The proposal is filled with the most personal and touching funding recommendations I’ve ever seen. She wants to fund a program for young entrepreneurs that includes start-up funds, as well as growth funding, if they can run a solvent business for three years. The kind of funds that my grandfather denied me year after year. This is a program that would benefit young men and women who have the sorts of dreams I’ve always had.
She also wants to fund a program to give all Surrey fourteen-year-olds a field trip to visit my offices here in London, as well as other cultural and historic sites around the capital. She researched and found that only a small percentage of the school children in Surrey had ever visited London by their teens. And who better to introduce them to the possibilities than their own Duke.
There are several other programs based in Surrey in Kat’s proposal. Funding for university scholarships for Surrey teens. Funding for farming projects. Funding for projects that the historical society in Surrey has apparently been asking the Duke about for years, but my grandfather never bothered to address.
And Kat has included a few items that are projects of her own heart—funding for music education in the Surrey schools, an advocacy program for LGBTQ teens, and a donation to the Society for the Preservation of Irish Culture.
But it’s the final item on the list that’s like a hammer to my heart. At the end of this glorious collection of truly worthy initiatives—things that mean something to me, my family, our county—is a small program she’s called, Hearts and Homes. It’s modeled on the host family programs used by study abroad programs. When a student comes to do an exchange at a foreign university, they’re assigned to a host family who helps them navigate the new environment, makes sure they’re healthy and happy. Kat has taken the concept and applied it to boarding schools. Her idea is that students at boarding school would have the opportunity to be assigned a local host family who would have them for dinners on the weekends, come to their public events at school, check up on them if they’re sick. The whole thing isn’t British in the slightest. It screams American soft-heartedness. But it’s also wonderful.
I think about what a program like that might have meant to a student like me. If I’d had someone—anyone—to give a damn about me all those years. A place to go when the other boys were at home. Someone to come watch me play rugby once a week or bring me some chicken soup when I was sick. Not all rich boys have what they need, and Katherine cared enough to look past the stereotypes and realize that.
After reading the proposal, I understand what Deirdra was saying, and why I can not abolish the Foundation no matter how rocky our assets look after the embezzlement. Then, I remember the look on Kat’s face when I told her that I’d be closing the Foundation. How stricken she’d been. I just didn’t understand, and now I feel like a complete arse.
I realize I need to apologize to her immediately. I need to tell her that I’ve been a fool and then I need to beg her forgiveness. Because this proposal told me something that I’ve been too afraid to admit—Kat loves me. And as my mind wanders over the weeks she’s been here with me—the touches, the kisses, the words, and laughs—I finally understand that I love her, too.
“Bloody hell,” I mutter as I stand to grab my coat, swiping at the screen of my phone at the same time.
“Yes, Sir,” Murdoch answers the call.
“I’m ready to be picked up,” I tell him, glancing anxiously at my watch. It’s nearing six p.m. and I haven’t spoken to Kat all day. I’m suddenly frantic to get to her, to tell her what an idiot I’ve been, and beg her to take me back—not as her fake husband, but as a real man who’s fallen hopelessly in love with her.
“Yes, Sir. It will be longer than usual. I’ve been to the airport and I’m still fighting traffic on the return trip.”
My bloody heart flips clear over in my chest at his words. “The airport?” I ask, frozen in the doorway to my office, every breath, every heartbeat, painful in anticipation.
“Yes, Sir.” He doesn’t elaborate.
“Well, why? With whom?” I prompt.
“Her Grace, of course,” he replies. “Her flight leaves in one hour.”
* * *
My heart is on fire as I leap from the taxi I flagged down outside my office. Kat’s flight is leaving in forty-five minutes. She’s already gone through security, and I’m not sure I can get there in time to catch her. Gaining a ticket wasn’t a problem. First Class is rarely filled, and the five thousand pounds I paid for the seat will be worth every bit if I can stop her from leaving my life.
God, what a fool I’ve been, I think as I run through the airport, trying not to knock over small children and writhing knots of teens with enormous backpacks. I reach security and my heart simply stops beating. The queue is enormous, winding around like a snake, back and forth several times. I can’t help the curse that leaves my lips as I stumble to a stop, staring at the organized chaos that is an international airport.
“Going to miss your flight, love?” a kind older woman says as she hears me mutter, “Bloody hell.”
I turn to her, and I must look anguished, because her concern amplifies. “You really are going to miss your flight?” she asks.
I’ll never know why I decide to confide in her. I’m not exactly one to share, but the desolation I feel at losing Kat for good seems to loosen my tongue.
“I am, but more than that, I’m going to lose my wife. We had a falling out and she’s onboard a plane back to the States. It was my fault,” I confess like a blathering idiot. “I just found out she’d left while I was at work.” I shake my head. “I came straight here from the office, and now it’s too late.”
The woman stands taller, her brow furrowing. “Don’t you dare say that,” she tells me with a determined shake of her head. “It’s never too late for love.” Then she does the most amazing thing. She taps the shoulder of the man in front of her. “Excuse me? This young man is trying to get on board the plane to win his wife back. Can he move ahead?”
