Page 26 of Provoked

Her eyebrows fly up at my gruff order, but she complies. I tug her down on my lap. She frowns at that, angling to slide off it and to the side, but I stop her quickly. “Stay, baby. I’m fine. Now tell me why you aren’t opening up shops on Madison Avenue and Bond Street?”

Her eyes light with laughter. “Does that mean you like them?”

I imitate her classic eye roll, making her giggle. “Is that a rhetorical question? Ingrid…”

She stops me with a finger to my lips. “Thank you. But my designs aren’t even close to being on trend. I’m growing a clientele that doesn’t care about that, that wants unique and timeless designs. But the majority of people want to know they have a guarantee of social envy before they buy.” She shrugs like she accepts this and isn’t worried about it, but I’m frowning in disbelief.

“They should know better,” I grumble, pulling her tighter against my chest.

“You’re a sweet man, Justin. No matter how hard you try to hide it.”

There it is, the pin straight into that festering blister. I sigh. “I’m really not, you know, Ingrid? I’m not sweet. I’m taking advantage of you…”

She leans against my shoulder, laughing her guts out. “How?” she sputters.

“You’re so innocent and young. Someday…” I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence. Besides, Ingrid is now glaring daggers at me.

“Just because I haven’t gone to bed with anyone but you, doesn’t mean I don’t know how the world works. I do tend to lead with hopefulness, but it’s not like I can’t course correct when necessary. And here’s another thing. I never expected you to show up here, Justin. I wasn’t pining for you. I simply decided that other men weren’t worth the bother.” She sniffs and raises her patrician little nose in the air, leaving me dumbfounded.

“Are you saying I am?” I can’t quite keep the surprise out of my voice.

Ingrid’s expression softens, and she cups my face in both hands. “Yes, Justin. Everyone deserves love. Even you.” Then she bounces out of my embrace and pours the tea.

I watch her movements with half my brain while the other half turns over her words. I never worried about love. My focus from a young age has been money, freedom, and, most of all, agency. And I can’t recall anyone ever challenging that list of priorities. Other than to ask how I did it, of course.

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, allsoft 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 producinganythingprofessional.

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 sheplanning 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?

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