Undercover Sir

by Carolyn Faulkner

  And he could also see that she was shaking in her seat. She was trying to suppress it, but she was most definitely trembling hard. Come to think of it, when he'd taken her hands at the house, they were ice cold, as they had been the last time they'd gone out to dinner together. He didn't think he'd ever dealt with a woman who seemed to be terrified of him. Her reaction to him didn't make him angry. Rather, he felt a little sad, and it made him very much want to find a way to calm her, so that she could relax and enjoy the evening.

  "Did the flowers go over well at work?" he asked, wanting to get her talking and hopefully relieve some of her nerves.

  She gave a short laugh. "Everyone was positively green with envy—even my boss."

  His eyebrow rose. "A man was envious of your flowers?"

  "My boss is a woman. A spinster." And when I look at her, I see myself in twenty years, she thought but didn't say.

  "Ah. Well, I'm glad they were all jealous. That's why I sent them to your work, after all."

  She laughed at that—the first real, full-throated laugh he'd gotten from her, and it made him instantaneously hard as a rock, making him want to hear it a million times more.

  "Well, thank you for them, and thank you for the book, too. I will treasure it always."

  "And you will read it, too, won't you?"

  She tsked loudly and rolled her eyes. "Yes, I said I would, and I will."

  "I shall ask you about that once I'm gone, you know."

  Somehow Ia didn't doubt that in the least, but she wisely didn't say that to him.

  It hadn't occurred to her that they might keep in communication when he left, either—he could see it plainly written on her face. But he didn't intend to let her slip away from him that easily.

  "Ask me? How?"

  "Well, we do have telephones in England, believe it or not, love."

  She blushed beautifully, and it made his pants even more uncomfortably confining. "I didn't mean to criticize England."

  "I know you didn't. If all else fails, we have pen and paper, too—not even quill and parchment anymore."

  Ia chuckled at his dig at her. "I was going to say that calling overseas would run up some considerable bills."

  "It would," he agreed, not that he'd let that stop him.

  They arrived and were seated at a restaurant that she didn't recognize the name of—not that she would, necessarily. It looked much more expensive than the type of place she usually went to—and that she knew nothing about. Both its interior and exterior were incredibly beautiful. She felt as if she'd stepped into a palace of some sort—it was positively sumptuous. A waiter arrived at their table as soon as they were settled in a very comfortable, tucked away table, handing them menus and asking for their drink order.

  "I'll have a scotch, neat, and the lady will have a Coke."

  Ia put her hand up to catch the waiter's attention. "I'll have a Vodka Collins, please."

  As soon as she finished her sentence, Douglas turned back to the waiter and said smoothly, "She'll have a Coke, please. Thank you. That will be all for now."

  Her face—which had been so wonderfully open and animated in the car was now closed up as tight as a drum.

  Douglas didn't say anything, just leaned back in his chair to consider what his best approach would be with her at this point, having obviously angered her. His eyes naturally settled on her, since he loved looking at her, which made Ia feel very uncomfortable, to the point that she began to speak just to get him to hopefully look somewhere else but at her, although it didn't have that effect.

  "I wanted to have a drink. I'm of legal drinking age, and you have no right to tell me I can't."

  "I'm not," he replied mildly. "Your brother told me that you were not to drink before we left."

  Ia huffed loudly at that, lacing her fingers nervously in her lap, lest she begin to fidget with agitation. "Of course, he did. But he has no right to dictate whether or not I drink, and regardless, you do not have to follow his orders."

  "But I do," he began calmly, "because I respect him. I would never contradict your brother's rules for you. And, of course, you do have to obey him. And, if you respected him, too, frankly, knowing that he didn't want you to drink tonight would be enough for you to know that you shouldn't drink tonight."

  She snorted out loud at that. "The fact that I don't want my brother to control my life doesn't mean that I don't respect him."

  Again, in that annoyingly casual voice, both eyebrows raised at her this time, he asked, "Doesn't it?"

  "No, it doesn't! I'm twenty-five, not five, and he has no right to make rules for me anymore, much less t-to…" Even though she knew that he knew what she meant, she couldn't bring herself to say it to him, having let her mouth run away with her because she was so annoyed. If she was in control of herself, she would never have let her sentence wander in that very dangerous direction.

  The waiter reappeared, and Douglas sent him away, telling him not to come back until he called for him and managing to do so kindly but in a manner that was unequivocal.

  "…spank you," he supplied.

  Her face was so red, he thought she might have a stroke, but the conversation had taken such an interesting turn that he was loath to end it.

  "Yes." Her answer was subdued and given while she was staring down at her hands.

  "Why don't you want people to look after you, Ia?"

  The question was strangely put, and she frowned fiercely. "I never said that."

  "No, but everything you do broadcasts that, especially in relationship to your brother, if you don't mind my saying so."

  She did, but she didn't feel she should say that to him.

  "How long have you been freezing him out? And I'm assuming that Sunday night's incident will only add months or years to his sentence, when all he did—in either case, from my limited understanding—is care enough about you to try to teach you that that is not correct behavior. And the second time he disciplined you, he did it, even though he must have known that you were going to hate him even more."

