Her Foreign Affair

by Shea Mcmaster

  “’Allo, Court.” The Brit accents flying through the air zoomed her back nearly twenty-three years when she’d tried to fit in by adopting the cadence and music of the people around her.

  “Still workin’ on your accent, are you?”

  Paying no mind to the racing of her heart and all the damn people stealing the oxygen from the terminal, she returned his teasing smile with her chilliest voice. “I’ll get it sooner or later.”

  He laughed, ignoring her attempt to freeze him out, and dropped a light kiss on her nose. “Hello, RJ. The car is waiting, and the traffic wardens are about to haul my driver away. You’re late.”

  “Bad weather almost got us re-routed to Birmingham. Then someone in customs had a burr up his butt,” Dad grumbled. “Let’s get out of this mess. I’ve seen holiday crowds before, but this is ridiculous.”

  “This way.” Court turned toward the doors, but released her shoulder only to casually grasp her hand and hold it, looking for all the world as if this were an everyday event. In truth, Randi was worn down, her nerves stretched enough it felt as if he’d tossed her a lifeline, and she clung to him as if he were saving her. He responded by squeezing her hand, conveying a wealth of comfort without words.

  The past weeks had taken their toll on Randi, and she knew every bit of it showed on her face. Every minute of second-guessing Court’s motives, worrying about Birdie’s swinging emotions, and keeping her father off her back had etched itself on her as a new line, or a new strand of gray that defied her stylist’s color job. With only an hour to pack, and fueled by anger and the disintegration of the last straw of her tolerance for his family’s attitude, she still wore the jeans she’d put on more than thirty hours earlier. She’d barely managed a twinset suitable for First Class. Heaven only knew what had finally ended up in her suitcase. She had managed to stuff bits of jewelry into her carryon and the presents for Dad and Birdie in her larger case, but what clothes and toiletries had actually made it, well, it was anybody’s guess.

  She supposed a handful of under things and socks had found their way into the suitcase corners, and whatever had remained in her toiletry case after New York would have to do. She’d fill in the holes with a trip to the local chemist or do without. The fact she had no gifts for any other members of his family, well it was just too much to contemplate. Court had a newly knitted scarf, only because the airlines had allowed her wooden needles and a couple balls of chunky yarn she’d found stashed in the corner of her craft room. Not a very good scarf, because she was years out of practice, but it had kept her agitated hands busy. Drew’s half-done scarf didn’t look much better. In fact, she wasn’t sure he’d like the chunky mauve-ish yarn anyway. She could give it to Court’s sister. Or a maid. Or a homeless person.

  Unable to see over the crowd, Randi put her trust in Court and followed. She heard a squeal of recognition, but it didn’t register that the squeal had contained Court’s name until he came to a stop, with a woman hanging about his neck.

  “Pammy,” he said and allowed himself to be hugged. “Sorry, ducks, got my hands full here already. Randi, don’t know if you ever met Pammy.”

  “Oh.” The woman loosened her grip around his neck enough to glance at Randi, who made a strong effort to smooth her expression into one of polite interest. “’Lo there.”

  Not Court’s usual fashion model, Pammy looked like one of the middle aged country club set, only a little more comfortable, her coat a little more worn at the edges, her makeup not quite magazine perfect. She was put together just well enough Randi felt grubby in comparison. God, had she really been about to buy his lines of love? Still had women hanging all over him wherever they went. At the airport even! Tigers don’t change their stripes, she reminded herself.

  “Hello.” Randi gave a short nod while trying to reclaim her hand from Court. He held it tighter, not letting go of either her or her luggage.

  “Ease up there, Pam,” Court said with a chuckle. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us. Catch up with you and Dave later? Been meaning to touch base about New Year’s. May not work out this year, but let’s talk later, all right?”

  “Randi, eh? The one…” A brow needing a touch-up plucking raised until she apparently caught a look from Court. “Ah, okay. Sure. We’ve come to pick up our Davey. ‘E’s come back from a semester in Spain. We’ll make New Year’s work out somehow.” Pammy turned her smile on Court even as she aimed a kiss for his lips. “Nice to meet you,” she said to Randi and nodded at RJ before diving back into the crowd.

