Chapter Nineteen
B
lake wasn't prone to motion sickness, but the drive from the airport to Oakley Manor made him carsick. That, or he didn't want to admit he was dreading going home. Well, not so much home itself, as butting heads with the old crone. He'd be glad to see his brother, to tell him face to face how sorry he was for his loss, and to let him know he'd no intention of trying to claim the family fortune.
Sarah would leave Colin, of that Blake was certain. She'd married him for power and money. Rhonda had said his family would think she was after his money. What she didn't realize was they had no problem with it where Colin was concerned. Even though his brother's circumstances were special, why shouldn't Colin have been given a fair shot at love?
As they drove the last few miles, his thoughts went to Rhonda and how Krupin had referred to her as
his
woman. He hated the bastard, but he'd gotten it right. Sorrentino had tried to take her from him. And to keep her safe, Blake would strike a deal with the devil.
He watched as she took in the countryside, smiling from ear to ear. As much as he cared for her, he couldn't allow his own wants and needs to get ahead of Colin's. If there was any chance, any chance at all that a new doctor could give them a child and Sarah would be appeased, then Blake had to wait to find his own ever after.
He squeezed Rhonda's hand just to have her turn and look at him.
“I've never seen anything so beautiful,” she said, her eyes all aglitter. “It's so big. I never thought of myself as a nature girl, seeing as the only green thing in Vegas are palm trees, but this, this is breathtaking.” She returned to gawking out the window.
“Aye, lass,” he said in his heaviest brogue. “'Tis God's country, as my grandfather used to say.”
“I think he got it right,” she said, still grinning like someone had handed her the best Christmas gift ever.
It did a number on his heart to think of the childhood she'd had, of the things she'd gone without. It wasn't fair and he promised to rectify that. He didn't like to think about how rich he was. As a rebellious youth, he'd squandered enough to feed a small country. Then he'd left home and found a purpose.
“Holy shit,” Rhonda squealed, as a silver Bentley drove past them. “I guess we're not in Kansas anymore?”
He didn't bother to tell her it was his grandmother's chauffeur and secretary, most likely sent on some errand too beneath her to do herself. “If you tap your heels three times maybe we can go home.” He was serious.
“Wow, you're more nervous than I am.”
“I'm not nervous, so much as I am
dreading
the whole thing. I haven't been to the manor in a while and hoped to only return for my grandmother's funeral.”
“You don't mean that,” she scolded.
“I don't want to see the old woman dead, but yes I do mean it.” And the more he stayed away, the better for him not to wrap his hands around Sarah's neck.
“And you're dragging
me
here,” she said. “Nice. What'd I ever do to you?”
If only he could tell her what she'd done to him. If she were growing half as attached to him as he was to her, he'd have to let her go sooner rather than later. Before he broke her heart. His own might never survive without her. He was growing to love her, if he didn't already. He held her face and kissed her, not caring that the driver would see. Then knowing they were near, he snuggled her closer and covered her eyes with his hands.
“Don't look yet.”
“Are we close?”
“Yes,” he whispered into her ear. “Every time I'm with you, I'm close.”
She shivered and he smiled to himself.
He waited for the car to turn the bend and removed his hands. If she'd been impressed before, she was dumbstruck now. There in the distance, sitting on two thousand acres of land, stood his ancestral home, Oakley Manor. Even to him, the effect was breathtaking. And he was raised here, the woods surrounding the stately Georgian house his playground, its gardens, the place he'd first kissed a girl. Once the seat of a powerful duke, Oakley Manor had its place in history.
Rhonda practically jumped up and down in her seat. “Would it be rude to roll down the window and stick my head out?” She giggled. “It's beautiful. I can't believe you grew up here.”
Blake caught the driver's flustered expression in the rearview mirror as he suddenly realized who his passenger was. Embarrassed, Blake half-smiled. This was one of the reasons he'd moved across the ocean.
“I'm sorry, My Lord. I dinna recognize you.”
“It's all right. And please, drop the formalities.” It's why he'd hired a cab instead of sending for a driver. “It isn't necessary.”
