Читать книгу The Duchess Diaries: The Diplomat's Pregnant Bride / Her Unforgettable Royal Lover / The Texan's Royal M.D. - Merline Lovelace, Merline Lovelace - Страница 17
ОглавлениеLight Sunday–morning traffic was one of the few joys of driving in Washington. Jack’s Range Rover whizzed through near deserted streets and crossed the 14th Street Bridge. The Jefferson Memorial rose in graceful symmetry on the D.C. side of the bridge. The gray granite bulk of the Pentagon dominated the Virginia side. From there they shot south on 395.
Once south of the Beltway, though, Jack exited the interstate and opted instead to drive a stretch of the old U.S. Highway 1. Gina understood why when he pulled into the parking lot of the Gas Pump Café just outside Woodbridge.
“We won’t sit down for brunch until one or two. And this place,” he said with a sweeping gesture toward the tin-roofed cafe, “serves the best biscuits and gravy this side of the Mason-Dixon line.”
Gina hid her doubts as she eyed the ramshackle structure. It boasted a rusting, thirties-era gas pump out front. Equally rusty signs covered every square inch of the front of the building. The colorful barrage advertised everything from Nehi grape soda to Red Coon chewing tobacco to Gargoyle motor oil. The scents of sizzling bacon and smoked sausage that emanated from the café, though, banished any doubts the place would live up to Jack’s hype.
It didn’t occur to Gina that he’d made the stop for her sake until they were seated at one of the wooden picnic tables. He obviously didn’t consider the slice of toast and half glass of orange juice she’d downed while getting dressed adequate sustenance for mother and child. She agreed but limited her intake to one biscuit smothered in gravy, two eggs, a slab of sugar-cured ham and another glass of juice. Since it was just a little past nine when they rolled out of the café, Gina felt confident she would be able to do justice to brunch at one or two o’clock.
She also felt a lot more confident about meeting Jack’s family. Strapped into the Range Rover’s bucket seat, she patted her tummy. “Hope you enjoyed that, baby. I sure did.”
Jack followed the gesture and smiled. “Have you started thinking about names?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Charlotte, if it’s a girl.”
“What if it’s a boy?”
She slanted him a sideways glance. He’d left his window cracked to allow in the warm June morning. The breeze lifted the ends of his dark gold hair and rippled the collar of his pale blue Oxford shirt. He’d rolled the cuffs up on his forearms and they, too, glinted with a sprinkling of gold.
She guessed what was behind his too-casual question. If Jack won his on-going marriage campaign, he no doubt envisioned hanging a numeral after his son’s name. John Harris Mason IV. Not for the first time, Gina wondered if she was being a total bitch for putting her needs before Jack’s. Why did she have to prove that she could stand on her own two feet, anyway? This handsome, sophisticated, wealthy man wanted to take care of her and the baby. Why not let him?
She sighed, acknowledging the answers almost before she’d formulated the questions. She would hate herself for giving up now. That had been her modus operandi her entire adult life. Whenever she got bored or developed a taste for something new, she would indulge the whim.
But she couldn’t quit being a mother. Nor did she want to give up a job she’d discovered she was good at. Really good. Then again, who said she had to quit? The Tremayne Group’s Washington venue had plenty of business.
All of which was just a smoke screen. The sticking point—the real, honest-to-goodness sticking point—was that Jack didn’t love her. He’d been completely honest about that. Although...the past two nights had made Gina begin to wonder if what they did feel for each other might be enough. Uneasy with that thought, she dodged the issue of boys’ names.
“I haven’t gotten that far,” she said lightly. “Tell me about your parents. Where they met, how long they’ve been married, what they like to do.”
Jack filled the rest of the trip with a light-handed sketch of a family steeped in tradition and dedicated to serving others. His mother had been as active in volunteerism over the years as his father had in his work for a series of presidents.
Gina might have been just the tiniest bit intimidated if she hadn’t grown up on stories of the literary and social giants Grandmama had hobnobbed with in her heyday. Then, of course, there was her title. Lady Eugenia Amalia Therése St. Sebastian, granddaughter to the last Duchess of Karlenburgh. That and five bucks might get her a cup of coffee at Starbucks but it still seemed to impress some people. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to resort to such obvious measures to impress Jack’s folks.
