Lost in Love (17 page)

He held his hand out. “You must be one of the Summerhill sisters.”

She arched her brow but shook his hand. “No, I’m the mother.”

“Then you must have access to the fountain of youth.”

Her expression chilled. “If you think charming me will grant you access to Imogen, you should think again.”

“I’m here to see Portia,” he explained before she could slam the door in his face.

“Portia?” She blinked as though surprised. “You’re American, aren’t you?”

He pushed back his cowboy hat and laid on the drawl. “Why, yes, ma’am, I sure am.”

“Amazing,” she murmured as she let him in. “How do you know Portia?”

“She’s doing work for my company.”

“You’re with Parliament Auction House?” she asked, her skepticism obvious.

“No, with Waite Hotel Group. I’m Jackson Waite, Mrs. Summerhill.”

“Amazing,” she murmured again, staring at him. Then as if she remembered herself, she said, “Please call me Jacqueline. Come this way.”

She led him down a wide hallway with marble flooring and gold all over the place. At first, it looked posh and expensive, but looking closer he could see age had faded the splendor. He liked the house and its lady more for that. “This is some place,” he drawled as he obediently followed. “Like that show my mama likes to watch,
Downton Abbey
. Dad watches, too, but he’d never admit it.”

“Are your parents in the States?” she asked with the same politeness Portia showed to people she wasn’t comfortable with.

“They live there, yes, ma’am, but they’re here visiting.” He checked his watch. “Right now they’re enjoying a happy hour pint or two.”

“You should bring them by for tea,” Jacqueline suggested in the same innocent voice his mother had used on him.

Before he could say anything, a plump, gray-haired lady headed toward them, her bright gaze eating him up.

“Franny,” Jacqueline said, “this young man is here for Portia. Perhaps you can locate her?”

“Portia?” Franny’s gaze roamed over him again, this time with even more curiosity. “Is that hat real?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He held it out to her. “Would you like to take it for a spin?”

He’d expected her to turn him down, but he loved her for taking it from him and perching it right on her head. She faced Jacqueline. “What do you think, Lady Jacs? Is it me?”

“Franny, you’re the sort of woman of the world who could pull anything off.” She smiled and then gestured to a room. “We’ll wait for Portia in the orangery.”

Jackson had no idea what the hell an orangery was, but he was happy Portia’s mom wasn’t kicking him out. He rolled his shoulders and prepared to be as damn charming as he needed to be.

Franny winked at him. “I’ll bring tea,” she said as she waddled off, his hat still on her head.

“Franny was the girls’ nanny,” Jacqueline explained. “She runs the household now. She’s in charge, no matter how deferential she may try to act.”

“She belongs here,” he said, understanding.

“She’s family.” Jacqueline smiled in approval. She gestured to a large chair. “Please, sit.”

“Is this when the interrogation begins?” he asked with a grin as he took a seat.

She shrugged elegantly. “Was I so obvious?”

“All mothers have the right to interrogate.” He shuddered to think of what his mother would put the duchess through.

“I’m sure my daughters would say I lost my privileges along the way.” Her mouth turned down, and she worried her ring finger the way Portia did her necklace, only she wasn’t wearing a ring. “Can I be frank?”

“Please.” He sat forward, his curiosity piqued.

“I think I failed Portia more than the other girls. She was always after her father’s approval, more than any of her sisters ever sought it. He used that, and I couldn’t get her away from him.” She shook her head. “When he died, it was hardest on her.”

“And you.”

She arched her brow. “He’d cheated on me for thirty years with another woman. It wasn’t the least bit hard on me.”

He smiled. “I like you.”

“And I like you, which is why I’m going to say this.” She leaned forward, her eyes pinning him in place. “Portia is an untapped well. She has endless possibilities, and she’s capable of moving earth. She just needs to see that in herself.”

He shook his head. “What are you saying?”

“She needs someone to nurture her passions, not someone who’ll put a dam around her and keep her as stifled as she’s been.”

“That will be me,” he said, unwavering from her gaze.

