Storm Ravaged (Storm Damages 2) (Storm Legacy)

by Alexander, Magda

  Without even asking for permission, Jake, who’s followed Bri inside, snaps shut the window blinds and locks the door, before he leans back against said door and rests one ankle over the other.

  Brianna slips off her white kid gloves and extends her hand to the modiste. “Madame Fleurette?”

  “Mais oui.”

  “Is there a problem? I talked with your assistant two days ago and she assured me it would not be a problem to design a gown for my future sister-in-law.”

  “I’ve been trying to tell you, Madame Fleurette.” The rest is conducted in a whisper between her and the modiste.

  “Viscount Ainsley?” Madame Fleurette squeaks out.

  “My brother. Ms. Watson is to marry him,” Brianna says, arching a brow. Damn if she doesn’t look just like Gabriel right now. “If you’re not available, I’m sure we can find another modiste in town who would love to design the gown for the next Viscountess Ainsley.”

  Madame Fleurette undergoes an amazing transformation. Wreathed in smiles now, she snaps her fingers. By magic, her staff drifts in from wherever they’ve been hiding. “I’m sure we can accommodate Ms.Watson.”

  “We’ll pay premium rates, of course, for the short notice,” Brianna says.

  “Mimi, lock the door. We will not be seeing anyone else today.”

  “The door is all ready locked, Madame.” Mimi reminds the modiste, but a frown mars her features as she scrutinizes the appointment book. “What should we do about Ms. Watkins? She has an appointment today.”

  “Call and reschedule.” She claps her hands and everyone jumps, including me.

  “Now Mademoiselle Watson, can you give me an idea what style gown you would like?”

  I have no clue, but Brianna does. Soon she and Madame Fleurette are scouring design books, discarding most styles, considering a few, until they finally come up with a couple of likely choices.

  “She’ll be wearing a fingertip veil.”

  “I will?”

  “Tradition, darling. Goes back to medieval times.”

  “You’re enceinte, ma petite?” Madame Fleurette asks.

  I know enough French to know what she means. “Oui.” That word and Merci Beaucoup comprise my entire knowledge of the French language.

  Brianna makes a face behind the modiste’s back.

  “So. An empire waistline would be best, don’t you think?”

  Brianna mouths “Oui,” and I happily agree with “Yes.”

  “Good, we progress.”

  An hour later, my dress has been decided upon and it’s time for the measurements. But when Madame Fleurette leads me to a closed fitting room, I balk. “I can’t go in there.”

  “Why not? You’ll enjoy privacy inside.”

  Not about to tell her I’m terrified of being locked in, I voice the tried and true excuse I’ve offered all my life. “I suffer from claustrophobia.”

  “Very well. We can set up a screen outside the fitting room where you can undress. Is that acceptable?”

  “Yes.” Once the screen’s set up, Madame Fleurette, her assistant and I scoot behind it. Within minutes, I’m stripped to my bra and panties. Good thing I brought a slip.

  Once my measurements are taken, they turn to the gowns Brianna and CeCe will wear.

  “I don’t think there’s anything in those books for us,” CeCe says, slightly crestfallen. “Look at us. We’re like Mutt and Jeff.”

  I have no idea who Mutt and Jeff are, but I take the contrary view. “You’re not.”

  “Yes, we are. Brianna is tall, svelte. She could make a sackcloth look good. I’m short, dumpy, and a triple D.”

  She does have ample boobs.

  “I’m sure we can find something that would suit you both,” Madame Fleurette volunteers. “What color are you thinking about?”

  Another problem, for Brianna’s porcelain white skin and blue eyes differ from CeCe’s cafe au lait tone and brown eyes.

  “How about red?” Brianna volunteers. “We don’t have to wear the same shade. Look at this darling number here.”

  CeCe bends over the book. “I don’t do tall and skinny.”

  “An A line would look better on you. How about this?” She points to a a drawing in the design book.

  “Umm, that could work,” CeCe agrees.

  “Let’s look at fabric samples while Elizabeth takes a load off.”

