A Midsummer Night's Romp (24 page)

“Who
are
you?” Paul asked, his face black with anger. His hands were clenched into fists, causing me to take a couple of involuntary steps backward.

I lifted my chin. “My name is Lorina Liddell, and my best friend in the world is Sandy Fache.”

His eyes narrowed on me. “That madwoman! I ought to have known that you had something to do with her. You're just as self-righteous as she was.”

“
Is.
She's still alive, not that you've done anything to promote a long life.” I took a long breath, and made the meanest eyes I could. “And I'm here to see to it that you pay.”

“Ah, I knew at some point that we'd get around to money.” His nostrils twitched as if he smelled something rancid. “Well, your little attempt at blackmail won't work with me. I have nothing to hide.” He waved a hand to the side. “My life is an open book, and I most certainly do not have HIV. I would know if I did.”

“Have you had yourself tested?”

“Yes,” he said, taking me by surprise.

“You . . . you have?”

“I just said so, didn't I?” He drew himself up to his full height and glared down at me. “A year ago I was a bit unwell, and had occasion to undergo some medical testing, and I opted to include several completely unneeded tests, as it turned out. So you can see that your attempt to squeeze money out of me is going to fail abysmally.”

“But . . .” I shook my head. He had been tested? Sandy hadn't mentioned anything about that. “But Sandy said—”

“She lied,” he said loudly. Noticing a look from Fidencia, he dropped his volume to add, “Perhaps your friend didn't tell you the entire truth about our little liaison, but I assure you that she was not as selective as you obviously were led to believe.”

“Selective?” It was my turn to narrow my eyes, and I did so. “In what sense? In regards to men? Don't be ridiculous—she told me she fell in love with you three years ago at the dig in Iraq. She wouldn't sleep around if she felt that way about you, more sorrow her.”

“Not only would, but did. I heard from a reliable source that wasn't a digger, someone who was safe from her attentions. She was caught going at it like a rabbit on
a stone altar that was in the middle of being excavated. Does that sound like a woman in love?” His voice was filled with mockery, and it just made me want to slap his face.

“She's not like that,” I protested, putting my hands behind me to avoid temptation. “She wouldn't sleep around that way.”

“My dear, naive Lori—there's a reason Sandy was asked back to the dig for two years in a row, and it wasn't due to her archaeological skills.”

That did it. It pushed me right over the edge.

“You bastard!” I gave in to the urge and slapped him, pulling back at the last minute so it wasn't as hard as I wanted. “How dare you!”

“That will be quite enough!” he snarled, shoving me backward. “And don't waste your time coming across all high-and-mighty. Sandy, as my dear mother would have said, was no better than she should be. Ask the people who were there—they'll tell you what really happened at that dig. As for me, I have more important things to do than to put up with this sort of accusation.”

I watched him go to the trench with a growing sense of irritation and unease. Could he possibly be telling the truth? But if he was, Sandy had outright lied to me, and I had an even harder time imagining that.

“No,” I told his retreating figure, straightening my shoulders. “I'm not going to let you make me doubt a perfectly wonderful woman. She has no reason to lie to me, and you have every motive to throw me off your scent.” Shaking my head at myself, I left the cellar and went upstairs to inquire if anyone knew what Gunner's cell phone number was, and when he was expected home.

I had several things I wanted to think over, and even more that I wanted to talk to him about . . . and an
overwhelming urge to do the latter while lying naked on top of him. I felt extremely awkward wandering around the castle without permission while I looked for him, although I hoped a bit of latitude would be granted given that Gunner and I were . . . That thought brought my feet as well as my brain to a halt.

Just what were we? A couple? Dating? Engaged? I laughed to myself at the last word, knowing full well that Gunner was pulling my leg about getting married—who in their right mind married someone after knowing her for a week? Such things did not happen in real life, and if they did, they ended up in a quickie divorce that was never again discussed.

“Are you lost?”

I twirled around at the voice, sighing in relief when Alice emerged from a room behind me. “In thought and in deed, yes. I was hoping to find someone who could give me Gunner's cell number. Roger told me he went off to have his cast removed, and I wanted to find out when he was going to be back. There's a . . . situation . . . I want to discuss with him.”

Her expression didn't budge an inch, but a distinct look of mirth lit up her eyes.

“Oh god,” I said, slapping a hand over my mouth before spreading my fingers to add, “Forgive me. I didn't mean to speak in innuendos. I really did just want to talk to him. Not that I didn't enjoy our time together, mind you, because the man is beyond talented that way, but you probably don't want to hear that sort of thing about your brother-in-law, huh? Anyway, I did want to talk to Gunner about something, something
else
, and . . . I'm babbling now, aren't I?”

She laughed, and pulled me into a room. “If you are, you have the excuse of having spent an extremely trying night, even if it was spent with the delicious Gunner.”

