same thing. “He was my dad.”

“And you loved him. And you did more than was expected of you. Did he know you were dancing?”

“No,” she said, horrified to think what would have happened had he found out. “There were days he barely knew my name. When he did, I didn't want him remembering me that way.”

“What way? Rhonda, if you can't stop judging yourself for dancing, how do you expect others not to? I, for one, don't give a shit.”

Sure, it was easy not to give a shit when they were talking about a short-lived love affair, a girlfriend even. How would he like his wife to have been a stripper?

“Don't,” he warned.

“What?”

“Don't do that eye rolling thing you do when you think I'm full of shit.”

“I have an eye rolling thing?”

He nudged her with his elbow. “Yes. It's like, ‘You're full of shit and a dickhead,' all at the same time look.”

“Huh. I'll have to remember that.”

“Don't bother. I think it comes naturally when I'm around.”

“You said it, I didn't,” she said, marveling at how easily he could tweak her mood.

Blake threw his hands in the air. “You're a lost cause.”

“Thank you. I try.” She'd never been this close to anyone before, never trusted anyone to reveal her dark side, her bad thoughts about her father's death. It felt good. And she'd treasure that even after they'd gone their inevitable separate ways.

“Listen,” he said. “We could go downstairs right now and tell my family you used to strip. I wouldn't care about their reaction.”

“Sure, why the hell would you? I'm just a one-night stand you got stuck with. You and I agreed this would never last. I'm not the love of your life you're bringing home to meet the parents.” It hurt, but it was the truth. “So let's not rock their world for nothing.”

“Rhonda—”

“No, don't say anything else. I'm tired. Do you mind? I want to go to sleep.” What she wanted to do was crawl under the covers and forget this evening ever happened. Just like she did when she was a kid. It would be a pity fest and she knew it. And didn't care.

She waited for him to leave, then glanced over at the clock by her bed. It would be early morning in Florida. There must be someone at the hospital who would have her results. Unable to find her phone, she used the landline in her room and dialed the operator. If she was going to feel sorry for herself, it might as well be for the right reason. Moping about the past was pointless.

* * *

Begrudgingly, Blake left Rhonda alone. He chalked up her behavior to jet lag and having to deal with feelings about her father she'd never wanted to face. He sat in the drawing room in the dark, a brandy in his hand, and contemplated what to do next. He was seriously thinking of asking her to move in with him.

He liked . . . loved, being with her. She made him laugh, especially at himself. And he'd gotten used to it, didn't want to give it up. She'd become his friend, a really good friend. Hell, he'd go as far as to say his closest friend. He'd told her things Christian didn't know. Not that he didn't trust the guy, but Rhonda, for some inexplicable reason, made him want to confess his family bullshit.

If he were honest with himself, he'd admit that coming from an aristocratic family was embarrassing. But her teasing had made him comfortable with it. Had he been trying to impress her? She came from nothing and confessing his family's heritage might have come off like he was rubbing her nose in it, even if that wasn't what he'd intended. Thankfully, she hadn't taken it that way. And he liked it when she tried to take him down a notch. Something Sarah, or any other woman who knew his family, had never done.

He sipped the brandy, enjoying the slow burn down his throat. Leaning back in the chair, he closed his eyes. Unable to relax, he sat back up. Damn, he should be exhausted; instead he felt on edge. And it was her fault. He missed her, had gotten used to having her around, to sleeping in the same bed.

The sudden ringing of a phone jarred him. He'd left his upstairs. It came from one of the two divans. Setting his brandy aside and standing, he listened, then looked under the sofa and found the phone. Country code 001. American. Curious, he answered.

“Hello?”

“Oh, hello. I'm looking for Rhonda Deagan. Did I dial the wrong number?” a female voice asked.

“Who is this?” he said, using his American accent. Who'd be calling her at this hour and from the States?

“This is the East Palm General Hospital. I was the nurse on duty when she was brought in. My shift ended and I'm on my home phone but I thought I'd try calling again with the results. She seemed anxious to have them. I hope I'm not waking anyone.”

“Rhonda's asleep,” he said, concerned about what tests she referred to.

