When she’d first seen the dark figure standing beside the big tropical tree near the terrace, she thought he was a bodyguard of sorts—that Duke Kilroy wasn’t just a rich, pretty face, but a rich, pretty face that had some sort of importance to national security. But when she’d realized it was Julian, she’d almost grabbed her wineglass and hurled it right at his stupid grin.
One of the first things Duke said to her, right after he whisked her into his marble foyer, slabs of pink, veiny rock pointing straight up to Heaven, was that she needed to watch her back around Julian. Not that she needed the warning—she would have worn a sign around her neck stating that very thing if she hadn’t already slipped her favorite cameo necklace on. She hadn’t thought to introduce Julian into the conversation at all, seeing as how they were supposedly on a date, but Duke seemed vastly interested in his movements.
“We’re feuding over a tract of land,” Kate had said laughingly. There was no other way to explain it.
She’d tried to elaborate on their predicament as Duke took her on a tour of the house. It was gorgeous, that place, an emulation of a stately English manor, right down to the portraits lining almost every wall. She doubted they were all his ancestors, even though he’d claimed kinship to the entire lot. In fact, there was a series of faces above the grand piano that looked suspiciously like the Romanovs.
“But that’s absurd!” Duke cried, pounding out a quick rendition of chopsticks on the piano.
“Yes, it is,” Kate agreed, still looking up at the portraits. That was Tsar Nicholas II’s mustache. She was sure of it.
“We’ve often had the Games here at Kilroy Hall—in fact, I already told Julian he was more than welcome to use our grounds this year. I was on my way to his house to see if he’d made a decision about it yet. That is, before I was so charmingly interrupted, of course.”
Kate spun. “What did you say?”
“That you’re charming. I can’t remember the last time—”
“No, no. Before that. About Kilroy Hall.”
He waved his hand as if the matter wasn’t at all important. But it was important—suddenly, nothing in the world seemed more so. She grabbed his hand and forced it to be still.
“Say it again.”
“There’s no reason why Julian should be making such a big deal of Cornwall Park, that’s all. I have all the equipment for the Games and more than enough space here.” He shrugged. “Now, shall I show you the library?”
Kate nodded and followed, though without much enthusiasm. The prospect of the library in a house like this should have been enough to fuel her literary fantasies for years, but she couldn’t even summon up a glimmer of excitement. The bastard. Storming around like Kate was single-handedly ruining his career, waxing poetic about honor among men—and the whole time, he had this incredible place for the asking.
And as if her resolution hadn’t been curled and set in that moment, Julian had the audacity to ruin her date. To eavesdrop and try to gain an even bigger advantage.
Well, she’d shown him.
“We’re obviously here to discuss the issue of the Fauxhall Gardens,” Lady Lovelace said ominously, forcing Kate’s attention to the task at hand. Great. More complications. It seemed the road was paved with them, sealed in a thick tar of irritation.
A waiter came by with their tea, which was served on a platter the size of a coffee table. He fussed over them for a few minutes, making sure everything was in order. The moment he turned his back, Lady Lovelace grabbed some of the jams and floral-shaped pats of butter and slipped them into her purse, which Kate could have sworn contained a layer of plastic wrap smuggled in for just such a reason.
“Things are progressing quite nicely,” Kate murmured, dropping a few sugar cubes into her tea and stirring it with the tiniest spoon she’d ever seen. “There have been…new developments.”
“What I don’t understand is why there are so many problems with this.” After the incident with the invitations, Lady Lovelace had been keeping a rather strict watch over Kate’s handling of the affair. Kate couldn’t blame her.
“What does this young man of yours have against the Jane Austen Regency Re-Enactment Society?”
“He is not my young man,” Kate managed, her teeth clenched on the rim of the porcelain teacup.
“Mama, it’s come down to a matter of principle now,” Anne interrupted. “Kate is only doing what needs to be done.”