* * *
She didn’t. Fifteen minutes after meeting John II, Gina knew no title would dent the man’s rigid sense of propriety. He did not approve of her refusal to marry his only son and give his grandson the Mason name.
“Now, John,” his wife admonished gently. She was a soft-spoken Southern belle with a core of tempered steel beneath her Donna Karan slacks and jewel-toned Versace tunic. “That’s a matter for Gina and Jack to decide.”
“I disagree.”
“So noted,” Ellen Mason said dryly. “Would you care for more iced tea, Gina?”
There were only the four of them, thank goodness. They were sitting in a glass-enclosed solarium with fans turning overhead. A glorious sweep of green lawn shaded by the monster oaks that gave the place its name filled the windows. The Masons’ white-pillared, three-story home had once been the heart of a thriving tobacco plantation. The outlying acres had been sold off over the decades, but the current owner of Five Oaks had his lord-of-the-manner air down pat.
“I’d better not,” Gina replied in response to Ellen’s question. “I’m trying to cut out caffeine. Water with lemon would be great.”
Jack’s mother tipped ice water from a frosted carafe and used silver tongs to spear a lemon wedge. “We didn’t worry about caffeine all those years ago when I was pregnant. That might explain some of my son’s inexhaustible energy.”
Her guest kept a straight face, but it took some doing. Ellen’s son was inexhaustible, all right. Gina had the whisker burns on her thighs to prove it.
“I know you must have questions about this side of your baby’s family tree,” the older woman was saying with a smile in her warm brown eyes. “We have a portrait gallery in the upper hall. Shall I give you a tour while Jack and his father catch up on the latest political gossip?”
“I’d love that.”
The duchess had taken Gina and Sarah to all the great museums, both at home and abroad. The Louvre. The Uffizi. The Hermitage. The National Gallery of Art in Washington. As a result Sarah had developed both an interest in and an appreciation for all forms of art. Gina’s knowledge wasn’t anywhere near as refined but she recognized the touch of a master when she saw it. None of the portraits hanging in the oak-paneled upstairs hall had that feel. Still, the collection offered a truly fascinating glimpse of costumes and hairstyles from the 17th century right down to the present.
Gina paused before the oil of Jack’s grandfather. He wore the full dress uniform of an army colonel, complete with gold shoulder epaulets and saber. “My grandmother knew him,” she told Ellen. “She said he and your mother-in-law attended a reception she once gave for some sultan or another.”
“I’ve read about your grandmother,” her hostess commented as they moved to the next portrait, this one of Ellen and her husband in elegant formal dress. “She sounds like an extraordinary woman.”
“She is.” Lips pursed, Gina surveyed the empty space at the end of the row. “No portrait of Jack and Catherine?”
“No, unfortunately. We could never get them to sit still long enough for a formal portrait. And...” She stopped, drew in a breath. “And of course, we all thought there was plenty of time.”
She turned and held out both hands. Gina placed hers in the soft, firm fold.
“That’s why I wanted this moment alone with you, dear. Life is so short, and so full of uncertainties. I admire you for doing what your heart tells you is right. Don’t let Jack or his father or anyone else bully you into doing otherwise.”
* * *
The brief interlude with Ellen made her husband a little easier to bear. John II didn’t alter his attitude of stiff disapproval toward Gina but there was no disguising his deep affection for his son. He not only loved Jack. He was also inordinately proud of his son’s accomplishments to date.
“Did he tell you he’s the youngest man ever appointed as an ambassador-at-large?” he asked during a leisurely brunch that included twice-baked cheese grits, green beans almondine and the most delicious crab cakes Gina had ever sampled.
“No, he didn’t,” she replied, silently wishing she could sop up the béchamel sauce from the crab cakes with the crust of her flaky croissant.
“Then he probably also didn’t tell you some very powerful PACs have been suggesting he run for the U.S. Senate as a first step toward the White House.”
