Sin on the Run

by Lucy Farago

  “Obstinate as ever. But I’m glad you’re here, darling. It’s been a long time since last you visited.”

  “You left me no choice, but,” he warned, “this means nothing. I’m not here to do your bidding.”

  “No?” She glanced around him, a knowing smile on her perfectly painted red lips. “And who is this?” Without waiting for his reply, she walked over to Rhonda and held out a hand.

  Rhonda stopped adjusting her purse and shook hands with his mother.

  “Mother, this is Rhonda. We’re business acquaintances. We were together when you called and seeing as how Rhonda has never been in Scotland, I invited her to come along.” It had been more like begging.

  “I see,” she said, her tone saying she didn’t believe him, yet again. “Well, Rhonda, welcome to Oakley Manor. Let’s go inside, shall we?”

  Rhonda tried really hard to keep her jaw from falling open. It was difficult enough not to look like a peon beside this elegant woman, gawking at everything would truly put her on the wrong side of the tracks. And Blake’s mother had either had the boys when she was a child or had aged well. She didn’t look a day over forty and had this Grace Kelly thing going on. The cream pantsuit she wore cost more than Rhonda’s entire wardrobe. But that wasn’t hard to do considering that if it wasn’t vintage, it stayed on the rack. It took a lot of effort to look scary and new clothes didn’t cut it.

  “So you work for Mr. Sheppard as well? Tell me, is he as handsome as the papers say?”

  Having never met the man, Rhonda wouldn’t know, but seeing as how she couldn’t admit to that, she was prepared to lie. “Yes—” She froze. What was she supposed to call her? Now she’d really look like a peon. A woman of equal class would know what to call her. “Lady Helen.” Damn, she hoped she’d gotten it right.

  They stood inside an over-the-top foyer, at the bottom of the most amazing carved oak banister she’d ever seen. A dark red carpet ran up the majestic steps, all the way to the top landing, where the stairs split in two. Oak panels covered every wall, making you feel like you just stepped back in time. The hanging crystal chandelier was bigger than Rhonda’s car.

  “Dante, please put Miss Rhonda’s luggage in the blue room,” Lady Helen instructed one of the men who had been outside and now held their luggage. “Which is yours, dear?” she asked Rhonda.

  “Umm.” As she hadn’t packed the luggage, she couldn’t remember whose was whose.

  “Read the name tags, gentlemen. I told her we shouldn’t bring similar luggage, but who am I to argue with a woman?” Blake jumped in, saving her ass.

  She smiled her thanks. “You have a magnificent house, Lady Helen.”

  “It’s more than a house, young woman. It’s a legacy.”

  Rhonda turned her attention to the woman standing on the grand staircase, Blake’s grandmother. If Rhonda wasn’t intimidated before, she was now. The woman wore a lavender and gray-checkered Chanel suit, and if her gray hair hadn’t been pulled back in a tight bun, she too might look younger than her years. As it was, it made her appear … stiff, wax-like. Rhonda bit the inside of her mouth as the image of the woman lying in a coffin popped into her head.

  “Blake, aren’t you going to greet your grandmother?”

  Blake stared up at her, deliberately taking his time to respond. He hadn’t been kidding. He really didn’t like her.

  “Hello, Nanny.”

  Her nose shot upward and she crossed bony arms. “I’ve asked you a thousand times not to call me nanny. Nanny was your father’s mother.” Said with such disdain, it was obvious she didn’t like the woman.

  “Sorry, I confuse the two of you.”

  “The woman is dead, Blake. How on earth can you confuse us?”

  He didn’t answer, but simply smiled.

  “I see nothing has changed. You’re still as insubordinate as ever. I would have thought that serving as a policeman you might have learned the meaning of respect.”

  Feeling defensive of Blake, Rhonda took an instant dislike to the woman. Blake’s expression darkened and she suspected she was purposely trying to goad her grandson.

  “Mother,” Lady Helen interjected, “I was just about to suggest tea in the drawing room. Would you care to join us?”

