She’d been wrong last night, as she’d ran from Duncan and the bracelet and the story he’d spun for her. Oh, she’d been so very wrong. Audrey shouldn’t have worried about falling for a man she’d known less than a week or what heartbreak she’d feel when she returned to New York. No, those things were entirely too late to worry about.
As she stepped in the shower, the hot water beating down on her but not washing away the pain, she realized she should have worried about what she already felt. She wasn’t falling for the fun, energetic, sexy earl.
She already had.
And hard.
Audrey bit back a sob and quickly washed, scrubbing her scalp as if she could scrub the pain of love away. How stupid she’d been. When had this grown from a fun fantasy of a holiday romance into more?
With an impatient flick of her wrist, she turned off the water and grabbed a towel. She barely thought about her moves as she slathered moisturizer over her skin and brushed the tangles from her wet hair. Her mind raced, stumbling over her thoughts, denials, feelings as she readied herself for their final day in the country.
Then she stopped. Stopped and really looked at herself in the mirror. Her curves—she’d always called them generous, which they were; they were very generous. Audrey ran her hands over her naked hips and belly and felt not her own touch but Duncan’s as he explored every inch of her. That remembrance made her flush, but also made her heart falter for a beat.
She wasn’t a supermodel by any stretch of the imagination; she was curvy and plus sized, not the sort of woman a man like Duncan looked twice at. Except he had. Confusion churned through her. If she’d been back in New York, she’d have believed this entire affair had been a bet.
But when she saw the way Duncan looked at her, she knew that wasn’t the case. When he looked at her in those unguarded moments, Audrey knew he saw her as a beautiful woman and nothing else. For some reason, she found that hard, almost impossible, to accept. She just wasn’t sure if she felt worthy of his attention.
Which in and of itself sounded odd even to herself. She felt worthy of just about anything—most of the time.
With Duncan it felt different. Was it because he was so wealthy? Or because he was an earl? Or because he was every girl’s imagining of the epitome of Mr. Darcy? But how could it be possible that her sassy self with the Mae West attitude had actually paired with Mr. Darcy? Talk about an odd couple.
If she could just get through the next couple days, she could go home with memories of her time in England. And like a silly romance novel, she knew they’d keep her warm on cold New York nights. Pairings like this might never work out, but she could have fun while it lasted.
Audrey forced a smile and finished getting ready.
Finally, with her hair dried and makeup on, and clad in another of the dresses she’d bought in London for her time with Duncan, Audrey had decided to push her silly romantic feelings for him to the back of her mind, deep within her heart, and face the day head-on.
The house was still traditional. She could see the old hand-carved wood all lovingly preserved. The hallway was done in sage-green wallpaper she really liked that added to her sense of old and new. She poked her head in an open doorway and saw a small sitting room, done in pale blues and silvers, with a flat-screen TV, tablet, cordless phone, and several DVDs scattered over the desk.
Old and new.
She chuckled and continued on, stopping to admire the paintings on the stairway and trying to read the artist signatures. She didn’t recognize any of them, but then some of those signatures weren’t exactly legible. Duncan had already taken her to the portrait gallery where paintings by recognizable masters hung interspersed with his ancestors.
For the first time she really saw the banister, felt the polished wood beneath her fingertips, and knew this, too, had been lovingly preserved.
Sunlight shone in the windows; it was a bright day outside, and Audrey held her face up to the warmth and smiled. She’d enjoy her last days in England and worry about the rest later. Much later. Really.
Halfway down the stairs, Audrey saw an unknown woman cross the foyer. A tall, thin, wiry woman with long chestnut brown hair that curled at the ends came to an abrupt stop and looked up. Audrey paused, her hand on the banister, and looked down at the other woman, who watched her as if her dress was stained and her hair hung in oily chunks down her back.
Surprised at the disdain and condescension in the woman’s look, Audrey managed to smile pleasantly down at the woman and continue down the steps.
“So,” the woman said, her voice dripping with polite scorn, “you are Audrey?”
