by Teri Wilson
In the backseat of Sue’s station wagon, or steering-brake, as she called it, Jenna scrunched her nose. “I thought you said we were going to a castle.”
Elizabeth shared a smile with Sue. “We only told you that so you’d come with us.”
Jenna’s head appeared in the space between their headrests. “What?”
“Don’t worry, dear. You won’t be disappointed,” Sue said, just as they got their first glimpse of the stately home on the horizon.
It was magnificent, like something out of an historical production on PBS. Red brick, with thick clusters of ivy crawling up the facade, the home appeared to have no less than four chimneys and row after row of white sash windows. The grounds overflowed with colorful roses in cherry-red and bright pink.
“Wow,” Jenna gasped. “This is almost better than a castle.”
“This place is stunning.” Elizabeth grazed the car window with her fingertips. She almost felt as though she were looking at a mirage. “Who owns this house?”
“This is Ashwyn House. It’s been in the Ashwyn family for generations,” Sue answered absently as she steered the car in the direction of the car park.
Ashwyn House, Elizabeth mused. A house with a name.
Is this the sort of house Donovan owns?
She frowned and tried not to imagine Donovan and Helena Robson chasing a collection of fashionable, perfect children across the spectacular grounds. The perfect couple. The perfect house. The perfect family.
A series of long, rectangular tents came into view. The show grounds, no doubt. Elizabeth was relieved to have something to focus on that would take her mind off the Society page of the Daily Mail. The more she’d thought about it, the more it bothered her. Was Donovan engaged or not? And even if he wasn’t, what exactly was the nature of his relationship with Helena? Was she his fiancée? His girlfriend? Or just another in a string of “female companions,” as the newspaper had so dubiously referred to Elizabeth?
It was humiliating. Humiliating enough to almost make her forget how sweet he’d been the night before—coming to find her and endeavoring to cheer her up—and how the instant his lips had touched hers, she’d been hit with the sensation that it was the consummation of something she’d been craving for the longest time.
Elizabeth felt sick to her stomach as they crossed the finely manicured lawn and headed toward the show tents. At least the morning drizzle had subsided. Sue pointed out a myriad of spectacular features of the estate as they led the dogs across the damp emerald grass, and Jenna oohed and aahed in appreciation. Elizabeth was barely cognizant of her surroundings. Which was why when Sue stopped in her tracks, she nearly stumbled right into her.
“Oh, my.” Sue grew pale, and her hand fluttered to her chest. “Goodness.”
Whatever had captured her attention seemed anything but good.
Elizabeth followed Sue’s gaze to the area ringside, where the other Cavalier King Charles spaniel handlers were busy fussing over dogs propped on grooming tables. At first, Elizabeth didn’t see what had Sue so flustered. Then a shrill laugh drew her attention to a familiar sticklike figure.
“I am so not ready for this,” she muttered as a fresh wave of nausea washed over her.
Jenna gripped her arm. “Is that...?”
“Helena Robson.” Sue gave a grim nod. “And it looks like she’ll be showing against you, Elizabeth. That’s a Cavalier at the end of her leash.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. She has a Cavalier?”
“It certainly looks that way.” Jenna lowered her voice to a whisper. “But don’t worry. Bliss is way cuter. Way.”
This did nothing to slow the panicked beating of Elizabeth’s heart. On the contrary, Jenna’s well-meaning words had the opposite effect. Things must be even worse than she’d thought if Jenna was willing to inject herself into dog-show politics.
“I don’t think it’s hers. I’ve never seen her at a show with a dog before.” Sue frowned. “And that’s a full-grown dog, not a puppy. She must be showing it for someone else.”
“Please don’t tell me it’s Donovan’s.” Elizabeth couldn’t imagine a more awkward scenario.
“No, it can’t be Donovan’s dog.” Sue paused and finally said, “Because he’s your judge today.”
And just like that, the situation reached new heights of awkwardness.
“He can’t be.” Elizabeth refused to believe she was about to step into the ring and show under Donovan against his fiancée, rumored or otherwise. She was going to have to start completing the show paperwork herself, or at least begin looking over Sue’s shoulder as she filled out the forms. This business of not knowing the judge’s identity until she arrived at the show was like walking through a minefield.
“He is. I’m sorry.” Sue wound Violet’s leash around her hand until her fingers turned white. “I didn’t tell you before because I thought it would be a nice surprise.”
“Are you surprised?” Jenna asked, tongue firmly planted in cheek.
“To put it mildly,” Elizabeth said as she tried to wrap her mind around the state of affairs.
“Oh, look. Henry is here, too.” Jenna unconsciously smoothed down her long, blond hair. Or maybe it wasn’t an unconscious gesture, after all. “I think we should go over there and talk to them.”
“Oh, dear.” Sue’s expression grew wary, not unlike Bliss’s on bath day. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“There’s no time.” Elizabeth slid her exhibitor number in place beneath the rubber band fastened around her arm. “Our ring time is in less than a minute.”
“This is bad.” Jenna shook her head, but Elizabeth noticed she kept one eye glued on Henry Robson.