  I gladly accept Mimi’s offer of peppermint tea. She really is a darling. Madame Fleurette is lucky to have her. While I sip, Brianna and CeCe discuss the shades of red. They seem to be getting along. Good thing since I’m going to depend on them to get me through the wedding. I’m bound to be a nervous wreck.

  Wedding and bridesmaid gowns taken care of, it’s time to celebrate. Gabriel’s made reservations at the Ragin’ Cajun, but not until eight so I lay down for a nap at the apartment.

  I wake up to find Brianna and CeCe, drinking mojitos in the living room and planning my bachelorette party. I nip that idea in the bud.

  When they both look at me and say, “Fine,” I know I’m in big, big trouble.

  Chapter 26

  ______________

  Gabriel

  “YOU LOOK LIKE SHITE, BROTHER.” I haven’t seen Royce since I dispatched him to South America two months ago to determine the feasibility of building a hydrowater plant in the small country of Santa Maria. He arrived home over the weekend when I was in D.C. So this is the first time I’m seeing him.

  “So would you if you’d spent the last two months in a ruddy jungle so hot and humid it was a struggle to breathe,” Royce says dropping into the burgundy leather sofa in my penthouse suite at The Brighton. “Caught a bloody fever. Lost two stone.” The loss of twenty eight pounds on his six one frame stole muscle, hollowed out his cheeks.

  The thought I could have lost him bites me to the quick. “Why didn’t you call? You have a satellite phone.”

  “Didn’t work in the jungle. I would have had to trek out to make the call. And since I was too sick to do so.” He allows the meaning to sink in. “By the time I was on the mend, all I could think of was getting out of there, not phoning in a status report.”

  “That’s a problem.We’ll have to devise a solution.” Royce never checked in on a regular basis. So when he’d gone AWOL, I hadn’t thought anything of it. But clearly something had to be done. Somebody would have to accompany him in future missions, something he’s fought from the start. No more. I’m not about to lose another brother. “How are you feeling now?”

  “Better. Now than I’m in England. Where I mean to eat, drink and be merry.”

  “Speaking of which, would you like a drink?”

  “One finger of the Macallan. That’s all my stomach will allow.”

  I pour the liquor into a tumbler, hand it to him. Rather than guzzle it down like he normally does, he sips. He must be more ill than he lets on.

  “I’m glad you’re here. I need you home.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m marrying Liz. In a couple of weeks.”

  He jumps out of the couch, hugs me, pounds me in the back. “You wanker. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Too much going on, I guess. You heard about father’s second stroke.”

  “Yes. Bri told me.” He brushes back his coal black, shoulder-length hair. He needs a haircut, my brother. “I visited him this morning. He didn’t recognize me. The nurse said a third stroke would probably prove fatal.”

  I nod. I’ve relegated my father’s failing health to the back of my mind. He’s at the London townhouse, getting round-the-clock care. Nothing more I can do to make him comfortable.

  “And the mater has taken a powder?”

  “Yes.” Since I don’t want either of my siblings implicated, in case things head south, I haven’t shared my mother’s whereabouts with them. “Jake has done his best to track her down with no luck.”

  “You have ordered some protection for Liz.”

  “Oh, yes. She’s living in a three-floor apartment
I purchased. The building is literally bullet proof. Plus I assigned a team of bodyguards to her. She doesn’t go anywhere without them, including her job.”

  “Good. Good.”

  “So the reason I need you home.” I roll the ice around the glass before I glance up at him. “And I am very glad you’re home. I want to ask you a question.”

  He looks at me expectantly.

  “Will you be my best man?”

  He shoots me a look that tells me how he feels about my request. “I’d be honored.”

  “Excellent.” I let out the breath I’ve been holding.

  He almost blinds me with his smile. “You appear relieved. Did you think I would say no?”

  “Of course not. It’s just. Because of our age differences, we haven’t always been close.” I’m six years older than him. “I was away at uni when you were at Eton. By the time you got to Oxford, I’d graduated.”

  “You were closer to Edward.”

  “Yes. We were only two years apart.” I roll the ice around the glass again. “There’s something I need to know.”

