Lady Be Good (19 page)

Her anger rekindled. She plunged through the water toward the side of the pool, the weight of her sodden cover-up making her movements awkward. She lost her hat as she reached the ladder, but she was on a mission now, and she didn’t care. “He’s a beautiful baby! How could you—”

“You’re an
idiot
!”

He stood in the center of the back lawn with the sun striking flash fires in his wet hair. His legs were braced, beads of water gleamed on his skin, and he looked as if he were getting ready to murder her. “That beautiful baby boy is my
brother
!”

Everything inside her went still. His brother?
Oh, my . . .
She
was
an idiot. “Kenny!”

But he was already stalking away.

She hauled herself from the water and regarded his retreating back with dismay. What had happened to her? She’d never been a person who rushed to judgment. At St. Gert’s she listened to every side of a dispute before taking action, but she hadn’t been willing to do that with him. She owed him an apology, and she could only hope he’d have the good grace to accept it.

Motivated by a combination of cowardice and dread, she showered and changed first. Then, hoping he’d had a chance to cool down, she set out to look for him only to discover that he’d left the house. Shadow was missing from the paddock, and she glimpsed a man on horseback riding away from the ranch.

Patrick came up from the darkroom and invited her to go into town with him while he shopped for groceries. She accepted the invitation, thinking she might find some sort of gift for Kenny by way of apology. But by the time they’d reached the town limits, she’d realized that no bottle of men’s cologne or expensive book would make up for the insult.

When they returned to the house, Shadow was once again in the paddock, but there was still no sign of Kenny. “He’s probably in the exercise room,” Patrick said when she asked.

“He exercises?”

“After a fashion.”

She followed Patrick’s directions to a room at the far end of the second floor. The door was partially ajar. As she pushed it open, she realized her palms were clammy, and she wiped them on her shorts.

Kenny was working out on some sort of rowing machine, or at least moving it back and forth a bit. He looked up as she walked in and scowled at her. “What do you want?”

“I want to apologize.”

“It won’t do you any good.” He slowly unfolded from the rowing machine and nudged a cordless phone out of the way with his foot.

“Kenny, I’m sorry. Really.”

He ignored her, dropping to the carpeted floor instead and beginning a set of push-ups. His form was excellent—she’d give him that—but he didn’t seem to be putting much effort into it.

“I had no right sticking my nose into something that was none of my business.”

He kept his eyes on the floor as he continued his push-ups. “That’s what you’re apologizing for? Sticking your nose into my business?”

“And slapping you.” She advanced farther into the room. “Oh, Kenny, I’m so sorry about that. I’ve never hit anyone in my life. Never!”

He said nothing, merely continued with his lazy push-ups, taking his time, just as he’d swum his laps. She thought she detected a faint whiff of male heat coming from his body, or at least male warmth, but she didn’t see any sweat.

The sight of his body in nothing but a pair of navy athletic shorts was distracting her, and she brought her attention back. “I don’t know what came over me. I got so upset, so disappointed in you. It was like some sort of temporary madness.”

He set his jaw and didn’t look up at her. “It’s not the slap I can’t forgive.”

“But—”

“Just get out of here, will you? I don’t even want to look at you right now.”

She tried to think of something she could say to make it all up, but there was nothing. “All right. Yes. I understand.” She backed toward the door, feeling ashamed and miserable. “I really am sorry.”

His push-ups grew a bit more rapid. “You’re sorry for the wrong thing, but you don’t even understand that. Now get the hell out of here! And if you want to call up Francesca and tell her I just cussed you out, you go right ahead.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” She turned toward the door, then turned back, needing to know. “If you can forgive me for hitting you, then tell me, what is it you can’t forgive?”

“I don’t believe you have to ask.” The push-ups continued. Muscles bunching without any apparent effort. Not a drop of sweat.

“Apparently I do.”

“How about the fact that a woman I consider my friend thinks I’m the type of slimeball who’d abandon his kid?”

“We only met three days ago,” she couldn’t help but point out. “I don’t really know you that well.”

He shot her a sideways look that managed to combine outrage and incredulity. “You damn well know me well enough to understand that much about me!” His breathing had picked up, but she got the feeling it was from anger, not the exercise.

“But Kenny, your stepmother is so young. She can’t even be thirty. It never occurred to me—”

“I don’t want to hear any more! I mean it, Emma, get out of here. I promised Shelby I’d bring you to the house tonight for dinner, so I’m going to do it, but believe me, I don’t want to. As far as I’m concerned, our friendship is over.”

Until that moment she hadn’t actually known they had a friendship, but now that she realized she’d lost it, she felt strangely bereft.

K
enny was scrupulously polite that evening as he drove
to his family’s home, but he didn’t tease her, try to manipulate her, or even criticize. Clearly she had offended his sense of honor. But how could she have known that honor was important to a man who, only three nights earlier, had led her to believe he was a gigolo?

As they pulled through a set of ornate gates into the Traveler estate, she wished she hadn’t agreed to accompany him tonight, but she was frustrated. She had apologized, and there was nothing more she could do.

As she focused on her surroundings, she realized his family home was actually an estate with a long drive winding through carefully landscaped grounds. A Moorish-looking structure came into view, built of rose-colored stucco with a crenellated rooftop. They drew nearer, and she saw that the house had several wings, along with arched windows and a tiled roof. An enormous mosaic fountain near the entrance made it look as if the entire place had come out of the Arabian nights instead of the Texas Hill Country.

“My mother wanted something out of the ordinary,” Kenny said politely as he parked the car. She waited for a wisecrack about sultans or harems, but he said nothing else.