  “No,” she said curtly. “My solicitors are waiting in the library. Blake, I hope you haven’t forgotten all your manners. I expect to see you dressed for lunch.” She descended the stairs with the poise of a woman who’d done it a thousand times with an audience.

  Rhonda held her breath as the grandmother walked past her, never more grateful to be ignored. But her luck, as usual, kicked her in the ass. The Dowager Duchess turned her attention to her.

  “Who are you?” she asked, looking down her nose at her.

  Rude much?

  “Rhonda Deagan, your Grace. I’m a colleague of Blake’s.” Was she supposed to curtsey? She did a little bob and hoped it would suffice.

  The elder woman sized her up. “Aren’t you a little on the thin side to be a policewoman?”

  “Rhonda has a special talent with whips,” Blake said. “She can take an asshole down with one thwack.”

  His grandmother, thankfully, turned her beady-eyed attention to him, because Rhonda was busy choking on her own saliva.

  “You’re not in America anymore. Save your crass language for the colonies.”

  Blake gave Rhonda an I told you so look, which she didn’t appreciate. She didn’t mind being on his side, and boy was he right, but she sure as hell didn’t want to be on this woman’s bad side. Thankfully, Blake’s mother intervened.

  “Mother, you don’t want to keep Mr. Lloyd and Mr. Bartlett waiting. Come along, children. I’ll ring for tea.” Expecting them to follow, Lady Helen led the way.

  Curious as to what to expect while they were here, Rhonda caught up to Blake’s mother. “Are they always like that?” she asked, praying like hell she wasn’t out of line.

  “You should hear them when Mother is in one of her less sociable moods.”

  Had his mom just made a joke? Rhonda smiled. Blake had the same dry humor.

  “Was Blake serious about the whip?” she asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

  Rhonda considered lying, but Lady Helen seemed genuinely intrigued, almost excited by the prospect. “Yes.” In case she’d read the woman wrong, she braced herself.

  Lady Helen glanced back at Blake and drew in close to Rhonda, lowering her voice. “Me too.” She winked. “College days.”

  Rhonda relaxed, if only a little. Maybe their visit wouldn’t be so bad.

  *

  Who knew there was so much effort involved in drinking a hot beverage? Back home, Rhonda poured coffee into a cup, splashed in cream, maybe sugar, and plunked her ass on a couch. If on the move, she’d snap the cup into the cup holder and take off. She had to admit, Lady Helen’s version was better. Everything was so refined, right down to the little white flowers on the very old, very delicate teacups.

  “They’ve been in the family for generations,” Lady Helen told her after noticing Rhonda staring at the cup she’d been handed.

  “They’re lovely. So dainty.”

  “Yes, and if you break one, Grandmother will never forgive you.” Blake took an empty cup and began tossing it in the air.

  His mother snatched it up. “Things would be much easier around here if you would stop antagonizing her.”

  “Me? She starts it.”

  “And must you finish it? She’s set in her ways. Accept it and move on. I barely get to see you as it is. Do we have to have this constant bickering?”

  He kissed his mother’s cheek. “For you, I’ll try.”

  Would she and her mother have gotten along this well had she lived?

  Someone’s phone rang. After a few seconds, Rhonda realized it was coming from her purse. “Sorry, I forgot.”

  “You forgot you had a mobile phone?” his mother said, looking at her like she was an odd duck.

  She would be odd if she couldn
’t remember having a cellphone. But it had been so long since she’d been able to carry one, she actually had forgotten. “It’s new,” she explained, glancing at the number. “The ringtone is different.” It was a long distance call from a number she didn’t recognize.

  “Do you need to reply?” Lady Helen asked.

  “No, it’s probably the phone company telling me I’ve arrived and to enjoy my long distance plan. Blake got one earlier.” As it was the middle of the night back home, no one she knew would be calling her. She slipped the phone into the outside pocket of her bag.

  “Where are Father and Colin?”