She studied him, searching. She must have found what she was looking for, because she suddenly smiled, a beautiful wide smile that lit her whole being. “Then we’re on the same page.”

“We can spit and shake on it if that’d make you feel better.”

She laughed, a refined bell-like sound that seemed rusty.

“What’s going on here?” Portia said from the doorway.

Her mother stood regally. “Your young man and I were getting to know each other.”

“Really.” His duchess frowned between him and her mother.

Jacqueline walked up to her, her hand outstretched as though she wanted to take Portia’s hand. But at the last minute she didn’t, as if she thought better of it. “Enjoy your visit,” she said, cool again.

Only Jackson could see the pinch of hurt around her eyes. He glanced at Portia, who also looked like she wanted to reach out and couldn’t, and he wondered if this wasn’t one of the dams Jacqueline was talking about.

Chapter Twenty-two

Portia almost reached out to stop her mother from leaving the orangery.

Almost. At the last minute, she couldn’t do it.

She wanted to tell herself that it was because she was so shocked to see Jackson sitting there laughing with Jacqueline. Franny had told her someone was there to see her, but she hadn’t imagined it was him.

Only who else would it have been? She didn’t have any other friends—not really. She’d thought Meredith was a friend, but a friend would say that she had been engaged to the man you were seeing, wouldn’t she?

She was pathetic, as evidenced by the fact that she couldn’t even express herself to her mother. Because, quite frankly, when she saw Jacqueline looking so animated and joyful sitting with Jackson, Portia had actually felt jealous.

She was beyond pathetic, really.

Jackson stood tall. “Portia—”

“No.” She shook her head, wagging her finger at him. “Don’t look at me direct like that, as though you have nothing to hide when I know you do.”

He frowned. “What do I have to hide?”

“
That’s
the tact you’re taking?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He stepped forward. “I came because I was worried about you and your family. You’ve been preoccupied. I came to see how I could help.”

She hugged herself, feeling the chill that had settled in her chest begin to melt. But then she reminded herself about Meredith, and she wanted to cry all over again.

“The thing that’s wrong here is between you and me,” he said, sounding amazed by the realization. He walked up to her and took her arms, bending his knees to look in her eyes. “What happened?”

She shook her head. She wanted to walk away and hide in a dark corner.

“No,” she said, startling herself. If Catherine were in her shoes, she’d have demanded that Jackson leave the other woman and make sweet love to her. So Portia lifted her head and looked him dead-on. “I will not share you with Meredith. It’s me or her.”

“Okay, it’s you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m serious, Jackson. I won’t play second fiddle to another woman, no matter how much I like her.”

“There’s only one fiddle in my life, duchess, and she’s British-made and high-maintenance.” He frowned at her. “Why are you bringing up Meredith? Did she say something to you?”

“I overheard you and your father.”

Jackson’s expression was blank for a moment and then he muttered a curse as he raked a hand through his hair. “I’d kill that meddling, old man, but he’d probably just come back to haunt me.”

Portia frowned. “What are you saying? That you weren’t engaged to Meredith?”

“We were engaged, but Meredith called it off almost a year ago.” Jackson cradled her face, leaning down so he was nose to nose with her. “It was one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made, agreeing to marry Meredith. I love her; she’s great, but she’s like a sister. There was never any passion between us. I don’t think I’d have gotten engaged to her if my father hadn’t been sick. He loves Meredith.”

“Meredith is lovely,” she had to agree.

Jackson lifted her face. “The thing is, Portia, I felt more for you before I even knew who you were.”

“Before you knew I was Portia Summerhill?”

“No, before I knew
you
. Before I knew you have a thing for old, dusty things and pearls.” He traced a line along her collarbone, just under her necklace. “Before I knew you were passionate and spirited and just as beautiful inside as you are outside.”

She put her hand over his. “That’s how you see me?”

“Duchess, that’s how you are.” He kissed her.

The tension from the last couple days faded the moment his lips touched hers. Bea would have sent her private investigator to verify his story, but Portia didn’t need that. Her heart told her he was telling her the truth.

