by Tessa Bowen
The Duke’s nostrils opened and closed as he breathed hard. His flushed pallor matched his reddish hair. “Why don’t you tell us what’s going on here, Abigail.”
The Baroness came out of her hiding place. “Do stop looking so worried, Trevor,” she spat. “We both know you’re very good at arithmetic. It’s been almost a year since we were together.”
“Who’s the bloody father then!” the Duke shouted at her.
The Baroness pointed a finger at Jack. “He is!” she shouted back. “The night you left me…he and I were…together.”
“You certainly didn’t waste any time did you, old girl?” The Duke swung back to Jack. “Well, do you plan on taking responsibility for this child?”
A shaft of outdoor light brightened the inside of the tent. It seemed the young Duchess had decided to join in the fun. Apparently, she’d heard her husband’s last words for her wide eyes dropped to the Baroness’s stomach then darted to Jack.
“Holy crap, you knocked her up.”
The Baroness gave a strangled wail from beneath her hat. “I’m ruined!”
After a round of bickering the Baroness convinced the Duke and Duchess to take their exit, pleading with them that she needed to talk to Mr. Johnson alone. The tent seemed suddenly very small with just the two of them in it.
It was his, she had said. Could she be bluffing?
Jack felt his stomach lurch and wondered if he might be pregnant too. His heart began to thunder against his rib cage and his lungs felt tight as hell. There was still a chance she was fibbing for some insane reason. He had to get to the bottom of this once and for all. He ripped the hat off her head, tossing it behind her. It sailed through the air like a gigantic straw Frisbee.
She squeaked in fright and turned her back on him. Her shoulders quaked as she busied herself by neatening her chignon. “Now you’ve gone and ruined my hair too.”
“Turn around and show me your face. I need to know if you’re lying.”
She shook her head.
“For fuck’s sake, Slim.”
He took her by her shoulders and spun her. Her cheeks were streaked with tears.
“I’m not lying,” she sniffed. “It’s yours.”
Jack clung to hope. “How can you be sure?”
“Because you’re the only man I’ve been with since Trevor—I swear it.”
He knew she spoke the truth—knew it in his gut. The truth was written in the fresh tears filling her eyes. Why would a woman like her try to fob off a pregnancy on her horse trainer? No doubt she was crying because she wished with all her shallow being that it was the Duke’s baby and not his. This had to be a nightmare for her. Now her nightmare was his nightmare.
He lowered his face into his hands. “Jesus Christ, I need to sit down.” Jack bent his bulk, taking a seat on a case of wine. He felt like a pussy for falling into a swoon, but she’d nearly dropped him with her news. “You’re really knocked up…”
She nodded forlornly.
“Why did you show up here?” Jack asked, trying to put the pieces of his shattered life back together. “I mean if you didn’t want anyone to know.”
“I didn’t realize I was the size of a bloody elephant already, or I never would have come. I didn’t want to come—I simply loathe Penelope Winterbottom and her hideous hernia, but I wanted to purchase that horse for Trevor. I thought it would make things right between us.”
Jack looked up at her with a disgusted frown. “So you came here to buy your boyfriend a horse while you’re pregnant with another man’s child? You people…”
“He’s not my boyfriend anymore,” she sniveled as she dabbed at her face. “Would you have a handkerchief, Mr. Johnson? I’m simply swimming.”
“I hope you drown in tears. And no, I don’t carry a goddamn handkerchief.”
The Baroness’s hands fisted at her sides. “You’re such a cruel beast of a man,” she puffed. “I never thought I’d see you again—never wanted to see you again, and this is why.”
“That’s supposed to put me in a better mood? You were just planning on never telling me about this?”
“Well, I didn’t know how to get a hold of you.”
“That’s bullshit—you people got a hold of me when you wanted to hire me.”
“Trevor was the one who found you,” she flared defensively. “Besides, you made it very plain that you had no intention of coming back here. And it was my distinct impression you found England rather loathsome. I thought I’d be doing you a favor by keeping you in the dark.”
