The Duke Takes a Bride (Entitled Book 2) (15 page)

T
rue to his word
, Julian let her twiddle her thumbs on the proposal. In the morning, while she worked on her picture book, she tried to enumerate all the things that made it a very bad idea to marry someone who didn’t love you. Reason number one on top of the list obviously was −
He doesn’t love you
. She stopped at reason number two −
I love him
.

But at night, when he took her out to dinner or to an art exhibit and he made her feel like she was the only woman in the world for him, her fears vanished. Or sometimes when he came home late at night looking tired, with that delicious scruff on his jaw, he would stop by her room and look at her sketches. She’d prepare him a sandwich, as often he never bothered with dinner, and they’d chat in the kitchen companionably. There was always that moment, when it was time for them to go to bed, that they’d both stare at each other, the air simmering with pent-up need. But it was always Julian who’d pull back. No marriage, no sex.

Imogen would trudge to her own room, burning with sexual frustration. She’d flop on the bed, toss and turn, and will for sleep to come. Her last thoughts before she drifted off was that maybe, just maybe, Julian could fall in love with her.

I
mogen called
her aunt to let her know she was going to be delayed again, giving some excuse about a freelance job that came her way. She felt horrible for leaving her dangling in the air. She was a sweet lady and her only relative in the States – her mum’s sister – who had married an American. She was a widow now. To ease her guilt, Imogen decided to give herself an ultimatum. She would decide in two weeks’ time. Maybe at the end of those two weeks, Julian could be on his way to falling in love with her.

Maggie came by the penthouse one morning when Julian was in the office. She came bearing gifts – a calligraphy set with a beautiful
chop
made of jade with a carved dragon on top. “You’ll be able to stamp your name in Chinese.”

Imogen examined the stone seal. The light green color reminded her of Julian’s eyes. “Thanks.”

Maggie shifted on one combat shoe shod foot awkwardly. She stood by the main door’s threshold, hanging back, as if uncertain of her welcome.

Imogen rolled her eyes. “You can come in, you know.”

Maggie tucked a lock of hair that escaped her ponytail behind an ear. “I just wanted to drop it off. I forgot to give it to you the last time and—”

Imogen grasped her wrist then yanked her through the doorway and into the foyer. Maggie wrapped her arms around her shoulders and hugged her tight.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Imogen couldn’t see her face but heard the remorse in her voice. “I should’ve kept my bloody mouth shut. It’s really none of my business.”

“Did Julian tell you to apologize?”

Maggie reared back, offended. “Of course not! I’ve been ignoring his calls.”

“Maggie!”

“Alright, alright,” she huffed. “He probably just wanted to chew me out about last time and order me to say sorry to you.”

“So you just beat him to it and hoped it would rile him up,” Imogen said archly.

Maggie grinned sheepishly. “Maybe.”

Imogen shook her head helplessly, but she couldn’t prevent a smile from escaping her lips.

“Am I forgiven?”

“What do you think?”

“I know you can’t stay mad at me forever.”

“If you go crazy about me and Julian again, I could always tell you about your brother’s superb skills in the bedroom—”

“Oh, God!” Maggie clapped her hands to her ears. “I swear I will not recover.”

Imogen had a good laugh at her best friend’s expense.

M
aggie had
several days free before she left for another dig. She would often swing by the penthouse and drag Imogen to the movies or a new quirky restaurant. Sometimes they would spend time in Maggie’s apartment, bingeing on junk food and beer. Maggie had indeed kept her mouth shut about her relationship with Julian, whether it was due to her threat of revealing her brother’s prowess in the bedroom, or because she didn’t want to cause another rift between them, she wasn’t sure.

Until that night all three of them went to an art museum.

“What do you think?” Julian asked her, stopping in front of a portrait of a high born lady from the 17
^th
century.

Imogen studied the canvass consideringly. “I like it, but this painter’s strokes are not as firm, broad, and long as your Reynolds.”

Maggie frowned, unsure whether she had made an innuendo.

Imogen held her breath. Would Julian remember? He regarded her steadily for a few seconds. His lips twitched, and then he started laughing so hard people started staring. Imogen grinned broadly. She glanced at Maggie, who was looking at them as if they had gone crazy.

“I didn’t get it before,” Maggie said slowly, as if trying to slot a mental puzzle together, her eyes shifting to Imogen then to her brother, who was still laughing, and back again, “but now I think I do.”

Imogen had a feeling Maggie wasn’t referring to the inside joke but something else entirely. It made her feel…hopeful.

I
mogen and Maggie
left for Las Vegas for the Gallagher Cup on the weekend. It was a polo tournament established by a turn-of-the-century American magnate whose descendants included the current royals of the House of Ligueria. Julian had gone ahead to practice with his polo team.

