by Teri Wilson
His gaze kept sweeping over the dogs and handlers waiting ringside, searching for just a glimpse of Elizabeth or one of those scruffy Border terriers she cared for. It was a problem. Donovan even somehow managed to let Henry award a first-place ribbon to a dog he was certain had recently made an illegal visit to a beauty salon. The last time he’d seen that same Scottish terrier, it had been a dusty-gray color. Now the thing was as black as a raven. Coats didn’t change color like that overnight.
When at last Elizabeth stepped into the ring with one of Sue Barrow’s Border terriers at the end of a show lead, Donovan wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or irritated. His mood tipped toward the irritated end of the spectrum, with a dash of arousal thrown into the mix...which only made him more irritated.
She was last in the ring, behind Sue Barrow and three other handlers with Borders. The five of them dropped to their knees to stack their dogs, and Donovan couldn’t help but feel somewhat vindicated. It was nice to see Elizabeth there on her knees, seeing as she’d driven him to that position metaphorically in the few weeks since he’d first met her. Donovan wasn’t accustomed to things taking him by surprise, least of all things like emotions, feelings...desires. He found it unsettling. And most unwelcome.
Henry clasped his hands behind his back and traveled down the row of terriers. Donovan watched from the other side of the ring, until Henry neared Elizabeth. Then he pushed away from the grooming table he’d been leaning against and joined Henry.
His presence had no visible effect on Elizabeth. Her soft brown eyes remained glued on her terrier. Henry, on the other hand, aimed a questioning glance at Donovan, no doubt wondering what had possessed him to join the action.
Donovan stood his ground, although he really had no idea what he was doing. He supposed he simply wanted to get close to Elizabeth. If doing so rattled her cage, all the better.
Henry furrowed his brow and turned his attention back to the exhibitors. “Very nice. Can I have you go around together, please? And then the first dog up on the table.”
Donovan approached the table alongside Henry and remained mostly silent while his friend examined one dog after another. He commented once or twice on mundane things like coat condition or quality of bone, simply to justify his presence at Henry’s elbow.
Until Elizabeth’s turn.
“Exhibitor number five, good morning.” Henry smiled politely, as he’d greeted all the other exhibitors.
“Good morning.” Elizabeth looked directly at Henry and Henry alone, returning the smile.
Was Donovan mistaken, or was there a slight tremor in her voice? Not too obvious...barely discernible, in fact. But enough to tell him she was nervous. About the show? Or about being in his presence? Her stubborn determination in avoiding his gaze told him it was the latter.
This insight brought with it a shot of pure pleasure, along with the temptation to toy with Miss Scott.
“Mr. Robson, I believe the exhibitor has a name and it’s not number five.”
That earned him a look. Finally.
Elizabeth pinned him with an icy glare surely meant to douse the fire of attraction burning low in his belly. Its effect was entirely the opposite.
“Right...” Henry glanced back and forth between Donovan and Elizabeth. “Perhaps you’d like to share?”
“Henry, may I present Miss Elizabeth Scott?” Donovan waved a hand toward her. “Miss Scott, Mr. Henry Robson.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Scott.” Henry gave Elizabeth a slight bow.
Her face glowed bright red. “Yes, of course, Mr. Robson.”
“Very well, then. Shall I look at your dog now?” Henry slid his gaze from Elizabeth to Donovan. Questions shone in his eyes.
Donovan cleared his throat.
“Perhaps you’d like to go over the dog, Mr. Darcy?” Henry asked, clearly amused.
“That’s quite all right. You do the honors, Mr. Robson.” Donovan crossed his arms. “I’m sure you’re well acquainted with the breed standard for the Border terrier.”
“Of course.” Henry ran a hand up and down the dog’s spine. Donovan was 75 percent certain it was the one named Rose.
“Her back should be lithe and supple,” he said, fixing his gaze once again on Elizabeth.
Her cheeks, already quite crimson, darkened a few shades.
Henry cleared his throat. “Yes, it should.”