“Dad...”
“Actually,” Gina interrupted, “I read about that. I know those PACs love Jack. And he and I talked about his running for office the other night.”
John II paused with his knife and fork poised above his food. “You did?”
“Yep. I told him he should go for it.”
“Dad...”
Once again the father ignored the son’s low warning. His lip curled, and a heavy sarcasm colored his voice. “I’m sure our conservative base will turn out by the thousands to support a candidate with an illegitimate child.”
“That’s enough!”
Jack shoved away from the table and tossed down his napkin. Anger radiated from him in waves. “We agreed not to discuss this, Dad. If you can’t stick to the agreement, Gina and I will leave now.”
“I’m sorry.” The apology was stiff but it was an apology. “Sit down, son. Please, sit down.”
Ellen interceded, as Gina suspected she had countless times in the past. “Jack, why don’t you take our guest for a stroll in the rose garden while I clear the table and bring in dessert?”
Gina jumped up, eager for something to do. “Please, let me help.”
“Thank you, dear.”
* * *
A decadent praline cheesecake smoothed things over. Everyone got back to being polite and civilized, and Ellen deftly steered the conversation in less sensitive channels.
Gina thought they might make it through the rest of the visit with no further fireworks. She nursed that futile hope right up until moments before she and Jack left to drive back to Washington. At his mother’s request, he accompanied her into her study to pick up a flyer about an organization offering aid to abused children overseas she wanted him to look at.
That left Gina and John II standing side by side in the foyer for a few moments. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, broken when he made an abrupt announcement.
“I had you investigated.”
“What?”
“I hired a private investigator.”
Gina’s brows snapped together, and her chin tipped in a way that anyone familiar with the duchess would have recognized immediately as a warning signal.
“Did you?”
“I wanted him to chase down rumors about the other men you might have been involved with.”
Her hand fluttered to her stomach in a protective gesture as old as time. “The other men I might have screwed, you mean.”
He blinked at the blunt reply, but made no apology. “Yes.”
The thought of a private investigator talking to her friends, asking questions, dropping insinuations, fired twin bolts of anger and mortification. Gina’s chin came up another inch. Her eyes flashed dangerously.
“Why go to the expense of a private investigator? A simple DNA test would have been much cheaper.”
“You were in that clinic in Switzerland. Jack flew over right after you called him. I told him to insist on a paternity test, but...” He broke off, grimacing. “Well, no need to go into all that now. What I want to say is I accept that you’re carrying my grandchild.”
“How very magnanimous of you.”
The icy response took him aback. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but the sound of footsteps stilled him. Both Jack and his mother sensed the tension instantly. Ellen sighed and shook her head. Her son demanded an explanation.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Gina said before his father could respond. “Nothing at all. Thank you for a lovely lunch, Ellen.”
She kissed the older woman’s cheek before offering a cool glance and a lukewarm handshake to Jack’s father.
“Perhaps I’ll see you again.”
He stiffened, correctly interpreting the threat buried in that polite “perhaps.”
“I certainly hope so.”
* * *
“All right,” Jack said as the Range Rover cut through the tunnel of oaks shading the drive. “What was that all about?”
Gina wanted to be cool about it, wanted to take the high road and shrug off the investigation as inconsequential, but her roiling emotions got the better of her. She slewed around as much as the seat belt would allow. Anger, hurt and suspicion put a razor’s edge in her words.
“Did you know your father hired a P.I. to investigate me?”
“Yes, I...”
“With or without your approval?”
“Christ, Gina.” His glance sliced into her. “What do you think?”
She was still angry, still hurt, but somewhat mollified by his indignation. Slumping against the seat back, she crossed her arms. “Your father’s a piece of work, Ambassador.”
Which was true, but probably not the smartest comment to make. Jack could criticize his father. He wouldn’t appreciate an outsider doing so, however, any more than Gina would tolerate someone making a snide comment about the duchess. The tight line to Jack’s jaw underscored that point.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
He accepted the apology with a curt nod and offered one of his own. “I’m sorry, too. I should have told you about the investigation. The truth is I didn’t know about it until after we got back from Switzerland and then it just didn’t matter.”
