All for You

by Lynn Kurland

  “About our little adventure. About what you were thinking about, well, things.” She looked at him. “It seemed as though we had reached a—”

  “Stephen, where are you?”

  Stephen flinched at the sound of a voice he absolutely didn’t want to hear at the moment. He didn’t even have the chance to tell Peaches that he wanted nothing to do with anyone else besides her before into his kitchen walked none other than Lady Victoria Andrews, daughter of the Duke of Stow. She was trailed by Humphreys, his gentleman’s personal gentleman, who was frowning slightly. With Humphreys, this indicated great distress. Stephen understood completely.

  Victoria came to a screeching halt. She looked at Stephen, then at Peaches in his bathrobe, then at him again.

  “Well,” she said, imbuing the word with so many layers of meaning Stephen was certain it would take him half the morning to sort through them all.

  “Good morning, Victoria,” Stephen said with a sigh.

  Things went rapidly downhill from there. It wasn’t, as it happened, that Stephen had slept with Victoria. If he was notorious in some circles for his dedication with several types of swords, he was equally notorious with the rest of his social sphere for being discreet to the point of monkishness.

  None of that seemed to matter to Victoria at present. Stephen could tell she was gearing up to give him the tongue-lashing of his life, so he excused himself and led her out of the kitchen. Humphreys had the good sense to at least shut the kitchen door, though Stephen wondered how much ire that would stifle. Victoria seemed perfectly content to shriek at him right there in the hallway.

  He started to tell her that he and Peaches were just friends—unfortunately—but before he could, she had stomped into his sitting room. He followed her, on the off chance she might do damage to something, and watched her look for the first-edition James Joyce she’d given him for Christmas the year before. She pulled it off the shelf and flung it into the roaring fire he’d started for Peaches before he’d gone off to look for breakfast.

  He watched it burn for a minute or two, then looked at her. “Brilliantly done, Victoria. It takes a certain sort of woman to have so little respect for the marvels of the written word.”

  She slapped him smartly across the face, then flounced out of his house.

  He watched her go, then rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. He had no desire to date her and hadn’t for some time. It had just been easier to keep up appearances than try to break off a non-relationship with her for no good reason.

  And then it occurred to him that he had left the woman he was very interested in sitting in his kitchen in his bathrobe.

  He strode back into the kitchen, but she wasn’t there. He heard the distinct sound of his Range Rover roaring off into the distance and sighed. He considered where any sort of communication might have been left. Peaches wasn’t the sort of woman to carve a message into any of his antiques, which meant a note if he were fortunate. He ran up the stairs and found what he was looking for on Peaches’s nicely made bed.

  Thank you for the clothes, Lord Haulton. I’ll put a check in the mail for them as soon as I’m home.

  A thrill of alarm ran through him. Home? Was she heading to Seattle?

  He went to find his mobile and dialed Tess without hesitation.

  “Stephen,” she said, sounding relieved, “tell me Peaches is with you. I’ve been trying to reach her since Saturday night. How did the ball go?”

  “It was … interesting,” he managed.

  Tess was silent for a moment or two. “Why do I have the feeling that things went on I should know about?”

  “Probably because you’re a twin,” he said with a deep sigh. “And yes, Peaches is well. I think we are both happy to be away from Kenneworth.” He paused. “We had a bit of an adventure.”

  Tess was silent for a very long minute. “What kind of adventure, Stephen?”

  “Oh, the usual kind that seems to happen with alarming regularity in this family. I’ll tell you all about it when next we meet. I’m actually calling to find out if your sister’s rung you.”

  “Let me understand this,” Tess said slowly. “You had an adventure with my sister away from Kenneworth House, but now she’s not with you?”

  “That sums it up quite nicely, rather,” he agreed.

  “Is there something you want to tell me, my lord Haulton?”

  “I’m sure Peaches will tell you all you want to hear,” he said, “but what I want to hear is if she’s rung you or not.”