Kate flashed her a grateful smile. That woman had more patience in the tip of her little finger than Kate might hope for in a lifetime. Lady Lovelace was a great resource for all things Georgian and Regency, but the woman sometimes forgot she lived in the twenty-first century. And that made her very hard to talk to about anything other than the crafting of a fine lace fichu.
“Isn’t there someone you can talk to? Or a permit to get?”
“I looked into it,” Kate confessed. “It’s one of those places you can’t reserve but is free to use, so it’s all a matter of timing. Apparently, the SHS has been the only group using it for so long, people sort of assume they own it.”
Kate had felt a twinge of guilt over that phone call. In terms of fairness, Julian did have more of a right to Cornwall Park than she did. But owning the land in fact and owning the land in machismo condescension were two entirely different things.
“And why are we fighting this so much?” Lady Lovelace asked with a heavy sigh.
Anne, bless her heart, intervened. “Think of it as our own Jacobite Rising. Kate has everything in order—the tents, the food, the entertainment—but these Scottish ruffians are trying to foist her out with a Young Pretender. We’re merely playing the role of the English. It’s only natural, of course.”
This was a language Lady Lovelace spoke well. She thumped on the table eagerly, causing the plates to jump and clatter, several biscuits finding their way to the floor.
“That’s marvelous!” she cried. “Ought we to have a battle re-enactment at the Fauxhall Gardens? I’ve seen the Civil War groups do them before. They’re divine—all those guns and soldiers. Why, give me a man in a red coat—”
Kate choked on a strawberry tart. “I don’t think Julian will agree to re-enact a mass slaughter—even in jest.”
Lady Lovelace pursed her lips. “No? You think not?”
“Anyway, it’s not exactly historically accurate, is it?” Anne pointed out calmly. “From a purely chronological standpoint, that is.”
Kate nodded in agreement, forcing herself to look solemn. All she needed was a free rein over this plan. She didn’t care how many Jacobean analogies had to be drawn out and tortured in order to get there.
Lady Lovelace pursed her lips. “You’re certain you can make it all work out? I’d take over the planning myself, but you know what the doctor said about keeping away from undue stress. Ever since that night of the ball—” She broke off, and Kate had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something she would very soon regret.
Anne gave her mother a reassuring pat. “There, there, Mama. Why don’t you go freshen up in the ladies’ room for a moment? Don’t you remember? They have those lovely lavender satchels in there. Very calming.”
The older woman ambled off, grabbing two more pastries and shoving them deep in her purse before heading to the back of the cafe. She looked back at Kate, her eyes heavy with suffering and drama. Kate bit her cheek harder.
“I’m sorry, Kate. You know what she’s like.”
“I know she means well,” Kate agreed. Overbearing mothers weren’t all that foreign to her. She’d had to move across the state to get away from her own.
“So, the newspaper ad didn’t go off as well as we’d hoped, then? Should I be doing something else to help?”
“I’m not sure. The catering is all lined up and ready to go, and the lectures are confirmed. If it weren’t for this stupid park, everything would be falling into place.”
“Well, take heart.” Anne laughed, patting her hand reassuringly. “At
least my mom’s on board now that she thinks we’re waging a Jacobean war effort.”
Kate dropped her head to the table, accidentally dumping the contents of her purse on the floor in the process. Her wallet, lip gloss, keys, breath mints, two romance novels and a crumpled copy of the drag-show ad went flying in every direction.
Anne crouched to help her pick it all up, eyeing the ad with a smile.
“How’d he take it, by the way?”
Kate’s lips twitched. “He threw my shoes out the window.”
“So we are getting closer, then.”
“Closer, yes. But we’re going to need to step up our game. We’re going to need to think big.”
“How big?”
Kate’s mind instantly traveled to the image of Julian looming in the background of her date with Duke, a few inches shorter than her dinner companion but so much larger in his general presence. He’d looked good dressed head to toe in black. Very Johnny Cash, but with a rusticity that was beginning to invade her every waking thought.
Kate sighed. “Not just big, Anne. Huge.”
