Page 37 of Provoked

Her gaze met his. The normal challenge in them softened with resignation.

“That you only practice them with me. And since I don’t entirely trust you not to run away again, starting tonight we will share a bedchamber so that I know for certain I have your undivided attention,” he growled.

Kitty’s lower jaw dropped and then, finally, the sunshine returned to her expression. A tiny smirk played on the cupid’s bow of her upper lip. She lowered her gaze. “Yes, my lord.” It was the most demure he’d ever seen her.

Okay, that’s not directly helpful, but it reminds me of other regencies I’ve read where the cattish diamond of the first water spoils the reputation of the heroine. Then said plucky heroine enlists the help of either the hero or the hero’s family to trap her into revealing her machinations. Justin won’t help. But his family…

The lightbulb goes off and I sit straight up. His family. The one he doesn’t spend time with because he thinks they have nothing in common. If I went there… and talked to them and explained. Maybe? I mean, they could be horrible people who want nothing to do with him, but then if that turns out to be true, he’d be none the wiser.

I start flinging my belongings back into the suitcase until I remember that I don’t actually know what town Justin is from.Maybe I’d better sort out the logistics before I head for the airport…

Fred called at six a.m. to warn me that my apartment building was surrounded by paparazzi, eager to be the first to run to press with my image. Effectively, I’m trapped in my ivory tower. The building management will get the police in at some point, probably within the hour, but that won’t reduce the target on my back.

And now I owe Fred something special. I think he’s worked harder in the last month after retirement than he did the two years prior. Not that I’m faulting him for that. I wanted eyes I could trust on Ingrid, and despite his gruff demeanor, I knew Fred’s loyalty was second to none. Although… these days I think I am second because at some point Ingrid became his honorary granddaughter.

I stare down at the miniaturized cars and pedestrians on the street below. From here, I can’t see the throngs of reporters, but I don’t doubt their presence for a second. The real question is what to do about it in the long term. ‘No comment’ will make me sound guilty. A passionate denial will too. And in the end, what does it matter if it means I’ve effectively lost Ingrid, anyway? Living together would only continue to keep the flames of gossip and innuendo alive for years. Ingrid deserves far better than that.

Sighing, I turn away from the windows and head to the kitchen for breakfast. The cereal I pour into a bowl tastes like sawdust. I flip on the small TV mounted to the wall to see if a distraction will help. Apparently, Kate likes to watch travel shows while she cleans because that’s what loads. Balmy scenes of palm trees wave over turquoise seas while a chipper real-estate agent promises good bargains are still to be had. Apparently, you can snatch up a two-bedroom cottage two blocks from the beach for only $200,000. I eye the luxurious appointments in my kitchen. What would five mil buy me on a tropical island? Think Ingrid would run away with me to hide in obscurity for the next five decades? I shrug, realizing that she probably would go but I’m not the schmuck that would ask her to give up her dreams and her friends like that. She needs more family around her, not less.

It’s over, I realize with sudden clarity. I’ll stay until I know the clouds have moved from over her head, maybe six to eight months for that, and then I’ll sell up and clear out. Someplace where nobody knows me and nobody can be bothered to find out who I am. Strangely, and perhaps sadly, my business won’t be affected by this. Even people who might be inclined to believe the rumors won’t shy away from hiring my firm. If anything, the notoriety may serve as free advertising.

I blame my general lack of concern on my recuperation from the accident. But the truth is, my heart doesn’t care about the long line of would-be clients on the waiting list. They’re endless and they don’t represent a new challenge to be conquered. I’m not sure what does. Maybe I should take this down time, holed up in my aerie as a chance to figure out what the hell I want out of life, particularly if I can’t have Ingrid in it. I thought I knew and on the days when it didn’t seem that fulfilling, I honestly didn’t care. I was simply indifferent. Even my current client list has been delegated to other attorneys in the firm while I’m out recuperating, so there’s nothing there to distract me at the moment.

Now I feel restless. And I want to see Ingrid’s face to make sure for myself that she’s not tying herself up in knots over this. I give in to temptation and pick up my phone from the counter. Frowning, I dial Ingrid and listen to it go straight to voicemail. Is she already being hounded to the point sheneeded to turn her phone off? I send her a text message instead.

Please check in and let me know you’re okay.

There’s no immediate response. Sighing, I give up on that temporarily and sit down on the couch in the living room to start making a list.

When I head into the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee, I check my phone again. Well, at least Ingrid responded, but I’d hardly call it a satisfactory reply.

I’m good.

