Lady Be Good

by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

  “The doctors haven’t conceded that you’re barren, so why should I? But if it does prove to be true, we could adopt.”

  She felt this peculiar thump in her chest, as if her heart had skipped a beat. “You’d do that?”

  “Of course. I told you I wanted children.”

  “Tommy wouldn’t even discuss adoption.”

  “You displayed sounder judgment buying the emus than when you married Tommy.”

  She laughed. “You’re right about that. But Tommy sure was better-looking.”

  “Looks aren’t everything.” For the first time he sounded defensive.

  “You’re not bad-looking, Dex. As a matter of fact—now, don’t let this go to your head, but of all the geeks I know, you’re the best-looking. Except for Ted, but then Kenny’s about the only one who’s got Ted beat, so you can’t get all bent out about that.”

  “Exactly how many geeks do you know?”

  “Hey, you’re talking to the microchip princess here. Don’t forget that I was raised around geeks. When I was little, Daddy used to take me to work with him.”

  “And you really think I’m the best-looking?”

  She struggled to keep from smiling. He really was sweet in a doofus sort of way. “Absolutely.”

  “Normally, I wouldn’t care, you understand, but I know that physical appearance is important to you.”

  Something about the way he had gone all stiff and starchy, but at the same time seemed worried, went right to her heart. Not to mention a few other places. She couldn’t remember ever being so mixed up, and there was only one thing she could think of to do about it.

  “Okay, Dex, I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to take you out for a test spin.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re going to do the dirty, Dex. You, me, and a mattress. I think it’s time I put you through your paces.”

  His starchiness vanished, and amusement took its place. There was something about the way his eyes crinkled at the corners that made those curls of heat that had been unfurling inside her burst into flames. “Oh, you do, do you? Well, what if I told you that I’m holding myself back as your wedding night prize?”

  “You’re kidding. You don’t want to sleep with me?”

  “I can hardly think about anything else. But, crudely put, why should you buy the steer if I let you have the beef for free?”

  “You think you’re some kind of prize?”

  “Definitely.” His eyes sparkled. “I don’t want to be arrogant about this, and I certainly wouldn’t have said anything if you hadn’t brought up the topic, but I’m quite an excellent lover.”

  “Brother . . .” She rolled her eyes.

  He laughed, pulled her into his arms, and kissed the breath right out of her. In the dimmest recesses of her mind, she noted that he wasn’t too indifferent to cop a feel, but his hand felt good curled around her breast, so she wasn’t in any hurry to push it away.

  Dex put a lot into his kisses. As his tongue delved into her mouth, she tried to tell herself that there was something pathetic about being so desperate for a man’s affection that she’d descended to kissing Dexter O’Conner, but his kiss didn’t seem pathetic. It was sweet and erotic, and it left her wanting more.

  They separated, and as soon as she’d stopped seeing stars, she realized Mr. Sober Sides was just as shaken as she. “All right,” he said unsteadily. “I’ll marry you.”

  She curled into that strong, warm chest, felt his breath against her forehead, and for a fraction of a moment, she wanted to say yes. “Oh, Dex . . . you’d regret it within a month.”

  “No, I wouldn’t. And neither would you.”

  She should have simply walked away, but some devil inside wouldn’t let her do that. “Bed first. Then I’ll make up my mind. I’m not buying a pig in a poke.”

  He gazed down at her and a vaguely dangerous smile caught the corner of his mouth. “For now, we’re both keeping our clothes on. But if I change my mind, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Chapter 17

  As Emma walked next to Kenny along the less populated part of San Antonio’s beautiful Riverwalk, it occurred to her that Lady Sarah Thornton might have been foolish for having returned to England when she’d so clearly loved Texas. There was something special about this state that she couldn’t help but respond to: its energy, its people, and its sheer, raw size. She found herself taking a long, deep breath for no reason, almost as if her lungs had developed a larger capacity. Somehow she felt bolder here, and, in a way she couldn’t explain, less limited.

  The last five days had been magical. Kenny had shown her two of Texas’s most colorful cities: Austin, then San Antonio. In Austin, he’d regaled her with anecdotes from his college days as he’d shown her the University of Texas campus. When she finished her work at the library, he’d taken her through the state capitol building and given her tours of the city’s parks and shops. At night, they’d visited wonderful restaurants and listened to Austin’s best music.

  San Antonio had been even more wonderful. In the mornings, while Kenny practiced at the range, she finished up the last of her research at the Daughters of the Republic of Texas Library at the Alamo. Then they spent their afternoons together. She’d never laughed so much, or argued so much either. Her body felt warm and languid from Kenny’s lovemaking, and she couldn’t imagine how she would ever live without it or without him.

  A cloud of depression settled over her. Her time in Texas was nearly over. These last few days had been enchanted, but it was Friday and she would be flying home on Sunday evening.

  She turned her face into the breeze, unwilling to spoil what little time she had left with introspection. Instead, she considered the guided tour of the Alamo Kenny had given her that afternoon. As he’d led her through Texas’s most famous shrine, she’d realized all those volumes of history and biography she’d seen scattered around the house hadn’t been put there by Patrick as decorative accents.

