He detested most women and the way they used sex to their advantage, then screamed foul play. There had been many he’d taught a valuable lesson. They cried rape, but he quickly adjusted their notion, knowing the favor he courted with his aunt and uncle. He was second in command of one of the biggest shipping companies in England. The world belonged to him if he could only prevent his cousin from taking a wife and providing an heir.
The phone rang and interrupted his thoughts. Bryce glanced at the number and clicked on his Palm. “You found something.”
A pause. “Yes, sir. He’s hiding in Newport, Rhode Island. Took a ship and has it docked in town.”
Bryce frowned and tried to figure out the puzzle. “Why?”
“Not sure, sir. I’ve been trying to get Lady Victoria to confess, but she’s been tight lipped, even around the servants.”
“Email me a full report. I want to know every move Jack has made so I can figure this out.”
“I’ll send it now.”
He waited a few minutes, and then his phone buzzed. He quickly glanced through the highlights and found a name. Julianna Waters. He had no idea who she was or even if she was important, but it was a good place to start. If Jack planned to spring a surprise engagement, Bryce needed to stop it. He’d lose everything and always be in his cousin’s shadow.
He quickly buzzed his contact and gave him clear instructions.
Then he lounged back on the pillows and contemplated taking a necessary trip.
Chapter Three
"Can I help you? Oh, hi love. What'll you have?"
Julianna stared at the man behind the bar and pursed her lips. “Where’s Mike?”
He grinned at her obvious annoyance and lowered an eyelid in a naughty wink. “He had a thing he needed to go to with his wife. I told him I’d cover his shift. Let me guess. White wine? Pinot Grigio or Chardonnay?”
Julianna bit her tongue. Hard. “Martini, extra dry, extra olives.” She swore she’d drink the whole damn thing if it killed her, and tried not to look longingly at the bottle of white wine she preferred.
He lifted a brow. “You got it. Not driving, are you?”
She bristled and turned to her companion, whom she’d forgotten when faced with her irritating, sex-god gardener. “Tom, this is my handyman. What would you like to drink?”
“Stout, please. Guinness.”
Jack poured, shuffled glasses, and served with an economy of motion and grace. The scents of perfume, heat, and alcohol burned through the air as the crowd thickened in the late evening hour. The marina bar courted a tourist crowd. She had scheduled this first meeting with Tom in a public place where she wouldn’t have to worry about the locals. After all, he was the first official response to her ad. So far, dinner had been a polite, quiet affair with no sparks. She figured a crowded bar might loosen him up a bit, so she’d suggested a quick drink before ending the evening.
Unfortunately, her companion sat on the bar stool, tight-lipped and unsmiling. He glanced around the rustic, slightly dirty waterfront bar as if he smelled something bad. When he paid for the drinks, he didn’t tip. She squirmed and quietly pushed a ten dollar bill across the bar while Jack wasn’t looking.
“Interesting place.” Tom said. “I prefer the New York scene, of course. Happy hour is always quite raucous.”
She nodded. “Yes. I’ve always wanted to see the city.”
Silence.
She watched Jack from the corner of her eye while she searched for more conversational topics. Obviously, he had met many new women this past week. A line of blondes and brunettes laughed at his jokes, cooed over his English accent, and generally made themselves available for a late-night date. She twitched her nose in disapproval. Jack Wolfe didn’t seem to care who shared his bed, as long as she was warm, female and willing.
At least he’d stopped sniffing around her place. Thank goodness.
She drank the rest of her martini and a pleasant heat buzzed through her, allowing her to relax a notch. Tom finished his drink, then stood. “Well, I have to get back early in the morning, so I better say good night.”
She fought past the disappointment. “Of course.”
Jack suddenly appeared. “Another?”
“No, thank you, we were just leaving.” To prove a point, she grabbed Tom’s hand and forced a merry laugh. She went to walk him out, but he stopped her at the doorway.
“I’ll email you and we’ll discuss possible arrangements for marriage.”
Julianna blinked. The beat of the jukebox blared and pumped out Nelly’s “Hot In Herre.” “I thought, I thought we’d meet once more before making a decision.”
Tom shrugged, obviously bored. “I need a wife in order to climb up the corporate ladder. Damn company’s only promoting family men. I want someone who'll stay out of my life but be there for work events. I’ll give you the money for the house and we can arrange a wedding in the city. No big deal.”
She twisted her hands and fought off sheer panic. “Ummm, well, email me and we’ll see.”
“Fine. Nice to meet you.” He leaned over, placed a peck on her lips, and strode out the door.
Julianna stared at his retreating back, then glanced at the bar.
Jack stood with her empty martini glass in one hand, towel in the other. Whiskey colored eyes burned across the room.
She raised her chin and met his gaze head on.
Then turned her back and ran outside.
Gulping in breaths of salt water air, she went round the back and leaned against the side wall of the building. Damn him. Damn him for getting her body tied up in knots. Marrying Tom would be an easy business arrangement, but the idea of sleeping with him, let alone bearing him a child, seemed impossible. Not that he appeared interested in her. Maybe they'd each have their separate affairs like a true marriage of convenience. He was polite. He smelled like onions from dinner and had very weird eyebrows that sloped together into one, reminding her a bit of Groucho Marx, but she'd probably be able to stay at the Cliff House and only travel to New York on certain occasions. Actually, it seemed a perfect arrangement.
Despair hit her low and hard in the gut. Alone, she allowed herself to say the one curse word she loved and rarely uttered. “Fuck.”
“Didn’t know you had it in you, love.”
She whirled around. He stood behind her, framed in darkness. A bright orange glow appeared, and she watched him light a cigarette. He smoked with a lazy gracefulness that contradicted his working class stature. Gardener, handyman, bartender. Yet he spoke like an English aristocrat and seemed above petty day-to-day frustrations. The liquor burned through her veins and heated her temper.
“You shouldn’t smoke.”
He shrugged. “Shouldn’t do a lot of things that are fun.”
“What game do you think you’re playing?” she hissed.
Jack grinned and crossed one foot in front of the other as he leaned against the wall. “I’m not the one with a checklist for a husband. Tom seems like a real fun guy.”
She tossed her head. “He’s lovely. We’ll be seeing each other again.”
His lips literally twitched. “Obviously. Make sure he waxes his brows before the wedding.”
“You’re an asshole.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Two curse words in one night. I must have broken all your records. Really, love, give yourself more credit. Are you that hard up?”