For the first time all morning, Donovan found he was quite enjoying himself. “Her body should be capable of being spanned by a man’s hands.”
Henry released a quiet cough, and Elizabeth grew instantly still. Donovan waited for her to react, but she kept her composure. He couldn’t see how. He’d just about caused himself to lose it.
Her body should be capable of being spanned by a man’s hands.
He swallowed, flexed his own hands—slowly, torturously—before clasping them behind his back.
Henry resumed his examination of Rose, moving over the dog’s withers, back and hips before stepping in front and checking her expression.
Donovan found he just couldn’t resist. “She should possess dark eyes full of fire and intelligence.”
Elizabeth’s own dark eyes fluttered directly toward him. “Mr. Darcy, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but...”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Scott.” Donovan shrugged, feigning innocence. “I’m simply quoting from the Border terrier’s breed standard. Do you have a problem with that?”
He’d never before realized the breed standards were so laced with innuendo. Who in God’s name had written them? Clearly someone who’d been tortured by thoughts of a woman he couldn’t have...one who was indifferent to his presence.
Or so Donovan gathered.
“You haven’t answered my question, Miss Scott.” He winked, and she narrowed her eyes.
She looked positively murderous. “Of course I don’t have a problem with your recitation of the breed standard. I wait with bated breath for you to get to the part about the dog’s hindquarters.”
Henry coughed loudly into his hand. Several times.
“The hindquarters? Of course.” Donovan turned toward Henry, waited a beat for him to regain his composure. “What does the standard say about a Border’s hindquarters, exactly? My memory fails me at the moment.”
Henry pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, “I believe the standard says, ‘The dog should possess long, nicely molded thighs with muscular and racy hindquarters.’”
“Ah, yes.” Donovan nodded and grinned with the utmost satisfaction. He’d been perfectly willing to forgo that particular area. Miss Scott had only herself to blame. “Racy.”
Elizabeth laughed—an incredulous, spirited laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. “Racy? Really?”
“Really.” Donovan bit back a smile. It required superhuman effort to keep a straight face at this point. “And we mustn’t forget the terrier temperament...hard as nails, full of fire, yet sweet and affectionate at home. Game for anything.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “You wish.”
“I’m not entirely sure, but I’ve a feeling we’ve ceased talking about dogs altogether.” Henry shook his head. Donovan had a lot of explaining to do later, he supposed. “And since this is a dog show, can I please see your dog on the down-and-back, Miss Scott?”
“Gladly, Mr. Robson.” She smiled sweetly at Henry as she scooped Rose off the table.
His mood now on the upswing, Donovan stood by and enjoyed the view as Henry finished the terrier judging. Elizabeth and Rose were awarded Best of Breed, which seemed fair given what Donovan had put her through. Sue Barrow and her dog won Reserve Winner. The other handlers left the ring empty-handed, no doubt wondering what they’d just witnessed.
And for the rest of the day, Henry went about his business without asking Do
novan for a single piece of advice.
9
Elizabeth may not have understood half of what had gone on in the breed ring, but she was extremely clear about one important fact—dog shows in Britain had better loot than in the U.S. Her Best of Breed win came with not only a rosette the size of a dinner plate, but she was also the recipient of a gorgeous satin sash, which Henry Robson had placed over her head as though she were a contestant in a beauty pageant. Elizabeth was ridiculously thrilled with it, even though technically she’d won it on the merits of Sue’s dog instead of hers. Still, it was a rather dramatic entrance to the world of dog shows in the U.K. And Elizabeth naturally had to wonder if Best in Show came with a tiara.
Of course, the dog show had nearly become a sideshow, thanks to one very naughty Donovan Darcy.
At first, Elizabeth had been convinced he was outright flirting with her. She’d even begun to wonder if Jenna had been right—was Donovan actually attracted to her? Then all that outlandish talk about racy hindquarters and fiery temperaments had come about, and she’d realized what he was doing. He was vexing her, getting her back for accusing him of sleeping with his sister. She was sure of it...almost.
