Lady Be Good (Wynette, Texas #2)(19)

“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 shifted. 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.

“Hello.”

“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 duchess, 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 quantities 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 title.

“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.