“In the dark…” He pointed at her belly. “That’s my kid in there, lady.”
The Baroness covered her abdomen with her palms and took another step backward. “What…what are you doing back here anyway? In England, I mean.”
“Just doing a quick job—I’m on my way to Cairo.”
“What’s in Cairo?”
“Nubia Mayweather,” he answered her distractedly. “You know—the Egyptian Olympic jumper? She wants me to check out her new horse.”
The Baroness’s posture stiffened. “I know Nubia. I’m sure her horse isn’t all you’re going to ‘check out’.”
Jack peered at her. “What did you say?”
“Do you plan on ‘servicing’ Nubia in her stables as well?”
Jack observed her with incredulity. Her dark lashes were lowered over her eyes, lips puckered as she sulked. Was the woman actually pouting? Her fancy feathers had certainly ruffled right up at the mention of Nubia Mayweather.
“I don’t make a habit of sleeping with my clients, Baroness. That was sort of a one-time occurrence.”
“Nubia is rather a raving beauty. Petite with shiny black hair—straight shiny black hair that never kinks or waves and sort of just lies perfectly flat, being shiny and…straight…”
“Jesus, you’re cracked, lady. Are you worried she’s prettier than you—is that it?”
“Well?” she demanded. “Is she?”
“Shouldn’t you be more worried about the fact that you’re carrying my child!” he roared at her.
“Keep your voice down, Mr. Johnson. You’re making a scene.”
“The scene has already been made. What are we going to do about it?”
“Well…we…I…I’m keeping it of course.”
Jack jumped to his feet. “Damn straight you’re keeping it, that’s my kid in there.”
“Yes, we’ve already established that—I’m so sorry this happened, Mr. Johnson,” she continued. “I told you it was safe—I must have forgotten to take my pill for a few days. I wasn’t all there during that time…”
“I don’t need to be filled in on your bullshit drama, I was there remember. I know how crazed you were that night. You came at me like a goddamn tornado. You didn’t really leave me much choice.”
“A man always has a choice,” she said primly.
Jack glared at her. “We’re simple creatures. Show a man a nice pair of tits and he’s a goner.”
“Well,” she flared. “I’m glad to hear you refer to some portion of our evening together as ‘nice’.”
Jack groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face in agitation. “Couldn’t you have called upon one of your many boy toys that night? I’m sure you have a fancy fleet waiting for your call. Why did you have to choose me?”
“Boy toy?” she asked in confusion.
“A woman with your looks must get around plenty. You could have had a one night stand with the goddamn Sultan of Brunei.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Oh, he’s a horrible little man. And he’s twice my age.”
“Why did you have to pick on a poor unsuspecting cowboy?”
“It’s not as if I held you down, Mr. Johnson!”
“You did hold me down, actually.”
“Only at the start.”
“Are you sure it’s mine—I mean couldn’t it be Sir Pitt’s?”
Jack was in agony. He couldn’t even look at her. His future was growing in the midsection of this asini
ne woman and all because of one careless mistake.
“Take a paternity test if you don’t believe me.”
“I don’t need a paternity test,” he grumbled. “I just don’t get how you can be so sure. You must have scores of lovers.”
“Scores?” she said softly. “No, I’ve only had two.”
He dropped his hands from his face, a face that was now splotchy and creased from his tormented kneading. “Huh?”
“Just Trevor and…you.”
“What are you talking about? You mean…?”
“I told you before. I’ve only slept with two men in my life, Mr. Johnson. I don’t think that’s something to be ashamed of.”
Jack gawked at her, seeing her in a whole new light. He guessed he’d assumed certain things, judged her without really knowing her. “You seemed so forward that night. I thought you’d done that sort of thing before.”
“No,” her beautiful eyes dropped to the ground. “I was faithful all those years even if he...was not.”