  “Whatever it is, Gabe. Let it out. I don’t have any secrets from you.”

  Which is more than I can say. “The Countess. I know how she felt about Edward, and father protected Bri. But you didn’t have him as a champion. I tried to keep her away from you when I was home. But I was away at school so much. She never”—I clear my throat—“she never went after you, did she?”

  “No.” His eyes are clear, so I know he’s speaking the truth. “She left me alone.”

  The tension I’ve held in for so long drains out of me. “That’s what I was hoping to hear.”

  He rises, pours more scotch into my glass. “It was you she was fixated upon, you she wanted to destroy.”

  “Yes, I got that, but still”—I swirl the alcohol before downing it in one gulp—“I worried.”

  He squeezes my shoulder before going back to sitting on the couch, propping one ankle over the opposite knee. “So where’s Bri? I thought she was joining us for dinner.” A rather obvious change of subject. Not a problem. I’d rather think of my future than my past.

  “She should be up any minute. Probably shagging her latest project, a starving artist. He paints murals. They look like graffiti to me.”

  “They are murals, you tosser.” Bri says from my left, sneaking up on me through the door that separates our floors.“How are you, darling?” She smooches Royce. “You look perfectly dreadful.”

  “Love you too, sister. I’m good.”

  “Talk about a starving artist look. What happened to you?”

  Royce gives her the condensed version of his South American trip.

  “Royce. We could have lost you.” She’s just as shocked as I am.

  “I’m not that easy to kill, little sister.”

  She’s six feet to Royce’s six one, and he likes to rub it in every chance he gets. In her trademark stilettos, though, she towers above just about every other man, except for Jake. So the word ‘little’ hardly refers to her.

  After she pours herself a drink, she drops next to Royce on the couch, curls her arm around his shoulders. “You’ll have to stay home a good long time to recuperate. And with Gabe’s wedding and all.”

  “I just heard.” He salutes me with his still full tumbler. “So tell me the details—when, where?”

  “Sunday, December 7, at Winterleagh Castle as tradition demands. After our honeymoon, she’ll return to D.C. to take her final exams and then we’ll come home to London.”

  Brianna startles at the announcement.

  “A Christmas wedding, The family hasn’t had one of those in a good long time.” Royce contributes, seemingly unaware of Brianna’s reaction.

  “Not since medieval times, I believe.”

  “Wait. Back up a bit. You’ll both return to London?” A frown creases Brianna’s brow. “I don’t understand. Elizabeth mentioned she’d remain in D.C. to finish her studies and that you planned to move to New York City to head the Storm Industries branch.”

  “She’ll finish her studies in London.”

  “And she’s agreed to this?”

  “She will, like she’s agreed to everything else.”

  “Gabe, did you tell her you were moving to New York City to head the Storm Industries North American branch?”

  “Yes. I had to. She wouldn’t agree to marry me otherwise.”

  “What?”

  “After the closing, she told me she wanted to put the baby up for an open adoption. I nixed the plan, asked her to marry me. She balked and only relented when I told her she wouldn’t be far away from our child because I planned to move to New York City to head up our branch.”

  “So you lied to her.”

  I brush nervous fingers across my brow. “If she didn’t marry me, our son would not inherit the title. Don’t you see?”

  “I see you lied to her. What’s going to happen when she discovers the truth?”

  “Nothing. We’ll be married by then.”

  “Gabe, you have to tell her before the wedding.”

  Something strong and hot surges within me. “No, I’m not, and you’re forbidden from telling her. I lost Edward to an assassin in Honduras, and this fool almost died in a South American jungle. I can’t lose Liz and our child. I won’t lose them.”

  “It wasn’t that dire,” Royce says, referring to his bout of sickness.

  “Then why aren’t you drinking, Royce? By now, you would have been on your third drink.”

  He shrugs but doesn’t say anything.

  “For so many years, I fought for you, for Royce, even for Edward, knowing all the while she could do something to tear you away from me. In the natural way of life, you’ll go your own way. But a wife, a child, those are mine. Mine. I need something of my own. Something that can’t be torn from me.”