  “She hasn’t—wait. Don’t hang up.”

  He hadn’t planned to. He waited for long enough, however, that he tired of pacing in the hallway and wound up sitting in his chair in front of his fire. He watched Joyce continue to blacken and curl and almost fell asleep. He realized that only because he dropped his phone in surprise when Tess came back on the line. At least she wasn’t shouting at him.

  “She’s on her way to Sedgwick.”

  Stephen considered. “Did you tell her I called?”

  “Are you kidding?” Tess laughed briefly. “I am not about to get embroiled in the raging inferno that is your relationship with my sister. She said your keeper was driving her to the station and that she would be home this afternoon.” Tess paused. “I don’t suppose it’s safe to ask why you aren’t driving her home.”

  “Victoria of Stow walked in and found your sister wearing my bathrobe at my kitchen table.”

  “Well, that answers that.”

  “I haven’t slept with her, Tess.”

  “Victoria or Peaches?”

  “Either.”

  “Thank you, Stephen,” Tess said dryly. “That peek into your personal life has been very illuminating.”

  He dragged his hand through his hair. “Sorry. Last glimpse, I promise. I’m not exactly myself. It was a bit of a journey, actually. I’m not sure I’m fully recovered.”

  “I can hardly wait to hear all about your trip. Coming south anytime soon?”

  “As soon as I can find my keys.”

  Tess was silent for so long, he began to grow a little nervous.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Far be it from me to give advice,” she began slowly.

  “Ha,” he said with a snort. “Why this new reticence? You’ve never been shy about expressing your opinions before.”

  “That’s because you were dating bimbos and I was worried about you in a very maternal sort of way. Now I’m worried about both you and my sister and I’m again trying not to get obliterated by the cross fire.”

  “Your sister and I are very calm, rational, coolheaded individuals—and you may certainly stop laughing now,” he said stiffly.

  She was still laughing when she hung up on him. He pursed his lips and shoved his mobile into his pocket. He walked into his den, poked at his first-edition Joyce that was still feeding a cheery blaze, then sat down in the chair in front of the hearth and contemplated his life.

  Humphreys had deserted him, of course, having taken Peaches to the station. He was all alone with his thoughts and the last vestiges of Victoria’s cloying perfume. He was tempted to dig in his desk for that enormous box of cigars someone he couldn’t remember had given him an indeterminate number of years ago, but he didn’t smoke and it seemed a shame to break the seal.

  He stalked into the kitchen, fetched his pan of eggs from the sink, and went back to his study to wave it around a bit and leave a more healthful smell in the place. He put the pan down on the floor and began to pace in front of his fire.

  He could, he supposed, go on as he always did, dating expensive, titled women and shunning his responsibility to wed and produce an heir. He could do the other thing he always did, which was trot over to the college and bury himself in the library. He could, if he was feeling particularly fanciful, give Peaches a call in a fortnight and see if she might be willing to go on a casual, noncommittal date or two with him.

  Or he could snatch up his keys, hop in his Mercedes, and see if he cou
ldn’t beat the bloody train to Sedgwick at which point he would drop to his knees right there on the platform and beg her to be his, heirs and titles and money be damned.

  He banked the fire and was halfway out the front door when he ran bodily into Humphreys.

  “Is she off?” he demanded.

  Humphreys smoothed his hand over his hair. “Yes, my lord, I saw her on the train myself—”

  “Move. I’ve business with her before she drops the portcullis.”

  He ran into Humphreys’s hand.

  “Not, my lord, before you’ve seen to your ten o’clock.”

  Stephen frowned fiercely. “My what?”

  “Your lecture, my lord. At ten o’clock. I believe you’ll still arrive on time if you allow me to hand you your portfolio.”

  Stephen clapped a hand to his forehead. “That bloody class.”

  “I wouldn’t presume to pass judgment on what sort of class, my lord, but a class it indeed is. Shall I have the car ready and your suitcase packed for a journey afterward?”

