by Teri Wilson
Nevertheless, Helena owning one of his puppies was out of the question. He didn’t need a puppy tying them together for the next ten or fifteen years.
Plus, Helena knew all about the puppies and had seen them a week ago. Didn’t the fact that she’d failed to mention them to Henry speak volumes about her true interest in Donovan’s dogs?
It wasn’t his dogs Helena was after.
Donovan sighed, returned Pudding to the whelping pen and sat down behind his desk. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”
“Oh?” Henry laughed as the puppy on his lap began to crawl. “Sure it is. She’d adore one of these little buggers. And she could use a dog of her own. You know she’s volunteered to show one of your aunt’s dogs at the upcoming Ashwyn show?”
“What?” Donovan gaped at Henry, but his gaze was immediately drawn like a magnet to the window behind his head. “No, I know nothing of the...”
Behind Henry’s head, the door to the Barrows’ house swung open, revealing Elizabeth in a white T-shirt and soft-looking jeans with a rip in the knee as she led Bliss and Sue Barrow’s quartet of Border terriers down the sidewalk. Her hair flowed wildly about her face in a riot of loose curls. Even from this distance, Donovan could appreciate her wonderfully disheveled state. She looked as he imagined she would after slipping something on upon climbing out of bed.
His bed, perhaps?
Donovan clenched his fists. He would never get another moment’s peace if those curtains remained open.
“Donovan?” Henry peered at him, his mouth quirked into a smirk. Of the two of them, Henry was the one with his head in the clouds most often. Clearly he was amused by their sudden role reversal. “You were saying?”
“Hmm?” Donovan sat straighter in his chair and forced himself to focus on his friend.
“About Helena?” Henry snickered. “You were going to tell me something about her showing your aunt Constance’s dog.”
“She can’t show my aunt’s dog. I’m judging at that show. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to judge a family member’s dog, particularly one that came from my breeding lines. You know what a violation of ethics that would be.”
“Well, she’s doing it. The dog’s already been entered. I tried to talk to her, but she would have none of it.” Henry shrugged. “You know how Helena is. Relax, it’s a dog show. It’s all for fun, right?”
Having Helena Robson in his ring? Fun?
Hardly.
Henry continued, “Seriously, though. She’s very interested in showing. It’s all she talks about. She’s coming along to the show tomorrow. I’d be named brother of the year if I presented her with one of your puppies. Think about it, mate. Please.”
Donovan could no longer hold his tongue. He had to put a stop to this before things got out of control. “Henry, I’m not in love with your sister.”
Henry blinked and stared wordlessly for a moment. Then, in his usual jovial manner, he let out a loud laugh. “I thought we were talking about puppies.”
“We were. But I’m concerned Helena is only interested in dogs as a way to get to me. You know she has a thing for me.” Donovan leveled his gaze at Henry. Surely he’d noticed the flirtation, the innuendos. Helena was his sister, but Henry wasn’t blind. “The feeling is not mutual. I need you to know that.”
“Right. I know.” He waved his hand, as if a force like Helena could be done away with by a flick of the wrist. “So she has a crush? People don’t choose these things, you know...romance, love. It chooses them.”
It chooses them.
Bollocks.
Donovan couldn’t speak for Henry or Helena. But only one person was in control of Donovan Darcy’s destiny, and that person was Donovan Darcy himself.
“Well, just so we’re clear.” Donovan returned Figgy’s puppy to the pen and watched as the little wriggling forms inched their way toward their mum in search of milk. Watching the sweet family in action was almost enough to take the edge off his frustration.
At least until his gaze was drawn once again toward the window.
And a flicker of doubt passed through him, as real as the Aston Martin parked at the curb outside.
People don’t choose these things...romance, love.
It chooses them.
8
The dog show in Mayfair, Elizabeth’s first in the U.K., was being held in the ballroom of a luxury hotel. From the moment she stepped through the door—held open by a uniformed doorman—Elizabeth was keenly aware this hotel was no Holiday Inn.
