Renegade Alpha (ALPHA 5) (17 page)

Callie’s nervousness was increasing, not diminishing, as she sensed Lijah’s own increasing tension, his fingers painful on her elbow and his expression remote as he handed over their gilt-edged invitation.

The White House staffer turned to address the room before announcing, “The Most Honorable Marquess of Stanford and Miss Caroline Morgan.”

Chapter 12

“
The Most Honorable
—”

“Don’t start, Callie,” Lijah bit out between clenched teeth. “Just say hello nicely to the president and the First Lady, and let’s move on.” He kept grimly facing forward as they approached the presidential couple.

Callie was still so dazed by the announcement of Lijah’s title—she presumed it really was his title?— she was barely aware of meeting the president and his wife. Or what Lijah said to them both before the two of them moved farther into the room, where a string quartet played softly in the background as a precursor to the night’s entertainment.

Lijah accepted two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to Callie. “Drink up,” he advised, as she couldn’t seem to stop staring at him.

Callie took a much-needed swallow of the chilled wine before even attempting to speak. “You really are a marquess?”

Lijah continued to survey the room through narrowed eyes. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“And your real name is?”

“Lord Elijah Barrington-Smythe, the Marquess of Stanford, and a couple of other titles I also never use,” he revealed with obvious reluctance. “And if you tell that to anyone outside of this room, I may just have to kill you!”

“Does that mean your father…?”

“Is a duke?” Lijah finished. “Yes.”

“And you’ll one day become a duke too?”

A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw. “When the evil old bastard dies, I’ll become the Duke of Northampton, yes.”

And Callie had thought coming to the White House was surreal.

She gave a dazed shake of her head. “I don’t understand…”

Lijah’s eyes glittered dangerously as he looked down at her. “There’s nothing to understand. You just heard my official current and future titles. I obviously choose not to use the former, and probably not the latter either when the time comes. I only resorted to using them this evening to get the two of us in here. End of story.”

Callie doubted that very much. The fact that Lijah called his father an “evil old bastard” spoke volumes. It definitely implied it was a situation between father and son that had caused the family rift she had referred to yesterday and to which Lijah had reacted so strongly.

She might be biased, but she was inclined to go along with Lijah’s opinion of his father being the one at fault.

Which didn’t change in the slightest that Lijah was actually Lord Elijah Barrington-Smythe, the Marquess of Stanford and future Duke of Northampton.

“What do I call you?”

He scowled darkly. “Bastard. Whatever. Any of the names you’ve already called me will do.”

“Lijah Smith was the best alias you could come up with?” She eyed him incredulously.

Some of his tension eased. “It satisfies most people.”

It had satisfied Callie too until a few minutes ago. Although she had doubted that Lijah Smith was his real name. As she had guessed, from the conflict of the aristocratic accent and those disreputable clothes he wore, there was something about him that didn’t add up. It added up now.

At the same time as it also posed more questions than it answered.

What could have happened between Lijah and his father to cause a rift so serious he chose to disown his own birthright?

Why did he refer to his father as “an evil old bastard”?

Where was his mother?

Did the other men working at Grayson Security know who Lijah really was?

What—

“Ah, there you are, Stanford!” a British voice greeted smoothly. “So glad you could make it. And this must be Miss Morgan?” The man smiled at her. “Would you care to make the introductions, Elijah.”

“Callie, this is Bill Bartholomew. He works at the British embassy here in Washington and is responsible for our invitation here this evening. Bill, Callie Morgan,” he made the introductions tersely.

“I’ve also been put in charge of taking care of the…situation, from last night,” Bill Bartholomew confided softly. “You have my condolences, Miss Morgan, and you may rest assured we at the embassy are available to be of assistance to you at any time.”

“Thank you.” Callie didn’t know what else to say.

“Bill and I were at school together,” Lijah supplied reluctantly.

Because Callie had been right in her surmise regarding the “old boy” network. “Eton or Harrow?” she prompted as she and the other man shook hands. “And please call me Callie.”

“Bill,” he reciprocated warmly. “Eton, of course,” he answered with a derisive glance at Lijah.
 

The two men were totally different to look at. Lijah was…well, Lijah. Bill Bartholomew was short and rotund, with warm brown eyes and a boyish grin.

Lijah certainly knew some interesting people—Lijah was an interesting person himself. And becoming more so by the minute.

“You can let go of her hand now, Bill,” Lijah told the other man dryly.

“Maybe I don’t want to.” Bill tucked Callie’s hand into the crook of his arm. “I’m taking Callie over to say hello to His Excellency Her Majesty’s Ambassador to the US. You can come with us, if you would like to,” he added to Lijah before moving away.

Lijah’s eyes narrowed as Callie glanced over her shoulder at him with an expression that clearly said
he’s your friend, do something!

What he did was drain the champagne from his glass and place it on the tray of a passing waiter before following them. He knew from experience there was no stopping Bill once he had decided on a course of action. Besides, meeting the British ambassador would divert Callie’s attention from asking Lijah any more questions about himself. For the moment, at least.

Lijah hadn’t used his title in seventeen years, and he felt uncomfortable using it now. Wouldn’t have done so if it wasn’t for the fact that Callie needed to hear Jacob Stockton speak.

Coming here as the Marquess of Stanford left him open to all sorts of complications.

No one in the army had known his real name or title except his commanding officer, who happened to be Peter Morgan.

No one at Grayson Security knew his real name or title, at all.

