by Mary Birk
Miranda seemed to realize she’d upset him. “Calm down. I was speaking hypothetically. God knows Rafe never would have wanted to adopt Rodney and me. He wanted his own child with Mum, and luckily for him, they had Lance.”
“Is Lance coming?” Reid grabbed at the chance to change the subject.
“Yes, and he’s bringing a friend so he has someone his own age.” She put a hand on his arm with friendly affection. “I haven’t told anyone about you asking Anne for an annulment.”
“Good.” He wished he hadn’t told Miranda about it. “I’d rather people didn’t know yet. I’ve only just told Pippa a few days ago, and I asked her not to say anything to anyone. I want to have a chance to talk to Anne about it privately. Get her to agree. It’s much easier if she doesn’t contest it.”
“You don’t think she will?”
“No, I’m sure she’s as ready as I am for this to end.”
“You’re brave to do this in the midst of a family gathering.”
“Brave or stupid.” He couldn’t imagine what this visit would be like, with Anne and he estranged, and so much still unsaid between them. How had the conversation come back to his marriage? He tried again to move the conversation in a different direction. “I haven’t been back to Dunbaryn since January. Almost a year. I’ve got some new falcons and several owls ready to train that I’ve been neglecting.”
“Don’t you have that eagle there now?”
“Golden eagle. Temporarily. I haven’t gotten a chance to see it since it came. Should be spectacular.”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “You and your birds.”
“Raptors.”
“Vicious predators.”
“You’ve never quite warmed up to my little chickens.”
She shuddered. “Chickens? I don’t think you have anything that tame in the Falcon House.”
“True.”
“As long as I don’t have to have anything to do with them, I’m fine. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take advantage of you driving and take a nap. Wake me if you want me to drive, or need me to talk to keep you awake.”
“Go to sleep. I like the drive.” Driving always helped him get his thoughts straight, especially when he was driving familiar roads like the long winding roads marking the route to his family home.
Miranda’s eyes closed, and soon she was breathing the even rhythm of sleep. Good, he needed some quiet time to think about how best to handle the problematic situation he’d be facing at the end of the drive. He’d avoided going home because he didn’t know how he could explain to his family about what was going on between Anne and him.
He glanced toward the backseat where he’d stowed his briefcase. He’d packed all of Anne’s unopened letters in it, bringing them to give back to her. He’d wanted to rip them to pieces, then burn them, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. When she’d left Scotland, he’d hoped they still had a chance, but that idiotic illusion didn’t last long. Reports of her being seen with Andrew Grainger started from the moment her plane landed. FBI Special Agent Jack Shelton, never a fan of Anne’s, had made sure Reid heard about Anne and Grainger’s frequent meetings. Reid supposed Anne’s letters explained why she’d resumed her relationship with Andrew Grainger, or, worse, pretended she hadn’t. He’d shoved the letters in a drawer, unread.
Miranda stirred and opened her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Can’t sleep?”
“I was thinking about costumes for the fancy dress party. Pooley wants the theme to be Shakespearean characters, and as he’s the sponsor, I’ve agreed. I’ve brought along a packet of costume sketches from the firm that hires them out—I can show you them later. What do you think of that as a theme?”
Reid felt a cold dread press against his chest. “Pooley? Broderick Pooley?”
“Right. I introduced you to him at the Burns exhibit right before you rushed out. Broddie’s at the same firm Rodney works at—Damien Investments.”
The reception at the Burns exhibit had been in November, in fact, the same day Anne had gone into labor with Michael. Which, of course, had been the reason he’d left early, although he doubted Miranda knew that. The Burns exhibit had also been when Von Zandt delivered his threat to Broderick Pooley. He’d not remembered Rodney Greene also worked at Damien. He debated whether to tell Miranda about Pooley’s death, but decided against it. She’d learn soon enough her fancy dress event had no sponsor after all.
“How did you come to know Pooley?”