Elizabeth directed her attention to the ring, where, sure enough, Donovan stood in the center. He turned slightly, and Elizabeth caught a glimpse of his tie. Red silk, fashioned in a full Windsor knot. A slow-motion image floated through her mind—Donovan slowly slipping his tie from around his neck and tossing it onto her bed yesterday.
A surge of desire hit her low in the belly. It was most definitely unwelcome, especially in the here and now, but Elizabeth was powerless to stop it.
Until Donovan positioned himself at the entrance to the ring, where Helena Robson stood ready and waiting. Elizabeth stayed ringside and watched Helena rest a perfectly manicured hand on Donovan’s lapel. The yearning she’d felt only moments ago withered and died. It was replaced with a sizzling spike of something that felt oddly like jealousy that struck Elizabeth square in the chest.
Unidentified female companion.
God, it was humiliating.
Shame coursed through her, hot and unrelenting, until beads of sweat broke out on her forehead.
She hated feeling this way.
She wouldn’t feel this way. She simply refused.
Elizabeth turned her back on the ring, squared her shoulders and went to work channeling all that shame, jealousy and embarrassment into something healthy—good, old-fashioned anger.
13
Donovan almost hadn’t seen the photograph in the paper. Or the odious mention of his fictitious engagement to Helena.
He didn’t make a practice of reading the Society section. The way he saw it, he was forced to mingle with those people enough in real life. He had no desire to spend his free time reading about them in the Daily Mail.
Zara had been the one to bring both items to his attention. She’d come tearing into his office clutching the paper to her chest, red-faced with laughter.
“Helena is going to die when she sees this, Donovan.” His little sister had been beside herself with glee. “Positively die. I swear, this is the best day ever.”
Donovan had found it difficult to focus on what she was saying, riveted as he was to the image of himself and Elizabeth Scott swept u
p in one another. She was all but sitting in his lap, and he looked more than ready to consume her right there in Harrods. He could see his right hand fisted in Elizabeth’s mass of chestnut hair, and his left—he squinted—where was his left hand?
Then he’d smiled as he’d recalled precisely where that hand had been and considered it best that its placement hadn’t been captured in the photograph.
Donovan had had to look away from the image. He’d been forced to clear his throat and collect himself. It had required a conscious effort to stop himself from becoming aroused right then and there, standing next to his little sister.
So taken with the memory of the previous night, he’d given little to no thought to the whole business of Helena at that ridiculous bridal event.
Judging by the look on Elizabeth’s face as she entered the ring at the dog show, however, she’d had plenty of opportunity to reflect on the matter.
She swished past him, sending him a glare that would freeze the devil himself, and lined up directly behind Helena.
Donovan couldn’t help but smile as he looked at Elizabeth, dressed in a saucy red dress with sheer, fluttery sleeves and a square neckline that he wished was an inch or two lower. His eyes remained glued on her until all six competitors had lined up in the ring. Only then did he avert his gaze to Helena, the first one up.
He crossed his arms and addressed her as formally as possible. “Miss Robson, please lead the group once around the ring.”
She lit up under his attention as if he’d proposed marriage to her, which she’d clearly already hallucinated at some point. Donovan frowned and watched the Cavaliers trot in a circle. The dog at the end of Helena’s leash had its tail between its legs. Poor guy. Donovan sympathized with him.
“Can I have the first dog on the table, please?”
Helena led her shy charge to the table in the center of the ring, then bent down to pick up the dog. She made quite a show of bending low enough to afford Donovan a clear view straight down her dress to her pair of what he was sure were artificial breasts.
He did his best to avoid the show within a show and averted his gaze back to Elizabeth. She was watching him. Pleased to have caught her, he sent her an almost imperceptible wink. She responded by rolling her eyes and fixing her attention back on Bliss.
“Ahem.” Helena cleared her throat. “I’m ready.”
Don’t I know it.
“Perhaps I need to remind you this is my ring, Miss Robson.” He began working his hands over the dog on the table, purposefully avoiding fixing his gaze with Helena’s.
“Of course, darlin’...I mean, Mr. Darcy.”
He didn’t need to look at her to know she was fluttering her eyelashes. He could feel the wind coming off them, threatening to knock him over.
He made quick work of going over the dog, giving it only a cursory inspection. It made no difference to Donovan what the dog looked like. That Cavalier could have been a perfect example of breed standard and he wouldn’t even award it a ribbon, much less Championship points. The dog belonged to his aunt and came from his own breeding stock. Awarding the dog any sort of honor would be unethical.
Helena had been following him and Henry around the show scene long enough to be well aware of such rules, but clearly she’d chosen to ignore them. And now she was about to learn her lesson in the worst way possible.
He stepped away from the table. “Take the dog down and back, please.”
Helena led the Cavalier to the corner of the ring and back again. The dog had its tail up, finally, and showed good reach in its front end. All in all, it had very nice movement.
It should. Donovan shook his head. I bred the damned thing.
“Around.” He sent Helena on one final lap before striding back to the table.