There were a few dozen tasks on Kate’s to-do list, which was laid out on her counter, a perpetual reminder there was more to her Fauxhall Gardens task than getting Julian out of her way. No fewer than five messages were on her answering machine, all requiring her immediate attention. Work was beckoning too—she’d been taking her managerial role a bit too lax lately, leaving the bookstore to run at the hands of a few semicompetent employees. Who was she kidding? Her entire life was falling by the wayside while she gallivanted about, having tea and crumpets and plotting her enemy’s demise.
But when she got home that evening, a glass of Chablis in one hand and her to-do list in front of her, making phone calls and employee schedules were the last things on her mind. In order of importance, the priorities flashing through her brain were the vibrant white tent that would serve as the focal point of the Fauxhall Gardens, her cat’s sadly empty food bowl, and Julian standing at the bluff of Cornwall Park, wearing only a kilt wrapped around his waist. In her imagination, it whipped in the wind, threatening to billow off into the sunset like a scarf in a French film.
She narrowed her eyes and took a generous gulp of the wine. Fine. Maybe that wasn’t the exact order of importance. Gretna and his hungry mews came first.
Once the cat was fed and purring contentedly, Kate gave up the premise of work altogether. She might as well go out to measure the field at Cornwall Park. She still hadn’t determined exactly how to set up the layout, and the pyrotechnic guys had to have at least three hundred feet of empty space in order to put on the Friday and Saturday night fireworks displays.
It was a good reason to go. Perfectly legitimate.
Equipped with only a tape measure, some graph paper and a pair of flat gladiator sandals that had so many tiny buckles even her small fingers had a difficult time getting them on and off, she arrived at Cornwall Park.
It was later in the day than when she’d been there before, the sun an orange ball starting to glow as it made its descent, and she could already tell how spectacular the park would be when lit only by the paper lanterns and the light of the full moon that was expected the weekend of the event. The entire place practically pulsed with romance, the sound of her car door breaking into the evergreen-scented air and causing a nearby flock of birds to take to the sky in a mad dash of wings.
And then she saw the three other vehicles parked a few spots away, one of which was a huge black truck she recognized with an uncanny thump of her heart.
She should have known Julian would be here. If something existed in opposition to her, he’d already claimed it, mastered it and stood around waiting for a chance to flaunt it.
Kate’s hair happened to be held in place by a silver-beaded hair stick that would make very satisfactory holes in each of the oversized tires of that damn truck. But the hair stick was vintage, and it was fragile.
Next time, she’d remember to pack an icepick.
Stealth had not been in her plans, but she adopted it all the same, peering at the vehicles without making a sound. The back of Julian’s truck was filled with assorted paraphernalia, including what looked like a giant box of beef jerky and two twenty-four packs of beer. Some tools and a tarp were back there too.
She shook her head. The things men carried around in their trucks. Her own car had nothing more stored in it than an emergency blanket, a first-aid kit, some jumper cables and a fully loaded flare gun. Jada constantly made fun of her safety collection, but Kate had started driving before every teenager in the world had a cell phone. Her father had worked very hard to instill a healthy respect of dark, deserted highways.
Kate crept around the vehicles to the main clearing of the park. Voices, male and inordinately pleased with themselves, rose up through the air.
Four tents in muted shades of blue and green were set up in a crude semicircle around a single light source. Camping. They were camping in the middle of the park. Kate straightened. The situation didn’t seem quite right. There were still a good two weeks to go before the events.
The men didn’t have a campfire lit, but two of them had found a way to jam a couple of hot dogs on a stick inside the glass of an old lantern. Kate recognized one of the men as the bouncer from Vixen’s Gin and Juke Joint. The other man was a little bit smaller than the others but bore a strong resemblance to the bouncer. A behemoth in training, most likely.
“Hey, Jules—you want a beer?” she heard Michael call. Michael stepped out of one of the green tents, liberally scratching his balls. So that was what men did when they went camping. Drank and played with themselves.