She closed her eyes again. “Mutual friends. Do you like the theme?” Her voice was sleepy.
“Shakespearean characters sound like a good idea, but I’m still not coming.” Perhaps he should tell her, but he had too much to deal with right now. Besides, bad news could always wait.
“We’ll see.” She laid her head against the window, closed her eyes, and soon was asleep again.
Why had he allowed Pooley to convince him to wait to begin the protection detail? Had he actually believed Von Zandt would stick to a deadline, even one he himself had set? He’d felt like an idiot explaining that to his bosses. When he’d told them he couldn’t delay his own trip, they hadn’t been pleased, though for different reasons. His supporters, because they wanted him to succeed, his detractors, because they wanted to watch him crash and burn sooner rather than later.
All in all, it was a bloody bad time to leave town.
Chapter 5
RODNEY GREENE stopped his car for petrol in Kingussie seconds before Krystal flung open the door and raced for the loo. Again.
The weather was definitely turning for the worse. Rodney wanted to get to Dunbaryn before the snow mucked up the roads too badly. He went into the warm kiosk to pay his bill, feeling the blast of the heater going full force. The smell of coffee and sausage rolls made him hungry, but he ignored the rolls and just poured himself a cup of coffee.
He looked around for his date. Krystal must still be in the ladies. This was their fourth stop. He could tell she was embarrassed, and although he felt badly for her, it was annoying. A date with diarrhea. Just what he needed.
He wondered if he should get her a coffee as well, although he didn’t really want her to stay awake. She was an amusing girl, but better in short stretches. Even with her stomach problems, she talked more than anyone else with whom he’d ever ridden in a car. He knew more about her friends and their love lives and shopping habits than he would have ever believed possible. But Krystal was presentable and could be fun in the right setting. She was most definitely excited about spending Christmas at Dunbaryn Castle. As a date location, he had to admit, it was impressive. Impressive enough for her to willingly—no, enthusiastically—forego Christmas with her own family. He expected her friends would be waiting at home with bated breath to hear all the details.
Krystal’s appeal wasn’t in the least lessened by her father being in charge of investments for one of the country’s largest banks. Obtaining such a substantial account might finally get Rodney elevated to partnership status, assuming he could get the rest of his problems sorted out.
Rodney had landed a position with Damien Investments three years ago after finally finishing his advanced degree at University in Edinburgh. Being the son of George Greene and Lady Flora Kensington had as much to do with him getting the job as had his good marks at university. It didn’t hurt for your employers to covet your parents’ investment accounts, and to expect that with the hiring of the son, the accounts would follow.
But his father hadn’t given his investment business to Rodney or anyone else at Damien Investments. George Greene continued to take care of his own considerable assets himself. His mother had given Rodney a sizable amount of her money to invest for her, however, he needed to show he could bring in more investors. Especially if Von Zandt made a stink. Why hadn’t he followed procedures and made the man sign off on all the cautions as Pooley had? Pooley was in a much better position than Rodney if Damien’s board of directors got snarky. Not only did Poo
ley have a huge book of business, but he’d dotted his i’s and crossed his t’s in his own dealings with Von Zandt.
Rodney rolled his neck back and forth, trying to release some of the built up tension. The pressure to produce at work was immense, and getting investors of a big enough magnitude to make a difference was incredibly difficult. The bloody market had been a nightmare. It would eventually go back up, he knew. It had to, or at least that’s what everyone said. What goes down, must go up. Or did it only work the other way? What goes up, must come down. He hoped not.
He’d never imagined it would be so difficult to succeed in this business. His upbringing, his schooling, his career, everything had supported his assumption he would have a solid career in the financial arena, despite not being a self-made man like his father. He’d been given every advantage a child of wealth and privilege could have. Even though his parents had divorced when he was young, they had both provided for him well. Still, he needed to prove he could make it on his own.
“Get me a coffee, please.” Krystal’s bubbly voice came from behind him. “I don’t want to fall asleep on you while you’re doing all the hard work driving in this snow.”
