Her Foreign Affair

Twenty-two years ago, she ran out on the love of her life—and took a secret with her.

When Randi Jean Ferguson fell for Courtland Robinson while studying abroad in London, she was ready for a life of tea and crumpets. But when she discovered Court was being forced into a shotgun wedding, there was no way she could stay—or tell him she was also pregnant with his child. Now widowed, Randi is just starting to consider finding Court—when he shows up at her door. With his son. Randi’s not ready to reveal everything to Court, but if she doesn’t will both their children end up scarred?

The best thing to come out of Court’s unhappy marriage was his son. But he’s spent the last twenty-two years thinking about Randi, his California girl, his first—and only—love. Now a widower, he takes a chance he’s only fantasized about and seeks her out. At last he’ll solve his heart’s greatest mystery—but that won’t be the only surprise in store for him.

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Her Foreign Affair

Rachel Dahlrumple

Writing as Morgan Q. O’Reilly

Frozen

Chinook, Wine and Sink Her

The Open Window Series

Til Death Undo Us

Courage to Love

Weathering the Storm

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

Shea McMaster

LYRICAL PRESS

Kensington Publishing Corp.

www.kensingtonbooks.com

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Copyright © 2015 by Shea McMaster

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First Electronic Edition: June 2015

eISBN-13: 978-1-61650-727-5

eISBN-10: 1-61650-727-6

First Print Edition: June 2015

ISBN-13: 978-1-61650-728-2

ISBN-10: 1-61650-728-4

Printed in the United States of America

To my own hero who has never given up on me. Mr. O’Reilly, you keep me pampered and well spoiled. I think we can handle another thirty years at least. After all, our child wants us to meet his grandchildren. He’s a sadist for sure. He gets that from your side of the family.

Her Foreign Affair was inspired in part by Jennifer Greene’s,
Blame It On Paris
, published by Harlequin Books. Her story was about the daughter. I kept wondering about the mother. I can only hope my story is as entertaining as hers. I have yet to find a book of hers that doesn’t make me laugh and fall in love all over again.

To my friend KM, thank you for the use of your house, both as a place to visit and as a setting in this story. I hope you get the spa installed someday. Any other redesign ideas you like, feel free to run with them. Sorry about the dead tree. I know a tree would never die in your yard, but it served a small purpose here.

To the real Randy, thanks for the use of your name, even if I did have to feminize it. We all know there’s nothing feminine about you except your great love for the ladies in your life. I’m sure your wife and daughters consider themselves lucky to have you. I’m just amazed after all that stupid high school stuff we’re still friends *mumble* years later.

I relied heavily on the Internet for details on tea, though I do like drinking tea in many flavors. Randi’s preferences might mirror my own somewhat. Then again maybe not. Some secrets are meant to be kept. Google TEA and see what you come up with. Truly a fun way to spend a rainy afternoon while sipping the perfect brew. In my mind, I have a wonderful teaware collection. Sadly, my husband looks at my overstuffed shelves and suggests collecting teapots would require a massive thinning of the books. We’re at an impasse at the moment. Maybe he’ll get a big blue teapot for Father’s Day…

As always to the critique partners who threatened to kick my rear if I didn’t finish at least one WIP, preferably this one first. You all got me moving when I was stuck and your continued devotion kept me going to the end. You all are my inspiration and my guiding stars.

Last but not least, my UK connections: Jane from New Zealand, Maya Blake from London, and Liz from Minnesota (your life-long Beatles obsession is paying big dividends all over the place). You all made the language better, as I freely admit, I was not able to travel there and do the research myself. My experience with London is limited to three days the summer I was fourteen. Any mistakes not caught by them are all my own and no disrespect to the country of England is intended. After all, a few of my very own ancestors came from there.

As always, thank you, Carlee, for your unflagging devotion to the creation of these flights of fancy.

“But it’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”

~Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

London, England

Mid-late 1980s

A soft spring breeze tugged a long curl from Randi Jean Dailey’s carefully styled up-do. She paid the cabbie his quid, stepped from the car with the help of the hotel doorman, and gave him a smile. The cabbie let out a satisfactory wolf-whistle before zipping back into London traffic.

Jean’s heart pounded with excitement. Instead of climbing on the plane to go home after her semester abroad, she’d primped and polished and put on her perfect little black dress accented with proper pearls and sexy stilettos. The ones Court had bought for her two weeks prior. The ones that made her short legs look a mile long, he said. The black shoes she’d worn to seduce him last night. The ones that had driven him so mad with lust he’d made love to her all night long.