Her anger dissipated, leaving only an urgent question. “Why not, Jack? Didn’t you...? Don’t you have any doubts?”
“No. Not one.” The rigid set to his shoulders eased. His reply was quiet and carried the ring of absolute truth. “We may disagree on a number of important issues, marriage included, but we’ve always been honest with each other.”
Her eyes start to burn. She refused to cry, she flatly refused, but she suddenly felt miserable and weary beyond words. “Look,” she said tiredly, “this has been a busy few days. I may have overdone it a bit. I think...I think I’d better fly back to New York this evening.”
He knifed her a quick look. “Is it the baby?”
“No! The baby’s fine.”
“Then it’s my father.” Another sharp glance. “Or is it us?”
“Mostly us.” She forced a smile. “You have to admit we didn’t get much sleep the past two nights. I need to go home and rack out.”
“Is that what you really want?”
“It’s what I really want.”
* * *
The drive back to D.C. took considerably less time than the drive down to Richmond. No cutting off to ramble along Route 1. No stops at picturesque cafés. Jack stuck to the interstate, and Gina used the time to check airline schedules. She confirmed a seat on a 7:20 p.m. flight to New York. It was a tight fit, but she could make it if she threw her things in her weekender and went straight to the airport.
“You don’t have to wait,” she told Jack as he pulled into the parking garage at L’Enfant Plaza. “I can grab a cab.”
“I’ll drive you.”
She was in and out of TTG’s guest suite in less than twenty minutes. A quick call ensured the cleaning crew would come in the following day. The key cards she sealed in an envelope and slid under the door to the main office. Elaine Patterson, manager of the Washington venue, was due back tomorrow. Gina would coordinate the after-event report with her and tie up any other loose ends by email.
Her emotions were flip-flopping all over the place again when Jack pulled up at the airport terminal. Part of her insisted she was doing the right thing. That she needed to pull back, assess the damage to her heart done by the nights she’d spent in his arms. The rest of her ached for another night. Or two. Or three.
If Jack were experiencing the same disquiet, it didn’t show. He left the Range Rover in idle and came around to lift out her weekender. His expression was calm, his hand steady as he buried it in her hair and tilted her face to his.
“Call me when you get home.”
“I will.”
“And get some rest.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll see you at our next doctor’s appointment, if not before.”
Before would be good, she thought as she closed her eyes for his kiss. Before would be very good.
* * *
When she climbed out of a cab outside the Dakota almost seven hours later, her ass was well and truly dragging. Her flight had been delayed due to mechanical problems before being canceled completely. The passengers had sat for well over an hour on the plane before being shuffled off and onto another. She’d called Jack once she was aboard the alternate aircraft so he wouldn’t worry, and again when she landed at LaGuardia.
Since they’d touched down at almost midnight, she didn’t call her grandmother. The duchess would have gone to bed hours ago and Gina didn’t want to wake her. Feeling dopey with exhaustion, she took a cab into the city. Jerome wasn’t on duty and she didn’t know the new night doorman except to nod and say hello. Wheeling her suitcase to the elevator, she slumped against the mirrored wall as it whisked her upward.
The delicate scent of orange blossoms telegraphed a welcome to her weary mind. She dropped her purse and key next to the Waterford crystal bowl filled with potpourri. Her weekender’s hard rubber wheels made barely a squeak as she rolled it over the marble tiles.
She’d crossed the sitting room and was almost to the hall leading to the bedrooms when she caught the sound of a muffled clink in the kitchen. She left the suitcase in the hall and retraced her steps. Light feathered around edges of the swinging door between the dining room and kitchen. Another clink sounded just beyond it.
“Grandmama?”
Gina put out a hand to push on the door and snatched it back as the oak panel swung toward her. The next second she was staring at broad expanse of black T-shirt. Her shocked glance flew up and registered a chin shadowed with bristles, a mouth set in a straight line and dark, dangerous eyes topped by slashing black brows.