  “Darling, you won’t lose us, no matter what.”

  “Liz and the baby are mine. And I won’t allow anyone, not God nor mortal man or woman to take her, or our child, away from me. So promise me you won’t tell her about my plans.”

  I’m shaking so much from the emotions coursing through me, the ice in the glass I’m holding rattles around in the glass.

  Bri wraps her arms around me. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep your secret, won’t we, Royce?”

  He nods in agreement, seemingly dumbfounded by my loss of control.

  Neither voices the obvious. I won’t allow anyone to tear Liz away, but what if she herself chooses to walk away from me?

  Chapter 27

  ______________

  Elizabeth

  AFTER MY LAST CLASS ON THURSDAY, I’m whisked to Dulles Airport where Gabriel’s corporate jet waits to fly us to London. I arrive at the plane to find CeCe, Casey, and his fiancee, Gina, waiting for me. Against all odds, I actually sleep on the plane which contains a nice comfy bed.

  In London, we’re transported to Winterleagh Castle where Gabriel, his family and the wedding guests expect us. We’d settled on twenty of them. His brother and sister, of course, close friends. His parents do not attend. The official story was they suffered from precarious health. True enough of his father, but his mother? Apparently, she’d suffered a nervous breakdown and could not handle the excitement of a wedding. I doubt anyone believes that farradiddle, but the guests go along with the plan.

  The wedding will take place on Sunday. With events scheduled for the entire weekend, Gabriel invited all twenty guests to stay at the castle. After the ceremony, we will spend one day at Winterleagh before leaving for our honeymoon. Gabriel, being Gabriel, has planned everything down to the smallest detail.

  Winterleagh Castle sparkles and shines with Christmas greenery and ornaments. Holly is strewn throughout every corridor, nook and cranny, and a great big Christmas tree presides over the Great Hall. Mistletoe hangs over the entrance to each room, giving him the opportunity to kiss me every time I cross a threshold.

  Brianna makes the mistake of entering alongside
Jake, her bodyguard. After he offers her a peck on the cheek, they drift apart, Brianna flustered for once.

  Dinner bears no resemblance to the one I experienced last July at the castle. This one’s much more casual with everyone taking their seats where they wish. Since most of those present are close friends, no awkward moments arise. After dinner, Bri and CeCe steal me away to a bachelorette party. Surrounded by body guards, we still manage to have fun at the local village pub where male strippers have been brought in for our viewing, and touching, pleasure.

  Seeing how the ceremony will take place in the afternoon, on my wedding day I’m allowed to sleep late. I wake up nervous, excited, butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Gabriel would have no problem calming me down. But since tradition forbids me to see him until the service, he’s nowhere in sight.

  Brianna and CeCe keep me company throughout the day, but as the time for the pomp and circumstance draws near, my nerves get the better of me. Am I doing the right thing? There’s no going back from this. I may not have wanted to wed, but marriage is a sacred institution, not to be entered into lightly.

  The hairdresser and makeup artist Bri arranged to meet us here take care of Bri and CeCe’s dos before they turn to me. As befits their family tradition, my hair’s left loose and flowing down my back. The stylist is putting the finishing touches in my coiffure, tiny sparkling diamond-like stones strewn through my hair, when a knock sounds on the door.

  A servant dressed in medieval garb—a tunic, leggings, and leather shoes attached with straps. He bows as he offers a gold box festooned with a bright red ribbon. “From Lord Ainsley to his bride-to-be with his compliments.”

  With shaking hands, I open the envelope that accompanies the box. “All my love, G.” Within the velvet-lined box resides a sparkling tiara dripping with shiny stones.

  My eyes practically bug out. “Those diamonds are not real, are they?”

  Brianna takes the tiara from me. “Yes. They are. Storm brides have worn this for centuries, Liz.”

  After I’m tucked and laced into the wedding gown, she places the tiara on my head. Since she’s so tall, it’s an easy task for her. She fixes the tiara beneath the shimmering veil which cascades down to my fingertips. She turns me and finally, finally, I see myself in the mirror.