Jack knew a fresh wave of animosity for the spouting fruitcake. What manner of idiot was Trevor Barrington anyway? Only a cretin of the highest order would leave a woman like this to prowl around the world, slipping into other women’s beds when he could have…
He cut off the thought before it blossomed into anything weirder. “You’re right of course. What you said before—you didn’t force me. I was a willing enough participant.”
“You’re being courteous—I’m sure you were just doing a tattered old cow a favor,” she went on stiffly.
“Trust me, Baroness. You’re anything but tattered and I wouldn’t exactly describe our little tussle in the barn as a ‘pity lay’.”
“I was pitiful. I want you to know I don’t expect anything from you, Mr. Johnson. I’ll deal with this on my own.”
Now it was his turn to stiffen. “The hell you will—that’s not how I do things.”
She started at his intense words. “I just meant I know how you hate this garden of snakes, I know you will leave the first chance you get. I won’t hold it against you if you want nothing to do with this child.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
His words were definite and unwavering. He hoped she felt the weight and power of them deep within her, right in her womb where his child grew. He guessed she had, for both hands covered her belly.
“What about your business with Nubia?”
“Nubia can jump clear off a cliff.”
NUBIA CAN JUMP CLEAR OFF A CLIFF, he had said. The Baroness chewed her lip, stifling a giggle. She couldn’t stop imaging the raven-haired beauty sailing off the edge of a mountain while sitting astride her precious show jumper, perfect straight hair flying as she plummeted to her untimely death.
“Nubia indeed.”
Jack Johnson had said he wasn’t going anywhere and he had meant it. The words had been a declaration and perhaps even a promise.
Abigail’s heart beat at a frenzied pace as she digested this surprising new wrinkle. She’d never thought the surly horse trainer could be an actual father to her baby. Perhaps he wasn’t so surly after all, just gruff at times—yet thoughtful and almost kind in other moments. Dare she hope they could make some sort of a makeshift family for the sake of their offspring? Why not raise a child with this handsome young man? He’d certainly won over English society with his all-American good looks.
Abigail fairly vibrated with pleasure at the buzz they’d stirred. It seemed she was the envy of her peers for nabbing him. They seemed to think her ever fashionable and ever fabulous for becoming impregnated with the cowboy’s love child. Sir Archibald had filled her in this morning, assuring her that she was anything but a social pariah and more like the trendsetter of the century.
“You’ve started a fad, My Lady. Before you know it, every dame and duchess will have a very tall and very plain-spoken American on her arm.”
“And will they be swaddled in yards upon yards of silk?” the Baroness teased back.
“If they aren’t with child, they’ll wear some sort of prosthetic, I should think, so that the yards upon yards of silk will be bustled just so in the front.”
Abigail tittered as she fussed with her hair. “He’ll be here at eleven. What time is it, Archie? Do you think it was silly of me to invite him for tea? Should I have suggested lunch?”
“We have much to discuss with him, My Lady—best not to be distracted with food.”
“I wonder if he likes tea cakes,” she agonized. “Do Americans eat tea cakes?”
“I believe they call them cookies, My Lady.”
The Baroness checked herself in the mirror one more time. She wore a simple cream blouse with a spring tweed pencil skirt and a lightweight cardi thrown around her shoulders. She hoped she was properly splendid, but didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard.
“Do you think he’ll go for it, Archie?”
“Do you think I’ll go for what?”
She let out a startled gasp when Jack Johnson’s rich baritone sounded from the doorway. “No one announced you!”
“You said be here at eleven so we could talk—so I’m here at eleven. I don’t need a red carpet rolled out for me.”
Sir Archibald came forward, ushering him into the room. “Quite right, Mr. Johnson.”
“If you’re just going to have a meeting with your mirror I can come another day…”
Abigail whirled, teetering a bit. “Don’t be silly, I was just checking something.”
“Let me guess,” he drawled. “Your hair.”