Imogen kept her eyes trained on player number two. He was wearing the black jersey of the team Black Cavaliers and was now streaking across the vast field of the Las Vegas Polo Club. She pushed her sunglasses up on her head anxiously to get a better view from her front and center location inside the VIP tent.

“It doesn’t get easier,” a lilting voice with a hint of foreign accent drew her gaze reluctantly away from the game. She encountered friendly hazel eyes and a wide, smiling mouth, “But you get used to it.”

Imogen felt silly being caught acting like a nervous ninny, and by Julian’s former betrothed, no less. Maggie had gone off to the ladies’ room and the vacant seat between her and Princess Alexandria of Seirenada necessitated small talk. They had been introduced before the game, but a gaggle of well-dressed socialites had quickly surrounded the princess and her brother, Prince Stefan, effectively sealing them off.

“All that horsepower and eight men scrambling over a tiny ball? I just don’t get it,” she blurted before remembering that the princess was engaged to a professional polo player, the highest ranked in the world, and who was in fact captain of Julian’s team. Somebody please hit her with a polo mallet on the head right now!

Instead of taking offense, the princess actually laughed. The Prince, who was seated beside her, glanced their way to discover what his sister had found so amusing. He flicked fathomless grey eyes at Imogen for a second then turned his attention back to the field. “If you’re with someone as horse mad as my fiance, you will, eventually.”

The princess was one of those people who looked better than their photos. She was lovelier in fact. And very engaging in a subdued, regal way. Her brother, on the other hand, had hardly spoken a word once the game had started except to the woman on his other side. She was dressed in a smart suit and appeared to be a personal assistant of some sort.

Maggie came stomping back into the tent, her expression filled with glee. She had someone in tow. Someone tall, dark, and familiar. “Genie, guess who I found?”

Necks craned at Maggie’s announcement. Conversations died to check out the latest arrival. A few hushed whispers of recognition flitted in the air, impressive since it took some notoriety to make an impression on this A-list, jaded crowd.

Imogen went cold. “Gray?”

It had been ten years since she had last seen him. But her body reacted as if it was just yesterday that he had threatened to expose her adolescent secret. Her heart rate sped up and her breathing grew shallow, preparing to flee from perceived danger. She knew she would have to eventually cross paths with Gray. After all, there would be no avoiding him if she married Julian. It was just she rather preferred it not to be right now.

“Hello, Imogen.” There was a brief flare of surprise in the deep blue eyes that was quickly extinguished. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

The voice had deepened, but the taunting inflection was the same. Gray had always been a handsome boy, but time had sculpted the angle and planes of his face into stark relief. His beauty now bordered on the otherworldly. Even the crescent-shaped scar on his cheek did nothing to detract from his devastating attractiveness. He bent down and planted a kiss on her cheek. She barely stopped herself from cringing visibly. He stiffened but recovered.

“I can’t say the same, though.” She wouldn’t be cowed. She was not the same pathetic little girl he could torture at his pleasure. “I see your face everywhere.” Her tone was light but drizzled with a thin layer of contempt. He looked taken aback, but then his eyes narrowed and that cruelly shaped lips that had twisted into a sneer countless of times thinned.

Offense was the best defense. Game on.

“Absolutely sickening.” Maggie slid into the chair she had abandoned earlier, oblivious to the undercurrents. Why would she be? Gray had been careful to hide his merciless teasing from her. “I can’t open a magazine without his ugly mug staring right back at me.”

“Well this ‘ugly mug’ is the thing that puts food on my table.” He dropped on a chair beside Imogen and crossed his legs elegantly.

Maggie snorted. “I don’t see you shunning your allowance from dear brother.”

He inspected his nails, which Imogen noted were painted blue. “Those are for other necessities.”

Another snort came from Imogen’s right side. “Is that a euphemism for booze and drugs?”

Gray lifted his head a fraction and shot his sister an insolent stare.

“Oh my God! You have nail polish?” Maggie reached across her and grabbed Gray’s hand. Imogen shrank back against the chair to prevent her chest from touching his arm inadvertently.

“It’s for an ad campaign,” he replied in a bored voice. Maggie released his hand and he pulled back. He slid a sly glance towards her. “What do you think, Genie? Matches my eyes, right?”

Clever ruse. Now she was forced to meet his sardonic gaze. Unflinchingly. “Like it was made for you,” she said sweetly. She wanted to find out what he was doing in the tournament. “Fancy bumping into you here.”

“I found him by the Black Cavaliers tent. Lurking. He’s one of the subs. Why aren’t you in the team’s uniform?” Maggie demanded, eyeing her brother’s skinny white trousers and plain blue shirt disapprovingly.

A careless shrug. “What’s the point? He never lets me play.”

No guessing who the
he
Gray
meant.

“Maybe if you actually practiced with the team…” Maggie trailed off sarcastically.