  "I don't hate my brother," Ia hissed, although she was none too happy to hear from this virtual stranger that he had apparently been discussing such things with all and sundry. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the plate in front of her at least as hard as he was staring at her, wishing she was anywhere else but here, talking about this, with him.

  "I'm a relative stranger, and that would be my conclusion. Hell, it's your brother's conclusion, too."

  His parting words to her last Sunday came roaring back into her head, 'Try not to hate me for this too much more than you already do, huh?' And they brought with them hot, aching tears that welled up and threatened to spill over.

  "I don't hate my brother," she said again in a whisper, with much less conviction than before and a lot wobblier voice and lips.

  His voice was unbelievably soft. "I believe you, Ia. But consider your actions and how things look to someone other than you."

  That got her attention. She was glaring at him, but at least she was looking at him.

  "You just called me self-centered. You wrapped it up really nicely, with your suave accent and all, and you didn't say it nastily, but it's the same thing."

  Douglas took a deep breath. "I think you haven't very often been required to consider how your own actions affect other people."

  She looked even angrier, if that was possible. This was not going at all as he'd planned.

  "Again, self-centered. Such compliments, Mr. Martin. You'll turn my head."

  He was back to Mr. Martin. Douglas gave her a half smile "Well, does it help to know that I think pretty much everyone is self-centered at times? And that, to a certain extent, you are not responsible for how you were brought up."

  "That's mighty generous of you, considering that no one is responsible for how they're brought up."

  "No, but they're responsible for their own behavior once they're—as you put it—of legal age."

  She still looke
d rebellious, as if she was seconds away from walking out on him.

  "I don't know the circumstances of the previous instance, but I know what happened last Sunday night. Tell me if I'm wrong about any of it. You and Taffy got soused, wrecked the house, used your brother's stereo without his permission, damaged it, and you were both smoking."

  "I wasn't smoking."

  "At all?" he queried more closely.

  Ia sighed. "I tried one—a half a cigarette. It was my first one, and I coughed so hard, I nearly threw up so I gave the rest of it back to Taffy."

  "So you smoked, too, when you know your brother doesn't allow it."

  "We weren't smoking in the house!"

  Douglas looked her in the eye for a long moment. "Is that what your brother meant when he told you that you weren't to smoke? You thought he meant just in the house?"

  She did not, but she kept her mouth stubbornly shut.

  "And, Sunday night—or rather, early Monday morning—when I put that pillow on the seat I wanted you to take to talk to me, you ran from me instead. Why? I knew you were hurting, and I just wanted to talk to you. I figured if the extra cushion made you more comfortable, you would be likely to stay longer, and I very much wanted to spend some time enjoying your company when we could be alone to talk, without four other ears hearing our every word."

  Ia's eyes flitted to his then away at that admission.

  "I wanted to take care of you, but you wouldn't let me. Daniel's been doing that since you were born as far as I understand it—and he's done it all by himself since he was relatively young. Did it ever occur to you that he could have easily farmed you off to someone else if he didn't love you enough to want to take care of you?"

  He could tell by the shocked expression on her face that she'd never considered that to be a possibility. "But he did love you enough—more than enough. As far as I've heard from him, he and his wife stayed in the house in which you grew up until you were in college, rather than buying a new one, because he didn't want to disrupt you after you'd had such a bit of disruption when your parents died."

  That got her to look at him, eyes wide and disbelieving. She was learning a lot about her brother his evening, and he thought that was probably a very good thing.

  By way of explanation, he said, "As it happens, something similar happened to my sister and me. She was a 'late in life' baby, and our parents died when she was much younger and I was of age. I've been caring for her ever since, so I have a certain amount of natural empathy for Daniel."

  Her eyes had glued themselves to him at that revelation.

  "And, yes, I spank my sister, too—even though she's looking at going to Uni next year, and I shall continue to do so as long as she's under my roof. Lynette pouts quite a bit after a punishment, but she's got nothing on you in that department.

  "I don't know what I'd do if I were in Daniel's place, frankly. If, all of a sudden, for everything he does for you—all the time and money and effort and holding you when you cry and giving you gifts and being by your sickbed, and, yes, holding you to account when you act badly—everything you say and everything you do broadcasts to him, and the rest of the world, that you hate him for it."

  He saw a tear trace slowly down her cheek, reaching to dab it gently away with his napkin.

  "I didn't mean to make you cry, honey. I just said that you're not going to drink while you're out with me, unless Daniel agrees. If you want to drink when we're out, go talk to him about it. I bet he'd be fine with it, because, like I am with my little sister, I know he just loves you to distraction."

  He was assuming an awful lot—like there were going to be any more dates than this one when she wasn't really sure that she was going to let this one continue.

  She found her hand picked off her lap and squeezed, but with great care not to hurt her. That was when she noticed that his hands were at least as large as Daniel's. His fingers were longer, perhaps, and he had definitely had a manicure recently, which she knew was something Daniel would never do.

  Douglas handed her the menu again. "Just some things to think about, Ia. I'm terribly sorry I made you cry. Take a look at the menu. What looks good to you?"

