“Winterleagh Castle?” His family’s ancestral seat. “You said the ceremony could be a civil one. That a court clerk would do.”
“A courthouse ceremony would stink to high heaven. It would make it look like we were getting married just to give our child my name.”
“But that’s what we’re doing!”
“Yes, but I don’t want the rest of the world to know that, or our child for that matter. I want them to think we married for love. And that requires a ceremony at Winterleagh Castle, not a havey cavey one in some dreary courthouse.”
Jorge and Marisol have disappeared, probably to allow us the privacy we need to argue.
He pushes his plate back, temples his hands above his plate. “Liz. I'm not the product of a grand love affair, or any love affair at all. I was conceived to fulfill the agreement my parents made before they married. My mother promised my father an heir and a spare, no matter how many conceptions it took. My father got the heir he needed with me, and the spare with Edward. After the succession was assured, my father reverted to his old ways. Gambling, drinking, endless affairs. One weekend, he even brought a paramour to Winterleagh Castle. Needless to say, my mother did not take it very well."
"I'm sorry." I am. I just fail to see what this has to do with me.
He runs a shaky hand through his hair. "I don’t want our marriage to be like theirs or for society or our child to think we married for duty, only to give him a name.”
Last night I thought I was done giving in. Should have known better for I’m no match against his plea. I do not want our child to suffer like Gabriel has. “Fine. We’ll marry at Winterleagh.”
“In public, we’ll need to appear as if we actually care for each other. No arguments, no disagreements. Can you work with me on that?"
Sheesh, how much more does he want from me? “Okay.”
“And you’ll accept the settlement.”
I hitch up my chin. “I won’t spend a dime of it, you know. You’ll get back every cent when we divorce.”
“If that’s your wish.” He snaps the newspaper, sips what must be by now lukewarm tea. “Casey called.”
“He did?” I flip through my cell’s phone logs. No record of any incoming calls. “I don’t see one here.” Wait. How would he know? Gabriel doesn’t have access to my phone.
“That’s because he called me. He doesn’t feel comfortable accepting my loan until I’ve eaten at the Ragin’ Cajun. So he wants me to come by and check it out. I made dinner reservations for eight. Does that work with your schedule?”
“Fine.” I’m planning to study the rest of the day. I’ll need to call my friend and get her notes on last night’s classes too. My law studies can’t suffer simply because I’m about to marry the Lord of the Manor.
“Wear that—”
“You going to tell me how to dress too? I’ll wear whatever I damn well please, Storm.”
“Well it didn’t take long for you to breach your no arguing agreement.”
“We’re not in public, Gabriel. Here in the home you forced me to accept I can say whatever I want.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” He snaps the paper.
“Good.” I stomp to the elevator, before he can get in the last word.
Chapter 23
______________
Elizabeth
SILENCE PREVAILS DURING OUR RIDE to the Ragin’ Cajun, but just before we arrive, Gabriel opens up about the security details.
“Rick will pull up in front of the restaurant. Samuel will jump out to open our door and accompany us inside. Martha Rawlings is already on site. She made sure the place is secure.”
“What do you mean ‘secure’?”
“She checked out the restaurant. As you can imagine, Casey was very accommodating. He doesn’t want you hurt any more than I do.”
When we arrive, Casey’s hostess, Jeannie, welcomes us as soon as we step through the door. She’s worked for him since he opened the restaurant and has become a good friend.
“Lizzie! Look at you. I won’t ask how you’re doing. You’re glowing. Obviously, pregnancy suits you.”
Knowing what Gabriel expects of me, I smile like I’m absolutely thrilled to be here. “Doing well. Thanks for asking.” With the familiarity of old friends, I kiss her cheek.
“And is this . . .?” She lets the question dance in the air.
“Gabriel Storm, my . . .” I don’t know what to call him. Baby Daddy. The guy who knocked me up.
“Boyfriend. A pleasure to meet you, Jeannie.” He kisses her on the cheek like they’re old friends.
