Lady Be Good

  She couldn’t believe that was the only thing he’d picked up on. “Is that all you can say after everything I’ve told you?”

  “First things first.”

  The two young boys who’d been chasing each other darted into the trees. “I never said I hadn’t had a normal sex life.”

  “You implied it. Now, exactly what kind of abnormality are we talking about here?”

  “Nothing! We’re not talking about anything.”

  “You’re not a secret dominatrix, are you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  “You already said you’re not a lesbian, and I’m prone to believe you. Foot fetish?”

  “No!”

  “A masochist?”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “Sadist?”

  “This is rubbish.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You tell me right this second you’re not a pedophile.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, I’m a virgin!”

  Silence.

  Her cheeks grew hot. “Go on, then! Laugh! I know you want to.”

  “Let me get my breath back first.” His eyes drifted to her breasts. “How does anybody get to be your age and stay a virgin?”

  “It just happened, that’s all. I didn’t intend for it to turn out this way.” She shot her chin a bit higher. “I was busy, and I’m not good with men.”

  “That’s because you’re too damned bossy.”

  “I didn’t ask for your opinion.” A shout from the larger of the two boys distracted her. She watched him wrestle the younger one to the ground, bringing the other child’s head perilously close to the sharp corner of the concrete slab that held one of the picnic tables. “Careful, boys! If you want to wrestle, do it over there.”

  The brothers stopped what they were doing and stared at her. So did their parents. Kenny rolled his eyes. “Would you mind your own business?”

  She turned her back on him. “I knew you’d be difficult about this. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you.”

  He came around in front of her. “Of course I’m being difficult. You climbed into bed with me two nights ago without once mentioning that particular piece of information.”

  “It wasn’t relevant.”

  “It sure as hell was relevant to me.”

  “Why? What possible difference could it make?”

  “A big difference. You were using me!”

  She stared at him, feeling both anger and the beginnings of a perverse sort of amusement. “As I remember, it was the other way around. Do you always try to turn the tables like this when you know you’re in the wrong?”

  He scowled.

  “Do you have any idea how pathetic you are?” she said.

  “Me?” His eyebrows shot up. “You’re the one who’s never been laid.”

  “Life is about a lot more than sex.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t play golf, either.” He stalked off toward the car, looking far more upset than he had any right to be.

  She marched after him. “You are the most selfish, self-centered, person I’ve ever known. I’ve just told you how my life’s falling apart, and all you can think about is how it affects you.”

  “You’re damn straight.” He turned to confront her. “You listen to me, Emma. The only way I get back on the tour is to keep what’s left of my reputation so clean that it squeaks. Now, near as I can gather, that puts the two of us at cross purposes, because you seem hell bent on destroying yours.”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “You sure do. The answer to your problem is as clear as the nose on your face.” He jabbed his finger toward his car. “Get on that phone right this minute and tell that pussy duke you have no intention of marrying him!”

  “Didn’t you hear anything I said? If I don’t go along with this, he’ll sell St. Gert’s.”

  “That’s not your problem. You can get another job.” He unlocked the door and climbed in.

  She raced around to the other side and jimmied the handle until he finally unlocked it. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” She climbed inside. “St. Gert’s is special. I’ve started a new program for scholarship students. If the school closes, they’ll be abandoned. And St. Gert’s is my home. The only one I’ve ever had.”

  “It’s just a pile of old bricks.”

  “Not to me. Oh, why am I even bothering? I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

  “What I don’t understand is how you’ve let this whole thing get so complicated.”

  “Beddington isn’t stupid. If my behavior is too blatant, he’ll see right through what I’m trying to do and get rid of St. Gert’s just to punish me for defying him. I have to be subtle, make him believe he’s misjudged my character at the same time I pretend to go along with him.”

  He scowled and jabbed his keys into the ignition. “Well, I’m not sleeping with you, if that’s what you’ve got on your mind.”

  “I don’t want to sleep with you!”