  Once more moving forward, Court spoke as he tugged Randi along, their fingers still laced despite her attempts to break free. “I can’t remember if we ever met up at the pub with Pammy and Dave. They got married the year after graduation. Knew Dave from Eton and met Pammy at university.”

  Most of his comments were hard to hear because of the crowds, but he kept talking until they burst from the multitude, nearly landing on top of a black Land Rover sitting at the curb in the frosty gray of the stormy afternoon, its shiny paint mostly hidden under a layer of road grime. By then Randi had stopped fighting for her hand. Staying on track had become a matter of survival, and clinging to him her only way out of the crowds.

  “It’s been snowing, and the roads are a colossal mess,” Court said, his words carried by a cloud of steam. Against the silver sky, white flakes drifted down, looking like large white feathers.

  “We already gathered the weather is bad.” Dad’s comment was dry enough to suck the moisture from the air.

  A younger man, somewhere around thirty, leaped from the driver’s seat and met them at the back. “Welcome, miss, sir.” He gave them wide grins and lobbed their luggage into the cargo area.

  “This way.” Court wrapped an arm around her shoulders and directed her to the rear seat. “RJ, you take the front passenger.”

  Court settled into the back seat beside her. Not quite ready to face him, she reached for the seatbelt. Annoyance and too much caffeine, not exhaustion, made her hands tremble. Only a smidgen of relief followed when Court quietly took the buckle situation out of her hands and made sure she was secure in the middle spot, snugged right up against his side instead of on the far side of the seat. After buckling his own seatbelt, he threw an arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him. Resistance was futile as he only pulled her closer the more she tried to lean away from him.

  “Rest love. We have a two hour drive, or more, based on the roads. Getting out of London will be dicey enough. Who knows what the M25 is like by now.”

  Tempting as it was to lie against him, she resisted long enough to look up at him. “Court…?”

  “I know, you’re still angry. With me, with Mum, with Birdie. I get it. But don’t worry, all’s well, love. You look exhausted.” His blue eyes darkened as she started to protest. “Shh.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss on her lips, lingering, letting her feel the warming caress of his touch.

  On a sigh, too tired to fight for the moment, she gave up and kissed him back, then rested her head on his shoulder. Her eyes fluttered shut when his big hand came up and cupped her head, holding her in the warm spot where shoulder met neck.

  “Try and sleep, love. All’s well.”

  “But I don’t sleep while traveling,” she muttered in protest, hoping he’d keep calling her love. She’d prayed all the way around the world that he really meant it. And she’d included prayers that he’d stand up to his mother and not leave it to her to put the old woman in her place. At the thought, her agitation spiked once more, but Court’s warmth dulled the sensation. His arms tightened around her, as if he sensed her jumping nerves and chaotic reactions and his embrace could hold it all at bay.

  “Then rest. We’ll be home as soon as possible.”

  Home. Why did that one word tug at her so? “Merry Christmas?”

  He gave her a gentle squeeze. “The merriest.”

  Nuzzling her face into the safe haven he made for her, she let th
e tension drain from her body and didn’t fight as his closeness lulled her into a light doze.

  * * * *

  “She asleep?”

  Court looked up into the review mirror and met Martin’s gaze before softly answering Randi’s father. “Close.” Nothing had felt so good since the last time he’d held her. This woman was meant to be with him. Her body knew it; her heart knew it. Just the pigheaded part of her upper level brain function seemed to deny every other instinct nature spoke to.

  “Humph,” RJ grunted. “About time. I had the flight attendant pour decaf, hoping it’d calm her down. Don’t know what you said to get her all riled up, but she didn’t sit still all the way around the world. Damn stubborn little mule. Only person more stubborn was her mother.”

  Not wanting to disturb her, Court softly returned the grunt to indicate he’d heard.