  She did as he asked but was still sniffling a little—which prompted him to hand her the handkerchief that had been peeping out from his breast pocket, putting his hand over hers protectively. "Take a deep breath. Everything is fine, and we're going to have a wonderful meal. I won't ask you anything else that I think will upset you the entire night, I promise."

  When she could finally bring the writing into focus, Ia was horrified to realize that the menu had no prices.

  "Douglas," she whispered, almost but not quite leaning toward him.

  "Yes, love?"

  She thought that him calling her that was always going to distract her. "There…there aren't any prices. How do I know what to order?"

  Douglas smiled broadly while taking the menu away from her. "You don't worry about what the prices are, since you're not paying, buttercup." He'd wanted to try that nickname out, but he didn't like it. He didn't want to call her the same nickname that her brother did. That was just wrong, somehow, in his book. But he also didn't want to use the usual generic British ones, either.

  He would thoroughly enjoy coming up with just the right one for her.

  When the extremely attentive waiter reappeared at the flick of his hand to claim the menus and take their orders, he said, while looking only at her, "Two New York strip steaks, please; make mine medium rare and the lady's…" His eyes narrowed on her as if he could read her mind. "…medium. Two baked potatoes with sour cream and butter on the side, and the asparagus with hollandaise, please. Thank you."

  She did like how polite he was. And he'd ordered for her perfectly, although asparagus wasn't her favorite vegetable. She'd just concentrate on some of the steak and a little of the potato.

  But Ia resolved then and there that she was just going to say and do enough to politely navigate her way through this abysmal date and then through the rest of the time that he was at the house. She wouldn't have to go on a date with him again, and when he was gone, she never had to see him again. And Daniel's relationship with Douglas—and thus, his business—would be saved.

  As much as Ia had intended to simply suffer through the evening, it ended up being much more pleasant than she had planned. As it turned out, Douglas was a wonderful raconteur, keeping her amused—laughing heartily—most of the time as he recounted his adventures growing up in rural England and getting into at least as much trouble as she had.

  "So you were spanked?"

  "Absolutely. My parents loved me, but I had rules that I had to keep to, or there were definitely consequences if I didn't. And I think that the English are very fond of an implement that Americans don't use—the cane."

  Her eyes widened, but she said nothing to encourage him to continue, although he did anyway.

  "The cane is about as thick as my finger and made of flexible birch wood. It is also used in our schools and is sometimes kept in water so that it's extra whippy."

  Ia swallowed hard. "We have paddles in our schools. Most of them are pretty plain, oak, I think. Big when you're little, but not all that big from an adult perspective. I heard tell of some of them in other schools having holes in them to make them hurt more, but the ones in my school didn't have that."

  "And, were you paddled in school, Miss Ia?"

  She shook her head. "No, never. I liked school and did well. I was always the teacher's pet."

  "I bet you knew that, especially after your brother became responsible for you, if you got in trouble at school, you'd be in twice as much trouble at home."

  Ia didn't want to think about that—especially since he was probably right.

  She played with her half empty glass of Coke.

  "Is there something you would like to say to me, Ia?" He put his fork down and dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, having been in the process of politely devouring his meal, whereas hers was b
arely touched. Then he fixed that intense gaze on her, the one that instantly made her feel as if they were the only two people on the planet and that he was hanging on her every word. "You can tell me anything, you know."

  Distracted, she answered sarcastically, "That, sir, is patently untrue."

  He sat back in her chair, his look having gotten a thousand times more intense. "And why do you say that?" Douglas kept his voice neutral with her, whereas he would have called out a man who had, essentially, just called him a liar.

  "So if I confessed to you that, I, say, had robbed a bank…no, that would be too out of character for me. Uh…" She was having a hard time coming up with something that would definitely get her into trouble that she might actually do. "Say I decided to take up smoking and have been doing so secretly even though my brother punished me for it. Do you think I would be stupid enough to confess that to you, thinking that you would keep it to yourself and not go running to Daniel to rat me out at the first opportunity?"

  He folded his hands in his lap. "I would hope that you would realize that Daniel doesn't want you smoking for your own health and safety. Therefore, you wouldn't take it up at all after last weekend, when you didn't like it in the first place, and it got you spanked in the second. And, if, after you've already been spanked for doing so, then you should expect to be spanked again—and much more severely—if you do it again, regardless of how Daniel finds out about it. Frankly, Daniel's not an idiot, and you should expect to be caught, eventually."

  She chuckled mirthlessly. "So, just as I said, you'd go tell Daniel and get me into trouble."

  "No, you would have gotten yourself into trouble by continuing to smoke," he answered firmly. "And I would merely have brought it to the attention of someone who cares about you deeply—as, in fact, I am coming to—so that your behavior will be corrected, and you'll be happy and healthy and around for a very long time."

  Ia had been fiddling with the napkin in her lap as he admitted to what she'd just said he was going to do. But then he uttered those words "as, in fact, I am coming to do" in regards to him having feelings for her, and her head snapped up. She was only able to meet those green eyes—that seemed to have changed from bright green to a deeper, darker green somehow, in the course of their meal—for only a second before bringing them back to her lap.