Lady Be Good (Wynette, Texas #2)(103)

His fingers skimmed her arm and brushed the outer slope of her breast. Her skin prickled, her limbs felt heavy, and her body urged her to give in to him. Would it be so bad to do it his way? Would it be so bad to go through the outward motions of having a real marriage, even though there was no lasting connection between them? What difference would it make? She reminded herself that she was accustomed to spending her life with emotional leftovers, but she didn’t want that from Kenny. More important, she didn’t deserve it, and she stepped back.

His arm dropped to his side, and his eyes darkened. She watched his lips thin and knew he was furious, just as she knew he would walk away without saying a word.

Not long after, he left for the practice range, and she forced herself to go to work on the laptop computer she found in his office—an office that, as far as she could tell, only Patrick used. For the rest of the morning and into the early afternoon, she alternated between working on her article about Lady Sarah Thornton and making notes for Penelope Briggs detailing the information she would need to get the spring term off to a smooth start. She stopped when Torie arrived for her driving lesson.

Emma made it into town and back to the ranch without hitting anything. As she carried the laptop out onto the sunporch to resume work, she decided that Torie’s happiness was the single bright spot in an otherwise depressing day. Patrick emerged from the kitchen with two glasses of iced tea topped with orange slices.

“The word’s out. The International Sports Channel just broadcast your wedding announcement.”

She could see that he was worried as he set her glass on the table, then carried his own over to the couch. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, exactly. I’m probably just being paranoid.” He took a sip of tea, then straightened the lamp on the table next to the couch. “The announcement was short, no comment on the fight at the Roustabout, just a brief statement that Kenneth had married a member of the British aristocracy, Lady Emma Wells-Finch, daughter of the fifth Earl of Woodbourne.”

“The press was bound to find out sooner or later.”

“That’s not what worries me.” Patrick slid his finger around the rim of his glass. “There wasn’t any mention of your occupation, no sense of the type of person you are. The announcement made it sound as though he’d married a flighty piece of Eurotrash.”

Emma finally understood why he was upset. “And so the legend of the spoiled playboy golf pro only grows bigger.”

“Exactly.” Ice tea sloshed over the rim of his glass as he set it down with a thud. “His image has already taken a beating, and this doesn’t help. By not making the announcement on his own, it’s almost as if he’s deliberately shooting himself in the foot. I can just imagine what that bitchy Sturgis Randall is going to say during his show this evening. I’m not even watching.”

But neither he nor Emma could resist, and after a dinner at which Kenny remained notably absent, Emma carried their coffee mugs over to the couch while Patrick turned on the television.

Sturgis Randall waited until the end of his program to pounce. “The fact that his career is on the skids doesn’t seem to be bothering golfer Kenny Traveler. Instead, the troubled champion has taken a bride. And no ordinary American girl for our Kenny. Instead, the Texas millionaire, who also happens to be the heir to giant Traveler Computer Systems . . .”

“That’s not true!” Patrick exclaimed. “He made Warren disinherit him years ago.”

“. . . has chosen a British blueblood, Lady Emma Wells-Finch. That’s Wells-Finch, with a hyphen. It seems the beautiful noblewoman is the daughter of the fifth Earl of Woodbourne.”

“Beautiful!” Emma was outraged. “I most certainly am not beautiful!”

“In the meantime, Traveler’s troubles with the PGA have gotten worse since he was involved in a brutal barroom brawl with an elderly international businessman.”

Emma shot up out of her seat. “He’s not elderly! And it wasn’t a barroom brawl!”

“No official statement yet from acting commissioner Dallas Beaudine.” Sturgis gave the cameras a smarmy smile. “A word of advice, Kenny . . . Since your golfing career doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, maybe you and your socialite bride can take up fox hunting.”

Emma couldn’t bear it. “How can he get away with that?”

“His ratings are good. In America, that’s all that counts.” Patrick jabbed at the remote to turn off the television. “Let’s go to a movie. We need a diversion.”

It was a little after eleven and the lights were still on when Kenny returned to the ranch. He’d practiced all day, then stopped at his father’s house to play with Petie for a while. Afterward, he’d parked down by the river so he could nurse his various grudges against Emma for making something difficult out of something simple, but the river wasn’t a good place for him. He kept remembering that they’d made love there.

As he let himself into the kitchen, he felt a stab of guilt for leaving her by herself all day. Then he reminded himself that he wasn’t the one causing all the commotion in this marriage.

He headed to the refrigerator to see if Patrick had left him anything. As he pulled out a plate of cold chicken, the door that led from the backyard to the sunporch squeaked. He looked up and felt a catch in his throat as Emma walked in.