What the fuck does that mean? That she’s okay considering, or she’s not, but she doesn’t want me to worry? Or worse, she’s pissed off and panicking? My fingers start to tap out a reply, but then I pause and delete the few words I’d entered. I need to start putting more distance between me and Ingrid, for her sake. And that means now. I set the phone down gingerly and head down the hall to take a shower. Ingrid is safe with her friends.

20

If Rose was skeptical of my plan to rescue Justin, Aiden was downright derisive. But unlike Justin, he held back his opinion. It just showed up on his face. I realized then that I actually prefer Justin’s way of expressing his disapproval. At least you know where you stand and aren’t second-guessing the subtle meaning behind the degree an eyebrow is arched. Rose hugs me tight as I put my bags back into the rental car. It took some finagling, but I managed to convince the rental company that I could return the car in Seattle instead of Vancouver. It was too hard to find a flight that would connect across Canada and into New York.

It took some serious digging and a few of the skills I picked up from hanging out with Fred for two years to locate my destination. In the end, I went back to the college days he shared with my dad. Since I have that old photo (or rather I had as it’s back in Montana) I was able to dig through some old school archives that are now online to find the name of thetown at least. If, for some reason, his family doesn’t share his last name, I’m fucked.

As it is, it takes all day to reach Justin’s home town of Swan’s Forge. I have to remind myself sternly that I’m wealthy now when my brain balks at the outrageous price of a rental car in New York. “Highway robbery,” I mutter under my breath while I sign the forms.

But all that is forgotten as I drive down the quaint country lanes passing through one small town after the next with little bandstands and civil war memorials that all look distressingly the same, as if a monument salesman with a particularly good pitch had come through the region a hundred years prior.

Swan’s Forge boasts one cute bed-and-breakfast and one long low motel that’s white with blue doors. No big surprise that the sign is a large white swan. I try the bed-and-breakfast. Unfortunately, they’re full up, which shouldn’t come as a huge surprise given they only have four rooms. The round woman who informs me of this apologetically also presses a giant apple muffin into my hands.

I nibble on it as I drive back to the motel at the edge of town along the highway. I sigh and brush the crumbs off me as I get out in front of the small office at the end. I eye the row of blue doors dubiously. There are one or two vehicles parked in front, but none of them look particularly upscale. Not that I’m judging, but what you can’t assume is that anyone with the means hasn’t opted for something better in the next town or beyond.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m sure they’ve moved on. Even with no one sitting on them, there’s a noticeable dip in each of the two double beds. Everything appears clean but worn. And even when the fittings were brand new, they were clearly the cheapest available, so the wear hasn’t been kind. Still, I’m here for Justin, not a vacation. My only real option for dinner is to cross the highway to the fast food burger place on the otherside. The town is so small there’s apparently no need for either lights or a crosswalk. I dutifully and cautiously look both ways before jogging across the pavement. But I feel a little silly because not a single vehicle appears in either direction while I do that. At least I didn’t drive…

There’s also no line at the burger place, so in no time I’m back in my room laying out my meal on the crisp white paper bag I’ve carefully opened on top of the bedspread. I turn on the grainy old style TV and settle in to watch the local news.

They make only one brief mention of Justin’s predicament, and they don’t mention him by name. Just referring to him as a ‘high-powered attorney’. The general chin wagging of the announcer implies that this is the kind of trouble you get in the big city and aren’t you glad you don’t live there? I roll my eyes but it makes me hopeful that maybe there’s a chance of at least a luke-warm reception when I go introduce myself to his family tomorrow. I’ll have to ask around in town first to find out where they all live, but I doubt that will prove too difficult.

I munch the last of my extra serving of fries and consider Justin’s rather terse text message and my even briefer reply. He’d kill me if he knew what I was about to do. Hence my not wanting to talk to him. He’d get it out of me before I even noticed I was talking. But I hate to see him worried. I know he is. He’s probably gone sullen and broody. If I don’t resolve this quickly, he’s going to sink back into the cold, reserved prison he built for himself.

Wadding the greasy wrappers into the small trashcan in the corner of the room, I head into the bathroom to brush my teeth. The fluorescent lights flicker alarmingly but eventually settle into a rather stark white glow. The bruises under my eyes from the long day shout back at me from the small mirror. I guess I’d better go to bed and get some sleep. I brush my teeth and wash my face before returning to the main room and eyeing the dips in the bed dubiously, trying to ascertain whichone is worse. They look about even. Gingerly, I pull back the covers on the bed nearest the door and lie down. My body tilts toward the center. Frowning, I get up and repeat the procedure on the other bed. If anything, it’s worse.

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