  “Where’re we going? Not that it will mean a whole lot to me until I can look at a proper map,” RJ grumbled.

  “Near Chichester in West Sussex, sir,” Martin answered. Without looking away from the road, he reached between the front seats and extracted the A-Z map book. “We’ll be taking the southbound M25 until Junction 10, then onto the A3. That’ll take us in the direction of Chichester and the South Downs.”

  “A man always likes to know where he’s going. Randi had no idea.”

  “She’s never been to the house.” Court kept his voice low, but Randi still stirred against him.

  “And why not?”

  “It just never worked out. We were both tied up in studies.”

  RJ’s snort was disbelieving. “Not good enough to take home? Well, I’ll get the story out of you later.” He waved off Court’s protest before it cleared his throat. “She told me what your mother called Birdie. Anyhow, we’d best let her sleep. She hasn’t slept more than thirty minutes at a stretch since Birdie decided to go AWOL. Before then, I’m not sure she slept a whole lot more. Haven’t seen her fall into a depression this deep since right after Birdie’s birth. Not even Wyatt’s death threw her this much. Someday I want to hear what really happened in New York.”

  That pretty much confirmed Court’s suspicions and raised a whole bunch of new questions. Postpartum depression? Was that part of the reason her husband had hired nursing care? Randi looked washed out and thin. Too thin. How much due to worrying about her daughter, and how much due to her feelings about him, and what sent her scampering back to California? Birdie had only been away from home four days. Randi couldn’t have lost so much weight in so little time. How hard a time had Birdie given her between New York and the end of the semester?

  On top of all that, Court had his own worry. If RJ wanted to know about New York, Court wanted to know what Doyle had been doing back in California, and answering Randi’s phone. Was he the reason Randi hadn’t repeated the love word back to him?

  “I just want to know one thing,” Court said as quietly as he could. Randi had her anxiety moments, and that was fine. He’d even encouraged this one to get her around the world, but he had his. “What’s the story with Doyle?”

  RJ turned in the seat to look at him directly. “Concerned about Jordan, are you?” The older man’s grin rubbed Court the wrong way. He kept his face as blank as possible, which only amused RJ more. “Give it a rest. Randi has no interest in Jordan, and he’s played the field too long to get serious about any one woman. I merely used him to try and shake Randi out of mourning.”

  “Then why did he answer her phone?”

  “Last week?”

  Court nodded half an inch.

  “He came back to fix some bugs. She invited us for dinner, and when the phone rang, she was up to her elbows in soapy water. I would have gotten it, but he was closer.”

  A two ton block of stone lifted from Court’s shoulders. Just a simple disconnect. A misunderstanding. Miscommunication. Now all he had to do was figure out every detail of the misinformation Martha had fed Randi. And let Randi find her footing with his mother. Then they’d be right as rain.

  Relishing the feel of her body snuggled up against his, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. There was something to be said for home field advantage. At last he had it, and he’d reap the full benefit. She wasn’t getting away from him a third bloody time. Desperation called for desperate measures. First chance he got, he’d nick her passport and lock it away until they were safely married.

  * * * *

  Randi drifted, distantly aware of the well-muffled road noises outside the car. Inside the car, she might very well have been in a comfortable sitting room were it not for the movement. Expensive leather gave her surroundings a masculine fragrance. Classical music spilled softly from the speakers, occasionally interrupted by weather updates, and she heard her father talking quietly with the driver. Court remained alert, but not speaking, probably to keep from disturbing her. Well, except for that little exchange.

  Worried about Jordan? Silly man. Jordan was too into being Jordan, but he did make an amusing dinner guest, and he had taken down her dead tree. Dinner seemed like the least she could do for the man. Would probably invite him for dinner any time he traveled to California. Were her fears about other women as unfounded as Court’s about Jordan? Court certainly hadn’t let go of her to embrace Pammy at the airport. Maybe they were just old friends as he’d explained.