  “Definitely.”

  “She is quite charming, if I might venture an opinion.”

  “You might, and you might also remind yourself the next time a fresh-faced Yank talks you into using my automobile to take her out of my reach that you are in my employ, not hers.”

  Humphreys only lifted an eyebrow. “As you say, my lord.”

  Stephen pursed his lips. At least there was no need to prepare for his class. Fortunately he was teaching on medieval life in general and since he’d just had a big helping of that, he felt capable of going on ahead without notes.

  Going on ahead with his life was a different tale entirely, but he would see to that as soon as he was finished at school.

  He accepted an overcoat and his portfolio from his butler, then checked to make sure he was wearing trousers and not jeans—it spoke eloquently to his long weekend that he wasn’t sure which it was—then started off toward the lecture hall. He pulled his mobile back out of his pocket and tried the main number at Sedgwick. No sense in not alerting them to his intentions so he wouldn’t be forced to sleep in the stables.

  “Sedgwick Castle,” a male voice drawled, “tours and lectures for those so inclined, swords and supper for those who already know too much about the time period, and proper beatings for those tampering with the hearts of sisters-in-law.”

  Stephen pursed his lips. “Do you have any useful things down there in that mediocre pile of stones you call home?”

  “Why don’t you bring your soft-handed self down here and find out?”

  “I have class. You know, that working thing that keeps food on the table and petrol in my Mercedes.”

  John de Piaget made a sound of derision. “Spare me your pitiful mewlings about your bank account. I understand you were off without supervision in the wilds over the weekend.”

  “Yes, and that was just at Kenneworth. You’d be surprised what we found in medieval England.”

  “I imagine I wouldn’t,” John said.

  Stephen was amazed how clearly a smirk could float over a wireless connection. “I’ll tell you about my pleasant conversation with your brother Nicholas later, when it’s convenient for me.”

  John was silent for a long moment. “Very well, you win this round. What do you need?”

  “Hospitality.”

  “I think you need more than that,” John said dryly. “Perhaps a wooing idea or two, since it’s obvious you’re unschooled in the ways of women. Have you ever had your nose out of a book, Stephen?”

  “I’m not sure I’ve been dating women,” Stephen said with a sigh. “Harpies, perhaps, which has led me to more bouts of reading than you’d care to hear about.”

  “Then perhaps you should come for a visit.”

  “I was hoping for an invitation.”

  “Bring a sword.”

  “I will.” He hesitated. “I should say that I’m fairly sure she doesn’t like me.”

  “She wasn’t using your name preceded by curses when she called. I’d say that’s promising.”

  “She’s numb from our recent journey.”

  “I would suggest, then, that you take advantage of that and woo her whilst she’s almost senseless.”

  “You wouldn’t do that,” Stephen said with a smile.

  “Nay, but I’m not you, am I? My charms are adequate to the task whilst yours …” He sighed heavily. “I think your only hope is to wear her down from the sheer obnoxiousness of your presence. Whilst she’s off having a lie-down to recover from the nausea, we can work out something else.”

  Stephen pursed his lips. “Are we related?”

  John laughed. “To my continued surprise.”

  “I don’t need any more points on my license,” Stephen continued, “so it may be this afternoon before I can manage to get there.”

  John paused. “And the rest of your week?”

  “Nothing until Friday.”

  “Then take my advice and come tomorrow morning.”

  “Are you daft?” Stephen said incredulously. “The next thing I know, she’ll have driven herself to the airport!”

  “She is a runner,” John agreed, “but chasing her will only drive her farther away. Come tomorrow—and still bring your sword. Perhaps you can hope for a bit of sympathy from her after I’ve left you on the ground, writhing in pain.”

  Stephen could only hope he would make a better showing than that, but he knew where John had come from. He sighed deeply. “She’s had a difficult weekend,” he said. “Take care of her, would you?”

