Fortune's Prince

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  His eyes flattened even more. “So?”

  She exhaled, praying for strength. It was obvious that he wouldn’t welcome hearing any defense of the other man. “An announcement like that needs to come through official channels, not some random gossipmonger on the side of the road. Don’t!” She stared him down. “Don’t look at me like that. Whether you want to believe me or not, it’s true. Otherwise it would be just one more rumor tossing around among the flotsam.”

  “Even though it came from you.”

  She nodded. “Even though.” This time, she was the one to put more space between them, though she had to force herself to do it. But it was enough to make his hands finally fall away from her arms. It took every speck of self-control she possessed not to clasp her arms around herself to hold in the feel of his touch. “James and I had been dating nearly a year when you and I—” She drew in a shuddering breath. “When I came here for Toby’s wedding,” she amended. “The...advantages of us marrying had come up a few times. I never lied to you about that.”

  “No, princess. Your lie was in pretending you weren’t going to bring those advantages to reality. You said you weren’t in love with him. And that I did believe. Or there’s no way we’d have ended up out in that field that night.” His lips thinned. “Wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Are you trying to convince me of that or yourself?”

  The muscle in his jaw flexed. Once. Twice. Then it went still. His expression turned stoic and he didn’t speak.

  She realized she’d pressed her hands to her stomach and made herself stop. “And...and after I went back home to all that—” she waved her hand, trying to encompass the indescribable media storm that had greeted her “—and you made it plain once you finally deigned to speak with me that there was no...no hope for us—” Her voice broke and she stopped again, gathering herself. “James suggested we go on with the illusion. His father is in very poor health. For an assortment of reasons, he wants to see James married and pass on his title to him while he’s still alive. We weren’t the great romance everyone wants to make us out to be, but we were friends and, given time, he hoped we might be more.” Her vision glazed with tears as she stared at him. “I didn’t have you. So, yes. I made no public contradictions. I’d had one night of magic and I let it slip through my fingers. Maybe a life with him was the best I could expect after that. But then I—”

  “Enough!” He slashed his hand through the air between them. “Enough of the fairy-tale bull, princess. I’ve been down this road before. I already know how it goes.” His smile was cold and cutting. “I made the mistake of marrying the last woman who was selling a story like this. I am not in the market to buy it again.”

  Then, while she was frozen in speechless shock, he turned on his boot heel and strode back to his truck parked nearby.

  Chapter Five

  The next morning it was Quinn’s sister, Jess, who saw the photograph first.

  It was grainy. It had obviously been taken from a considerable distance and the subjects’ faces weren’t entirely visible, or even entirely clear.

  But it was enough for Jess.

  She slapped the piece of paper on Quinn’s kitchen table in front of him and jabbed her finger at the image. “That’s you.” She jabbed again. “That’s Amelia.” Then she propped her hands on her hips and stuck her face close to his, wholly, righteously in big-sister mode. “What the hell, Quinn? They’ve already coined a nickname for you!”

  Annoyed, because even though she was five years his senior, he was a grown man and not in the least interested in being called on her metaphorical carpet, he pushed her aside and picked up the sheet of paper that she’d obviously printed off her computer. “They who?”

  Her arms flapped as she gaped at him. “It doesn’t matter who! You’ve got eyes. You can read reasonably well, last time I checked. The caption is right there!”

  Is this the end for Jamelia? Who is the tall, dark Horseback Hollow Homewrecker caught in a passionate clinch with England’s own runaway bride?

  He let out a disgusted sound and crumpled the thin paper in his fist. “You have five kids, a husband and a full-time job at the high school. When the hell do you have time for hunting up this sort of crap on the internet?”

  “Summer vacation,” she returned. “And obviously you’ve never acquainted yourself with internet alerts.” She waved her cell phone that she seemed perpetually attached to under his nose, then shoved it back in her pocket.