  Something to think about when she wasn’t so tired. For now, she once more drifted into a trance-like state. She could hear, feel, and smell, but for the life of her she could not respond. Never mind she didn’t want Court to know she was sort of awake. It was a good way to learn things. At the moment, she heard the driver answer questions about the Robinson family estate, Lynford Hall. In the family for centuries, the land had been slowly whittled down to about two hundred forty acres surrounding the manor. Woodlands had once been managed to provide hunting for the royal court. Lands now allotted to the county as protected parks. Some of the remaining acres were farmed by community groups interested in organic food. Much of the land remained in a state of natural beauty, perfect for walking and communing with nature. They even had a few ponds and streams perfect for a spot of fishing.

  It sounded lovely. What would it look like under a layer of snow? She had visions of fires crackling in hearths. Cozy bedrooms dominated by four poster beds draped with heavy velvet curtains. Every historical romance she’d ever read contributed to the hazy images rolling gently behind her eyelids until she felt the car slow. Almost there? Not wanting the moment to end, she nuzzled closer to Court.

  “Almost home,” he murmured. “Time to be wakin’ up, love.”

  She moaned a protest that changed to appreciation when he tipped her head up and settled his lips over hers.

  “I know how to wake you, darling,” he whispered against her lips so only she could hear. Dangerously close to cupping her breast, he rubbed against the leather of her coat, teasing the underside with his thumb.

  Rather than answer him, she returned his light kisses with soft nibbles. One large hand gently held the side of her face.

  The car turned in a way she leaned more into him, and he tightened his arms. “Now if only Martin can keep driving in circles this way…”

  The chuckle rumbling from his chest, and the spiraling thrill deep inside, pulled a smile from her. Before she could answer, the car pulled to a smooth stop. “We’re home, Randi.”

  The way he said home… She tried to swallow down the sudden lump in her throat. Instead, she opened sleepy eyes and looked out the window. To see it all, she had to lean across Court, and still her view was limited.

  “I don’t see Birdie,” Dad said on the blast of chilled air that blew through the car when he and Martin opened their doors at the same time.

  “She’s here. Or was when I left hours ago. Probably still is, unless she and her grandmother have finally taken each other out,” Court muttered, and Randi looked away from the incredible house enough to shoot him a nervous glance. “Joking, lov
e. Those two are peas in a pod. I’m relying on you to make them mind their manners and remember they’re ladies.”

  Irritated all over again, she stiffened and pulled away from him. “Right. Since I’ve never even met your mother—”

  “You have my permission to give tit for tat.”

  “Great.” Ignoring his crooked grin, she slid across the seat and didn’t fight when he half lifted her down from the car into lightly falling snow. Taking a moment to let her head clear, she paused and really looked at the house that welcomed with lights glowing warmly from nearly every single one of the numerous windows lining the front.

  Although not the biggest pile of stones she’d ever seen, the house was impressive to say the least. If she were to compare it to something she’d seen in a movie, she might have to think Pride and Prejudice. Not quite on the scale of Darcy’s Pemberly, yet something more than Elizabeth’s Longbourn. Probably something in between. More than a bit grand, yet homey and friendly with plenty of trees and shrubs, most of them, she imagined, green and elegant when not covered in snow and ice. A tiny shiver followed a draft of icy air down her neck, and she pulled her collar close. To the side of the house she could see what appeared to be a large old wisteria, which seemed to hold up the arbor originally designed to support the now massive vines.

  “Brrrr.”

  “A mite colder than California, I dare say.”

  “Bracing,” her father said.

  “Clean and fresh,” she added after drawing in a deep breath. “Like Tahoe in the winter.” The now late afternoon light was failing, but the snow cover lightened the landscape, muffling everything like a thick blanket. For the first time in hours she felt refreshed. Possibly she could deal with Birdie now. She hadn’t been sure on the plane. The behavior Court described sounded nothing at all like the daughter she’d raised. Not to mention the grandmother. If it really were her intention to denigrate the granddaughter, then maybe Birdie’s behavior was justified, although not excusable.