With a long bittersweet kiss, they’d parted at noon. His promise to follow her to California as soon as he possibly could were the last words spoken between them.

She adjusted the lace shawl around her shoulders and headed into the hotel where the Lynford International Importers new hire reception was being held. As an only-just-hired summer intern, she’d received her job acceptance and invitation to the reception shortly after Court had left her studio flat. The afternoon had been spent madly running around making arrangements to stay in England another three months. To start.

But that wasn’t all the good news she had for Court. Instead of only the summer, she’d be extending her stay indefinitely. Forever. The thought made her dizzy with delight.

Upon reaching the doors to the reception hall, Jean stopped and rested a hand over her abdomen. She had one more surprise for Court. One she prayed would thrill him to his bones. One that would give him the leverage to work around his father’s manipulations. Like the song from a few years before, their future was so bright, they’d both have to wear shades. A silly grin crossed her face as she started through the wide open doors.

Soft string ensemble music drifted across the room. The event was exactly as Court had predicted. Proper Englishmen and their ladies talking quietly, mingling, as much to see as to be seen. For a week, he’d bemoaned the fact that instead of seeing her off at the airport, he had to attend this stuffy reception put on by his father’s company. Not interested in the décor, she searched the sea of bodies in semi-formal wear, looking for one particular blond head. The men wore sharp suits of worsted wool with silk ties, the women cocktail gowns in various levels of fashion and expense. The student interns and freshly graduated new hires were easy to pick out, by not only their youth, but by the less expensive clothing and the nervous smiles on their faces. Because Court’s family owned the company, she looked beyond the students and concentrated on the older attendees. The people Court had known since the day he’d been born.

One bright head stood out. Danielle Richards, the hiring contact. If not for Danielle’s call hours before, Jean would have been boarding a plane just then. Jean headed for Danielle, who certainly knew Court and could help Jean find him. She merely had to work her way through to the other side of the large ballroom.

Descending the steps into the crowd, she plowed ahead, exchanging nervous smiles with the three or four people she recognized from classes.

Among the glittering bodies, various scents perfumed the air and queasiness assaulted Jean for a moment. Something that had never bothered her before the past week. She and Court figured she had a mild touch of flu, or possibly food poisoning like she’d had right after arriving in January. The call from the student clinic this afternoon had negated that theory.

A glint of Danielle’s bright copper hair through the crowd assured Jean she was still on the right path. A few more steps and her gaze briefly met Danielle’s. Someone stepped in and cut off the line of sight before Jean could take a second look at what appeared to be mild alarm on the other woman’s face. Jean glanced behind her to see what might be happening that would cause the hiring director’s reaction. No, nothing unusual there. Jean pressed forward once again.

Like the sun prying back a thick layer of dark clouds, she saw his golden blond hair through a parting of bodies. His back to her, he stood near Danielle, part of a circle of immaculately groomed men and women, a mix of older and younger.

Finally, she eased past a knot of distinguished men and stood directly behind Court. On a deep breath, she assessed the situation. The group he stood with contained two older couples, important looking men and their society wives, all perfectly dressed and bejeweled. A younger woman with a sleek blond bob stood at Court’s left. Too close, but he came from people who knew people and had friends he’d been raised with. This could be one such. Across the small circle, Danielle was the only other person Jean recognized. A person who’d been friendly. Although the expression on Danielle’s face wasn’t exactly comforting.

Court began to speak, and Jean was able to hear him clearly, see clearly as his left arm came up to encircle the waist of the blond woman at his side, the action surprising her. If his shoulders looked a bit stiff, the movement a tad forced, she seemed to be the only one who noticed.

“Danielle, I’d like you to be among the first to know, Bea and I will be married next weekend. There isn’t time for formal invitations,”—his chuckle was forced—“we’re expecting, however, we’d love you to attend.”

The timbre was Court’s, but the tone and the words couldn’t be his. Dizziness surged in Jean’s head. She took a step back and clamped both hands over her now roiling stomach. The air had evaporated from the room and darkness framed the edges of her vision.

“Court…” Danielle said, doing her best to keep her face clear of emotion. Jean could see it, could hear the strain, as the other woman’s electric blue gaze locked on her.