He forced a smile. “Certainly. Feeling better?”
“A bit. Sorry about this. I must have eaten something that had gone off.”
“Milk and sugar in it?”
“Probably better for my stomach if I just stick to plain coffee. Besides my dress for the party tomorrow fits a little close. If I’m not careful, I’ll look fat.”
“You can’t look fat. It’s impossible. You’re perfect.”
Krystal smiled, happily lapping up his practiced response. With all of her father’s money, she really should get those bottom teeth fixed. They were just jumbled together enough to be distracting if you had to look at them often. Like there’d been a small earthquake in her mouth and they’d been shaken off their roots.
They settled back in the car and got on the road. Hopefully, Krystal’s stomach would hold a while. Any more stops and they’d be late. But, of course, if she needed to stop again, they would. What choice did he have? Besides, he needed her to give a good report on him to her father.
This trip was important to him for more than one reason, though. Not only would he be providing Krystal with an elegant and romantic Christmas house party, but he’d be able to break the bad news to his mother about her investment in a setting where she’d not have a lot of time to dwell on it. There would be plenty of other distractions at Dunbaryn to keep his mother occupied, what with his father and his stepfather both there, not to mention the whole circus of the christening of Terrence Reid’s child. Rodney couldn’t imagine how that would go with the soon-to-be shucked off wife there as well.
As if she were reading his mind—a frightening prospect—Krystal spoke.
“This woman Lord Reid’s married to, Lady Anne, the one with the baby being christened, is the one they showed on all those true crime shows, isn’t she? The American who had the lover in California whose little girl was kidnapped and murdered? And weren’t she and her lover suspects?”
He laughed. Titles and crime, what a combination. “I don’t think she was a serious suspect. And it turned out the child’s father wasn’t involved, either.”
“Still, it’s exciting, isn’t it? Do you actually know her? Lady Anne, I mean?”
“I wouldn’t say I know her, though I’ve met her. They came here right after they got married, and I attended the party the Earl and Countess gave to celebrate. I hate to disappoint you, but I think you’ll find she’s not actually scandalous in person. Very American, but rather quiet.”
“Beautiful?”
“She’s a stunner, or at least she was last time I saw her.”
“From the news stories, it looks like she’s still gorgeous—or at least was before she had the baby. My cousin Sally blew up like a walrus after she had her baby.”
“I have a feeling Lady Anne doesn’t look like a walrus.”
“You’re probably right. Her type doesn’t do that.” Krystal sighed with a wistfulness that reminded Rodney of just how young she was. “So she and Lord Reid must have made it up after all of that. It’s so romantic. I just can’t imagine being married to someone like him and having a famous artist for a lover, too.”
Rodney tried without success to think of a response, so he settled for, “Hmm.”
“I suppose the artist painted her? He’d have to, wouldn’t he? If he loved her?”
“That I don’t know.”
“What an exciting life she must have. Like a film star.”
“I suppose,” he said, trying to sound more amused than condescending. “The stuff fairy tales are made of.”
She pouted in a way he was fairly certain she’d practiced in a mirror. “Don’t look at me like that, Rodney. I don’t care what you say, I’m that thrilled to meet her. My friends are all dying to hear about what she’s like.”
He reached a hand over to tousle her hair, giving her his best doting boyfriend smile. “You’ll have a lot to tell them, then, after the holidays.”
“Won’t I just?” Krystal went on. “There was the sweetest photo in the news of them when Lord Reid went to California to help her. He had his arm around her waist, getting her away from the cameras. He looked so protective and tender.” She sighed. “I think they look positively smashing together. He’s so dark, and she’s so blonde.”
Rodney sincerely hoped Krystal didn’t prattle on about her admiration of Anne and Terrence as a couple to Miranda. In fact, he’d better keep Krystal away from Miranda. He was certain his sister wouldn’t be able to keep her disdain of Terrence’s wife a secret, especially in the face of someone who was this star-struck.