  “Why, Stephen my lad, I think you might be fond of the gel.”

  Stephen swore at him, then hung up before he said something he would be repaid for in what served as Sedgwick’s lists. He would teach his class, take care of whatever else he needed to see to for the next handful of days whilst he was still awake, then lock his door and put himself to bed early so he could get an even earlier start.

  And if John de Piaget was willing to give him a wooing idea or two, he wasn’t going to shun them.

  They couldn’t be any worse than what he would come up with himself.

  Chapter 17

  Peaches stood by the fire in her sister’s kitchen and looked at the cup of tea she’d brewed and left sitting on the table. She was cold, which she shouldn’t have been. She’d already been for a run and taken the hottest shower possible, but neither had done anything for her.

  Maybe that was just the aftereffects of having spent a brisk almost twenty-four hours in medieval England. She still felt a little like sitting down until she stopped shaking. She’d tried to put herself back into some sort of routine, but walking through Tess’s castle gates the afternoon before had been unsettling. Waking up to an authentic-looking canopy over her head had only added to the sensation. She’d been all right on her run, except for the fact that after she’d watched her feet for three miles, then turned around and come back the way she’d gone, still watching her feet, then looked up to see Sedgwick rising up in the distance. Very medieval. Very not what she was used to.

  All of which left her ignoring very vigorously the thing that was really eating at her while standing in her sister’s kitchen, warming her backside against a raging fire, and wondering just what in the world she was supposed to do now.

  Her list of options was not encouraging. She could go back to Seattle and try to resurrect her business. Brandalyse might have looked good on camera and known everyone who was anyone in town, but that could be overcome with enough effort, couldn’t it? She could create a new list of better, more disorganized clients, couldn’t she? Three thousand dollars that wasn’t quite three thousand any longer was enough to survive on while she got a temporary job in a juice bar, wasn’t it?

  She wasn’t sure she had any other choices. After all, it wasn’t as if she could stay in England indefinitely, mooching off her sister and her husband until they got thoroughly sick of her and kicked her out. She would eventually have to go back to Seattle
and try to put her life together.

  The only saving grace was that she was indeed not in medieval England where her opportunities for gainful employment would have been limited to food service, farming, or perhaps more unsavory trades.

  She looked up as Tess strolled into the kitchen looking happier than anyone had the right to be. Sadly enough, Tess deserved every moment of happiness she was enjoying, so Peaches couldn’t begrudge her any of it. She did, however, look at her with a scowl, because she was having that kind of day so far.

  Tess only lifted her eyebrows briefly and put a kettle on for tea. She dug out a thermos, a couple of mugs, and a small picnic hamper. Peaches watched her, assuming that perhaps she and John were off for a romantic brunch. Tess poured tea into a teapot to allow it to steep for a bit, then sat down at the worktable.

  “Good run?”

  “Lovely,” Peaches said politely. “And your morning so far?”

  “Spectacular,” Tess said. She folded her hands together and rested her chin on top of them. “What are you doing? If you don’t mind my asking, of course.”

  Peaches knew her sister wasn’t asking about her current occupation of trying to keep herself warm. She had to take a deep breath. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Have a successful career, fulfill my potential, think about having a relationship in ten years or so—”

  “Get serious,” Tess said with a smile. “What do you really want?”

  Peaches found that she was physically incapable of saying what she really wanted because it was so ridiculous. And it involved a man whom she couldn’t have even if she wanted him, which she was fairly sure she didn’t. She sighed deeply.

  “I want a vacation.”

  “You just had one.”

  Peaches shot her sister a look. “I want one in a place with running water.”

  Tess looked at her seriously. “I’m sorry you were there alone.”

  “I wasn’t alone for very long,” Peaches said. “Stephen came as quickly as he could.”

  “He takes his chivalry very seriously,” Tess said, “though I imagine his lofty ideals aren’t the only reason he went after you.”