“Oh, my.” Jenna’s gaze swept over the enormous chandeliers hanging from the lobby’s ceiling, dripping with strands of twinkling crystals. “Now, this is much more like it. Why aren’t your shows back home held in places like this?”
“Some of them are.” Elizabeth scooped Bliss into her arms and gave her a peck of a kiss on her head. “I just can’t afford the entry fees for those shows.”
“That’s a shame.” Jenna shook her head. “I might tag along more often if all your shows were like this.”
“It’s nice enough,” Sue said as she sidled up next to them with a Border terrier tethered to each of her wrists. “But wait until you see the show site next weekend. That one’s really something.”
Jenna shot a smile over her shoulder as she led them across the shiny marble floor, following the signs leading to the ballroom. “Count me in.”
“Wonders never cease,” Elizabeth muttered under her breath.
The ballroom was equally as grand as the lobby, perhaps even more so. Crimson carpet stretched out for miles and, surprisingly, wasn’t covered in protective plastic. Elizabeth found this odd for a dog-show site.
Perhaps British show dogs have better manners than their American counterparts.
Within minutes she spotted a pointer lifting its leg and unleashing a flood of urine on a nearby silk-swathed table.
Then again, maybe not.
The pointer’s handler shook his head in frustration, and a gloved assistant scurried to clean up the mess. The dog yawned, clearly bored by the entire scene.
“Is that a dog butler?” Jenna asked under her breath, nodding toward the gloved man, now on his hands and knees in dangerously close proximity to the pointer’s back end.
Elizabeth smirked. “No way. There can’t be such a thing, even in England.”
“Said the dog nanny.” Jenna gave her a firm nudge with her elbow.
Point taken.
“Come with me, girls. We’ll get the dogs situated in the grooming area and then check in with the ring steward.” Sue glided past the pointer, his handler and his butler, and led them toward the far end of the ballroom.
As with any other dog show, the grooming area consisted of a maze of tables, chairs and blow-dryers powerful enough to blow the fur off the biggest of standard poodles. After three trips to Sue’s car to retrieve various crates and other equipment, Elizabeth had arranged a nice, quiet corner among all the chaos for their dogs. Even with Jenna’s help, the sheer amount of stuff required to show four dogs was overwhelming. It was a far cry from showing only Bliss. But Elizabeth loved it—the dogs, the buzz of excitement in the air. All of it. And the fact that she was doing what she loved in England, of all places, made the experience even sweeter.
Then Jenna leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Look, your boyfriend’s here.”
Every nerve ending Elizabeth possessed went on high alert, pricked with irritation. The fact that she knew exactly who Jenna was referring to only irritated her further.
She ventured a glance ringside. Sure enough, Donovan Darcy stood beside the partitions separating the rings from the staging area—partitions consisting of red velvet ropes, with sumptuous gold tassels. No passé white lattice here.
He looked quite noble beneath the glittering kaleidoscop
e of light filtering down from the grand chandelier hanging from the ballroom’s ceiling, as if he were the center of the galaxy, decorated with stardust. The finely tailored suit he wore certainly didn’t hurt. Elizabeth had never seen a man look so good in a dinner jacket, and she’d seen her fair share. The entire effect was rather dazzling. Too dazzling, actually.
Elizabeth averted her gaze and aimed it instead at Sue. “What’s he doing here? Please tell me he’s not our judge.”
“He’s not.” Sue shook her head. “Mr. Henry Robson is our judge today, but he’s only provisional. That probably explains Mr. Darcy’s presence.”
“Provisional? What does that mean?” Jenna’s eyes were still glued in Mr. Darcy’s direction.
Elizabeth wished she would look somewhere else. Anywhere else. “It means he’s a novice judge, still learning the ropes. And would you please stop staring before he sees you?”