“Oh, I guess I'll try her later. If you could let her know, I have those results.”

“Wait, what are the results?”

“I'm sorry. I can't tell you that.”

“Look . . . I'm her husband. She's been tied up in knots waiting.” He had no qualms about lying if it concerned Rhonda's health.

“I shouldn't be telling you, but I can hear you're concerned. First, congratulations. The test was positive. And second, you'll be happy to know the drugs we found in your wife's system shouldn't have any ill effects on a fetus. She can rest easy.”

Forcing his jaw to move he said, “Thank you. I'll tell her.” And as the blood drained from his face he dropped the phone into his lap. At least, he thought he did, because his entire body had gone numb.

Rhonda was pregnant. Forcing his legs to work, he got up and snatched the brandy snifter off the table, finishing it in one gulp. He barely felt it go down.

B
lake had decided not to sneak into Rhonda's room. He'd considered marching in and announcing the baby was safe, but opted for time to process the news. Was this why she'd been acting emotional? Hormones? Or because she was keeping a secret? He got out of bed and went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. While waiting for it to heat up, he went over their conversation from the night before.

She wasn't going to tell him. But she hadn't known for sure. Maybe she'd been waiting for the results to say something. Just how long had she suspected? Then he remembered the drugstore in Key West. She wanted to go in alone. Had it been to buy a test? He'd shot off his mouth about his grandfather's ridiculous will. Was that why she kept quiet? Blake wanted Colin to inherit. He didn't give a shit if his mother thought Sarah had done a one-eighty. What he cared about was keeping Colin happy, and if the she-bitch did that, then so be it. That meant he couldn't marry Rhonda, not if she was pregnant. Was that why she hadn't told him? Did she want to get married?

He stepped into the steamy shower and grabbed the shampoo. He squirted a blob into his hand and scrubbed his head, hard. The suds ran down his face and into his eyes. “Bloody hell.” It felt like a thousand midges stung his eyeballs. Rinsing the soap off, he stood there with his eyes slammed shut until the pain subsided and it was safe to pry his lids apart. This was going to be one of those days. And holy shit, he was going to be a father. How exactly did he feel about that? Fucked if he knew. Shouldn't he know?

He liked Rhonda. Of course he did. He more than liked her. He might even love her, but right now his head was too busy processing this baby thing to consider his feeling for her. She would make a great mother. He didn't doubt that for a second. What about him? What kind of father would he be? He'd been so focused on making sure Colin beat him to it, he never considered what it would be like to have children of his own.

That wasn't true. He had. He just never thought it would happen. And now that it did . . . it was actually happening . . . damn. He was so confused.

He finished showering and toweled off. He didn't bother shaving. One, it pissed his grandmother off. Two, he was afraid the way things were going he'd nick an artery. He dressed in jeans and a gray polo, left his room, and headed straight for hers. He didn't know what he was going to say or how he'd approach it, but he had to see her, had to tell her they were going to be parents.

After knocking twice, he concluded she was either already downstairs or ignoring him, which took courage considering she was carrying his child. He tamped down his growing frustration. Maybe she'd been planning on telling him and hadn't found the right moment. She might be afraid of his reaction. Even he still wasn't sure what that would be.

On his way downstairs he bumped into the one person he most did not want to see. Sarah.

“Blake, how are you this morning?”

He didn't believe in hitting women. So why did he want to strangle her every time he saw her? “Sarah.” In no mood for a bullshit conversation, he began to step around her when she snagged his arm.

“Are you going to be civil, or what?”

“Or what.” That sounded like a good plan. “Let go of me, Sarah.”

“We need to talk,” she said, unwisely hanging to his arm.

“And you need to get your claws off me.” And off his brother, if she could do it without hurting him.

She huffed and removed her talons. “I would think you'd have more regard for your brother.”

“My wanting to push his wife down these stairs has nothing to do with my regard for him.” He smiled, wanting her to believe he was only half kidding.

She glanced back at the long staircase, then at him. “So unbecoming of you. I'd have thought you'd outgrown your malicious streak by now.”