  “Your father,” she said, while pouring Blake a cup of tea, “has a meeting with Tom. Something about the visitor center. Tom is our groundskeeper. Several times a year we open the house to visitors,” Lady Helen explained to Rhonda. “Your brother is at the club. And Sarah,” whom Rhonda had noticed he hadn’t asked about, “is in town lunching with a friend. Again. I worry that trying to conceive has taken a toll on their marriage.”

  “So how are they?”

  If she didn’t believe Blake loved his brother, she’d have sworn she’d heard disdain in that question.

  “They have their issues to deal with.”

  She offered Rhonda a biscuit from an exquisite silver tray. Rhonda declined and understood from the way Lady Helen put it that Colin and his wife weren’t getting along. “I’m sorry,” Rhonda offered. “I heard about the baby.”

  “Thank you. It can’t be easy. Losing one’s child.”

  The teacup rattled in the saucer in Rhonda’s hands. She set it down before anyone noticed. A woman had lost her child and this family mourned that loss. And here she was, debating what to do with another one should she be forced to make a decision.

  “They could always adopt,” Blake said.

  But from the way he’d said it, Rhonda got the feeling the couple wasn’t interested in adopting. It must have something to do with the will.

  His mother, looking a little uncomfortable, glanced from Rhonda to Blake. Getting the hint, Rhonda stood, unable to stifle a yawn. “Excuse me. Jet lag. Why don’t I go to my room?” she said. “You two catch up.”

  “You haven’t finished your tea,” Blake complained.

  “I think your mother would like to speak to you in private,” she politely argued, plus a nap sounded good. She’d been so worried about him, she hadn’t slept on the plane.

  “There isn’t anything she can’t say around you.”

  She had to ball her fists to keep from smacking him. Was he deliberately trying to screw up their deal? How was his mother supposed to believe there was nothing between them with comments like that?

  “You have family matters to discuss. I’m not family.” She gave him a tight smile that let him know they would have their own matters to discuss, and he wasn’t going to like those either.

  “Blake, you’re making Rhonda uncomfortable,” his mother scolded. “You don’t mind if I call you Rhonda?”

  She opened her mouth to ask what else would she call her when Blake cut her off.

  “Rhonda and I are close friends. She knows about the will and how I feel about it. Whatever you and I are going to say here, I’ll just tell her later.”

  “Maybe so, but you’re being rude. Excuse him, dear. Some things simply cannot be taught. Go and enjoy your rest.”

  “I’ll show Rhonda to her room.” Blake stood, his annoyance with his mother odd.

  Why didn’t he want to be alone with her? She wasn’t his grandmother.

  “I’ll see you in a few minutes, Mother.”

  Then he did something so stupid she believed it was intentional. He took her hand and walked her out.

  Once alone, she yanked her hand free. “What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed.

  “Taking you to your room. This is a big house.”

  “Okay, I get that, but we’re supposed to be business acquaintances, friends at best. Friends who don’t hold hands.” It was a big house, and as yelling never got her anywhere with Blake, she kept her voice low so as not to echo and be overheard.

  “Oh shit. I forgot. I just … I just instinctively reached out.”

  She wanted to believe him, and he’d been so uptight around his mother it was plausible, but something was off. “Fix this. She might wonder what’s really up between us. And if everyone wants you to find a wife, she’s going to be looking at me. Because the woman always wants to get married and have babies,” she said, wanting to punch him.

  “Is that true?”

  “Not this one.” She’d spent more than twenty-five years mothering someone. Did she want to do it again? Or would she end up resenting her kid? It wasn’t fair to her, and it sure as hell wasn’t fair to an innocent child.

  Rhonda started up the stairs, got halfway and remembered she had no idea where she was going. She turned in a huff. “Where’s the blue room?”

  “Right, on the top landing. Follow the hall to the end and right again. Four doors on your left. Rhonda, please don’t go away angry.”

  “I’m not angry.” Although even to her own ears she sounded mad. She took a calming breath and started again. “Look, I feel bad about lying, but it’s for the best and you’ve gone and messed it up. So now we’ll have to lie more. I don’t operate like that.”

  He began climbing the stairs. “I know. I screwed up. I’ll just tell her we’ve been friends for a while and … and that’s it.” He met her on the landing. “I’m sorry,” he said, cupping her face with one hand. “Friends?”