The man shrugs, then gestures for me to go ahead. The older woman follows me, then approaches the next pair of people ahead of us and tells them the same thing. She manages to move us up about twenty spaces, and people are getting more and more curious. I just follow along because, at this point, she’s getting me closer to my goal, and I’m desperate enough to do whatever it takes to stop Kat before she flies out of my life.
Eventually, however, she reaches that guy—the middle-aged, rude, businessman from someplace like Toledo, who isn’t going to budge. He’s never let someone take anything from him before, and he’s not about to start now. But, of course, the entire security queue has committed to this, and the protests start up behind him. “What do you mean, mate? We all sacrificed our place in the queue, you can, too!” “Hey, buddy, didn’t you hear? He needs to make up with his wife. This is about love!” Someone else begins lecturing in French.
That guy flips them off without even turning around, then looks at me with disdain. “Who the hell are you?”
I glare back at him. “Winston Cauldwell, Duke of Surrey.”
The young woman directly ahead of us hears this and turns around, her cheeks turning pink as her eyes sparkle. “Seriously?” she asks. “You’re really a Duke?”
I give her my most charming smile. “Yes. Pleased to meet you.”
I hold out my hand to shake hers and she just puts her hands over her mouth and shrieks into them.
“Oh my God. Oh my God! I love the royal family,” she squeals. Meanwhile, her friend has started taking photos of me. I lean in for a quick selfie with the two of them. That guy snorts in disgust.
“Here,” the first girl says as her friend starts posting on Instagram, hashtag dukesarehot. “Go ahead of us.”
From there, the whole thing takes on a life of its own, people are shouting up the queue to “make way for the Duke. He needs to get to the Duchess!” and before I know it, I’m at the front. I turn to my escort, looking down into her beaming smile.
>
“I don’t know how to thank you,” I say as I toe off my dress shoes and place them in the tray.
“Don’t waste time on me,” she instructs. “Just go get your wife and promise to be good to her from now on.”
I dump the contents of my pockets into the tray, as well, and shove it onto the conveyer belt. “I absolutely will.”
She waves, then, and starts to step back, but I stop her with a hand on her shoulder, because I have to know. “Why did you help me?” I ask.
She grins as she leans forward and whispers, “I’m a romance writer.” Then, she makes her way back down the queue, getting high fives and hugs from people all along. The back of her t-shirt reads, Love Always Wins.
But I can’t waste another moment contemplating my fairy godmother, because I’m being called to walk through the scanner, and then I’m off and running down the concourse, hoping against all odds that I can make it before that damn plane flies away with Kat and the heart I’ve only just discovered I have.
I run faster than I’ve run since I was playing rugby at Eton. I dodge luggage carts and strollers, my breath is choppy, and I sound like an old steam engine chugging up a hill. At one point, I’m forced to leap over a toddler who’s decided to stop and stare at the giant undulating metal sculpture that’s suspended on poles in the midst of terminal two.
But then I’m there, at the gate, and the desk staff for the airline is closing up the door, putting away the laptop they use to check in passengers.
“Wait!” I cry as I skid to a stop in front of them. I hold up my phone to show them the boarding pass. “I have a ticket for this flight.”
“I’m so sorry, Sir,” the airline attendant says. “But you’re too late.”
“Has the plane taken off?”
He scowls at me. “No, but—”
“Then it’s not too late,” I insist. “Let me tell you why.”
45
Kat
I shuffle through the line at the breezeway, handing my phone to the flight attendant so she can scan my boarding pass. Wallis is fast asleep, and I silently say a thank you to Deena for the kitten herbals. I have more if he wakes up during the flight. I can’t imagine the kind of ruckus he might make if he’s completely conscious.
When I get on the plane, I’m careful to keep Wallis’ crate in front of me in the tight aisle. Unfortunately, this time I won’t be flying first class. I managed to dig up half the economy fare from my nearly non-existent savings account, and Darnell lent me the other half. I’m grateful my small business loan is paid off, but it’s going to be a long road back to financial solvency since I don’t have a job, and it’s bound to include moving back in with my parents.
When I finally reach the second to the last row of the plane, I have to ask the woman on the aisle if she can stand so I can squeeze into my middle seat.
“What do you have in that carrier?” she asks, her lips pursed, gaze narrowed.
“My kitten,” I say, smiling while I wait for her to move. She doesn’t.
“Well, you’ll need to find another seat,” she says dismissively. “I’m allergic to cats.”
The aching pain that’s been lodged in the center of my chest for the last twenty-four hours begins to grow hot. Sassy Kat might not be on vacation, after all.
“I can’t find another seat,” I say as calmly as possible. “This is the one assigned to me.”
Behind me, I hear the flight attendants beginning to shut all the overhead compartments. This plane is going to want to take off very soon, and this woman is not going to keep me from being on it. I need out of England before I break into a million pieces.
“You can not expect me to fly for nine hours, transatlantic, with itchy eyes and a stuffy nose. It’s simply not possible,” she huffs.
