Page 3 of Provoked

It’s been a long-ass twenty-four hours, beginning with that miserable date with Steve, followed by not being able to sleep because of the new adventure awaiting me. The one that isn’t supposed to involve Justin in any way!

Justin briefly glances up as if hearing his name, but I’m already past his shoulder, so I scurry forward a few more inches until I’m past the dark blue seat behind him. I force myself not to turn my head to check, but I can’t hold back thesigh of relief when he doesn’t call my name. Thank fuck for small favors.

Naturally, my seat is in the very back in the middle of the middle. For once, I don’t even have it in me to complain, because it minimizes the chance of Justin seeing me. To be extra safe, I keep a magazine open directly in front of my face. It probably looks odd and my arms are starting to shake from the strain. The flight attendant makes me put it down when we prepare to land, but that’s okay, because Justin won’t be allowed to walk around either.

3

My nerves subside somewhat when I finally make it to the aisle of the airplane to deplane and see Justin’s broad shoulders disappearing onto the gangway. I’m able to stay well back as everyone troops to the exit. I exhale with a whoosh when he disappears out the main doors of the airport, not even bothering with more than his sleek, expensive carryon. He’s not here for me. Maybe he’s finally heeded my advice and is taking a vacation?

Pleased at the thought, I find a luggage cart and retrieve my baggage from the conveyor belt. I’m supposed to go to one end of the terminal for the small plane that will take me to Montana. My new landlord said he’d have someone pick me up from the airfield and then, once I’m settled, take me back into town to see what’s available in the used car lot. He didn’t say it, but I got the impression that he was worried I’d be taken advantage of without a man attached. He’s probably right. More so because I’m not from Montanathan my gender, I think. I can haggle in an Asian market with the best of them. One of the few skills I picked up traveling with my parents that has actually come in useful.

I send a quick text to Rose with the picture of the tiny plane I’m waiting to board. There’s just one guy loading the luggage into the back and I’ll bet he’s the pilot, too. Rose immediately responds.

Text me the minute you are on the ground again!

I had kind of hoped to meet some new people on this leg of the trip. Since their destination would be going close to where I’m headed, they might count as new neighbors. But as we taxi down the small runway, I know that’s not going to happen. The other passengers seem nice enough. Although most of them are middle-age men who look like ranchers, but the engine noise is so pervasive I can’t hear myself think, let alone the person on the other side of the narrow aisle. I sigh and take out my book.

The Duke is out looking for his runaway ward and getting angrier by the minute. A shiver of delight cascades down my spine and I settle back in my seat. I want Rafe to finally acknowledge his feelings for Kitty, but I’m probably going to have to wait until the end of the book for that to happen.

There she is, the little minx. The shy smile she offers the man selling bread in the market has me ready to roar with fury. Bound for the Americas, eh? More like hiding out in London with some upstart hoping to get his hands on her fortune. I’ll have her back at Greenwood tonight. And there she shall stay until any hint of scandal has been forgotten by the ton. I don’t care if that means she’s the oldest deb to ever enter Almacks. She should have thought of that before running off.

I follow her back through the narrow streets, curious to see where she’s taken refuge. I could just sweep her over my shoulder, but thatwould attract unwanted attention. And I need to deal with whoever lured her here in the first place. Kathryn stops in front of a slightly shabby but tidy edifice. The door opens and I catch the glimpse of an elderly retainer. Glowering, I follow her up the steps.

The old man stops me in his tracks with an experienced stare. “No gentlemen may enter, sir.”

“Why the hell not?”

He shakes his white head without answering and closes the door.

“Kitty!” I bellow into the gap as the surprisingly stout door shuts in my face. I stare at the black enamel. Unbelievable. I knock firmly on the door. I will not be so easily assuaged from my mission.

The door remains firmly shut. Shouting out that I’m a duke and must be obeyed probably won’t be as effective as it ought to be. An older woman with a stout satchel approaches and eyes me with concern.

“Madam, what is this establishment?” I ask with a barely constrained snarl. Her eyes widen, but she answers promptly. “It’s a boarding house. If you didn’t know that, why are you on the landing?”

“Will you please tell whoever is in charge that I expect Miss Kathryn Dalrymple to pack and present herself here in ten minutes or I will fetch the constabulary,” I hiss with deadly calm.

The woman draws herself up. “Who are you to make such demands?”

“I, madame, am Rafael, fourteenth Duke of Greenwood.” I give her a short, sharp bow and gesture to the front door. She pulls it open just far enough to slip inside with a wild glance back at me. I smile with no humor and take out my pocket watch.

I close the book over my finger, holding my place and sigh with frustration. When will the Duke be angry enough to kiss her? And when he finally loses his cool, will he spank her first? I’m tempted to check. This author sometimes goes spicy and sometimes not. But I want to savor this one, it’s why I haven’tdevoured it in one sitting. Now that I’m no longer dreaming about Justin, I need to love vicariously, and books are the safest outlet. I glance out the small window and watch the fields and farms below turn to forests. My eyes drift shut — the anxiety of the previous flight finally draining from my body and leaving me limp.

I’m jolted awake when the wheels of the plane touch down on the tarmac. For a moment I forget where I am, but then it all comes flooding back. I sigh and slip my book back in my purse. There’s no space for even a carryon here, so I groggily follow the other passengers down the rickety metal steps that make up the inside of the door. We form a funny little queue of tired people walking across the tarmac towards what looks to be basically a shed. A tractor pulling a cart moves past us towards the plane — I guess to collect the luggage. A tall man in worn jeans and a plaid shirt with a cowboy hat pulled down over his eyes lounges against one of the beams supporting the overhang of the shed. Abruptly, he pushes up the hat with a finger and deep green eyes meet mine. He purses his lips thoughtfully.

“Ingrid?” he asks in a husky drawl.

“That’s me!” I respond a little too brightly.

The man scans me from head to toe with a thoughtful expression. It feels more assessing than sexual, which is good, I guess? He shakes his head slightly as if confused and then says, “I’m Danvers. You want to point to your luggage?”

I blink. And scan the concrete. Sure enough, there’s a pile of bags being unloaded.

“Uh, the pale blue ones.” I point to the biggest bag.

Danvers’s eyebrows go up. “All of them?”

I nod. “I’m moving here, not just visiting.”

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