  “Seriously? Are you trying to make me madder? Anyone could come along and see this display of affection. Then where would we be?”

  He dropped his hand. “You said you weren’t mad. Do I need to add liar to the list?”

  He wasn’t funny. “No, but you can add murderer, once I push you down these stairs.”

  “And there you go again, being mean.”

  She bit back a smile. No way was she going to be nice to him. “I’m going to my room. Don’t follow.” She booted up the remaining steps and turned left.

  “Right,” Blake shouted.

  She turned on her heel and went up the opposite staircase. She’d need a map if she was going to survive the week.

  When she found her room, she understood why it was called the blue room. At twelve feet high and corniced in ornate flowers, elaborate moldings embellished the blue and white ceiling, and the walls were robin blue. Sheer lace hung from the bed’s canopy, giving the room a feminine touch. If a girl wanted to feel like a princess, this room was it.

  But she wasn’t a princess. She was the girl who didn’t belong with the handsome prince. And if she needed reminding that she didn’t fit in his life, this was it. This place—his family—was everything she wasn’t, everything she couldn’t have. She ran her hand across the silky cream-colored damask on the bed, so exquisitely made she was leery of touching it.

  This wasn’t a pity party about the poor girl who resorted to stripping to earn money to keep her drunken daddy safe. This was about the girl who’d been forced to make the hard decisions that in the end would never make her good enough for Blake’s family. She resolved to enjoy the time they had left, then say goodbye. Wanting to brush her teeth, she looked around the room, then remembered her purse was in the drawing room. If she ran downstairs, she might not be interrupting them.

  She couldn’t have been more wrong. Blake hadn’t bothered closing the door and she could hear them arguing into the hallway. She told herself to get her ass upstairs. To give them privacy. This was none of her business, and yet, here she was outside the drawing room, listening.

  “Your brother has mentioned adopting, but Sarah will have none of it. She keeps going to a specialist in France and the hormones she’s been taking are driving the rest of us, your grandmother included, insane. I don’t know what’s gotten into her. Mother is worried she’s heading down the same path as her father. The poor man. Thank goodness, these days we understa
nd more about mental illness.”

  Blake said nothing.

  “All this effort is simply not worth it when they can love an unwanted babe.”

  “I doubt Grandmother sees it that way.”

  “You’re right. And your father’s attempt at contesting the will have failed. The money will go to charity unless one of you gives the title a legitimate heir, or an attempt at one. Father was very devious in his wording. The majority of the estate goes to the next Duke of Oakley, his great grandchild. If not, Historic Scotland and the charities will eventually get the bulk of his money. Should either you or Colin be the parents of said child, then you or Colin would be well compensated for your efforts. So, he is not controlling your life from the grave.”

  “As I told you when it was read. You see, I was listening during those years at Oxford.”

  “Yes. What a shame they didn’t teach you manners.”

  “Careful, Mother, or the next time we have dinner with the Queen I won’t wear shoes.”

  Rhonda nearly choked on her saliva. Dinner with the Queen? The Queen?

  “As if I’d ever take you to the palace again. Her Majesty would admonish me for raising such a cad.”

  The Queen? Holy shit.

  “Seriously, Blake. This is no laughing matter.”

  “You do understand why Sarah is against adopting?”

  “The will, yes I know. But that’s no reason to go to extremes.”

  “After all these years, and you still don’t know her,” he said, his tone resentful.

  “She loves him,” his mother argued. “I know you don’t believe it, but you haven’t seen them together. She and I have talked and she regrets the way things ended, but she chose Colin over you. You need to forgive her.”

  Blake dated Sarah? Why hadn’t he told Rhonda? Unless he still had feelings for her. It sounded like she’d picked his brother over him. Wounded pride? Or something worse? Was that why he’d insisted Rhonda come? Why he’d grabbed Rhonda’s hand and risked exposing them? He wanted Sarah to think Blake, too, had moved on?

  “Is that what she told you? I don’t like her because she jilted me?”