As she got out the car, the evening chill penetrated the bright yellow rayon crepe dress she’d chosen to wear that evening. It was splashed with crimson poppies and had three-quarter sleeves to cover her tattoo. Beddington would have approved of her outfit, she thought glumly, but she simply couldn’t stomach the idea of offending Kenny’s family by showing up in her trendier apparel. Besides, the duke’s watchdog could hardly follow her into a private setting. Her spirits dipped lower as she realized she hadn’t done anything all day to ruin her reputation.

They walked toward carved double doors banded in hammered brass. The house was impressive and exotic, but not very homey, and she couldn’t help but compare it with Kenny’s comfortable ranch. What had it been like for him to grow up here as his mother’s little sultan and his father’s disappointment?

He held the door open for her, and she stepped into a tiled hallway that was decorated like an English country house, although not nearly as worn around the edges. In contrast to the foyer’s Moorish architecture, a highly polished Hepplewhite table held a pair of Dresden figurines while an old English landscape painting covered much of the side wall. The juxtaposition was a bit disconcerting but not unattractive.

Torie came down the stairs. She was dressed in a chartreuse tank dress with a black T-shirt. “Welcome to Marrakesh-on-Avon, Lady Emma.” She gave Kenny a swift kiss on the cheek. “Hey, bubba. The Munsters are waiting for us on the terrace. We’re dining al fresco.”

“Lucky us.”

She followed Kenny and Torie through a high-ceilinged living room decorated in eighteenth century furniture and chintz, along with an array of silver-framed photographs and hunting prints. A pair of Moorish doors with mosaic inlays opened onto a pleasantly shaded terrace paved in a herringbone pattern of pink brick edged with navy and rose tiles. Banquettes with curving arms had been built into the stucco walls and were cushioned with colorful paisley pillows. A large tiled table with a brass lantern at its center had been set for dinner. At one end of the terrace a very American-looking play yard held a dark-haired baby who grabbed the mesh sides and began squealing and pumping his legs as he saw Kenny.

“Hey, there, son!”

Emma didn’t need an introduction to identify the man who shot to his feet as Kenny’s father. He was a burlier version of his son, still handsome, but with coarser features and thick hair grizzled with gray. His too-hearty greeting and overly eager smile signaled a man who was unsure of himself. As he stepped forward to embrace his son, Emma sensed Kenny’s nearly invisible withdrawal. Although he permitted the embrace, he gave nothing back.

Emma saw right then that Kenny had not forgiven his father for the years of childhood neglect. She also sensed that his father very much wanted that forgiveness.

Kenny disengaged himself as soon as he could and headed for the play yard, where he scooped the baby into his arms. “How are you doing, little brother?”

Was it Emma’s imagination, or did he place unnecessary emphasis on that last word?

Peter let out a squeal of delight. At the same time Shelby came through the doors. She wore white leggings and an oversized lime-green V-neck cotton cardigan. She looked like Mr. Traveler’s daughter instead of his wife.

“Lady Emma, it’s such an honor having you with us this evening. I don’t know if Kenny told you, but I’m crazy about everything that has to do with England. I have a whole collection of books about Princess Di if you’d like to see them. Did anybody introduce you to my husband Warren?”

He gave her a warm smile. “Lady Emma. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Just Emma is fine. Thank you both for inviting me.”

“It’s our honor,” Shelby gushed, then gestured toward one of the banquettes. “Tell me how you’re enjoying your trip. Both Warren and I love London, don’t we, Warren? Do you live near the city?”

Emma explained that she lived several hours away by car in Warwickshire, then answered Shelby’s questions about her trip. Before long, Shelby was regaling her with stories of backpacking in England after she’d graduated from college and a research project she’d once done on D. H. Lawrence. As she spoke, Torie stood off to one side, sipping a glass of wine and watching Kenny and Peter with a deeply unhappy expression on her face. Warren, in the meantime, seemed content to sip his bourbon and let his wife do the talking.

Shelby, who looked plump, blond, and merely pretty in this family of dark-haired demigods, glared at Torie as she lit up. “Put that out. You know I don’t like it when you smoke around Peter.”

“We’re outside. I’m not even near him.”

“No, you never are, are you?” Hurt clouded Shelby’s eyes, and Emma remembered what Torie had said earlier about not being able to have a child. Had that caused the sadness that lurked just beneath her outrageousness?

“Warren, Lady Emma doesn’t have a drink,” Shelby said.

“What would you like?”

“A soft drink would be fine.”

Warren wandered over to a bar set into one end of the terrace and addressed his son in an overly hearty manner. “Kenny, what about you? I’ve got one of those sissy red wines you like.”

“I’ll get it later.” Kenny didn’t even bother to look at his father. Instead, he propped Peter on his shoulders, holding his arms to keep him steady, and took his little brother over for a closer view of a squirrel that had climbed into the branches of an olive tree.

Torie folded her fashion model’s body into one of the banquettes and crossed her legs. “So what do you think of Mother Shelby, Lady Emma?” She splayed her fingers through her dark hair and propped one elbow on a paisley pillow. “I know you’re dying of curiosity, but too polite to ask. Shelby’s twenty-seven, exactly thirty-one years younger than our daddy and a year younger than me. Doesn’t that just about turn your stomach?”

“Torie, can’t you at least wait until Petie’s in bed?” Kenny said.

She ignored him. “Daddy knocked her up about a year and a half ago, and they had to get married.”

Warren looked amused, but Shelby had stiffened. “You’ll have to excuse Torie’s rudeness, Lady Emma. She’s very threatened by my relationship with her father.”

“Revolted is more like it,” Torie snapped.

“That’s enough, girls.” Warren spoke mildly, as if he’d grown so used to their bickering that it didn’t bother him all that much. He sipped his drink and looked at Emma. “Shelby was Torie’s little sister in their college sorority. They’ve been best friends for years, although you wouldn’t know it now. They even shared an apartment between one of Torie’s marriages.”