Part 6 (1/2)
She no longer had the energy to fight with him. ”This isn't going to work for either of us, Mr. Traveler. It's obvious you don't like me, and I certainly don't like-”
”That's not exactly true. When you aren't pointing that umbrella and telling me what to do, you're fairly enjoyable to be around.” He swung out onto a four-lane highway. ”At least you're not boring, which is more than I can say for most of the people I meet.”
”How flattering. The fact is we can never recover from the bad start we've had. First thing in the morning, I'll call Francesca and ask her to recommend someone else to help me. We don't need to see each other again.”
The car slowed. ”Call Francesca?”
”I'll tell her we have a personality conflict. She'll understand.”
”I-uh ... I'd just as soon we leave Francesca out of this.”
”I can't do that. She insisted I call her after I got in to report on my trip.”
”I'll just bet she did,” he muttered, then glanced over at her. ”I'll tell you what. I'll give you a hundred dollars a day if you'll let me stay on as your travel guide. I'll do all the driving, take you wherever you want. All you have to do is enjoy the scenery and keep telling Francesca loud and clear that everything's fine between us.”
The lazy fool had vanished. In his place was a determined stranger with a hard jaw and intense eyes. It took only a moment for the pieces to fall into place.
”Francesca's got some hold over you, doesn't she? That's why you agreed to do this in the first place.”
”You might say.” He pulled off the highway onto a service road, then swung into the parking lot of a luxurious-looking hotel.
”What is it?”
”I think both of us have had enough high drama for tonight.”
”Tell me.”
”A hundred dollars a day. Do you agree?”
Mesmerized, she stared at him. All trace of humor had vanished from his expression, and his perpetually smiling mouth had flatlined. This was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted.
She saw now that she'd underestimated him from the moment they'd met, and she wondered how many other people had done the same thing. It was a mistake she wouldn't repeat.
”Two hundred,” she found herself saying, just to punish him. ”Plus expenses.” One part of her wondered if she'd lost her mind, but the other part of her had gone weak with relief. Whether he realized it or not, he had just handed her the power she needed to control him for the next two weeks. From this moment on, Emma owned Kenny Traveler, and after what he'd done to her tonight, she didn't have any qualms about using him to get what she needed.
The grim set of his features as he pulled beneath the hotel's porte cochere told her it hadn't taken him long to figure out that the balance of power had just s.h.i.+fted. Tension clipped away the soft edges of his Texas drawl. ”I'll get you a room. And I want your word that you'll be down in the lobby waiting for me at nine o'clock tomorrow morning.”
”Oh, I'll be there.” Her new confidence must have been reflected in her eyes because his own narrowed, and, right then, she made up her mind to find out exactly what hold Francesca had over him.
Ten minutes later the bellman escorted her to a lavish suite on the hotel's concierge floor. For a moment she almost felt guilty, but the emotion quickly vanished. She knew a bribe when she saw one, and Kenny Traveler was trying to buy her off. It wouldn't work, but perhaps he didn't have to know that just yet.
The next morning, the ringing of the phone awakened her. She pushed her hair from her eyes and glanced at the clock as she reached for the receiver-6:18.
”h.e.l.lo.”
”Hold, please, for His Grace, the Duke of Beddington.”
She sank back into the pillows. She'd wondered how long it would take him to find her. As she waited, the events of last night swept over her, and she was almost glad when a too-familiar voice interrupted.
”Emma, my darling gel. Where have you been? You've put me through my paces finding you.”
She recoiled from the nasal tones of Hugh Weldon Holroyd, the eleventh Duke of Beddington, and a man who resembled Henry VIII in more ways than his appearance. He also happened to own the land on which St. Gert's was built, as well as becoming the school's primary benefactor when his mother, the dowager d.u.c.h.ess, had died eight months ago.
”Good morning, Your Grace.”
”Now, none of that, my dear. You're to address me as Hugh, although only in private, you understand.” He paused for a moment, and she envisioned him stuffing a crumpet through those fleshy lips. Not that Hugh would actually stuff anything. Even as he consumed vast quant.i.ties of food, his manners were impeccable. He'd once demolished an entire tray of her tea sandwiches without dropping so much as a single crumb. The appearance of propriety was as important to him as his t.i.tle.
”Emma, Emma, we seem to have had a slight miscommunication. You were to ring me yesterday when you got in. I must tell you that it's been quite difficult tracking you down.”
”I'm sorry,” she lied. ”I was so exhausted it slipped my mind.”
”Perfectly understandable. I do hope you had a sound sleep.”