On the last step, she stopped and studied the other woman. She was dressed very fashionably, with heels too high for a casual day, makeup a little too thick, and nice hair. The look in the other woman’s hazel eyes shot contempt, and the fake smile she forced spoke of a dislike Audrey wasn’t prepared for.
Tilting her head slightly, she watched the woman and nodded. “Yes,” she said as politely as she could. “I’m Audrey Mills.”
“You’re American?” the woman said, clearly stunned.
Audrey blinked but nodded. What she wanted to do was say she was Canadian, but refrained. She didn’t know who this woman was or why she was wandering the house just before breakfast.
“No worse,” Audrey said and stepped down the final step. The other woman stepped back. “I’m a New Yorker. And you are?”
She waited, eyeing the woman teetering on too-high heels and with venom in her gaze. Normally people had to know her for at least ten minutes before they disliked her. She’d never had someone hate her before she’d even uttered a word.
“I’m Libby Collins,” she said smoothly but didn’t hold out her hand in greeting. “Duncan’s cousin. And I’ve no idea why he’s brought you here.”
Libby tilted her head and raked her gaze up and down Audrey. Her lip curled and her voice grew even colder, if that was possible. “I have a friend meeting Duncan now,” she said in that same scornful snip. “Don’t interfere. As a matter of fact,” she continued, her voice lowering to a hiss, “why don’t I have the servants pack your things and take you back to London? I’m sure you can find your way back to the wormy Big Apple from there.”
She raised an eyebrow and held Libby’s gaze steadily. Neither Lila nor Duncan had spoken much of dear cousin Libby since Lila had first mentioned the woman in the gardens. She could see why. What Audrey didn’t understand was why they continued to keep such a snake so close. Or was Libby that different around Duncan and Lila? Somehow, Audrey doubted that; this level of contempt was difficult to hide for long.
“Better yet,” Audrey said coolly, with a hint of sweetness that belied her words, “why don’t you find that ride and take it straight to hell. I’m sure the other harpies miss you.”
Libby’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “I see you have a bit of spunk.”
Still cool, Audrey twisted her lips into a half smirk and stepped around Libby. “I told you I was from New York.”
She headed straight for the breakfast room, ignoring Libby, who she knew was probably also heading for breakfast. Oh the fun. Lila sat at one end of the table, reading a paper and sipping her tea. Duncan stood at the buffet with a tall woman who smiled at him as if he were Mr. Darcy and a British rock star all rolled into one.
Duncan frowned down at the woman and stepped away from her. Ah, Cousin Libby’s friend. Audrey didn’t know what game Libby played; rather, she didn’t know why. It was easy enough to see the game itself—to hook up Duncan with the friend and keep whatever “in” Libby had with the man.
She made a beeline for Duncan, ignoring Libby behind her and the friend next to Duncan, and said, “Good morning.”
He looked at Audrey with such heat in his eyes, she could feel the arousal spread hot and fast through her. She swallowed a whimper but knew Duncan knew exactly what he did to her. Oh, but she was a goner. And then Duncan pulled her to him, his mouth found hers, and his
greeting was far, far better than her words ever could be.
His kiss left no doubt as to their relationship, and when he pulled back, Audrey wondered how she remembered to stand on her own. She ignored the other woman’s indignant clearing of her throat and Libby’s too-sweet greeting to Lila as she pulled back. Her fingers dug into the lapels of Duncan’s suit, and she knew she looked up at him like she wanted to toss him on the floor and take him hard and fast.
Which she did. Desperately. Duncan’s hungry look made her forget why doing just that was a bad idea.
Audrey cleared her throat and tossed a wave and a cheery “Morning!” to Lila, who smiled back at her with an amused glint in her eyes.
Libby had staked out the chair to Lila’s right and talked very animatedly to both Lila and the friend, who Audrey hadn’t been introduced to and didn’t really care to be. Lila looked like she’d rather be anywhere but there.
“Good morning,” Duncan said, his hand slipping down her arm to wrap around her fingers. “Breakfast?”
“Yes,” Audrey agreed. Even she didn’t know if she meant breakfast as in tasting every inch of Duncan, or breakfast as in the scrumptious food before them. She licked her lips, stifled a moan when his eyes followed her movement, and nodded. “I’m starving.”