As if he read her mind, he whispered against her mouth, “I’m pretty hooked on you, Portia. I can’t imagine wanting another woman the way I want you.”

“Despite what your father wants?”

Jackson’s face clouded. “I can’t live my life for him.”

“I didn’t say that,” she replied cautiously.

“No, you didn’t.” His expression didn’t lighten, and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Jackson—”

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head, smiling and gathering her close again. “I missed you, duchess.”

Something was unresolved here, something that had to do with him and his father. But before she could ask, he distracted her by lowering his lips to her neck to bite that spot that made her shiver. “Have you ever snuck a boy to your room, sugar?”

She gasped at the thought. “No.”

He flashed his devilish grin. “Want to?”

She did—not just any boy but him, because he made her feel so alive. She threw her arms around him, squeezing him tight. “I—”

He kissed her again, inhaling her love instead of letting her say it out loud.

It was okay—she’d tell him later. For now, she took his hand. “Don’t step on the fourth stair. It creaks.”

“You take the lead, duchess.”

She glanced over her shoulder as she led him out of the orangery. “Really?”

He chuckled, low and sexy. “I love your naughty mind, sugar.”

“Then we’re even.” Although she pretty much loved everything about him.

Chapter Twenty-three

Quinn was back. He’d called her to remind her about their date.

Dinner in his suite
.

Meredith pressed a hand to her stomach as she waited for her tub to fill. She wasn’t sure if she felt excitement or nerves. Hence the bath, to calm herself. She even brought a glass of wine with her to relax.

Slipping out of her robe, she hung it on a hook and started to get into the hot water. As she eased in, she looked up and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

Of her scar.

She froze, staring at it. Logically, she knew it wasn’t bad, and it could have been from anything. But her feelings weren’t rational, her therapist had told her.

She felt like Frankenstein.

She didn’t want Quinn to see it. She touched the raised skin. She didn’t want him to look at her like she was a broken, pathetic thing. She wanted him to be with her because it was a joy, not out of obligation or pity.

Maybe she could hide it. Or she’d make sure the light was low.

Would they even have sex tonight? She’d assumed that they would, but with Quinn you never knew. She wanted it so badly.

Get in the tub, she told herself. She picked up her wine glass, eased the rest of the way in, and tried to shut down her thoughts.

Quinn called her an hour later as she debated what to wear. “Are you ready?” he asked.

She really wasn’t. “Yes.”

“Come up. It’s time to take care of another item on your list.”

She shivered, feeling the caress of his words like they were his hands on her skin. “Be right there.”

If she had guts, she’d have gone up wearing a coat without a thing underneath it. But she wasn’t bold enough to greet him naked. Instead, she armored up with layers like she was getting ready for battle: underwear, a wrap dress, a sweater, and a coat, which was ridiculous since she wasn’t going outside.

The door to his suite was open when she arrived. She peeked inside and called out. “Can I come in?”

“Please,” came his voice from inside.

She walked in, finding him in the living room opening a bottle of wine. He had soft jazz playing and candles lit. He looked her over, thorough and possessive as he twisted the corkscrew.

Thank goodness for the low light. Meredith eased out of her coat, draping it on a chair. She wanted to say something, but she couldn’t think of anything beyond,
This is a nice room
, so she stayed quiet.

Quinn poured two glasses of wine and then stalked toward her. Her breath caught as he approached, and her hand was so shaky that she was afraid she’d spill the wine he handed her.

He slipped his free hand into her hair and tipped her head to kiss her. “I missed you, Meredith,” he said against her lips.

She nodded, her breath stolen.

“Come sit with me.” Taking her hand, he led her to the couch and sat with her. “You can drink your wine and I can try to make you feel less nervous.”

She smiled as she sipped. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.” He took her hand and held it secure and warm in his. “I won’t hurt you, Meredith.”

“I know.” She
did
know that, and verbalizing it made her feel a little more relaxed. “I think I’m nervous because I feel like there’s a lot riding on this.”

“There is.” He smoothed her hair back. “But there’s no rush. We don’t have to do anything other than cross off the next item on your list.”