“It might be best not to say anything about the whole affair, no pun intended, to anyone there. They’re a very religious family, and very private. I’m sure the order of the day is to act like it didn’t happen.” He imagined the type of scandal Anne had caused was anathema to someone like Terrence Reid. This kind of a wife, no matter how beautiful, could not be what he wanted. Maybe Miranda actually had a chance with him this time. For her sake he hoped so. At least Miranda kept her scandals quiet.
Krystal took a camera out of her purse and aimed it in his direction. “That even makes it more romantic, don’t you think? Hidden undercurrents and all?”
The camera clicked, and Rodney laughed. “Promise me you won’t try to take any snaps of them.”
“Oh, Rodney, don’t say that. My parents will want to see everything about my visit. Besides, I got this new camera just for the trip.” She clearly was planning on documenting her Christmas visit to an earl’s castle. Good thing he’d thought of warning her against it.
“No snaps unless it looks absolutely legit. You don’t want to get us kicked out or thrown in the dungeon, do you?”
“They don’t really have a dungeon, do they?”
He laughed in spite of himself. He was going to have to watch her. His mobile phone rang. The office. Damn. He hit talk. “Greene here.”
He listened, then frowned. “Dead?”
Chapter 6
JULIETTE REID, Countess of Wynstrathe, had always loved Christmas more than any other time of the year. And she liked it the most with her family and friends around her. Every year, starting in November, she enthusiastically began decorating the great home. The plum puddings were made even earlier, in late summer, and left to age in the pantry. These were not the custom where she was from, but she was diligent in making certain her family had all of the Scottish traditions, together with some of her French ones thrown in for good measure. So, of course, there would be a buche de Noel to go with the plum pudding.
Only her youngest child wouldn’t be here for the holidays. It was hard to compete with an invitation for Christmas at an Italian villa for a young woman Dominique’s age. No matter, she would just keep leaving Dominique messages. There was still a chance she would change her mind and come home. Juliette wrin
kled her nose at the girl’s insistence on using a nickname—Darby. Both of her girls were that way, though. Dominique called herself Darby, and Phillipa insisted on being called Pippa.
She opened the door to inspect the contents of the huge kitchen pantry—satisfied to see it overflowing with the food for the holidays. The smell of tangerines hung in the air, just as she’d planned. Every corner of the house was ready for Christmas. Satisfied, she shut the door, ticking off in her mind the house’s state of readiness. The bedrooms had been prepared, and the fireplaces in the rooms they’d be using downstairs had been burning all day. Everything was ready for the guests to arrive. The guests and her family.
Except for Darby, they’d all be together. They’d have fun, and it would be a lovely holiday. This year, she hoped, for the first time in years, her eldest son would have a happy Christmas. She’d not seen him in almost a year, and she missed him dreadfully.
A muddy dog clattered in through the kitchen’s dog door, leaving tracks all the way across the otherwise immaculate room.
Recognizing the culprit, Juliette called, “Phillipa! Your dog is making a mess all across Mrs. Paulson’s clean kitchen.”
The household’s head cook, a stocky, steel-haired woman, scowled at the offending animal. Muttering, she turned back to her stove and stirred something that smelled wonderful—the sauce for the lamb chops they would have for dinner, Juliette thought. She noted with approval their own three dogs lying placidly on their cushions against the kitchen wall. Terrence had trained all their dogs, and they were perfectly behaved. Maybe Phillipa could ask Terrence for some dog-training tips.
Pippa, a young woman of thirty-one and the owner of the dirty hound, ran into the kitchen. “Ruffian, you’re in such trouble. Look what you’ve done.” She took him by the collar and led him over to the dog basket she’d brought along for him. “Sit here while I clean up the floor. Silly dog.” She grabbed a handful of paper towels and set to work. “Sorry, Mrs. P. I promise we’ll keep a better eye on Ruffian.”