Not where she was concerned. “What do you want, Sarah?” He was losing his patience.

“I want to know what you meant by bringing that woman here.”

He was wondering when she'd get around to it. “I was trying to piss you off. Did it work?”

Now it was her turn to smile. Hard to believe he once loved that face.

“You succeeded in upsetting your brother. Does that suffice?”

“Funny, he didn't seem upset last night. In fact, he seemed confident and sure of himself. More like the brother I knew before the accident.” She was lying and they both knew it. He continued down the stairs.

“He wants to come into his inheritance, Blake. Don't take that away from him,” she said to his back. “He
loves
this house.”

Blake said nothing.

“He loves
me
.”

“Who is it you're trying to convince?” He kept walking.

He found Rhonda in the breakfast room with his mother, a map of some kind between them.

“Hello, darling. Sleep well?”

He glanced at Rhonda who pretended to be too busy studying the map to greet him.

“Fine. You?”

“Splendid. I was just showing Rhonda places she might like to visit. After you eat, you should take a car and drive to one of the ruins.”

“If that's what Rhonda wants.”

She looked up and he was surprised to see a soft blue under her eyes. Damn, she hadn't slept and must be exhausted.

“Sure.” She stared at him a long while before returning to the map. “How far did you say Inverness is?”

“Two hours, give or take. I suggest you dress in layers. September can be cool in the highlands and it looks like it might rain. Blake, breakfast?”

“I'm fine with just coffee.”

“I'll have Giles bring you toast. Sit. I have a matter to attend to. Rhonda, if he takes you to the pub, make certain you are comfortable with driving on the left side of the road.”

“Mother, I don't drink and drive.”

“Anymore,” she added.

“I was barely twenty and stupid. Can we not let it go?”

“You got caught drinking and driving?”

So
now
Rhonda decided to pay attention to him?

“Yes,” his mother answered. “And he was in a fatal accident.”

“You killed someone?” Rhonda looked horrified.

“Not someone. A cow. I made full restitution to the farmer and I shoveled shit all summer to show him how sorry I was.” He'd smelled like an old barn his entire summer holiday.

“You're lucky that's all you had to do,” his mother said. “Blake, Lady Margaret called this morning. Her daughter is home from her trip abroad. She thought the two of you might like to catch up. I doubt you've seen each other since Oxford.”

“Lady Margaret is match-making again. I haven't talked to Lady Beatrice since Oxford because she's a silly twit who thought Ground Zero was a rock band. Thank her, but tell her I'm busy.”

“Are you sure?” his mother asked.

He glanced over at Rhonda, who obviously realized Lady Margaret wasn't the only one match-making. “Mother,” he warned.

“Fine. Now, if you'll excuse me, this house doesn't run itself. Have a lovely day, Rhonda.”

“Thank you, Lady Helen.”

With his mother gone, Rhonda glowered at him. “You hit a cow?”

“Matilda, yes. I felt terrible.” He poured himself coffee from the decanter on the table. “So, do you really want to see Scotland?”

“It would be kind of a waste to come all this way and not see it.”

“There,” he said. “You did it again.”

“Did what?” she asked, as if he'd lost his mind.

“Did that dickhead, roll-your-eyes thing you do. Are you mad at me?” And he wasn't the one keeping secrets.

“Why would I be mad at you? Did you do something wrong?”

“No.” He wisely refrained from saying a woman wouldn't let a little thing like him doing nothing wrong stop her from being mad.

She folded the map and set it down.

He pulled out a chair and sat beside her.

She stared at him a long while. Was this it? Was she going to tell him she was pregnant?

Instead she said, “When were you going to tell me about Sarah?”

Shit. He hadn't planned on keeping his relationship with her a secret, but nor had he wanted to make Rhonda uncomfortable. But he'd been stupid to think Sarah would play nice. “What was I supposed to tell you?”

“The truth. Did you see how she looked at me last night?”

“No . . . not really.” Sarah was nasty to anyone she didn't perceive as her equal. “For the record, she doesn't like many people.” That much was true.