And, of course, like every other female on the planet, her eyes go wide, her mouth hangs open. “Uh, your table isn’t quite ready. Would you like to spend a few minutes in the bar area?”
“That will be fine.” He smiles that devastating smile of his. Honestly. I think he’s incapable of dialing back the charm.
He rests his hand in the middle of my back. Even through the blue velvet dress I’m wearing, his warmth sinks into my skin.
Once we’re seated at a small round table by the bay window, he says “You can stop smiling now. She’s gone.”
I relax my face muscles. “Good. My cheeks were starting to hurt.”
He laughs as he picks up the small menu on the table, the one that lists a wide selection of drinks, wines, and appetizers. “Would you like an appetizer? These oysters bienville look quite good.”
I snort. “Last thing you need, Storm, are oysters. You’re quite potent on your own.”
He reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Am I, darling?”
“Cut it out. Nobody here but me.”
Rather than take offense, he scoots his chair closer to mine and whispers in my ear. “Smile. They’re looking in our direction.”
I do as I’m told. That is the arrangement, after all. “Who?”
“That couple by the bar.” He nibbles on my ear, and heat streaks to the juncture between my legs.
I start to turn my head toward the bar, but he cradles my chin, kisses my lips, roams lower where he bestows the same benediction to my throat.
His thumb brushes my lower lip, setting off little sparklers, before fixing a sleepy-eyed gaze on me. “There, that’s the look I love.”
“What look?” All I can do is whisper, what with oxygen being at a premium.
“The one you wear after I fuck you silly.”
“You’re killing me, Storm.” But there’s no heat behind my words. He’s kissed me silly.
Thankfully, the waitress chooses that moment to take our order. I ask for hot tea; Storm orders a glass of the dark lager. The same brew he drank that first night at my townhouse.
Hoping to break the spell he so easily winds around me, I allow my gaze to wander around the almost empty bar area. “That’s strange.”
“What’s strange?”
“It’s Friday night. Usually the place is packed.”
“Maybe the weather kept people home.” Atypical for early November, the wind’s howling and temperatures have plummeted to the low thirties. On top of that, it’s raining. Again.
“You’re probably right.” A lot easier to hunker down at home in front of a roaring fire than to be out in this bit of nastiness.
While we wait for our drinks, Gabriel studies the area. With so few people present, he can get a really good view of the space.
"Casey wants to put in a stage over there where a jazz trio could play during weekends,” I volunteer.
"That's a terrific idea."
“The space next door is available, but the lease is more than he can afford.” They discussed this point last Sunday, but it’s important. So I’m reminding him of it.
"Thus the need for a loan.” He smiles down at me, brushes a thumb across my throat. If he doesn’t stop touching me, I’m going to jump him. And I don’t care who’s looking. “Do you think he would go for a silent partner?”
My eyes widen. “A silent partner? I thought you were only off
ering him a loan.”
“I like this place. It has class and ambiance. Plus think about the cachet I'd bring every time I dropped in to dine. Not every restaurant in D.C. can boast a viscount for dinner, don't you know?" He says in his posh Brit voice.
I laugh. But he's right about the notoriety he can bring to the place.
“Or I could lend him the money, of course, if he wishes to go down that road instead.” His lips brush against my ear again, raising goose bumps all along my arm. All I want to do is make love to him right now.
Jeannie interrupts to announce our table is ready just as the waitress shows up with our drinks.
In the main restaurant area, Jeannie seats us next to another bay window, larger than the one in the bar. Outside I catch the shadow of Samuel and my other bodyguard blocking the view. They must be freezing. Casey has more secluded seating, where we wouldn’t be so out in the open. “Could we move there?” I point toward the back of the restaurant where a bunch of tables are jutted together into one long line.
She appears confused, looks at Gabriel, at me. “This is the table Casey said to to seat you. Or am I wrong?” She flips through the papers on her clipboard, her face clears up. “No, this is the one.”