Gracie scurried in with a tiered dish of treats and a shining silver tea tray.
“May I pour for you, sir?” The young starstruck maid asked.
“I’ll pass on the tea.”
Jack Johnson stood tall in her drawing room. The bright light shining through the window illuminated his glorious build and chiseled features. Abigail Sutton wasn’t often struck dumb by a man’s looks, but this one had her gaping and gawking. It was the first time she’d observed him with a somewhat clear mind. Lord save them all, he truly was better looking than Trevor. She couldn’t seem to find the proper words to greet him, so instead, she dropped her gaze and drank in the long length of him. He was dressed in that simple but elegant way she liked. This time the jacket was lighter, made of canvas—blue to match his eyes. She felt the heat rise in her face as she thought of the wool coat still hanging upstairs in her closet. She supposed she should give it back now. Would he notice if she kept it? She rather liked it there.
He gave her a queer look. “All right if I take a seat?”
She nodded absently, watching the show as he turned and bent to push some dainty pillows aside before sinking his lean bulk into the rose velvet settee. Abigail’s mouth went dry at the sight of his backside. It was the finest male rear she’d seen in all her days—shaped to perfection and taut, like the rest of him. How had that particular feature slipped past her bum detector until now? She supposed she’d been too busy falling off the Friesian’s hind quarters to take notice of his hind quarters. And she’d knocked him down flat on that very fine backside the night in the barn, so she hadn’t been rewarded with the sight of it then either.
He had the physique of an American football player, and she wondered if he had played the game at university or even professionally. She’d noticed the hitch in his step when he walked and a deliberate almost calculated way in which he moved. Contact sports had to be responsible for a man this young walking with such stiffness. Just how young was he anyway? She knew she had a few years on him, but she hoped it was just that—a few.
The Baroness shook off the thought of her lengthening years and pondered the hindered bearing of the man before her. Maybe his altered gait was simply from too much saddle time. In any case, it made him look like John Wayne in those early Westerns her father so loved. Yes, Mr. Johnson was built like a football player, but not one of those chunky chaps who guarded the trimmer one who ran with the ball. He was definitely one
of the slimmer fellows who did all the darting about. The Baroness knew little about American football, but she’d been an admirer of men’s physiques for as long as she could remember and this man’s was outstanding. So outstanding in fact, that she’d completely forgotten how to speak the English language. What were the appropriate words one spoke following hello? She was still working on getting the “hello” part.
Thank God for Archie, for he still knew how to speak. He was speaking right now, polite niceties no doubt, trying to ease Mr. Johnson into the situation before they made their intentions plain. She couldn’t just stand there like a swollen knob—she had to do her part, didn’t she?
Her powers of speech returned in a hysterical rush. “You simply must marry me, Mr. Johnson,” she blurted.
The men both looked up at her in bewilderment. She covered her mouth with her palm in an attempt to keep more words from bursting forth. “Oh my—I think perhaps I should sit as well.”
“Maybe you should lie down,” Jack rumbled with a frown. “Over there on that fainting couch—you look like you’re going to drop.”
Sir Archibald was there to help her to the seat across from Mr. Johnson. He pressed a cool glass of water into her hand. The Baroness took a shaky sip and pressed the rim of the glass to her burning forehead.
“Are you all right?” Jack asked.
“Yes, I’m just nervous. I’ve never proposed to a man before.”
Archie interjected. “I think the Baroness skipped ahead just a bit, Mr. Johnson.”
“I’ll say.”
“In light of the recent development, we think it wise to make things legal between the two of you—only on paper of course. We are prepared to offer you a large settlement for your continued cooperation, of course.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You people don’t have to pay me off to take care of my kid.”
“No, of course not—it’s just…well…it would make things so much neater if the two of you were married.”
“You playing matchmaker again, old man? I’ve heard all about you. Everyone knows the story of the Devil Duke and his Cinderella Duchess. Are you trying to make a good story out of this too?”