  He wasn’t sure if she was more disgusted with the photograph itself or with his seeming ineptitude where technology was concerned. The only thing he kept a computer for was ranch records and he detested using it even for that. He’d rather be out in the open air than sitting in the office pecking at computer keys.

  “That picture is everywhere,” she added. “All this time and you never said anything about her to me! How long has this been going on?”

  “There’s no this.” He opened the cupboard door beneath the sink and pushed the wad of paper deep into the trash can stored there.

  “Please. Don’t try saying that isn’t you and Amelia in the picture. Where were you, anyway?”

  Standing to one side of the Joneses’ house, not as hidden from view as he’d thought.

  He didn’t voice the words. Just eyed his sister. “It’s Saturday morning,” he said instead. “Shouldn’t you be at a soccer game or something instead of cornering me in my own kitchen?”

  She pointed her finger at him, giving him the stink eye that she’d had perfected since she was a superior eight years old and didn’t like him coming uninvited into her room anymore. “She’s an engaged woman, Quinn.”

  It wasn’t anything he didn’t know and hadn’t been tarring himself for. But that didn’t mean he welcomed his sister’s censure, too. And, he justified to himself, the photograph hadn’t caught him kissing Amelia; it had caught her kissing him. “Engaged isn’t married.”

  He scooped up a Texas Rangers ball cap and tugged it down over his eyes before shoving through the wood-framed screen door leading outside. For her, Saturdays were chock-full of squiring one kid or another hither and yon.

  For him, Saturdays meant the same chores that every other day meant and he fully intended on getting to them. If he kept acting normal, sooner or later, things would be normal. It had worked that way when Carrie left. He had to believe it would work again now, or he might as well order up a straightjacket, size extra-large-tall, right now.

  * * *

  Amelia woke early the next day after yet another fitful night of sleep. She could smell the heady aroma of coffee wending its way from downstairs and she rolled out of bed, donning the robe that Jeanne Marie had loaned her. Downstairs, she found her aunt sitting at the kitchen table. Her silver hair—usually pinned up—was hanging in a long braid down her back and she had a pair of reading glasses perched on her nose as she perused a newspaper.

  When Amelia walked into the room, she looked over the top of her eyeglasses and smiled. “Aren’t you the early bird this morning,” she greeted. “Would you like coffee?”

  Amelia waved her aunt back into her seat when she started to rise. “Don’t get up.” She wanted coffee in the worst way, but had read that caffeine was something pregnant women were supposed to avoid. “Water’s all I want.” To prove it, she pulled a clean glass out of the dish rack where several had been turned upside down after being washed, and filled it from the tap. Then she sat down across from her aunt. She was determined not to think about Quinn for the moment.

  She’d spent enough time doing that when she’d been unable to sleep. She’d thought about him. And the fact that he’d once been married. Something he hadn’t shared before at all.

  “I need some clothes of my own,” she said. “I can’t keep borrowing.” It was something she’d never done in her entire life. And she needed underwear
. She’d been washing her silk knickers every night, but enough was enough.

  “Well.” Jeanne Marie looked amused. “You can, you know. But a pretty girl like you doesn’t want to keep walking around in things two sizes too large.” She adjusted her glasses and glanced at her newspaper again. “Guess you already know you won’t find much in the way of clothes shopping here in Horseback Hollow.”

  “I know.” Much as she loved the area, Horseback Hollow only consisted of a few small businesses. “I thought perhaps Vicker’s Corners.” She hadn’t been to the nearby town, but she’d heard mention of it often enough and knew it was only twenty miles away. “When I was talking to Stacey yesterday, she mentioned that there are a few shops there.”

  “Yes,” Jeanne Marie agreed. “You’ll find more of a selection in Lubbock, though.”

  She didn’t want to go to Lubbock. She wanted to avoid all towns of any real size. Vicker’s Corners was probably pushing it as it was. “I just need a few basics,” she said. “I’m sure Vicker’s Corners will suit.” She chewed the inside of her lip for a moment. “I also ought to purchase a cell phone.” Molly had called it “a burner.” One that nobody—namely Ophelia Malone and her ilk—would know to track. “Do you think I’d be able to find one there, as well?”