“Thank you, Jeannie,” he says to her. “This is fine.”
The restaurant, like the bar, lies half empty. “Do you know what’s going on?” I ask her. “Usually this place is packed.”
“Well—” She looks around as if she doesn’t want anyone overhearing her— “Don’t tell anyone, but we got a call from that congressman who’s thinking about running for President. The one from Massachusetts.”
“O’Leary?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Anyway, his office called and said he wanted to reserve a private room, but since we don’t have one, they reserved half the tables instead.” She glances at her watch. “They should be here any minute.”
As soon as she says that, a phalanx of very important looking people, about twenty of them, burst in through the restaurant’s front door. Jeanie deserts us and hurries to the hostess stand to welcome them. Excitement ripples around the room, and when the other diners recognize the luminary around us, applause breaks out. The congressman, who I recognize from television, flashes his Colgate smile. While Jeannie leads them to the long table, he puts his arm around a woman I assume is his wife and follows, waving to the crowd. Photographers circle him, snapping photos all the way.
Oh, geez. “Unbelievable. He’s got his own press following him around?”
“Look at the silver lining. The photos will bring publicity to Casey’s restaurant.”
“I guess.”
Even more paparazzi stand outside the restaurant, their cameras almost blinding me.
“What’s wrong with those people? They’re supposed to be taking photos of the congressman, not us.”
“We’re probably in the way. And they can stand outside and take as many pictures as they like. What with the United States being a free country and all.”
The waiter approaches to take our order. Gabriel surprises me by ordering the same dish I do, a spicy mixture of rice, ham, sausage, and chicken.
“Jambalaya, huh?” It’s the meal we shared the first night we made love. Is he remembering more?
“I’ve never eaten it before.”
Guess not. I’ve come to terms with his lack of memory, but once in a while I can’t help but resent he can’t recall us.
More cameras flash, snapping me out of my reverie.
“Honestly, how many photos must they take?”
“As many as they want. Ignore them. That's what I do.”
He might be a master at making believe blinding cameras don’t exist, but I'm not.
He presses my hand. “Can't you relax, love? I honestly just want to have a nice dinner with you at a lovely restaurant.”
Another flash goes off, and I practically jump out of my skin.
He heaves out a laborious sigh. “Right. We'll leave then.”
He’s trying so hard to be gallant, and I’m being such a bitch. I swallow back my nastiness. “It's all right, Gabriel. I'll ignore them, just like you say.”
Somehow, I actually do manage to ignore the paparazzi and focus on us. Not hard to do when Gabriel's being his most charming self.
When our entrees arrive, I tuck into mine with the zeal of a starving mommy-to-be. Dessert is crème Brule, another favorite of mine. Over cafe au lait, decaffed for me, his smooth patter dissolves. He reaches once more for my hand, and the cameras go crazy again. That’s when I realize, the paparazzi are reacting to us, not the congressman. “What’s going on?”
"Did I mention how beautiful you look?"
“Gabriel.” At the moment, last thing I want is more charm.
"There's a question I want to ask you."
Oh, God. No. He's doing this here? Now? Of course, he is. The prime seating, the cameras, the holding hands.
He retrieves a gorgeous blue box emblazoned with Tiffany & Co from inside his jacket. If I thought the cameras were blinding before, it's nothing to the flurry of light bursting around us now. The room grows silent as the diners cease talking, including the faux congressman, who I now recognize from a car commercial. The waiters halt serving, everyone stops what they're doing to stare at us.
He gets down on his knee. His bad one.
“Please don't. Your leg.” I can't imagine the pain he must be in.
“Hush, love. I have to do this right.” He smiles that devastating grin. “On the day we met, you captured my heart. And I find I can't live without you by my side. Everything that I am and hope to be is yours. Please, Liz, marry me.”
My stomach churns. I know my line. “Yes.” But I’m too stupefied by the whole scene to voice it.
“Nod,” he whispers.
I do.
“Now smile.”
