by Lucy Farago
“She knows,” Blake quietly announced.
“What do you mean, she knows?” Dear God. “You already told her? Why would you do that?” The humiliation of it stung worse than the first time her name had been printed in the papers and scandalized with social media.
“I didn’t. She had a board meeting here. There were reporters everywhere. She came to find me and caught me talking to the doctor. She was very concerned about you.”
“Well, she won’t be once she reads the papers,” she said, her teeth clenched so tightly, she was giving herself a headache.
“Actually,” he said sheepishly, “she was here when a reporter asked … how a stripper from Vegas was involved.”
“Well, great. Just great. She must really appreciate being dragged into my demeaning life.”
“That’s not true.”
Sure it was. Lady Helen had enough blue blood in her to consider herself nobility and the mother of her grandchild was a peon—a nobody. What woman wouldn’t allow that lovely tidbit of information to bother her?
“Rhonda, don’t let this screw with our future.”
“Maggie said she’d arrange for a plane,” she said, ignoring his comment. “Can you find out when I can get out of here?” She didn’t want to spend another second in Scotland. She didn’t dare, her face plastered in the tabloids, her past exposed for all to see. She wanted out before anyone figured out she and Blake were involved and she was carrying his child. It would only get seedier then. A stripper the mother of the possible next heir of Oakley.
“You’re right. We should get out of the country. Before the press conference this afternoon.”
“Press conference? It’s about Harris, right? Tell me it’s about Harris?”
“It is. The police have assured me they won’t answer any questions about you. I’ll go arrange for your discharge.”
She nodded, relieved the police probably had enough respect for Blake’s family not to sully it with her. She told herself that this wasn’t Blake’s fault, but it didn’t make it any easier. She’d hidden behind the hair and the make-up. For him, she’d stepped away from that curtain she’d so carefully draped to shield herself. She dropped the act and became herself again.
So, it wasn’t the stripper the British tabloids were going to tear apart, it was her, the woman who’d bared her soul to Blake. Only that woman was fragile. That woman cried for her father to love her enough to stop drinking. She’d cut herself open and bled for her father on a stage of shame. And not until she learned to hide behind the persona she’d created, had that woman felt safe. But now, she had no shield, and if she stayed here, it would be that first night on stage all over again, only ten times worse.
Once Blake left, Rhonda picked up the phone and dialed Maggie’s number.
*
Getting out of the hospital wouldn’t be easy. Doing it without Blake even trickier. On a stroke of genius, she sent him for clothes, then put on a pair of scrubs and borrowed sneakers a willing nurse had lent her. Lydia, as she was called, was very sweet and agreed to show Rhonda a back entrance. Reporters had been banned from stepping foot in the hospital, but that hadn’t stopped the vultures from making camp outside.
“Here it is.” Lydia indicated the exit at the end of the small corridor they’d taken. “Your American friends arranged a car for you. It’s in the back alley.”
“Thank you for everything.”
“Take care and good luck,” she said, opening the door.
Immediately, the narrow hall lit up with camera flashes.
“Damn it all,” nurse Lydia cursed. She tried to shut them out, but one of the reporters had stepped inside and blocked her attempt.
Rhonda flinched with each flash as she tried to shield her face. Shit, how was she going to get through them? And their questions?
“How are you involved with Interpol?” one asked as he elbowed his way in.
“Are you and Lord Blake dating?” another shouted from the back.
She stiffened, waiting for the question that would humiliate her most.
“Does the Dowager Duchess approve of her grandson taking up with a stripper?”
She didn’t want to answer any of their questions. What she wanted was to tell them all to go to hell, then shrivel up and die. But she was no longer that kid who felt she had no choice in her life. And even if she were, that kid hadn’t shrunk into a corner. She might have changed who she was to survive, but survived she had. And whether because of it, or despite it, it was time to admit she was stronger.
“That’s a dumbass question,” she said. “And Blake Cameron and I are not together.” Not anymore. “But I want to know why you’re all harassing me? While I make for juicy gossip in some rag, a Pulitzer-Prize story would be why Joe Harris tried to kill the Duke of Oakley’s brother. Twice.” She held up two fingers and grinned at the little man who’d asked the question.
Some of the sleazeballs stayed, most ran off to catch a better story at the press conference she remembered Blake telling her would be taking place at this very minute.
“Come, dear,” Lydia said. “Say nothing else and let’s get you to your car. Gentlemen.” She turned to face them, shielding Rhonda with her body. “The lady is recovering from a severe fall she sustained while saving Lord Cameron’s life. Jostle her and I’ll have you all charged with assault.”
No one stopped them.
*
As the pilot readied for takeoff, Rhonda opened yet another piece of luggage and made a mental note to thank Sheppard. A guy shouldn’t have to furnish your wardrobe four or five times without some form of gratitude expressed. She found the easiest things to put on with one hand, a maxi tangerine skirt and plain white tank, and settled in, as much as her bruises would allow, and took her seat. This time around there was a flight attendant on board who brought Rhonda an orange juice.