  “Imagine so. There’s a hardware store that carries everything from A to Z.” Jeanne Marie turned the last page of the newspaper and folded it in half. “I’d drive you myself, but I have to go to a baby shower my friend Lillian is giving her niece this afternoon. I can call one of the kids or Deke to drive you.”

  “I don’t want to put anyone out.” She’d sprung her “visit” on them uninvited. She certainly didn’t expect them to rearrange their plans because of her. “I don’t suppose I could hire a car around here? I have some experience driving in other countries.”

  Jeanne Marie’s smile widened. “We’re not exactly blessed with car rental companies,” she said mildly. “But if you want to drive yourself, there’s no problem. You can use my car and drop me off at Lillian’s. Her place is on the way to Vicker’s Corners.”

  Amelia hesitated. “I don’t know, Aunt Jeanne. It’s one thing to rent a car, but to impose—”

  Her aunt waved her hand. “Oh, hush up on that imposition nonsense, would you please? Would you think your cousins were imposing if they came over to England to visit y’all there?”

  “Of course not.”

  “This is about money, then.”

  Dismayed, Amelia quickly shook her head. “No,” she lied. Because it was exactly about money. Her aunt and uncle had an undeniably modest lifestyle in comparison to the Chesterfields. The whole lot of Jeanne and Deke’s family could visit their estate and they’d still have room to spare.

  Jeanne Marie just eyed her.

  Amelia’s shoulders drooped. “Mum’ll want to put me in chains if I’ve offended you.”

  Her aunt’s lips twitched. “I’m not offended, Amelia,” she assured. She propped her elbows on the table and folded her hands together, leaning toward her. “There are all kinds of wealth, honey. I have no problem whatsoever with the type of wealth I’ve been blessed with. I love my life exactly the way it is. A husband who loves me, kids we both adore and the opportunity to see them starting on families of their own. Just because we’re not millionaires like my brothers and sister, doesn’t mean we don’t have all that we need.” She tapped her fingertip on the table and her eyes crinkled. “And if I want to lend my niece my car, I will.”

  Amelia studied her for a moment. “Did you always know that this was the life you wanted?”

  “Pretty much. I was only twenty-two, but I knew I wanted to marry Deke almost as soon as I met him.” She chuckled. “Depending on the day, he might not necessarily admit to the same thing.”

  Her chest squeezed. She’d felt the same way about Quinn. “I’m a year older than you were then, and I don’t feel half the confidence you must have felt.”

  Jeanne Marie rose and began puttering around the kitchen. She was wearing an oversize plaid shirt that looked like it was probably Deke’s and a pair of jeans cut off at the knees. “Comparing us is as silly as comparing apples and oranges, sweetheart. I was learning how to be a good rancher’s wife. You’re out there establishing orphanages and dedicating hospital wings and such.”

  “Mummy’s the one who gets those things done. I just—” She broke off and sighed. “I don’t know what I just do.” She made a face. “Maybe the media’s right and the only thing I was perfectly suited for was being a proper wife for the future Earl of Estingwood.”

  “Which you’ve already admitted you’re not planning to do,” Jeanne reminded. “So you know you’re not suited.”

  Her aunt had no idea just how unsuited.

  She rose and restlessly tightened the belt of her borrowed flannel robe. “You really don’t mind lending me your vehicle?”

  Jeanne Marie smiled. “Just make sure you drive on the right side of the road.”

  Unfortunately, after Amelia had let off her aunt later that afternoon at her friend’s home, she discovered driving on the right side was a task easier said than done.

  Her aunt had told her that it was a straight shot down the roadway to Vicker’s Corners. What she hadn’t said was that the roadway wasn’t, well, straight.