The hungry look he watched her with didn’t cool and his fingers tightened on hers, pulling her imperceptibly closer.
“Here,” he said, stopping and clearing his throat. “The crêpes are delicious. I prefer the cheese, myself, but Mum loves the chocolate and as far as I know, Jasper has yet to say no to anything she asks for.”
Jasper, Audrey had learned on their first night, was the family cook. He’d told her he used to work in a five-star restaurant in London before accepting a “retirement” job here. But he’d also said he worked for the head of some Arab country she’d never heard of, grew up in Cleveland, and worked on a cruise ship for several years, so she didn’t know what to believe.
What she did know was that Jasper was quite possibly the best cook in the universe.
Duncan placed two crêpes on her plate, sausage, eggs, and toast then led her back to the table, where Libby glared at her with barely disguised disgust. Audrey ignored her. Libby wasn’t the first person to dislike her, and she wouldn’t be the last.
“Isn’t that a little much on your plate?” Libby asked as she daintily ate a bite of eggs and what looked like a quarter slice of toast. “A bit rich for someone like you. Shouldn’t you watch your waistline?”
Beside her, Duncan drew in a sharp breath, and though Audrey didn’t look at him, she felt his anger. Beneath the table, she placed her hand on his knee.
“She’s perfect, Libby,” Duncan bit out before Audrey had the chance to reply. “As opposed to you. Don’t you understand—most men don’t find stick figures attractive. You should have a few of the crêpes; maybe then you’ll find your appropriate sugar daddy.”
Stunned, she turned from Libby’s shock and looked at her lover. She’d never, never, had anyone defend her like that. but Duncan wasn’t looking at her; he glared at his cousin and the tittering friend who at least had the grace to look down at her breakfast and remain silent.
Duncan abruptly pushed his chair back and picked up his plate and Audrey’s. “Come on, Audrey,” he said softly. But his mouth was tight and his eyes still angry when he looked from Libby to her. “Let’s have breakfast on the terrace.”
He didn’t say anything else, and she grabbed their cups—coffee for her, tea for him—and followed him out of the room. She saw him nod once to his mother, who smiled apologetically in return. By the time Audrey had gathered herself enough to look at Lila, the other woman was glaring at Libby, who remained stubbornly silent.
She pulled her chair around the table to sit beside him and sipped her coffee. “I’m sorry that little exchange took you away from your mother,” she said, the most innocent thing she could think of. “But your mom is right,” she said, looking at him as he obviously fought to control his temper and unclench his jaw. “Your cousin is uniquely tempered.”
She’d already decided not to tell him about her run-in with Libby on the stairs; it wasn’t important, and she refused to allow the other woman to ruin their last day here. Audrey wanted to take his hand, a comfortable gesture, but instead ran her fingers along the back of his neck.
“I’ve wanted that mute button installed on Libby for years,” he said, and she felt the tension leave under her caress.
Chuckling, she agreed. “I know a few people who need that kind of button.”
She took a deep breath and dropped her hand. Touching him messed with her concentration and fired every nerve ending she was aware of—and some she hadn’t realized existed before Duncan. Picking up her fork, she cut the chocolate crêpe and tasted it.
Audrey hadn’t realized she’d moaned in utter ecstasy until she looked up at Duncan to tell him that whatever he was paying Jasper, the man was worth it. The words died in her throat. Molten blue eyes watched her with that same hunger from earlier. The same hunger she saw every time he moved inside her.
She licked her lips and swallowed. Struggling to remember what she’d wanted to say to him, before she tasted the best crêpe in the universe, Audrey tore her gaze away from Duncan and sipped her coffee.
“This brought up a topic I’d like to talk to you about,” Audrey admitted as she savored another bite of the scrumptious crêpes.
Duncan sipped his tea and watched her curiously. He tilted his head to the side as he waited, and Audrey had a sudden flash of him in a pair of professor glasses and her slipping them off him. The naughty schoolgirl. She shook her head to dispel the image, though she couldn’t as easily dispel the arousal throbbing within her.