After I obey him, he takes my hand and slips the ring on my finger. Knowing how much pain he must be suffering, I reach down to help him rise and somehow make it look like he's helping me from my seat. Once we're standing, he gathers me into his arms and kisses me. The kiss is everything it should be—lush, passionate, romantic. Too bad it's only for show.
As applause breaks out around us, Casey emerges from the kitchen to shake Gabriel's hand, kiss me on the cheek.
“Traitor,” I whisper behind clenched teeth.
Casey doesn't take offense but grins at the camera clicks as if he does this every day of the week. No surprise he's so happy. The photos will bring a world of publicity to his restaurant.
Before I have a chance to say anything else, Gabriel sweeps me out of the restaurant and into the limo where Samuel stands by the open door. I scurry to the far left of the seat. Gabriel slides in but maintains his distance on the right. Good. In my current mood, I’m likely to tear a chunk out of him. “Those people in the restaurant—”
“Actors hired by me. They’re grateful for the job, and they’ll get a nice meal out of it. I rented the restaurant for the night.”
Knowing Casey’s usual Friday night take amounts to roughly eight thousand dollars, the extravagance of Gabriel’s gesture staggers me, especially when he could have proposed in private. “Why did your orchestrate such a public proposal?”
“Those pictures will appear in British newspapers, American ones as well. The internet. Unless, I miss my guess, they will portray a couple very much in love.”
His getting down on his bad knee to propose would be seen as evidence of his love for me. And my face would have shown my concern for his pain. The kiss had been everything a proposal kiss should be, so yeah, I don’t doubt the pictures will reflect exactly what he wishes. And that, as he explained earlier, is important to him.
I can’t help but wonder, has he done the same before? “Did you arrange for those pictures of us last weekend too?’
His brow scrunches. “No.”
I clench my hands on my lap. “I don’t believe you.”
“I’ll have Ja
ke investigate. He’ll find out where those pictures came from.”
“Don’t bother. Jake works for you. I’m sure he’ll ‘discover’ a source with no ties to you.”
His hand clenches on the car strap, the one he’s been holding since he got into the car. I’ve touched a nerve. Good.
“What would I gain by us going public, Liz?”
“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. “You chafed at the secrecy.”
“I did. But I was willing to put up with it for your sake. Surely you see there’s no longer any need for it. Your firm won’t fire you. Not now when I’m one of their clients.”
“No. They didn’t fire me when they found about us. Instead, they reassigned me to Litigation. You know how boring that work is. All I do is dock pleadings and shuffle papers.”
“Why did they do that?”
“To avoid a conflict of interest. They put up a Chinese Wall between me and every client who deals with your company. Worse of all, they removed me from the Storm Industries team.” I can’t help the hitch in my voice. “And I was really looking forward to working on your legal issues.”
“I’m sorry. Maybe if I talked to them, they would assign you back.”
I shake my head. “That won’t happen. They’re not doing it just for kicks, Gabriel. Every law firm has the same policy in place.”
For a few seconds, neither of us breaks the silence. “There’s an easy solution to the problem, you know. If you’re so high on Storm Industries, you can work for me.”
“Really?” For the first time this evening, my spirits lift only to fall again. I can’t work for him. In London he turned down my suggestion to work for Storm Industries. He believed I’d betrayed him by handing copies of his confidential documents to my boss. He may not recall that conversation, but if his memory returns, he won’t be so eager to have me as his employee. But now I have a gut feeling Brian Sullivan stole those documents. So as long as I prove it before Gabriel gets back his memory, it might be okay. “You would hire me?”
“Yes. I’ve seen your efforts. You’re brilliant, Liz.”
He thinks I’m brilliant? “Where? When?”
“Your analysis of our proposal. You managed to encapsulate our offer in a few succinct pages and suggest ways to sweeten the deal for your client. How long did it take you to put that together?”
Storm Ravaged (Storm Damages 2) (Storm Legacy) Page 13