“Especially those she thinks are a threat. So tell me, was she mad because she got it in her head that you and I were going to beat her in the baby game . . . or was she jealous you showed up with a woman?”

Rhonda was observant. He should've known she'd see right through Sarah's bullshit. He pushed his coffee cup aside and poured himself a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice from the pitcher on the table. “Truthfully, I think it's a little of one, a lot of the other.”

“She still has a thing for you, but wants the money more?”

“Sort of.” He took a sip of orange juice and set the glass down. “She wants the money. There's no getting around that.” Blake took a chance and trusted Rhonda with one more thing. He had to believe she'd eventually let him know about the baby, that his family drama had made her reluctant to discuss it. Even if she didn't want kids, surely she'd still tell him. He didn't want to think his faith in her was misguided.

“Sarah and I met at university. She invited me to her uncle's yearly foxhunt. You saw how much she appreciates hunting last night.”

“Yeah, and wasn't that nice. You hunt too?”

“Don't look so disgusted. I don't much care for killing defenseless animals, but I am a guy and she was a knockout.”

“And you were hunting for something else.”

“Pretty much,” he agreed. Like he said, he was a guy. “I knew my brother had a thing for her, but so did every man at university. At the time, Colin was in a wheelchair. And Sarah was too far into the social scene to bother with a man who couldn't keep up, not even one with a title. Even I didn't understand how much being the grandson of a duke meant to people until after I left Scotland.”

“You were so used to people kissing your ass, you didn't see it for what it was until you moved?”

He laughed. “Sadly, yes. Sarah's father was a peer and a member of the House of Lords until he died her first year of school. There were rumors of a scandal, although I'm not sure about the true story. Sarah was tight-lipped, but apparently he took his own life. After that the family was ruined. They lost everything.”

“Oh, that's sad.”

“Yes. She adored him. Her great uncle, a close friend of the Queen, paid for the remainder of Sarah's education. I can't say for certain, but I'm betting they were hoping she'd graduate an MRS with money.”

“MRS? Oh, you mean Mrs., like married.”

He smiled. “Exactly.”

“And you were supposed to be the mister?”

“Me, or one of two other candidates.” He finished off his orange juice and accepted the toast Giles brought him.

Rhonda waited for Giles to leave before continuing their discussion.

“She was cheating on you? Is that why you broke it off?”

“Yes, but I made the mistake of allowing wounded pride to get the best of me. I didn't tell anyone what she'd done. Perhaps if I had, Colin would have stayed away from her. As I said, I always knew he had a thing for her. I
didn't
know he was in love with her. She'd gone crying to him, thinking he might be able to talk me into taking her back. Whatever excuse she gave him for our breakup, it made her look like the wounded party. Later, I was too busy licking my wounds to notice Colin's mood had changed.”

“In a good way, you mean? Happier?”

“Something like that. Of course, after you break up with someone, all your friends decide to tell you she was on the prowl for a rich husband. No one thought to warn you beforehand. She and Colin kept their relationship secret. Colin thinking he'd upset me, and Sarah wanting to get her claws in so deep that by the time I found out they were ‘in love' they were headed for the altar.”

“You still could have told him.”

“No. I couldn't. Look, why don't you run back to the room and grab a coat? I'll meet you around the front with a car. If you're up for it, we'll drive to Inverness and I'll finish the story.”

She gave him a wary look but stood anyway. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart.” Which he then did.

“Okay, but eat your toast or I'll tell your mother.” She pushed her seat back from the table and left.

He took four large bites of his breakfast and left the rest in search of the right car for their excursion. He hoped to get her to open up, to confess she was pregnant, and what better way than a romantic drive in the highland mountains.

* * *

Blake pilfered his father's 1957 Jaguar XKSS. He and his dad had a deal. He wouldn't tell his mother how much Dad's toys cost and Dad would let him drive them.

He was waiting for Rhonda in the driveway when he received the call. Sorrentino still hadn't shown up, but the present issue was Krupin himself. If Krupin accused Madison Scott of duplicity, then it stood to reason that maybe the person they suspected her of having an affair with, the one whose apartment she'd been seen coming out of, was that person.