“Too late. He just looked over here.” Jenna bit her lip and shrugged apologetically. Not apologetically enough for Elizabeth’s taste, however.
How does this keep happening? Considering she didn’t give a damn about Donovan Darcy, Elizabeth got caught ogling him an awful lot. She breathed out a sigh. Ogling was a dreadfully strong word. She wasn’t sure such a word applied, necessarily.
She allowed herself another quick glimpse in his direction. The corner of his most-sexy mouth hitched into a lethal grin as he looked straight back at her.
God, those eyes. Brooding, dark and dangerous.
Elizabeth’s stomach fluttered, and she looked away as quickly as she could manage. Maybe ogling wasn’t too strong a word, after all. What could she say? The man was ogle-worthy.
Jenna smirked. “Well, if that wasn’t a look, I don’t know what is. He has the hots for you, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but even as she did, she couldn’t help but wonder why her heart was beating so hard all of a sudden. And why was she so warm? The ballroom felt unbearably hot. “You’re delusional. He can’t help but look that way. It’s in his genes.”
Jenna and Sue exchanged amused glances.
“You’re in England now, dear,” Sue said. “Mr. Darcy may be many things, but above all, he’s an Englishman. Whether you like it or not, you’re going to cross paths with him. Often. You’re both dog fanciers. I suppose you could say it’s your destiny.”
Destined to hobnob with the likes of Donovan Darcy? The notion turned Elizabeth’s still-fluttering stomach.
“My destiny?” She laughed, but it sounded all wrong. Phony. Forced. “I doubt that.”
* * *
Donovan looked at Elizabeth Scott standing across the ballroom and drank in the sight of her.
He’d wondered if she would be here today. He’d both hoped for her presence and dreaded it in equal measure. Although standing there under the twinkling lights of the ballroom, with his gaze stubbornly lingering on the seductive curve of her hips, any dread he’d experienced fell away at once.
She glanced in his direction.
He smiled.
She frowned and looked away.
A hot spike of awareness speared Donovan straight through his chest. Unable to look elsewhere, he continued to watch Elizabeth. By all appearances, she was flustered. Donovan found himself wondering if she had any idea how positively ravishing he found her. He doubted it.
“Donovan.”
He was barely conscious of a gentle tug on the sleeve of his dinner jacket.
“Donovan.”
He cleared his throat, looked down and found Zara peering up at him.
“Sorry,” he muttered, adjusting his tie simply to have something to occupy his unsteady hands.
“Is that who I think it is over there?” Zara nodded in Elizabeth’s direction.
Donovan cast a cursory glance toward the grooming area. “I’m not sure I know who you’re referring to.”
“Elizabeth Scott. From America.” Zara crossed her arms. “I know you see her. You were just looking straight at her.”
Donovan cupped his sister by the elbow and steered her in the opposite direction, narrowly avoiding a collision with a bloodhound slinging drool from his jowls every which way.
“Where are we going?” Zara went along willingly enough, but her countenance was quickly morphing into what Donovan recognized as a classic teen pout. In fact, Donovan had become intimately acquainted with that expression over the past few years.
He pulled her to a stop near the entrance to the judge’s hospitality area, where he assumed they were safely out of sight of Elizabeth.
Donovan released Zara’s elbow.
She huffed out a sigh in that dramatic fashion teen girls had perfected over the centuries. “What is with you? Why are you hiding from Miss Scott?”
It was difficult to fathom how Elizabeth had mistaken his little sister for his lover. Especially now. She was a child. Did Elizabeth Scott really think so little of him? Was that the kind of man she took him to be?
Then again, she’d seemed unusually rattled by the whole misunderstanding. If Donovan didn’t know better, he’d have sworn she’d been jealous.
“I’m not hiding from Elizabeth.” Saying her first name sent a thrill through him. It was ridiculous, he knew. He wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone to save his life. But he was powerless to stop it. Zara’s eyebrows lifted in surprise at his use of that first name, so he crossed his arms and tried to look as parental as possible. “From Miss Scott.”