Bliss was already in position, aligned nicely in a proper show stack. Donovan examined her topline—nice and even—from the side and then approached her from the front.
He reached out his hands and let Bliss sniff them before cradling her muzzle. She really did have a lovely head. And the freckles were growing on him, for one reason or another.
“Elizabeth, you’re looking lovely this afternoon,” he said under his breath as he checked the cushioning beneath Bliss’s eyes. And then, because he simply couldn’t resist, he added, “Pretty as a picture, one might say.”
That creamy complexion of hers flushed scarlet, nearly as red as the dress that clung to her curves. “Mr. Darcy,” she said, rather crisply.
He moved his hands over Bliss’s withers and shifted the placement of her left front leg ever so slightly. “So it’s back to Mr. Darcy, is it? I suppose you’d like me to call you Miss Scott.”
She lifted a furious eyebrow. “It has a better ring to it than ‘unidentified female companion,’ don’t you think?”
Donovan lowered his voice another notch and moved to Bliss’s rear, checking the set of her hips and alignment of her stifle. “I feel I should point out that I’ve never called you that. I’m well aware of your name. You saw to that at our first meeting, did you not?”
“Donovan, please.” His name was a plea on her lips.
For a moment, Donovan forgot where he was and what he was doing. He was aware of very little other than the deep brown of her eyes and the curve of her bottom lip, pink as a rose petal.
“Aah, you’re calling me Donovan again. So I’m forgiven, then. Although what I was guilty of remains a mystery.” He had to stop himself from leaning over the grooming table and kissing her right there, with the aroma of dog and hair spray—technically illegal at shows, but still used in copious amounts—hanging in the air.
“I thought you might see fit to explain what I read in the paper this morning. You’ve obviously seen it.”
“Oh, yes. I saw it. Rather stirring, wasn’t it? Did it bring back as many fond memories for you as it did for me?” His gaze dropped to her mouth. Until he remembered he was supposed to be looking at her dog.
Her lips curved into a smile for the briefest of moments. If Donovan had blinked at just the wrong time, he would have missed it entirely. “That’s beside the point. Since you obviously aren’t going to offer any kind of explanation, I’ll ask you point-blank—are you engaged to be married?”
“Did I act like an engaged man last night?” He stroked Bliss’s back with one hand and rested the other on the edge of the grooming table. It inched toward Elizabeth’s, as if of its own accord.
“A simple yes or no answer would suffice.”
He’d drawn out his examination of Bliss nearly as long as he could. The dog only had four legs and a tail. What more could he possibly look at? “Something tells me nothing about this conversation is simple.”
“Donovan...” she whispered. A single, exasperated utterance.
He moved his hand a fraction, so the very tips of his fingers brushed against hers. “Why, Miss Scott, that’s a lovely shade of green you’re wearing.”
She looked down at their hands, barely touching, and then back up at him. “My dress isn’t green. It’s red.”
“I wasn’t referring to your dress.” He sent her a cheeky wink. “You’re positively green from head to toe. Miss Scott, I do believe you’re jealous.”
She inhaled a sharp breath.
“Let me see your dog go down and back, please. I think we’ve just about covered everything here.” He inched away from the table, not wanting to turn his back lest she stab him in it when he wasn’t looking.
She picked Bliss up, set her gently on the grass and led her down to the corner and back. Elizabeth didn’t so much as glance at Donovan when she returned and stacked Bliss in a final pose for his inspection. He could see the rise and fall of her breath, every irate inhale and exhale, but she kept her eyes glued to her dog.
Oh, yes. She was jealous. Donovan knew a jealous fe
male when he saw one, and right now, Elizabeth Scott was one perfect specimen.
He tried not to smirk, but he simply couldn’t help but be pleased at the turn of events. For the first time since setting his sights on Elizabeth, he had the upper hand.
Finally.
Things were as they should be.
“Thank you, Miss Scott,” he said, meaning it from the very depths of his soul.
* * *
Jealous?
The idea would be laughable if only it weren’t true.
Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to exit the ring as quickly as possible. But Donovan still had four more Cavaliers to examine on the table, and she knew he couldn’t very well rush through them since he’d spent so much time going over Bliss.
She offered Bliss a treat and tried not to look at Donovan. This was typically the time in the ring where exhibitors and their dogs could relax.
Ha!
As if that were possible with Helena Robson studiously ignoring her less than three feet away.
Well, Elizabeth wasn’t about to stand there as if she were the other woman, especially when Donovan was so convinced she was jealous. She’d show Donovan she didn’t care a lick if he was engaged. He didn’t need to know how right he was.
Elizabeth took a step closer to Helena. “Hi, there.”
Helena looked at her as if she’d sprouted two heads. She arched a carefully sculpted eyebrow and swept Elizabeth up and down with her gaze. Then she sniffed and turned her back.
“Just so you know, there’s nothing between Donovan and me,” Elizabeth whispered to her back. “We’re...”
How was she supposed to finish that sentence? She couldn’t very well say they were friends.
“...we’re not intimate, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Way to go. Denial.