“Congratulations.” Jenna wrapped her in a hug, then pulled back to admire Elizabeth’s sash. “Wow, that’s really something. You look like a beauty queen.”
Jenna ran her fingertips over the smooth satin draped across Elizabeth’s chest and sighed. As little girls, they’d never missed a Miss America pageant. They’d sat glued to the TV year after year, wearing homemade sashes crafted from toilet paper, listening to their mother critique the contestants’ evening gowns. Elizabeth wondered if her sister was revisiting those memories, as well.
“Yes, congratulations, dear.” Sue fussed with Elizabeth’s sash, plucking invisible tufts of dog hair from it.
“Thank you, but let’s not forget I won with your dog.” Elizabeth looked down at Rose, who chose that moment to stretch her mouth wide open in a yawn. Clearly the novelty of Best of Breed wins, sashes and ribbons was lost on her.
“True. And I’ll show her in Group later.” Sue attached Elizabeth’s rosette to her sash and pulled it straight. “But you can keep these if you like.”
“Really? I’d love that.” Bliss had yet to win something so glitzy. So far, her biggest award had been a set of Tupperware bowls she won at a small show in the Bronx. Practical, yes. Glamorous, not exactly.
“Of course. You earned them—you got Rose all groomed and ready and you showed her to perfection. And now she’s another step closer to becoming a Champion.” Sue gazed lovingly at Rose before turning her eyes back on Elizabeth. “You gave me a fright for a while there, though. What on earth took so long for Mr. Robson to go over Rose on the table? I thought something awful had happened, like he’d found a disqualifying fault.”
“Oh, that.” Elizabeth’s neck grew warm. She shrugged, and her sash shifted. “That was nothing.”
Jenna lifted a suspicious brow. Elizabeth steeled herself, ready for the inevitable third degree from her older sister. Luckily, Henry Robson joined their threesome before Jenna could launch her attack.
“Excuse me,” he said, his gaze snagging on Jenna. He blinked a few times before turning to Elizabeth. “Miss Scott?”
“Yes?”
“Congratulations on your win.” He smiled and gestured toward her rosette.
“Thank you. You’re the one who chose us, after all.” Elizabeth wasn’t about to utter a word about Donovan. She was doing her best to forget he’d even been in the ring with them.
“I wanted to apologize on behalf of my colleague, Mr. Darcy.” Henry winced. Elizabeth wondered what part of the conversation he was revisiting. She had dibs on the “racy hindquarters” comment. “He’s ordinarily rather quiet.”
Sue and Jenna raised their eyebrows in unison. Elizabeth saw that Jenna’s gaze was still fixed unwaveringly on Henry.
“No need to apologize. Mr. Darcy never seems to hold his tongue in my presence. I believe I’m growing quite accustomed to it.”
Henry’s expression changed to one of amusement. “Is that so? How very out of character for Donovan.”
Elizabeth had to suppress a snort of laughter. Were they speaking of the same Mr. Darcy? “I believe he was simply mocking me about a, um, misunderstanding we had recently. And as he pointed out, he was simply reciting the breed standard. It was nothing. Nothing at all.”
Why did she keep saying that? The more she said it was nothing, the more it began to feel like something. Why was that? And why had the breed standard sounded so suggestive coming from Donovan? Would she have so readily seen the sensual overtones in it if someone else had been delivering those same statements?
Elizabeth bit her lip. She didn’t even want to ponder that last question.
“Lizzy.” Jenna cleared her throat louder than necessary.
Elizabeth’s gaze bounced from Jenna to Henry, then back to Jenna. The two of them were watching one another with what looked like ardent curiosity.
“Ahem,” she said. “Mr. Robson, I believe you know Sue Barrow. And this is my sister, Jenna Scott.”
Henry greeted Sue with a polite handshake before turning to Jenna. “It’s a pleasure to meet both of you.”
Her hand still clasped in Henry’s, Jenna dipped her head in a move so uncharacteristically demure, Elizabeth could only look on in wonder. “Lovely to meet you, too.”