Kate wasn’t sure what to do next. Instinct urged her to crouch next to one of the large rocks marking the periphery of the parking lot and watch to see what sort of plot they had lined up, but the risk of being caught was too great. What possible explanation existed that wouldn’t make her sound like a complete idiot?
She decided it was best to leave—the mature thing to do, surely.
But then Julian emerged from his tent, wearing nothing but a pair of athletic pants. Her vision tunneled like she was in an Alfred Hitchcock movie, and she found her legs didn’t work quite as well as they used to. She already knew he was strong, that his chest was a hard-packed surface of muscles that radiated heat. But seeing, in this case, was more than believing. It was swooning, drooling, falling to the ground in a pool of hormonal bliss.
He moved as though he were completely unaware of the effect he had on the atmosphere around him, as though he didn’t feel the way men, nature and the very air parted to make way for him. He displaced so much energy, it was as though he caused some sort of cosmic shift in the way the world was supposed to be functioning.
His actions were simple as he bent to arrange a few supplies, but the way his body rippled was anything but. He was like a predatory animal, so attuned to its own form that it forgot how majestic and frightening it might appear to a bystander—to its prey.
“Well, well, well. What have we here?” a low, masculine voice cooed directly into her ear. A hand grasped her waist.
She whirled around with a start, the prey metaphor coming to an untimely truth. But before she could register the man behind her, she smacked her forehead against something hard and unyielding, pain splintering out like cracked fissures along her skull. Stars didn’t quite come dancing into her line of vision, but twinkling bits of floating light did. She sank to the ground with a groan.
“Oh shit,” the same voice said, the hand pulling sharply away. Her attacker turned to the group of campers and called out, “Dude—I think I killed some chick hiding in the parking lot.”
“I’m not dead,” Kate muttered, letting out a noise halfway between a groan and mortification. She pressed her hand against her head, right on the hairline. Her fingers were slick with blood, and she could feel a huge welt growing already. “What did you hit me with?”
“What happened?” Julian came jogging up. Kat
e couldn’t see much through the haze of pain and blood, but she heard his voice, felt the way the air suddenly shifted. “Kate? What the—?”
She struggled to get to her feet, but Julian’s hand pressed down on her shoulder, forcing her back to the ground. His hand stayed there, warm and insistent. He was telling her what to do, as usual, but it was comforting to know he was there. Why did he have to be so comforting? Why did his simply being there have to make her feel so good?
“McClellan? What happened?”
“He hit me.”
“He did what?” Julian roared, an honest-to-goodness feral sound that started somewhere deep underground and rumbled up through the entire earth. His hand lifted from Kate’s shoulder only to be planted firmly into McClellan’s nose, which looked a little as though it had been punched once or twice over the past few years. The impact made a sickening thud and sent the large man reeling backward.
McClellan, to his credit, didn’t return the swing.
“I didn’t hit her, man. She ran right into my hammer.”
Julian leaped forward with another growl, but McClellan was ready for him this time and easily dodged the attack.
“That’s ridiculous. No one runs into a hammer so hard it makes her bleed.”
“I do,” Kate said with a sigh. She got most of the way to a standing position, but her head throbbed, and she was hit with a wave of nausea that threatened to upend the contents of her stomach—wine and scone.
Julian grabbed her and put an arm—strong, solid and warm—around her waist. “Are you sure you should get up?”
“The alternative is to sit here and bleed. So, yes.”
“Do you want me to hit him again?”
Kate laughed. And winced. “No. I did run into his hammer. But it wasn’t my fault. He scared me.” She looked over at McClellan, seeing him now without the element of surprise weighing her down. He still scared her. He was big in ways the other athletes weren’t, muscles and flesh all stacked up on top of one another to the point where he couldn’t put his arms firmly down at his sides or even stand up straight. He even wore a pair of those muscle-builder pants, all elastic and loose, colorful fabric.
Love is a Battlefield: Games of Love, Book 1 Page 13