  His hand felt large and comforting curled around hers. She admired a lovely old building on the other side of the river, then smiled up at him. “You’re a real history buff, aren’t you?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “For one thing, you know a lot more about Texas history than most people.”

  “I wanted to major in history in college, but my high school grades were so crummy that my counselor recommended against it.”

  “That’s unfortunate.”

  “Not really. He was probably right. Even taking easy subjects at UT, I pretty much made straight C’s. And then I dropped out my senior year to turn pro.”

  “Yes, well, I should imagine it’s difficult to do much better than C’s when you hardly ever went to class.”

  He darted her a curious glance. “How’d you know that?”

  “By spending five minutes in your company. Really, Kenny, I’ve never known anyone so afraid to challenge himself.”

  He dropped her hand and looked aggravated. “You happen to be standing here with a man who’s won two majors in the past three years. I know everything there is to know about challenge.”

  “But winning tournaments is different, isn’t it?” She took his hand back and gave it a comforting squeeze. She knew this weekend was especially hard on him with the Masters being played at Augusta, but he’d maintained a stoic silence on the topic. “The golf course is probably the only place in the world where you’re not afraid to let people see you working hard.”

  “That’s because it’s the only place in the world where I do work hard.”

  She smiled at him and pressed her cheek against the side of his arm for just a moment. “Give it up, Kenny. You work hard at lots of things. Your exercise program, for example. It’s only because you make everything seem so easy that you don’t look like you’re doing anything.”

  “You are so full of it that—”

  “I should be fertilizer, I know. You want people to believe you’re lazy. It’s almost as if you think yo
u don’t deserve anyone’s good opinion.”

  “Bull.” Tension ticked at the corner of his mouth, and she knew she’d hit a nerve.

  There were so many topics neither of them wanted to talk about, including his suspension and her problems with the Duke of Beddington. For the past five days, she’d been drifting along in a sensual haze, acting as if tomorrow would never come. She’d seen no signs of anyone following them, and now, with her return only two days away, she had to face the fact that she’d been behaving irresponsibly. She hadn’t tried to contact Hugh or done a single thing to upset him. It was as if she’d been lulled into a sensual world where the future didn’t exist.

  A flutter of panic ruffled her stomach, stealing away some of her pleasure in the day. “Are you certain you can’t remember the names of anyone who was in the drugstore that night?”

  “I told you the last time you brought this up that I was concentrating on finding the right shoelaces, so I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “But surely you spoke to someone.”

  “Not that I remember.”

  Her spirits plummeted. She was no better off now than she’d been when she’d stepped off the plane. “Beddington knew I bought a tabloid, so his spy had to have been right there in the drugstore. But why didn’t he report anything else?”

  A shapely female jogger approached, her ponytail swinging, but Kenny didn’t seem to notice. She appreciated the fact that he didn’t look at other women when he was with her. He really was a wonderful man, despite his foibles. Intelligent and entertaining. He also had a surprisingly old-fashioned sense of courtesy. Already today he’d been interrupted at least a dozen times by fans, and he’d responded to all of them politely while, at the same time, making it evident that his first obligation was to her.

  They had reached the end of the accessible part of the Riverwalk, and they turned around. It was quiet here, tucked down below the city streets, with only the occasional interruption of a passing river taxi or a stray tourist. The feeling of privacy reminded her of St. Gert’s in the late afternoon. Even with the girls racing about, there were wonderfully secluded spots tucked away here and there.

  “I should never have assumed the spy was a man,” she said. “It could just as easily have been a woman.”

  “Now I recall I do believe I saw Old Mrs. Cooligan over by the Fannie Mae display. She’s eighty if she’s a day, but she’s real spry.”

  “Go on and make fun. It’s creepy knowing that I was being followed, but not being able to figure out who was doing it. And why have they stopped?”

  “I understand, sweetheart. And you know how I feel about your attachment to that pile of stones on the other side of the pond, so I’m not going to say anything more about it.”

  “I know what you’re thinking.” She regarded him peevishly. “You’re thinking I’m going to turn into one of those dotty, dear things. That I’ll start talking to myself and collecting cats and wearing ratty old jerseys that smell like mothballs.”

  “I have to confess those things didn’t enter my mind. Now, seeing you in a black garter belt with—”

  “Just because I’m British and unmarried, and because I have a respect for tradition, doesn’t mean I’m eccentric.”

  “I believe your freeway just sprouted a strange exit ramp. Where exactly are you headed with this?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Forget it.”

  “You know, Lady E, instead of accusing me of psychological abnormalities, you might try looking inside your own muddled brain.”

  “Me? I’m as clear as a glass of water.”

  “If that’s so, why do you keep seeing yourself as some dried-up old maid?”

  “I don’t. But I know I’m not exactly a sexpot.”

  “Now, there’s a lie.”

  “It isn’t a—” She looked up at him. “What are you saying?”

  “That you’re a sexpot.”

  “You’re only being nice.”