  For some maddening reason, that seemed to calm him down. His hands went slack on the key, and his eyes made a lazy journey along the buttons of her blouse. “You sure did want to the other night, Queen Elizabeth.”

  She hoped he didn’t notice the gooseflesh that broke out on her skin. To compensate, she sat up straighter in the seat. “That was when I thought you were honorable.”

  “Honorable?” His exasperation returned. “I told you I was a gigolo.”

  “At least you were open about it.”

  “I was lying through my teeth.”

  “Yes, well, I didn’t know that at the time.” She sniffed. “And if I make up my mind to sleep with someone in the next two weeks, it won’t be you.”

  “You aren’t sleeping with anybody in the next two weeks. As long as Francesca’s looking over my shoulder, you’re going back home in exactly the same pristine condition as the day you arrived. When you lose your virginity, Lady Emma, you’re damn well going to do it on somebody else’s watch.”

  She began to respond, only to have the words slip away as his eyes locked on her mouth. Slowly his expression changed. She watched his lips part ever so slightly and his eyes darken. She felt light-headed. After all her talk about not wanting to sleep with him, she was the one lying through her teeth because everything about him stimulated her—his extravagant good looks, lanky body, Texas drawl, even his peculiar sense of humor. She hated herself for it, but some part of her wished she hadn’t discovered that magazine cover until after they’d made love.

  He jerked his eyes away from her. “That’s it! You’re staying at a hotel!”

  “I am not!” She couldn’t stay at a hotel. It was exactly what Beddington expected from her. “I didn’t want to mention this, but I’m afraid you’re forcing me to remind you that I can call Francesca at any time.”

  “You leave Francesca out of this.”

  “You keep forgetting that I’m desperate. And I’m certain Francesca will be very upset when she hears how you got me drunk, then dragged me to that horrible tattoo parlor where I was disfigured for life.”

  “Can’t you see that I’m doing this for your own good? Don’t you realize that putting the two of us together under one roof is just plain stupid?”

  “I know we’ve argued a lot, but if we both try a bit harder to be polite—”

  “I’m not talking about us arguing.”

  “Then what?”

  He gave a deep sigh. “For a smart lady, you sure are dumb.”

  She regarded him more closely. Could he possibly be attracted to her? She drew herself up sharply. This was no time to indulge in fantasy. Besides, he was a playboy, and she was very nearly a dotty, dear thing.

  “All right,” he said. “You win this round. You can stay at my ranch, but I’m charging you two hundred dollars a day rent.”

  That would wipe out her profit. “One hundred dollars.”

  “Two fifty.”

  “All right,” she said hastily. “Two hundred.”

&
nbsp; They drove for the next few miles in silence, but even the glorious scenery couldn’t lift her spirits. She didn’t want to dwell on her own troubles, so she made herself think of other things. Before long, her thoughts drifted back to Torie Traveler. “Don’t you find the similarity between my odd situation and your sister’s a bit too coincidental?”

  “It’s not coincidental at all. A certain English busybody’s got her nose in where it doesn’t belong. And this time we’re not talking about you.”

  “But Francesca knows nothing about my situation with Hugh.”

  “Francesca knows everything. That’s how she’s been able to keep her television show on the air for so many years. She’s pretty much like God, except sexy.”

  “I’m going to call her tonight and ask.”

  He adjusted the sun visor. “You can ask all you want, but if Francesca doesn’t feel like telling, you won’t learn a thing.”

  “Do you really think she has some plan behind throwing us together?”

  “You bet I do.”

  “But what could it be?”

  “Sadism. You live with the Antichrist long enough, you turn mean.”

  In the luxurious bedroom of a rented home in Palm Beach, Florida, an elegantly beautiful forty-four-year-old Englishwoman with chestnut hair and a heart-shaped face curled deeper into the pale peach sheets and gave a sigh of contentment as she gazed at the indentation in the pillow next to her. Time had only improved her husband’s lovemaking techniques.

