Page 33 of Provoked

My stomach lurches in delight. But then I realize the plane is in the process of taking off and the front wheel just left the tarmac. I giggle to myself and relish the sensation with my eyes closed before diving back in.

It took all of Kitty’s mettle not to reveal how pressing her lips to Rafe’s had rattled her. She was trembling when he finally lifted her from the bale and set her on her feet. She had to lock her knees not to go tumbling to the floor. All while under his watchful glare. And he didn’t say a word, merely watching her from the entrance of the stables as she made her way back to the house. She pressed her fingers to her still tingling lips. Did he feel the same sparks? Surely not. He had no doubt kissed hundreds of women. Maybe even thousands.

Kitty ignored the angry ball of hurt and jealousy that roiled in her stomach. She had met his challenge head on and if his silent glares were anything to go by, she had won. She should be satisfied with that instead of wanting to turn around and run back for more.

The spot between her shoulder blades heated with awareness. He was still watching her. Her spine stiffened, and she held her head high. The next move was his. But would it be her undoing?

She headed into the kitchen to see about a soothing cup of tea. Her nerves were all a jumble and it wouldn’t do for Rafe to spot that when he finally rejoined her in the house. Would he come to her tonight? To order her to lie there like a log or to kiss him again? Or would he ignore her entirely?

Kitty wasn’t even entirely sure what she wanted to happen. Why didn’t Rafe simply pack his bags and head back to his main estate and leave her here? He’d said he wasn’t even planning on getting an heir for another five years.

You’re testing his authority. The little voice in her head cooed. And he needs to set you in your place. Her temper flared at the realization, and she gulped her tea in a most unladylike manner.

She had no idea when Rafe returned to the house, but it was obviously in plenty of time to wash and dress for dinner. When he joined her in the quaintly formal dining room, he acted like nothing had happened between them. He politely inquired about her day and her opinions on the weather. Even going so far as to casually remark, “I shouldn’t be surprised if we see a storm blow in later this week.”

Mostly she gaped at him in between responding to his direct questions with monosyllabic answers. What was he about? Did he think she’d turned tail and run earlier out of fright? She opened her mouth to ask and then shut it again abruptly. No, she wasn’t about to offer up information. Let him go running down the wrong path in his mind. She’d show him!

And just as soon as it was even mildly acceptable and wouldn’t offend Mrs. Cutchins, the cook and housekeeper, she excused herself. Rather than withdrawing to the empty lady’s drawing room, she scurried up the stairs to her own bedchamber so she could pace and mutter to herself in peace.

Later, as she scrunched her shoulders and contorted her arms in an effort to undo the buttons down her back, she muttered some very unladylike words. If Rafe was so concerned with propriety and her being a proper duchess, where was her lady’s maid? Who ever heard of a duchess that didn’t have one? She snorted once she was able to lift the dress up and over her head before reaching back for the lacings to her stays. At least with no lady’s maid, there was no witness to her scandalous plan to sleep in the big bed stark naked. That was the only passive response she could think of to any of the duke’s possible plans. If he chose to ignore her, then he would be none the wiser. If he came to reassert his authority, he would have to deal with her naked form, which had appeared to distress him rather considerably last night.

Kitty refused to admit her own disappointment when she woke alone to sunlight streaming in the windows, accompanied by the sounds of birds chirping. Uncertainty cramped her belly as she madea rushed job of washing her face and dressing for the day. What was Rafe going to do next?

The pilot interrupts my reverie with Kitty to inform us that we’re approaching the Denver airport for landing. With a sigh of regret, I store the book in my bag and settle back to enjoy the descent. Denver may be a big city by Montana standards, but it still looks little and quaint compared to Los Angeles or Manhattan. I wonder what Justin would say if the next time he saw me I was wearing cowboy boots? Eh, he’d think I was deliberately trying to provoke him, so maybe not.

I do check the terminal giftshops though for anything baby Aurora might desperately need. In an emotional sense, anyway. I already sent a raft load of what I consider to be essential infant reading, so this is just anything extra that strikes my fancy. It’s my duty as an honorary aunt to start spoiling her immediately.

18

Once Ingrid is safely in the air and Fred has been debriefed twice on their trip to the airport, and how she looked before going through security, I tell him, “Let’s get cameras up inside and out here.”

Fred looks reticent.

“What now?” I bark.

“She’s not going to like that. Maybe one at the front door and one at the back. She might buy that but… you aren’t planning on telling her, are you?”

I shake my head no. Fred’s mouth turns down even further at the corners, which didn’t seem possible. “Shooting yourself in the foot there, boss.Again.”

Nonsense. It’s all practical security in this day and age. Just because Ingrid seems to reside in a fantasy land that wasn’t even real two hundred years ago doesn’t mean I shouldn’t take practical precautions on her behalf. It’s my job to keep her safe.

Fred grumbles under his breath but takes the box of camera equipment I had rush delivered.

“Besides,” I point out to him belatedly, “In theory we’re all going home to New York, so it won’t matter.”

Fred only rolls his eyes in response. I turn back to packing my bag. We’re booked on a private flight this evening. By morning, I’ll be sleeping in my own bed. That thought should be filling me with relief, but instead, I’m perusing my phone to see if Ingrid has checked in yet. Nothing.

If I’m smart, I’ll start resigning myself now to the thought that Ingrid is likely to decide to stay in Washington near her friend permanently. Despite her words, I don’t see her making Montana her forever home, not without friends or family nearby, and she’s too shy to gain those quickly on her own. Nothing wrong with that. I like her just fine as she is, but I don’t want her to suffer for it, either.

Fred gets us out of the house and headed to the airport relatively seamlessly. I’m pleased when I check the camera feed on my phone to see the video clip of us pulling out of the long driveway and then nothing after that. Not that I expected anything else, but it’s nice knowing we can now keep an eye on the place without anyone being physically present.

I settle in on the chartered plane for a much needed nap while Fred checks his phone one last time. “Margot’s been positively ID’d in Colombia,” he mutters.

Sitting up abruptly, I growl, “No extradition treaty.” Fred nods and closes his eyes. At least she’s unlikely to sneak back anytime soon…

I dream of Ingrid wandering through the New York apartment looking transparent, like a ghost. She flits from room to room like she’s looking for something, although she never stays long enough to find it. I reach for her, but she dissolves through my fingers. Jerking awake, it takes me a minute to remember I’m on a plane. Fred is snoring robustly from hischair in the corner. I snort in amusement and roll over, trying to get comfortable on what I’m sure is an expensive leather sofa.

Maybe the solution to Ingrid’s objections is to find a new apartment. I have no particular emotional attachment to that one. It was simply a good investment and I know where everything is. But maybe one with vintage character would appeal more to Ingrid?

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