But his father had enough connections to hear of his only son’s appearance at the White House tonight. Maybe not immediately, but he had no doubt his father would hear of it eventually.

The last time he’d seen his father, Lijah had punched him in the face and broken his nose, afterward telling him he never wanted to set eyes on him ever again, before walking out and never going back.

Elijah Barrington-Smythe had died that night and been resurrected as Lijah Smith. He would have preferred it remain that way.

Even so, he hadn’t hesitated in putting all that on the line for Peter. He owed the other man, more than he had ever been able to express in words. Peter had shown him there were decent men—and fathers—in the world, and that his own father wasn’t the norm.

And Callie? What did he owe Callie?

He didn’t owe her anything. Callie didn’t deserve any of the shit she had been through the past six months. Hell, most women—and a lot of men—would be cowering in a corner singing lullabies to themselves and denying any of it had ever happened. It had taken Callie a while to come round, but she had finally stood tall and decided enough was enough.

Only to be devastated by having her father die in her arms because of that decision.

She was here with him tonight because of that decision.

She had been surprised and then accepting of the announcement of his title because of that decision.

She was currently talking warmly with the British ambassador because she had made that decision.

And Lijah had just seen their quarry enter the room with his wife, son, and daughter-in-law.

Callie turned to smile at Lijah as he finally joined them, that smile turning to a look of concern as she saw beyond the politeness of his smile to the hard glitter of his eyes above. Something—or someone?—had him on edge.

Her breath caught in her throat as she glanced across the room and saw that Jacob Stockton and his family were now being greeted by the presidential couple.

The senator looked so…normal. So much like he did on television, a silver-haired and handsome man in his sixties, who was relaxed and happy in his own skin and with his life.

Lijah leaned close, as if he was brushing his lips against her cheek. “Even Sweeney Todd was pleasant to his victims before slitting their throats,” he reminded her.

Callie gave a brief nod before turning back to the other two men. “We really shouldn’t monopolize your attention,” she excused. “So lovely to have met you both,” she added as she and Lijah moved farther into the crowded room, Lijah’s hand once again beneath her elbow as she began to shake in reaction to seeing Jacob Stockton again.

He had been dressed very much the same that evening at the gallery as he was tonight, in formal evening clothes, silver hair brushed back from his tanned face, his smile relaxed and confident at the same time.

Could he really be a killer behind that outward warmth and charm?

That was what she and Lijah were here tonight to find out.

“Handsome bunch, aren’t they,” Lijah drawled as he looked across the room.

Callie turned her back on the Stockton family, in an effort to regain some of her lost composure, and also to ensure Jacob Stockton didn’t see
her
. “Looks can be deceptive.”

Lijah quirked one dark brow. “Is that another dig at me?”

She gave a rueful smile. “You most of all.”

“It’s just a title.”

It wasn’t, and they both knew it wasn’t. Just as they both knew now wasn’t the time to discuss it further. Later on tonight was a different matter, however.

He shrugged. “A title is useful for booking airline tickets and tables in exclusive restaurants—and as I rarely travel commercial or eat in exclusive restaurants, it’s totally superfluous.”

“You forgot to mention it’s also good for receiving invitations to the White House.”

“Smart ass.”

Callie eyed him speculatively. “Did you grow up in a castle?”

Lijah’s eyes narrowed with irritation. “What the hell difference does it make where I grew up?”

“You did,” she realized, slightly dazed by the difference in their upbringing. She was an army brat, brought up on army bases all her life, and Lijah had grown up living in a
castle
.
 

“The president and First Lady are moving to sit down now.” Lijah took a light grasp of her arm. “I suggest we do the same.”

End of subject, Callie guessed from his closed expression. There was most definitely a story there. One that Lijah was reluctant to talk about.

Lijah Smith was at least ten years older than her, not just in years but in experience, and now it turned out he was also titled and way out of her social bracket too.

So what had last night been to him?

The fact that he had been gone from her bed when she woke up this morning was probably answer enough to that question.

The next hour and a half was excruciating for Callie. Much as she might wish she could just relax and enjoy the music, she was far too aware of Jacob Stockton sitting a short distance away, next to the president and his wife, to be able to relax enough to enjoy anything.

It helped that Lijah had reached out and taken her hand in his within the first five minutes of them taking their seats, and that he had continued to hold on to it until the last of the music died away, and they both automatically joined in the applause for the talented musicians. Although Callie very much doubted that either of them had really heard much of the recital. Lijah seemed almost as tense as she was.

“Just a little longer, so that you can hear Stockton talk,” Lijah spoke softly as they stood up to move with the other guests through to the adjoining room, where the food and refreshments were being served. “Then we can leave.” He continued to hold Callie’s hand.

“Good God, it really is you, Elijah!”

Lijah closed his eyes briefly before turning to face the woman who had just spoken to him. Or rather, who had just spoken to Lord Elijah Barrington-Smythe, the Marquess of Stanford. Because the middle-aged and bejeweled woman bearing down on the two of them, with all the force of an ocean liner, wouldn’t have given the disreputable Lijah Smith the time of day.

“Aunt Katherine,” he greeted stiffly.

Narrowed brown eyes swept over him critically. “I hardly recognized you with all that hair!”

How to be made to feel ten years old again.

His father was definitely going to hear of Lijah’s presence at the White House this evening, and sooner rather than later. His Aunt Katherine would be on the phone to her sister, Lijah’s mother, the moment she was out of here and able to turn on her cell phone.