Page 45 of Duke It Out
“Of course,” he’d said, his tone casual. “It was her fault.”
“What was?”
“Her fault you’re not the true heir. Not that I ever gave a shit.But you know what they’d say if they found out…” He’d tapped the side of his nose with a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll keep that as our little secret, won’t we?”
That was fifteen years ago.
Phoebe’s words play over in my head. “Don’t worry, she’s tied up with an iron-clad NDA.”
My hand tightens on the glass. This time there’s no inappropriate image of Edie in my head, only a picture of the whole foundation dragged into scandal and turmoil. Everything we’ve worked to try and repair blown apart. Fuck knows what she’s going to find in those papers and journals. He liked to hint at things so he could watch people squirm. What if half of it is bullshit and the other half is worse? Fuck knows what she’s found in the last two weeks. But there was no way I could have turned around and told Theo that no, I couldn’t come and put out fires in San Francisco because I had my own to deal with.
Whatever the truth is, we’re past that now. Edie’s silence is bought and paid for, and my duty is to hold this generation of the Kinnaird family together. Perhaps bloodlines matter less than noblesse oblige.
At the end of the day, there’s nobody else going to step up. Finn’s opted out completely, and Jamie’s a bloody liability more concerned with getting his end away. By the time I get back Edie will be mired in the very depths of the lies and bullshit that my father’s left behind, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
18
RORY
I climbinto the waiting car at JFK and in no time we’re speeding over the bridge into Manhattan. New York was home for years and I feel the tension drop from my shoulders as we glide down Fifth Avenue before pulling up outside Kinnaird House. I tip the driver and head into the bar.
“Well, look who it is.”
Josh grins at me from behind the bar, turning to grab a glass and pouring me a hefty two fingers of malt before leaning over to give me a manly hug. I’ve known him for years, met him playing basketball one night when I was a student, and we’ve stayed friends ever since. He’s an artist who runs the discreet little speakeasy in the basement of our building, painting by day in his studio in Queens.
“How’s it going?” I settle on the bar stoop and watch as he replaces the stopper on the bottle, thinks about it, then tips another measure into my glass.
“Sold three paintings this week, so you might be looking for a new bar manager.”
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure.” I grin andraise a glass to him. He’s a stubborn bugger. I’ve tried countless times to offer him some form of patronage, to shove some of the money from the estate in his direction, but he digs his heels in, resolute that he’ll make it on his own terms. I respect him for it.
“So how long are you hanging out in NYC this time?”
I shrug. “Ten days of meetings and then I’m out of here.” I pull out my phone and thumb the screen quickly, checking for messages. Theo’s clearly on a roll – there’s a whole stream of emails with attachments, all of which can wait until the morning. I put it down on the bar and look around the place. It’s busy for a Tuesday night, all but one of the tables full, the discreet midnight blue of the walls and low light making it impossible to identify the clientele, which is exactly how we wanted it. I needed somewhere I could come and escape – a safe place. So far, I’ve stayed under the radar, but with the death of my father I suspect it’s not going to take long before someone puts two and two together, no matter how discreet my movements are. It’s just another thing that’s changed forever. If Josh goes, that last link to the past goes with it and this becomes just another part of the jigsaw that makes up the Kinnaird estate.
Josh lifts the bottle and raises a brow. “Penny for them?”
I pass him my glass. “Everything changes, doesn’t it?”
“That’s not a bad thing.” He eyes me beadily, his head cocked slightly. “You okay, man?”
I give a brief nod. “Too much work, not enough down time.”
“You need to cut loose, get that shirt and tie off and go have some fun. I’m finishing early if you wanna join me down in the village? We can grab a bite to eat, see if there’s anything to take your mind off things…”
He waggles his eyebrows. We both know what he means. Our boys’ nights have been the stuff of legend. New York’s the one place I’ve been free to cut loose and be Rory the man, not Rory the duke in waiting, bound by hundreds of years of history and obligation.
I shake my head. “Not this time.”
“Later, maybe?” He shakes out a linen cloth and starts wiping down the glasses.
“Perhaps, yeah.” I down my drink and stand up, ready for bed. I know there’s no chance I’ll be in the mood for the sort of distraction he’s thinking of any time this week. This isn’t something I can fuck out of my system because despite every fibre in my being fighting against it, the one woman I can’t stop thinking about is six thousand miles away.
19
EDIE
I’mbloody proud of myself, actually. It’s been almost three weeks since Rory disappeared, and the number of times I’ve looked longingly out of my castle window in the hope my prince – okay, duke – might appear out of the morning mist to rescue me can be counted on one hand. Okay, maybe two.