“Her Grace would have my head if she found out I wasn't addressing you by your proper title. My wife works at Oakley Manor as a prep cook.”
“I won't tell my grandmother if you don't.”
“However it pleases you, sir.”
The cab driver was a perfect example of his grandmother's tyranny.
He turned and saw Rhonda grinning, a smartass comment just waiting for his attention. “Go ahead, say it.”
“Say what?”
“Whatever dig you have on those beautiful lips.”
“Me? A dig? Never.” She returned her attention to the scenery. “Your Lordship.”
He let it slide with only one poke to her ribs. If the cab driver liked to gossip, and most of the townspeople enjoyed talking about his family, it would get back to his grandmother that he'd been acting in a manner unbecoming to the family name. And he'd never hear the end of it. He'd lordship her once they were alone, and she was beneath him, legs curled around his hips.
When they arrived, two uniformed, white-gloved and stiff footmen were there to greet him. Bloody hell, this was going to be a nightmare.
Rhonda looked at the two of them, then at him. She pressed her lips together, thankfully refraining from laughing just as his mother came out of the front door.
“Blake,” she said, her arms open for a hug.
“Mother.” He embraced her, her spicy perfume reminding him of his childhood, of stolen late-night kisses his grandmother would have considered coddling.
She eyed his arm and frowned. “I'm so glad you're home. What happened? You're hurt.”
“Flesh wound, nothing to concern yourself with.” He'd made sure to wear long sleeves, but nothing could cover the bandages on his hand and wrist.
“That's a lot of gauze and tape for a flesh wound.”
As he'd expected, she wasn't buying it. “I didn't say it was
a
flesh wound. Now, leave it alone. I'm healing and that's all that counts.”
“Obstinate as ever. But I'm glad you're here, darling. It's been a long time since last you visited.”
“You left me no choice, but,” he warned, “this means nothing. I'm not here to do your bidding.”
“No?” She glanced around him, a knowing smile on her perfectly painted red lips. “And who is this?” Without waiting for his reply, she walked over to Rhonda and held out a hand.
Rhonda stopped adjusting her purse and shook hands with his mother.
“Mother, this is Rhonda. We're business acquaintances. We were together when you called and seeing as how Rhonda has never been in Scotland, I invited her to come along.” It had been more like begging.
“I see,” she said, her tone saying she didn't believe him, yet again. “Well, Rhonda, welcome to Oakley Manor. Let's go inside, shall we?”
Rhonda tried really hard to keep her jaw from falling open. It was difficult enough not to look like a peon beside this elegant woman, gawking at everything would truly put her on the wrong side of the tracks. And Blake's mother had either had the boys when she was a child or had aged well. She didn't look a day over forty and had this Grace Kelly thing going on. The cream pantsuit she wore cost more than Rhonda's entire wardrobe. But that wasn't hard to do considering that if it wasn't vintage, it stayed on the rack. It took a lot of effort to look scary and new clothes didn't cut it.
“So you work for Mr. Sheppard as well? Tell me, is he as handsome as the papers say?”
Having never met the man, Rhonda wouldn't know, but seeing as how she couldn't admit to that, she was prepared to lie. “Yesâ” She froze. What was she supposed to call her? Now she'd really look like a peon. A woman of equal class would know what to call her. “Lady Helen.” Damn, she hoped she'd gotten it right.
They stood inside an over-the-top foyer, at the bottom of the most amazing carved oak banister she'd ever seen. A dark red carpet ran up the majestic steps, all the way to the top landing, where the stairs split in two. Oak panels covered every wall, making you feel like you just stepped back in time. The hanging crystal chandelier was bigger than Rhonda's car.
“Dante, please put Miss Rhonda's luggage in the blue room,” Lady Helen instructed one of the men who had been outside and now held their luggage. “Which is yours, dear?” she asked Rhonda.
“Umm.” As she hadn't packed the luggage, she couldn't remember whose was whose.