Zara rolled her eyes. “I’m just teasing you. Quit brooding.”
“Brooding?” He frowned. “I don’t brood.”
“Yes, you do. You’re a world-class brooder.”
“That’s not a word.” Donovan glanced at his Cartier. It was a quarter past eight. He needed to be at Henry’s side in the ring in less than fifteen minutes. “Can I trust you to stay out of trouble while I mentor Henry this morning?”
“You still haven’t answered my question. That was Elizabeth Scott, wasn’t it?” She grinned, clearly enjoying herself.
The way Donovan saw it, there was no way to avoid her line of questioning. Once Zara got started with something, she was like a dog with a bone. Relentless.
“Yes, it was,” he said.
“She’s really here? In London?” Zara’s face grew a fraction paler.
He peered at her, wondering what the sudden change was all about. “South Kensington, actually. For some reason, I thought this news would have delighted you.”
“It would. I mean, it does. But...”
“But?”
“What about Helena?” She glanced over her shoulder as if she expected Helena Robson to pop out of nowhere at the sound of her name.
As much as Donovan hated to think about it, Helena likely was lurking around in the crowd. And Helena might, in fact, be a problem. Wasn’t she always?
He could handle it. He managed one of the largest fortunes in the United Kingdom. Surely he could deal with one jealous female. “Don’t worry about Helena. You’re blowing the entire thing out of proportion, anyway. Miss Scott and I hardly know each other. There’s nothing going on between us.”
“Are you sure about that?” Zara’s skepticism was written all over her face.
Donovan debated how to answer that question. Other than fielding her complaints about Helena Robson, discussing the women in his life wasn’t something he typically did with his little sister. She’d grown up without the luxury of a normal family home. Being raised by her bachelor brother already wasn’t the ideal scenario. Talking about his romantic conquests didn’t seem like the best way to create a stable environment for a teenage girl.
But Elizabeth Scott hardly qualified as a conquest, romantic or otherwise.
“Absolutely. Miss Scott and I are acquaintances. It’s certainly not as tho
ugh we’re getting married.” Donovan laughed off the notion. Because it was absurd, really. Preposterous. “Now go find a seat and stay out of trouble.”
She gave him a final, significant look that made him wonder if he indeed had more to worry about than he thought.
“Goodbye, Zara.” He nodded toward the rows of chairs lined up ringside.
“Later.”
Once Zara was gone, Donovan stopped by the superintendent’s table and picked up a purple ribbon identifying him as a judge. He pinned it to his lapel and headed toward the ring.
Technically, Henry was the judge in charge this morning. Donovan was there simply to observe and point Henry in the proper direction in the event he had trouble. There were nearly thirty breeds in the Terrier Group alone, the first group up. And each breed was judged against its own very specific breed standard. It was quite a bit of information for a novice judge to remember. With a year or so of experience, Henry would be a pro. Until then, Donovan was happy to serve as his adviser.
“At last.” Henry grinned as Donovan crossed into the ring. “I was beginning to wonder what had become of you.”
“Did you really think I’d be late?”
“No.” Henry laughed. “I suppose I’m just not accustomed to beating you to the punch.”
He had a point. For as long as Donovan and Henry had been friends—the better part of a lifetime—Donovan had been the responsible one. Now here he was strolling into the ring with mere seconds to spare, facing a ready-and-waiting Henry. And hadn’t it been just the other day that Henry had caught him daydreaming? Donovan was forced to take stock of what was becoming of his carefully ordered life.
The answer was as obvious as the famed dreadlocks on a puli’s show coat, but Donovan stubbornly refused to believe any change in his behavior had anything to do with Elizabeth Scott. Even so, he had immense trouble concentrating on what was going on in the ring as Henry plowed his way through breed after breed of terriers.