  “I’m only being male. See, I’ve got this thing about your mouth—”

  “There you go again! It’s so unfair. If I were a man, I’d be considered a strong leader. But because I’m female, I’m bossy.”

  “We’re not talking about bossy—although you are. We’re talking about the fact that you’ve got about the sexiest mouth I’ve ever seen on a woman.”

  “My mouth is sexy?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She swallowed. Stared at him. “Now I know you’re lying.”

  “I only lie about things that aren’t important. Do I have to remind you of what you were doing with that mouth around eight o’clock this morning?”

  She didn’t see how he could still make her blush, but it happened. “Yes, well, thank you.”

  He laughed and drew her close. “Thank you.”

  Instead of trying to contact Hugh, Emma spent the next morning in bed at the ranch making long, lazy love with Kenny. She couldn’t imagine any woman having a more thrilling, more considerate lover, but she wished it weren’t so important for him to stay in control. Not that she wanted to take over all the time—it was lovely having someone so blissfully competent in charge—but occasionally she’d like to have the upper hand, if only so she could experiment on that lovely body of his. It was a problem she was certain they could have worked out over time, but there was so little left.

  After a leisurely breakfast, they headed for the stable, and, for the next few hours, rode through the woods, then along the Pedernales. Kenny, mounted on Shadow, slouched comfortably into a western saddle, while she rode China on an English one.

  “Kenny, have you noticed . . . ? It’s probably just wishful thinking on my part, but my tattoo seems to be fading a little.”

  “Just settling deeper into your skin, is all.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She heard a rustling in the woods and saw an armadillo rooting near a fallen tree trunk. Imagine being so close to such a curious animal. Her thighs ached pleasantly from being on horseback, or maybe she was still experiencing the aftereffects of their lovemaking.

  He tilted his Stetson lower over his eyes. “I’ve been thinking . . . your next term doesn’t start for another week, and the Antichrist doesn’t seem to be in any rush to lift my suspension, so there’s no need for you to hurry back. Why not stay a little longer?”

  She straightened, then shot him a quick glance. “I have nonrefundable airline tickets.”

  “I’ll take care of the tickets. Don’t you worry about it.”

  At least he was no longer in a hurry to get rid of her. The idea should have made her happy, but she felt depressed instead. If they hadn’t been sleeping together, Kenny wouldn’t have wanted her to stay. “I’m an administrator. Classes might not start right away, but my job does. Two weeks is the longest holiday I can take.”

  “I don’t get it. You already told me the duke’s going to fire you. What difference does it make if you don’t show up?”

  “He hasn’t fired me yet, and until he does, I’m responsible for St. Gert’s.” She worried her bottom lip. “I still have another twenty-four hours or so. Maybe something will come to me.”

  They rounded a bend, and, as she saw the house in the distance, she thought how much she loved it. She loved this ranch, this state. She felt like a different person here, one who wasn’t so lonely.

  He frowned. “It just doesn’t seem like you need to rush off right now when we’re having such a good time.”

  They were having a good time—the best time of her life—and she couldn’t repress a certain wistfulness. “Better to end it on a positive note, don’t you think?”

  It took a moment for him to respond. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  “Of course I’m right,” she said briskly, concealing the ache she felt.

  Anything else he might have wanted to add was lost as the stable came into view. He straightened in the saddle and uttered a particularly foul obscenity, the same one that sent St. Gert’s girls to Emma’s office for a poin
ted discussion of appropriate language.

  She followed the direction of his gaze and saw a group of men standing next to a paneled white van. One held a professional-quality video camera on his shoulder and was filming them as they approached. Another stood slightly off to the side looking down at the notebook in his hand. He was shorter than the others and more formally dressed in a dark brown sports coat, tan slacks, and a pale green sport shirt. As they drew nearer, she spotted gold snaffles glimmering on the vamps of an expensive pair of loafers.

  “Keep your mouth shut,” Kenny growled. “I mean it.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Trouble, that’s who.”

  As they rode closer, Emma noted that it was the man with the notebook who held Kenny’s attention. Of medium build, he had a square-jawed face, small nose, and a brush haircut. A pair of high-fashion sunglasses hung by a cord around a muscular neck.

  The cameraman moved closer, pointing his lens directly at Kenny as he reined in his horse. “This is private property, Sturgis.”

  “I’ve never seen your ranch, Kenny. I heard it was nice. How about taking me on a tour?” The man had the deep, well-modulated tones of a professional broadcaster. His smile was oily, and Emma detested him immediately.

  “I don’t think so.” Kenny dismounted, passed the reins over to his stable boy, then helped Emma down.

  “This is business, Kenny, and I want an interview.”

  “You’re the last reporter I’d give an interview to. By the way, how’s that eye healing up? Who’d have figured you’d turn out to be a bleeder?”

  The man shot Kenny a look of undiluted hostility, then turned to Emma. “Sturgis Randall. I’m with World Sports Today on the International Sports Channel.”

  “This is Emma,” Kenny said before she could respond.

  That was all—no last name and no title from the man who loved telling everyone they met, from store clerks to busboys, that she was royalty, even though she wasn’t.