“Your cousin is rather combative,” she said, all thoughts of role-playing shoved as far to the back of her mind as she could manage. “But she does make a point. I…” She trailed off and looked at her plate.
“I’m not your typical type of date. At least,” she added and looked up at him again, “I don’t look like your typical type of date. And yet you’ve brought me to meet your mum.” She smiled up at him; she really had enjoyed meeting Lila, but needed to know. “Why? Do you make a habit of bringing all the women you’ve known for a week to meet your mom? Because I have to warn you, moms don’t like that.”
Duncan smiled and leaned in closer. His eyes were utterly sincere and his voice was low, and she was pulled into him. Drowning in him. “I’ve never brought any one of my dates to meet my mother. And as to not looking like my typical date?” he brushed a hand over her cheek. “Let’s just say I can appreciate every curve on a beautiful woman. And enjoy them rather enthusiastically.”
She swallowed and forgot what the crêpes tasted like or where they were. Duncan’s words wrapped around her more firmly than a web, and they were just as strong.
“You do realize,” she said softly, “I’m leaving in a few days. I have a life to return to.”
“I had hoped,” he said in that same velvety, soft voice that caressed her as surely as his fingers did last night, “to persuade you to stay a bit longer.”
Speechless, Audrey raced for an answer. Words tumbled in her mind, but she couldn’t latch onto one. She wanted to stay; oh, yes, she wanted to stay. But for how long? Another week? A month? And how hard would it be to leave then?
Before she could figure out what to say, the butler had walked onto the terrace with one of the cordless phones she’d laughed at earlier.
Duncan excused himself to talk in his office, and Audrey was left in the cool spring morning with cold crêpes and a heart that knew it was already too late to leave. What a mess.
Chapter Twelve
They had to return to London; the deal Duncan thought had been sealed last week before they left now teetered on the verge of breaking down. He’d told her about the deal on their drive up; Duncan wanted to secure a television affiliate on the continent and had left for the country with the underst
anding that everything was in place.
When he returned to the terrace table, lines bracketing his gorgeous and kissable mouth, his eyes hard, Audrey realized all she’d wanted to do was comfort him. But she’d packed up her things, ignored Libby and the friend, said a proper, and warm, goodbye to Lila, and promised to keep in touch with Duncan’s mom.
The sincerity in her tone surprised her more than her nearly overwhelming desire to comfort Duncan. She slid into the passenger’s side of his Bentley. Audrey didn’t know what to do with her hands, and kept looking for the steering wheel. She wondered if she’d ever get used to sitting on the wrong side of the car.
She tried not to think about Lila and how much she honestly liked the other woman, and she definitely tried not to think about Duncan.
For the first several miles, Audrey tried to ignore the nearly physical ache to touch Duncan. Not to make him pull over to a nice, secluded spot and have her wicked way with him, though that did tempt her more than a little. But to simply touch him, to feel his hand wrap around hers, his skin beneath her fingertips.
So she asked him about Monsieur Reynard and what had happened to sour their deal. Concluding that the other man simply wanted more money, to which Duncan agreed, Audrey finally gave into temptation. Proud she’d lasted all of eighteen-and-a-half minutes by not touching him, she reached across the console and lightly rested her hand on his thigh.
It wasn’t the boldest of moves, but she was hyper aware of the hard muscle beneath her touch. Actually, Audrey thought as she listened to Duncan tell her all he knew about Monsieur Reynard, she was hyper aware of everything about Duncan. As they drove, she felt the tension ebb from him, and she herself relaxed.
Their conversation had turned from Reynard to them, or, more specifically, what Duncan wanted to do to and with her, and by the time they pulled in for petrol, Audrey was hot and aroused and wondered how close they were to London.
Pull over on the side of the road? Or wait until his townhouse?
Audrey swallowed and wondered if the petrol station had security cameras. London was inundated with cameras; from what she’d heard, cameras covered every inch of the city. No truly secret trysts there. The thought had her nipples hardening. She wondered, as her fingers drifted along her thighs and bright sparks of fire licked along her skin, where the sudden appreciation of voyeurism came from.
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