She was practically starry-eyed, as if she’d just been introduced to Daniel Craig himself.
“The pleasure is all mine.” Henry gave Jenna a warm smile.
He was attractive, in a disheveled, boyish sort of way. No doubt about it. But his wholesome good looks didn’t come close to approaching Donovan Darcy’s level of scorching hotness. And he didn’t have that confident, masculine air about him that Donovan possessed, the one that made Elizabeth all too aware of her femininity when she was in his presence.
Elizabeth blinked.
Since when had Donovan become the standard by which all other men were judged?
“Will I be seeing you later in my ring, Jenna?” Henry asked, still holding her hand in what was beginning to look like the world’s longest handshake.
“Oh, no. I’m just here to cheer for my sister and Sue.” Jenna smiled amiably, as if she lived for being a dog-show spectator. It was one of the oddest things Elizabeth had ever seen.
She narrowed her gaze at Jenna. Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?
“Well, that’s a pity.” Henry shook his head. “We’ll have to meet again some other time, I suppose.”
“That would be lovely.”
Henry angled his head toward her. “Tomorrow evening, perhaps?”
Elizabeth’s jaw fell open. Jenna had been on British soil for all of twenty-four hours and here she was scheduling a date with a London aristocrat. And she seemed perfectly comfortable doing so, as if she jetted all over the world and flirted with handsome foreigners all the time.
How was it possible?
She was beginning to wonder if they were actually related when a tall blonde woman nudged her way next to Henry. “Henry, here you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Have you seen Donovan? I’m bored stiff.”
Jenna’s dreamy-eyed demeanor took an immediate hit, especially when the strange woman draped herself over Henry’s arm. She looked vaguely familiar to Elizabeth. Then again, considering she was thin as a whippet, dressed to the nines and a shade or two tanner than what could be considered natural, she resembled the majority of women on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.
Henry tore his gaze from Jenna with obvious reluctance. “Helena, this is Sue Barrow, Elizabeth Scott and her sister Jenna. Ladies, this is Helena Robson, my sister.”
The relief on Jenna’s face bordered on comical. Elizabeth stifl
ed a laugh. It made her feel oddly better to know that she wasn’t the only one running around making crazy assumptions about siblings.
“Pleased to meet you,” Elizabeth said, giving Rose’s lead a gentle tug. The Border terrier had reached her quivering nose toward Helena, anxious for a sniff. Something told Elizabeth that Henry’s sister wasn’t the type to tolerate dog drool.
“Elizabeth Scott?” For a split second, Helena’s eyes narrowed. Then, just as quickly, they widened again. Her eyelashes were thick and long—too lavish to be natural. They reminded Elizabeth of the photos many of the brides from Scott Bridal carried around and wanted to emulate.
Real Housewives eyelashes, her mother called them.
Why anyone would wear fake eyelashes and high heels to a dog show was a mystery to Elizabeth. “Nice to meet you, Helena. Are you an exhibitor?”
She didn’t need to ask. There was no way this woman could run around the ring in those shoes. But she was at a loss as to what else to say.
“Oh, no.” Helena shot a proprietary look in the direction of the ring, where Donovan had returned and was chatting with one of the other judges. “I’m a friend—a special friend, you might say—of one of the judges. Donovan Darcy.”
“Helena,” Henry muttered, shaking his head.
Elizabeth’s grip tightened on Rose’s leash. Something about the tone of Helena’s voice rubbed her the wrong way. She pasted on a smile. “Oh. I see.”
Helena reached a perfectly manicured hand toward Elizabeth’s rosette. “Best of Breed. Congratulations.”
She wanted to take a step backward, away from that outstretched hand, but didn’t think she could manage without stepping on a Border terrier toe. “Thank you.”
“He certainly seems to fancy you.” Helena cast another glance toward Donovan, who now stood watching them from the ring.
He had to be a good fifteen feet away, but even from this distance Elizabeth could see the storm clouds gathering in his eyes.