“Read the name tags, gentlemen. I told her we shouldn't bring similar luggage, but who am I to argue with a woman?” Blake jumped in, saving her ass.
She smiled her thanks. “You have a magnificent house, Lady Helen.”
“It's more than a house, young woman. It's a legacy.”
Rhonda turned her attention to the woman standing on the grand staircase, Blake's grandmother. If Rhonda wasn't intimidated before, she was now. The woman wore a lavender and gray-checkered Chanel suit, and if her gray hair hadn't been pulled back in a tight bun, she too might look younger than her years. As it was, it made her appear . . . stiff, wax-like. Rhonda bit the inside of her mouth as the image of the woman lying in a coffin popped into her head.
“Blake, aren't you going to greet your grandmother?”
Blake stared up at her, deliberately taking his time to respond. He hadn't been kidding. He really didn't like her.
“Hello, Nanny.”
Her nose shot upward and she crossed bony arms. “I've asked you a thousand times not to call me nanny. Nanny was your father's mother.” Said with such disdain, it was obvious she didn't like the woman.
“Sorry, I confuse the two of you.”
“The woman is dead, Blake. How on earth can you confuse us?”
He didn't answer, but simply smiled.
“I see nothing has changed. You're still as insubordinate as ever. I would have thought that serving as a policeman you might have learned the meaning of respect.”
Feeling defensive of Blake, Rhonda took an instant dislike to the woman. Blake's expression darkened and she suspected she was purposely trying to goad her grandson.
“Mother,” Lady Helen interjected, “I was just about to suggest tea in the drawing room. Would you care to join us?”
“No,” she said curtly. “My solicitors are waiting in the library. Blake, I hope you haven't forgotten
all
your manners. I expect to see you dressed for lunch.” She descended the stairs with the poise of a woman who'd done it a thousand times with an audience.
Rhonda held her breath as the grandmother walked past her, never more grateful to be ignored. But her luck, as usual, kicked her in the ass. The Dowager Duchess turned her attention to her.
“Who are you?” she asked, looking down her nose at her.
Rude much?
“Rhonda Deagan, your Grace. I'm a colleague of Blake's.” Was she supposed to curtsey? She did a little bob and hoped it would suffice.
The elder woman sized her up. “Aren't you a little on the thin side to be a policewoman?”
“Rhonda has a special talent with whips,” Blake said. “She can take an asshole down with one thwack.”
His grandmother, thankfully, turned her beady-eyed attention to him, because Rhonda was busy choking on her own saliva.
“You're not in America anymore. Save your crass language for the colonies.”
Blake gave Rhonda an
I told you so look
, which she didn't appreciate. She didn't mind being on his side, and boy was he right, but she sure as hell didn't want to be on this woman's bad side. Thankfully, Blake's mother intervened.
“Mother, you don't want to keep Mr. Lloyd and Mr. Bartlett waiting. Come along, children. I'll ring for tea.” Expecting them to follow, Lady Helen led the way.
Curious as to what to expect while they were here, Rhonda caught up to Blake's mother. “Are they always like that?” she asked, praying like hell she wasn't out of line.
“You should hear them when Mother is in one of her less sociable moods.”
Had his mom just made a joke? Rhonda smiled. Blake had the same dry humor.
“Was Blake serious about the whip?” she asked in a conspiratorial whisper.
Rhonda considered lying, but Lady Helen seemed genuinely intrigued, almost excited by the prospect. “Yes.” In case she'd read the woman wrong, she braced herself.
Lady Helen glanced back at Blake and drew in close to Rhonda, lowering her voice. “Me too.” She winked. “College days.”
Rhonda relaxed, if only a little. Maybe their visit wouldn't be so bad.
* * *
Who knew there was so much effort involved in drinking a hot beverage? Back home, Rhonda poured coffee into a cup, splashed in cream, maybe sugar, and plunked her ass on a couch. If on the move, she'd snap the cup into the cup holder and take off. She had to admit, Lady Helen's version was better. Everything was so refined, right down to the little white flowers on the very old, very delicate teacups.