  The shower went on in the connecting bathroom, and she gave a soft laugh as she wondered how Emma and Kenny were doing. Putting the two of them together had been decidedly wicked, but irresistible—Francesca Serritella Day Beaudine’s own sentimental journey. Although it wasn’t exactly a case of history repeating itself, since Emma bore no resemblance to the spoiled little rich girl Francesca had been when Dallie Beaudine had picked her up on that Louisiana back road twenty-three years ago.

  From the moment Francesca had met Emma, she’d felt a kinship with her. Beneath her friend’s deep intelligence and innate goodness, she’d glimpsed her loneliness.

  Then there was Kenny Traveler . . . her darling, unhappy Kenny. . . . Francesca’s eyes drifted shut, and she recalled another too-handsome Texas golf pro who’d endangered his game by spending too much time fighting demons he wouldn’t let anyone else glimpse.

  Still, Emma and Kenny? What could she have been thinking of? If it hadn’t been for Torie’s situation, she would never have thought to connect them in her mind.

  Francesca’s sources were impeccable, and she’d learned about Beddington’s peculiar search for a bride almost as soon as it had begun, but she’d been stunned when she’d learned he’d latched on to Emma. Right away, she’d been struck by the similarities between Emma’s situation and Torie’s. That had made her think about Kenny, and then the most incredible image of Kenny and Emma together had taken shape in her mind. It was ridiculous, of course, to believe two such unlikely people could help each other. Still, stranger things had happened.

  The water stopped running in the bathroom. She stretched lazily, even though she had a thousand things to do. First she needed to call her best friend, Holly Grace Beaudine Jaffe, who also happened to be Dallie’s first wife, and was now the mother of four boys—five if Francesca counted Holly Grace’s husband Gerry. Then she needed to get to work. Putting on a monthly television special didn’t happen by accident, and she had a long list of calls to make, beginning with her producer in New York.

  The bathroom door opened, and she forgot all about her calls as her husband’s deep drawl drifted across the room.

  “Come here, Fancy Pants.”

  Kenny’s ranch sat in a valley just south of Wynette. He turned off the main highway onto a narrower road, then headed down a lane marked by a pair of rough limestone pillars topped with a rustic wrought-iron arch.

  “My property starts here.” Emma heard the subtle note of pride in Kenny’s voice.

  They drove through the entrance, past a peach orchard just beginning to come into bloom, and across a wide wooden bridge that spanned a stretch of shallow, crystal-clear river. “That’s the Pedernales. It floods during big storms and covers the bridge, but I still love having it in my front yard.”

  And that’s exactly where it was, Emma realized—in his front yard. Kenny’s ranch house sat at the top of a gently sloping bit of lawn shaded here and there with live oaks. The house itself was a graceful rambling structure built of creamy white limestone with smoky blue shutters and trim. Twin limestone chimneys rose from the expansive tin roof she’d already seen on so many buildings in the area, and a galloping horse weather vane turned lazily in the April breeze. Big wooden rockers sat on the front porch, extending a silent invitation to rest awhile and gaze down at the meandering path of the Pedernales. Off to one side, she glimpsed a windmill, a limestone stable, and a white fence surrounding a picturesque pasture where horses grazed.

  “You have horses!” she exclaimed as he pulled up to the side of the house.

  “Only two. Shadow and China. They’re quarter-horses.”

  She could see his affection for the animals in his smile, and she tried to take it all in. “Gracious, Kenny, you have so much. Horses, that beautiful condo in Dallas, this wonderful ranch. . . .”

  “Yeah. Not bad for a kid who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, is it?”

  She was startled to hear a faint tinge of bitterness in his voice, and she tilted her head to look at him. “Did that silver spoon make all this magically appear by itself?”

  “I guess I worked for it,” he said begrudgingly. “If you call what I do for a living work.” His expression indicated he didn’t quite believe it.

  Emma found it curious that he wasn’t more impressed with all that he’d accomplished. “I call it work. I’m sure no one handed you those championships just for your good looks. You also seem to endorse a number of companies.”