Blake would come looking for her. That much was obvious. He didn’t deserve being dumped this way. But she couldn’t bear to be with him. She felt sunburned, raw and blistered. She needed time to heal. She’d been kidding herself. She couldn’t have a life with him. He was an aristocrat. He could try and turn his back on it, but he was what he was. And she didn’t want to go down in history as that woman. “The title would have continued if not for that woman.”
And then there were the papers. It had taken months to get over the media hinting at prostitution the night of her attack. Her name, her profession, had been exposed for everyone to question what she’d been doing on the streets when Jason had gone after her. She wouldn’t repeat history. Every time Blake returned to see his family, the press would remember he’d aligned himself with an ex-stripper. That his child’s mother wasn’t good enough for his blue-blooded family. And if the papers didn’t do it, his grandmother would.
Blake had said that if she couldn’t stop judging herself for what she’d done for her father, how did she expect others to? He was right. So no more. She may not have liked stripping, but she’d done what she had to. It was a job like any other. And it was time she stopped caring what other people thought.
But no way in hell would she subject her child to that kind of scrutiny. She risked everything to save Blake’s life, but this wasn’t life or death. As much as she loved and would always love him, her child came first.
The attendant, who could’ve passed for a young Cameron Diaz, brought her the juice. “Can I get you anything else before dinner?”
Rhonda shook her head. “No, thank you.”
She’d helped her board and knew Rhonda was injured. “You let me know if you change your mind.” Then with a sweet smile, she disappeared behind a curtain wall.
Rhonda drank the juice when what she wanted was coffee. She was just grateful she wouldn’t have to dye her hair anymore. She’d heard once that hair dye was dangerous to babies. She didn’t know if it was true, but she wasn’t going to take any chances with her kid.
This baby would have a good life. He or she would go to school with
out worrying about leaving a parent in a drunken stupor. There’d be no fear of hunger or being dragged away to foster care. There’d be a mom cheering in the stands at a softball game or clapping in the audience at a dance recital. There’d be a prom and dreams to live, with no shame, no regret. Her baby would have everything she hadn’t had. She’d allow Blake to see his child, but she couldn’t be part of that aristocratic life. And as unfair as it might sound, nor could she allow her baby to be part of that world, not if it meant the child being demeaned because Rhonda was seen as an unfit mother.
*
“Maggie won’t tell me where she is.” Blake was losing his patience. It had been months and all he’d gotten was the occasional text delivered through Maggie. Rhonda had been frustratingly smart, knowing he’d trace her phone. And Christian, the traitor, wouldn’t let Blake anywhere near Maggie’s phone.
“I love you, man, but don’t fuck with my wife,” he’d warned.
He didn’t want to fuck with her. He just wanted to know where the mother of his child was hiding. He’d never once dumped a girl by text. He not only got dumped via text, he had his heart ripped out. Since then, he made weekly trips to Maggie’s house in hopes the high priestess would give in and tell him where Rhonda was.
“I gave her the time she asked for,” Blake ground out. “This isn’t fair,” he repeated for the millionth time.
“I feel for you, I do. But I warned you not to play around with one of Maggie’s girls,” said Christian. “She takes no prisoners.”
“Talk to her,” he pleaded, pacing the terracotta floor in Maggie’s and now Christian’s house.
“Again, I tried. She refuses to listen. She said she’s sympathetic, but Rhonda comes first. So when Rhonda is ready, Maggie will let you know where she is.”
At least he had to be grateful she said when Rhonda was ready, not if she was. A good sign, right? “Three months, Christian. How much longer is it going to take? The tabloids have stopped printing the stories. How is this fair to me?” Fair to them, for God’s sake. “I know they went after her because of my family name. Maybe I should have anticipated it more. Christian, it never occurred to me they’d be that brutal.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Fuck.”
“Bad luck for you. If this had been the first time, she might have been able to see beyond it. After the incident with Jason, I kept her in that private hospital longer than needed just so she could avoid the media. They kept hounding her for interviews. And maybe if Maggie’s name hadn’t been linked to the murders, Rhonda would have gone undetected. Which is another reason my wife won’t help you.” Christian plopped his feet onto the mosaic coffee table. “She feels responsible, and she was the one who had to tell her the tabloids found out she was pregnant. With your illegitimate,” he used air quotes, “heir. Imagine how much fun that was.”
“If she’d told me where she was, I would have told her. What do I do? I miss her. And I hate not seeing for myself how she is.” He stopped pacing, only to realize he couldn’t sit still and began pacing again.
“I get it, you’re worried. But Maggie makes her call or text every day. She’s good.”
“Are you two done complaining about me?” Maggie entered the living room.
“Yes,” Christian said.
“No,” Blake contradicted. “Maggie—”
“Honestly, you are more pig-headed than he is.” She pointed to her husband. “Get your feet off the coffee table.”
Christian did as he was told.
“She’s pregnant. With my child. I need to see for myself that she’s all right.”
“I get that. But she doesn’t want to see you. I have something for you, though.” She reached into her bag, pulled out a DVD case and handed it to him.
“What’s this?” he asked, taking it.
“My laptop is on the coffee table, where my husband so rudely had his feet. Go ahead,” she urged.