“I’m just here for the after party,” he lifted the champagne glass he had been holding in a mock salute towards Imogen, “and the pussy.”

He meant to shock her. She pulled her lips in a God-you’re-so-pathetic smile.

“Don’t be crude.” Maggie let out an aggrieved sigh and plucked the champagne glass from Gray. “If Julian sees you guzzling alcohol like there’s no tomorrow, he’ll go ballistic. The chances of you actually getting on a pony and onto that field will go from small to nil.”

“Do I look like I care?” The words were flippant. Too flippant

The half time bell rang. The VIP crowd stood laughing and chatting and made their way to the polo field for the traditional divot stomping. A minority of the VIP crowd hung back, reluctant to let their designer shoes be muddied. Small talk freely floated as well as champagne and hors d’oeuvres served by uniformed waiters.

Charm was a Walkden genetic trait, and Gray had Princess Lexie laughing softly in a matter of minutes. The Prince was another matter. He just nodded his head curtly several times. Imogen studied the Prince surreptitiously. It would be nice to be on friendly terms with him, knowing he and Julian were good friends, but he looked so austere and intimidating.

Maggie caught her watching the Prince. “Father was called several times by the Head Teacher of the boarding school Julian went to.”

Imogen averted her gaze when Prince Stefan glanced her way. “How come?”

“Julian used to get into fights with the boys who bullied the Prince,” Maggie said in a low whisper.

“Why was he bullied?”

Maggie shrugged. “Julian never told Father why.”

Imogen sneaked a glance at the monarch once more, realizing he was actually handsome, if not for his severe expression. Her eyes clashed with Gray, who was chatting with the Prince, and she hurriedly glanced away.

Soon the second half of the tournament resumed. People drifted back to their seats. Unfortunately, her adolescent tormentor had resumed his seat beside her. Imogen turned her back to him and chatted with Maggie and the Princess. The crowd’s collective, horrified gasp drew their attention to the field where a player in a black shirt lay sprawled on the ground. He wasn’t moving.

Imogen bolted from her seat. Beside her, Maggie had also risen, training her binoculars on the injured player. “Is it Julian?” she cried, heart in her throat.

“I can’t make out his face.”

Imogen registered the controlled panic behind Maggie’s apparent calm. The announcer’s voice rang over the field. She couldn’t process what he was saying, the ferocious pounding of her heart drowning out his words.

Oh God! Please let Julian be alright.
In that moment of sheer terror, everything was reduced to a singular truth. She would have Julian any which way she could. She had wasted days trying to make him fall in love with her when the pathetic truth was she’d take anything he was capable of giving her. She loved him and that was all that should have mattered.

She moved to walk out of the tent and to Julian but a hand clamped on her arm, restraining her. “Let go of me!” She shook the hand off violently. She had to go reach Julian. He was still not moving.

“I said let go of me!” she cried wildly when Gray grabbed both her arms this time and shook her forcefully.

“Imogen, goddamn it! Get a grip! It’s not Julian!” Gray’s urgent voice penetrated her thick wall of panic.

“It’s Diego, Nic’s cousin.” Princess Alexandria’s eyes were fixed on the field where the stretcher bearing the fallen player was now being loaded into the ambulance. A cheer went up the hushed crowd when the injured player lifted his hand weakly and waved.

“I hope he’s going to be alright,” Maggie said in a subdued tone.

Imogen’s knees went suddenly weak. She flung off Gray’s arms violently, forcing him to release her. She glimpsed the turbulence in the depth of his blue eyes and something else she couldn’t identify before it was gone, to be replaced by his usual insolence. He leaned in. “Nothing has changed, I see. Still pining for someone you’ll never have,” he whispered mockingly.

“Why do you have to be such a prick?” she countered in a low hiss.

He seemed stunned by her counterattack. The sneer left his face. Tendrils of perverse satisfaction slithered up Imogen’s spine but changed into unease as Gray stared at her. And stared.

Maggie’s voice broke their standoff. “Get your arse out there, Gray. They need a replacement,”

Imogen glanced around self-consciously, but everyone’s attention still remained resolutely on the field. Then she saw it. An eagerness in Gray’s eyes that she hadn’t seen in a very long time, right before he turned on her without warning that summer. They heard the announcer call in the substitute player for the Black Cavaliers team. It wasn’t Walkden.

His lids lowered to shutter his eyes. “Story of my life,” he drawled, addressing Maggie as if it didn’t matter one way or the other. But Imogen knew. Her eyes trailed him as he made his way to one of the side exits of the tent. He snagged a champagne glass from a circulating waiter, downed the pale, golden liquid in one gulp, and deposited the crystal back on the tray where it came. He chucked the chin of the pretty waitress who was looking at him, mouth agape, and strode out of the tent without a backward glance.