”Yes, quite.” His amiability didn't fool her. She'd already learned that the Duke of Beddington was a man who'd do anything to get what he wanted. She thought of his two dead wives and shuddered. Not that there had been anything suspicious about either death-one had lost her life in childbirth, the other had been caught in an avalanche during a ski holiday in the Alps. But between his physical resemblance to Henry VIII, the deaths of his wives, and the two young daughters he'd tucked away at a school far more prestigious than St. Gert's, he made her skin crawl.
”You'd told me you hired a driver, but you didn't mention he was one of the most famous professional golfers in the world. I know how naive you are, my dear, so I'm certain it hasn't occurred to you that this arrangement won't do at all.”
She experienced a small stab of satisfaction. ”Please don't concern yourself, Your Grace. My friend Francesa recommended him.” She didn't bother asking him how he'd learned that Kenny was escorting her, since Hugh Holroyd wasn't a man to leave anything to chance. From the moment she'd announced the trip, she'd known he would hire someone to keep track of her.
”I'm sure you didn't stop to consider how this would look. I know you enjoy Francesca's company, but she's in television, my dear, which makes her barely respectable. And as the future d.u.c.h.ess of Beddington, you need to think about such things.”
She curled her fingers tighter around the phone cord. ”Oh, I'm certain it won't be a problem. I only have two weeks to finish my research, and I needed someone reliable. Mr. Traveler is very familiar with the area.”
”Darling, that's not the point. We'll be announcing our engagement as soon as you return, and it's not at all the thing for you to be spending so much time with another man, even though he's only your escort.”
They weren't going to be announcing their engagement, but he didn't know that yet. Just as he didn't know she was going to do everything in her power to protect St. Gert's from his blackmail. ”I'm in Texas, Your Grace. None of your circle of acquaintances will ever know.”
”You forget that I have business interests all over the world. As a matter of fact, I have to go to New York just when you'll be on your way home. I'd hoped to meet you in London as soon as you returned, but I'm afraid we'll have to postpone that. Actually, my dear, the more I think about this, the more I believe that you need to come home right away. From the very beginning, this trip has displeased me.”
”I appreciate your concern, but I'm afraid that's impossible. I know you don't want me to continue as head-mistress after the engagement is announced.”
”Quite right. It would be most inappropriate.”
Only in the seventeenth century, you awful man!
”Then you see why I must stay. I've promised the editors of the New Historian New Historian I'll have my paper finished for them by the first of May, and I'm sure you agree that I can't go back on my word.” She paused for dramatic effect. ”Only think how it would look if the future d.u.c.h.ess of Beddington didn't meet an obligation.” I'll have my paper finished for them by the first of May, and I'm sure you agree that I can't go back on my word.” She paused for dramatic effect. ”Only think how it would look if the future d.u.c.h.ess of Beddington didn't meet an obligation.”
She knew she'd made her point when she heard the fretful note in his voice. ”Still, I don't fancy having you escorted by a man who's so notorious. I know I sound like a doting husband, my dear, but I couldn't forgive myself if I let the slightest breath of scandal attach itself to your name.”
”It won't, Your Grace.” She narrowed her eyes at her blatant lie. If all went well, she would create a scandal just large enough to put an end to any idea of an engagement and, at the same time, ensure that St. Gert's would remained a safe, comfortable haven for another generation of girls.
When she finally hung up, she was shaking, and she flung herself out of bed. Dealing with two horrible men in less than twenty-four hours was far worse than dealing with a cla.s.sroom of unruly students. At least she hadn't been forced to work with Hugh until recently. Up to the time of her death, the dowager d.u.c.h.ess had been Emma's only contact with the family, although she'd known Hugh by reputation for years because of his well-publicized talents for making huge profits by investing in cutting-edge technology. But despite his facility with high finance and modern technology, he was an old-style aristocrat, a man so puffed up with pride over his ill.u.s.trious family name that adding to his consequence had become even more important to him than making money.
His two marriages had produced only female children, and, like Henry VIII, he was obsessed with the need for a male heir. Unless he had a son, his ancient t.i.tle would go to a long-haired nephew who was a drummer for a rock and roll band. It was unthinkable, and only months after his second wife's death, he'd set his staff on a search to find his next wife. She had to be well-born-that went without saying. And solid, without a hint of scandal. No flashy Sarah Fergusons to bring his name into disrepute. He would also prefer a virgin.
She could just imagine the reaction his staff must have had to that. Later she'd learned that the only women they'd been able to come up with who fit his criteria were thirteen years old.