Curious, he took a seat on the sofa beside Christian and opened Maggie’s computer. He slid the disk into the drive and waited. The DVD icon opened.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked.
What the hell was going on? He pushed play. A black and gray image filled the screen and then to his astonishment … began to move. The image altered as the angle of the shot changed. He could make out a small head and a tiny hand that moved like a conductor leading an orchestra, its thumb reaching for but not quite making a mouth. Everything blurred.
Blake blinked, clearing his vision and opening his heart to a love unlike any he’d ever felt. His face, neck and shoulders, then his entire body prickled at seeing his unborn child. He smiled as those wee fingers floated back and forth as if waving to him, knowing Blake watched.
He reached out and touched his own index finger to the tiny hand, feeling oddly disappointed by the cold computer screen. He desperately wanted the months of waiting to be over, so he could hold his baby. So he could tell his child he loved him, and would so every single day of his life.
This child wouldn’t have the pressure of family obligation. It would be free to live his or her life in any way desired. He withdrew his hand, a sudden heavy weight bearing down on him. Blake could deny his family heritage all he wanted, but the truth of the matter was it would always run through his veins, and now that of his son or daughter’s. And for the first time in his life, he understood what his mother had meant. What his grandmother had tried for years to pound into his head. History had immortalized his family. And he came from a long line of fighters.
“She wanted you to have it,” Maggie said.
Blake swiped a palm across his wet cheek, not caring who saw him weeping. This was his kid—his. And whether Rhonda knew it or not, she’d just sent him a message. She hadn’t lied. She wasn’t going to keep him away from his child. But if she thought for one bloody minute that she wasn’t part of the package, she better roll the dice and think again. They were going to be a family.
“Has she thrown me a bone? Or does she plan this to be the first step?”
Rhonda’s past molded her. She may think nothing good came of it, but it made her a survivor. She tried to ignore her compassion, the ability to see past her own needs, and couldn’t. She’d bled for her father and if she had to do it all over again, he believed she would. So how was it that a story in the tabloids sent her into hiding? She was stronger than that.
Maggie’s silence took Blake’s gaze off the precious image. She wanted to tell him something. Her internal debate was written on her face. He had to tip the scales in his favor to get her to open up. Because really, what was she protecting Rhonda from? Him? That was stupid. Or did Rhonda not trust herself around him? Shit. She wasn’t mad. She was afraid.
“I love her, Maggie. If she doesn’t want to go back to Scotland, we won’t. We’ll live here, if that’s what she truly wants.” But he didn’t believe she did.
Maggie chewed on her bottom lip. She wanted to say something, but her loyalty to Rhonda came first. Blake looked at Christian, silently imploring his help. This jackass of a friend rolled his eyes, but thankfully opened his big mouth.
“Maggie, you know he wouldn’t hurt her, and he is the baby’s father. There has to be something we can do that will get her to see him.”
“She’s scared,” she finally said. “She can’t be with you and be portrayed in the British tabloids as a gold-digging stripper. You do get that, don’t you?”
“Of course I get it.” No woman wanted that. “But they’d get over it. It’s not like I’m next in line for the throne. A few good deeds, one or two charitable events, and they’d overlook it. But I meant what I said. We don’t have to return to Scotland.”
“Then there’s your family. The press may forget, or overlook, her background. They however …”
“I don’t care what they think. She should know that. If my parents are civil, which I’m sure they will be, I’ll take the baby to Scotland for a visit. Rhonda doesn’t have to be there.”
“My und
erstanding is your grandmother will be the biggest problem. Her opinion of Rhonda will go beyond the stripper who bamboozled her grandson. Money aside, they’re looking at you to save the title. If you’re with Rhonda and she gives birth to a son, you won’t have a legitimate heir.”
“Is that it? She wants to get married?”
“A piece of paper doesn’t make a family,” Maggie said adamantly. “But she doesn’t want to get in the way of you making one for yourself. So you can give your family what they need.”
“I don’t care about any of that. Why do I feel like a dog chasing my tail? I’ve already said we don’t have to return to Scotland. What exactly is the problem?”
Maggie gave a heavy sigh. “I can’t tell you where she is, Blake. Sorry. She made me promise not to tell you.” And with that, she left. She grabbed her purse off the bar, opened the front door, and walked out.
Blake scratched his head. “What the hell just happened? Why wasn’t she listening to me?”
Christian shook his head. “Man, for a smart guy … What kind of private eye are you?”
“What? No offense, but your wife wasn’t listening. None of that other stuff is important. Rhonda and I can build a life here.”
“You know,” Christian said, propping his booted feet back on the mosaic coffee table. “And don’t tell my wife. She’ll kill me.” He indicated his feet. “Rhonda grew up with nothing. And what little she had, she earned. I mean, she was practically the sole provider of that family. She most certainly was the parent.”
“What’s your point?”
“Just that it would be nice for someone to think of her, don’t you think?”
“Obviously,” Blake said, losing patience with his friend. “And I plan to do that.”
“You told me earlier, Rhonda loved the house you bought. The one you’re restoring.”
Blake smiled, remembering Rhonda’s reaction to the house, before Harris came along and ruined everything. “I was sure she was going to offer to help restore it.”