  “I am pretty good-lookin’.” He shot her a smug smile, then pulled her suitcases out of the car without being asked. Both acts distracted her, which was probably what he intended as he moved ahead of her to the front porch.

  Just as he got there, the door shot open and a young man in his late twenties flew out. He had a slight build, curly carrot-colored hair, rather prominent eyes, and a huge smile.

  “Kenneth! Let me take that before you throw your back out. Whatever can you be thinking of?” He snatched the suitcase away. “You’re too bad not letting me know you were coming. I barely had a chance to get the house ready. If Torie hadn’t called to warn me, I don’t know what I’d have done.”

  “Sorry. It was a last-minute decision.” Kenny followed the young man into the cool, quiet foyer, which was painted in wide, muted stripes of vanilla and beige. “Patrick, this is Lady Emma. She’s going to be staying here for a while. Unfortunately. Put her as far away from me as you can manage. Emma, this is Patrick. My housekeeper.”

  Emma regarded the young man curiously. Really. Kenny knew the most extraordinary people.

  “Lady Emma?” Patrick exclaimed. “Please, God, tell me you’re the real thing and not another stripper.”

  The man was so winning, it was impossible not to smile. “I’m real, but please, just call me Emma.”

  Patrick pressed one hand to the front of a neon green silk shirt. “Oh, God. Your accent’s fabulous.”

  She couldn’t resist a little probing, and she glanced over at Kenny, who was leafing through a pile of mail he’d taken from a small wooden chest that also held a majolica vase spilling over with spring flowers. “Another stripper?”

  “Don’t look at me,” he said. “Torie’s the one who brought her here.”

  Patrick’s eyes gleamed. “Your stepmother is going to have a public orgasm when she meets Lady Emma.”

  “Do you mind?” Kenny growled.

  “My, my. Someone’s out of sorts, isn’t he? I should think a very nice Clos du Roy 1990 Fronsac will take care of th
at.” He picked up her suitcase. “Come along, Lady Emma, I’ll show you to your room while Kenneth puts his happy face back on.”

  “Just Emma,” she said with a sigh.

  Kenny smiled without looking up from the mail.

  As she followed Patrick toward the stairs, she gazed off at the living room to the right where the walls were covered in the same faux-painted vanilla and beige stripes as the hallway. Wing chairs, a cozy, overstuffed couch, and well-worn Oriental rugs gave the room a comfortable, lived-in look.

  Patrick noticed her interest in the decor. “Do you want to see the rest of the downstairs?”

  “I’d quite like that.”

  “The kitchen is the best. Kenneth absolutely lives there when he’s home.” He set down her luggage, then led her back along the hallway into an enormous country kitchen that stretched in a spacious L across the rear of the house. She blinked in surprise. “It’s lovely.”

  “Thank you. I designed it.”

  The walls and ceiling were painted a bright, cheery yellow, while the floor with its large terra-cotta tiles added even more warmth. An informal seating area, positioned in front of the fireplace, held a couch with a floral design in shades of yellow, coral, and emerald, along with several comfortable chairs. Two separate sets of French doors, one of which opened out onto a sun porch, sent light splashing over the array of colorful abstract canvases that graced the walls.

  The eating area held a bay window and an elegant Regency dining table, which was surrounded by a comfortable hodgepodge of Chippendale, Louis XVI, and Early American chairs covered with unmatched, but coordinating, fabrics. The polished tabletop reflected another spray of flowers, this one arranged in an earthenware pitcher.

  “Everything’s so beautiful.”

  “It was risky, but Kenneth needs cozy roots.” Patrick made a small, fluttering gesture.

  Emma didn’t mean to stare, but Patrick’s presence had definitely taken her aback.

  He brushed his hand over the top of the table. “You’re wondering what someone like me is doing here, aren’t you?”

  “Wondering?” She was dying of curiosity, but much too polite to make any inquiries on her own.