“Look, lady,” I say, full-on Chicago Kat tearing free from her Duchess restraints, “the cat is in a carrier. He’s not going to come out and rub on your face. I paid just as much for my ticket as you did for yours, and I even paid extra to bring him. The airline allows it, I’ve paid for it, that’s my seat you’re holding hostage.” I drop my voice as people around us start turning to see what the commotion is. “I’ve had a really bad day. Could you please just let me sit down so I can go home?”
She glares at me, her lips in a tight line. “No,” she says succinctly.
I’ve opened my mouth to let out a scream that will bring the pilot out of the cockpit, when I feel a hand on my arm. Then, a deep, warm voice says, “I think I can help. There’s a seat in the first row, with extra legroom for your kitten’s carrier, and a shot of tequila waiting. May I escort you?”
Winston.
I turn to find myself staring into his blue eyes, and my poor beaten-up heart stutters.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is breathy instead of the sharp it was a few moments ago.
“I might ask you the same question,” he says, one Ducal brow raised. Then his expression shifts. “But I know whatever reason you have, it all goes back to me and the biggest mistake I’ve ever made in my life.”
My eyes begin to sting. Of course, asking me to be his contracted bride was the worst mistake he’s ever made. Not only am I not Duchess material, but then I went and got feelings for him. He never agreed to that. I just had to be a big dumb softie and notice what a great guy he is. Stupid Kat.
“Kat?” he asks gently. “Will you please come sit with me? I have some things I’d like to say.” He tips his head toward the evil cat-hater, and I notice she’s staring at us with the rapt expression of someone watching their favorite TV show.
I nod and he takes Wallis’ carrier from me before leading me down the aisle to first class, where two big, comfortable seats that transform into sleeping pods are waiting for us.
He waits until I’m settled in by the window, then sets Wallis on the floor in front of us and takes his own seat. Being in the first row, we have a relative ton of legroom. There’s a seatbelt kind of strap that fits around Wallis’ crate, and I’m happy he’s safe. The flight attendants are doing the pre-flight show, with the exits and the oxygen masks, as the plane taxis down the runway.
“Um.” I gesture out the window. “You do realize this plane is going to Chicago? Don’t you need to be at work or something here in London?”
He smiles indulgently as the flight attendant appears with a miniature of tequila and a cup of ice. He takes them from her then offers them to me. “Ice? Or straight from the bottle?” he asks. Then says, almost to himself, “I should have asked Darnell about that.”
I just stare at him. “Did you hear me? You’re about to go to Chicago. The company is in the middle of an embezzlement scandal. There must be police crawling all over the place, and David might be arrested at any moment. You can’t just take off to Chicago.”
He pops the top on the miniature and pours it into the cup, then hands it to me. “Have a drink,” he instructs.
I don’t know what the hell he’s doing here, or why he wants me to have tequila, but at this point it can’t hurt, so I take a healthy swig.
“Good girl,” he says soothingly. Then he takes the cup from my hand and sets it in the cupholder. He stares into my eyes and I feel the energy between us shift. My heart races and suddenly I’m terrified. Of what he might say. Of what he might not say. Of being broken so thoroughly I won’t be able to fix myself.
“Kat, I’ve been a complete arse.”
I blink at him, because, well, there’s not a lot to argue with there.
He cups my jaw with his big hand and I resist the impulse to lean into it like Wallis begging to be rubbed.
His voice is rough when he continues. “Deirdra showed me the funding proposal you’ve been working on—” He stops, almost as if he can’t speak for a moment, then clears his throat. “It was the single most…thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
He smiles and I feel my heart just throb in response.
“The last few weeks are the happiest I’ve ever
been in my life. You’ve brought something into my world that I’ve never had before.”
He pauses again, but I know what he’s going to say before the words leave his perfect lips.
“I didn’t recognize love when it was standing in front of me because I’ve never known it before. I’m sorry I’m so dense, but Kat…” He leans forward and brushes his lips over mine. “If you’ll give me another chance, I promise to open my eyes. I promise to be grateful for what you’ve given me, and I promise to tell you so every day. I promise to tell you that I love you, too,” he finishes.
My heart races and it’s hard to breathe. “Maybe I don’t love you,” I answer, but it’s the weakest of arguments, and he just continues to smile at me, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest at the same time.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, kissing me again. “You don’t have to admit it right now. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here.”
I give him a little huff and wiggle in my seat, settling in for the long flight. “You might be waiting a while,” I warn.
He laughs out loud, then, and it stirs every cell in my body, because no matter how mad I am, I answer to him in a way that’s beyond my control.
“That’s fine, Your Grace. I’m not going anywhere you’re not, ever again, so just take your time.”
Then, the stuffy bastard pulls his phone from his pocket and starts going through his emails, typing out answers and sending them via the plane’s WiFi.
I pretend not to care for a while, but I break in about four minutes flat.
“So, what? You’re going to follow me around, waiting for me to say I love you?”
He smirks. “If that’s what it takes. I also thought I’d give you a wedding in Chicago for your family to attend, and then bring you back to London so you could start your Foundation projects.”
The tears take even me by surprise, and soon I’m sitting on Winston’s lap, sniffling like a complete idiot.
The Duke: A Standalone Royal Billionaire Novel Page 18