  It was full of curves and bumps and dips and even though there was hardly any other traffic to speak of, more than once Amelia found herself wanting to drift to the other side of the road.

  By the time she made it to the quaintly picturesque little town of Vicker’s Corners, her hands ached from clenching the steering wheel so tightly, and she heartily wished she’d just have waited until her aunt was available to bring her into town.

  Which was such a pathetic, spoiled thought that she was immediately disgusted with herself. Back home, more often than not, she used the services of a driver. It was simpler. And as Jimmy had so often told her, it was safer.

  But that privilege also came as part and parcel along with public eyes following her activities. And that was something she’d always hated. Growing up was difficult enough without having an entire country witnessing your missteps.

  She didn’t care what the supposed advantages were of being raised a Chesterfield. No matter what happened with Quinn, she was not going to raise their child in that sort of environment. It was fine for some.

  But not for her. Not for her baby.

  When she saw the way several cars were parked, nose in to the curb between slanted lines, she pulled into the first empty space she spotted and breathed out a sigh of relief. She locked up the car and tucked the keys inside the pocket of her borrowed sundress. It was the same red one from the day before because the other clothes from Stacey and Delaney that Jeanne Marie had found had been from their earlier years. It was either wear the slightly oversize sundress once more, or skintight jeans and T-shirts with the names of rock bands splashed in glitter across her breasts.

  Even though she was the only one who cared about what she wore, the sundress was preferable.

  Looking up and down the street, Amelia mentally oriented herself with the descriptions that Jeanne Marie had given her of the town. Her impetuously chosen parking spot was directly in front of the post office. Across the street and down a bit was the three-story bed and breakfast, identifiable by the green-and-white-striped awnings her aunt had described. Which meant that around the corner and down the block, she would find the hardware store her aunt recommended.

  She waited for two cars to pass, then headed across the street. Her first task would be to secure a phone and then she’d check in with her mother. Amelia had instructed Molly to let Josephine know her plans once she’d left the country.

  It wasn’t that she’d been afraid her mum would talk her out of going. It was that Amelia didn’t entirely trust everyone on her mother’s staff to hav
e the same discretion that Molly did. Someone had been feeding that Malone woman details concerning Amelia’s schedule and the only ones who kept a copy were her mother’s staff and James’s assistant.

  She reached the hardware store and went inside. There was a girl manning a cash register near the front door and she barely gave Amelia a look as she continued helping a customer, so Amelia set off to find what she needed.

  The aisles were narrow; the shelves congested with everything from hammers and industrial-sized paint thinners to cookware. But she didn’t see any electronics. She returned to the clerk who’d finished with the customer. “Do you offer cell phones?”

  The girl chewed her gum and looked up from the magazine lying open on the counter. “Yeah.” She jerked her chin. “Over on aisle—” She broke off, her eyes suddenly widening. “Hey, aren’t you that fancy chick related to Jeanne Jones who’s marrying this guy?” She lifted the magazine and tapped a photo of James Banning astride one of his polo ponies, his mallet midswing. “He is so hot.”

  “Jeanne Marie is my aunt.” She managed a calm smile. “The phones?”

  “Oh, yeah. Right.” The girl slid off her stool and came around the counter. “I’ll show you.” She headed toward the rear of the store. “Keep alla that stuff on this aisle over here ’cause the only way out is back past the counter. Cuts down on shoplifting.” She gave Amelia a quick look. “Not saying you would—”

  “I know you’re not.” Amelia spotted several older-style cell phones hanging from hooks. They were generations away from the fancy device she was used to using. But then that fancy thing had been hacked.

  She grabbed the closest phone. It was packaged in the kind of tough, clear plastic that always seemed impossible to open.

  The girl snapped her gum. “Are you gonna want a phone card, too?” She gestured at the rack next to the small phone selection. It held an array of colorful credit-card-sized cards. “You pay for the minutes up front,” she added at Amelia’s blank look. “You know. Otherwise you gotta get a contract and all that.”