“Stop lusting after my brother, wife,” Elliott said without looking up from where a laptop sat on a large desk. “Else I'll have to get the parrot out.”

I stopped, feeling even more like I was an interloper. “Parrot?” emerged from my mouth before I could make a fast escape. “Sorry. I'm clearly interrupting—”

“No, you're not.” Alice went around to the back of the desk, reaching between the baron's stomach and the desk. For a moment I thought she was groping him right there in front of me, but when she pulled her hand back, she was holding a small address book. “Sorry, my cell phone is on the fritz, or I'd look up his number on it. And the parrot is . . . er . . . a friend of ours. Kind of.”

“Do not try asking her to explain—the answer will only confuse you,” Elliott said in his clipped British tone. Even though Gunner was adopted, I expected him to speak in a similar fashion, but it struck me then that Gunner's voice, although sexy as hell with an accent, was much softer in cadence, and not so BBC upper-class.

Elliott looked up and eyed me. “Alice tells me you have a mutual friend in her foster sister, and that she tried to get you to stay in the castle. You're welcome to room here if you've had your fill of Cressy.”

“Elliott, have you forgotten that everyone is going to be returning in six days?” Alice smacked him on the arm with the address book before leafing through it. “I wouldn't wish the full force of your family on anyone, especially someone who's had to put up with a bored Gunner. Ah, here it is. Let me write it down for you.”

I took the number she scribbled on a corner of an envelope, thanking her, and making my apologies for interrupting. “I'm sorry to have been wandering around your castle—it's really amazing, I have to say—but I got a bit lost and there are no signs on this floor.”

“This is private,” Alice said, following me to the door. “The ground floor is where the
turistas
flock. No, no, that wasn't meant as an indictment—you're welcome to look around wherever you like, isn't she, Elliott?”

“Until the family returns, at which point she will be likely to have several unpleasant surprises should she wander unexpectedly into any of the boys' rooms.” He donned an expression that could only be described as martyred and started tapping at the keyboard.

“The
boys
range in ages from eighteen to late thirties,” Alice said, blowing her husband a kiss before closing the door on him, and gesturing to the left. I walked down the hall admiring the paintings. “Did Gunner tell you that Lady Ainslie—their mom—adopted a butt-ton of kids from all over the world? They have seven brothers and two sisters, and all of them are crazy as loons. But in a good way. Lately, Elliott and I have been working at getting them all settled.”

“Settled how?” I asked, following her down a long flight of stairs, which led to the familiar small kitchen.

“I'm in need of some cinnamon toast and tea.” Alice filled a toaster with bread, and got butter and some sugar and cinnamon out of a cupboard. “Well, gainful employment mostly, although with the older ones, I've decided it's my job to help them find the happiness that Elliott and I have.”

I sat when she gestured, my eyes widening. “You're matchmaking?”

“That's such a stigmatized word.” She flipped a switch on an electric kettle, and got out a teapot, rinsed it, and spooned in some loose tea. “I prefer ‘happiness enabler.'”

“If you think you're going to matchmake Gunner and me—,” I started to say.

“But that's the good thing!” she interrupted, spinning around to grin at me. “You guys did it all yourselves without my having to intervene! That's so awesome, even if it does mean that I won't get to count Gunner as one of my successes. Still, I'm happy to have him settled even if I didn't have a hand in it. Do you like milk in your tea? I can't understand how the Brits like it like that, but maybe you feel differently.”

“No milk.” I felt suddenly weak, as if all my energy had drained away. “Do you happen to know when Gunner will be back?”

She cocked her head a minute, then smiled. “I'd say in about three minutes. That sounds like his bike.”

“Good lord, he has a motorcycle?”

“Of course. Didn't you guess he would?” She set a few cups on the table, followed by plates, teapot, sugar, cinnamon, and, as an afterthought, a small pot of marmalade. “He's totally the motorcycle sort of man. Did he tell you how he broke his ankle?”

“Doing something foolish,” I said, wondering what on earth I'd gotten myself into.

Alice nodded. “It's just the sort of thing we expected him to do.” With that, she turned to the door and smiled. “Hello, Gunner. Look at you with two feet in shoes.”

Gunner peeled off a leather jacket as he entered the room, a helmet in one hand and a cane in the other. He smelled like the outdoors and sexy man, and the instant that scent hit me, I wanted to throw myself on him and kiss him until he couldn't breathe.

“I won't show you what's under my sock, though,” Gunner said, giving me a grin as he sat down next to me. “The skin on my foot looks like the underbelly of a fish that has lurked in the depths of Loch Ness. Are we having tea? Oooh, cinnamon toast? Lorina, would you believe that the Ainslie family never had exposure to such
delights as cinnamon toast before Alice arrived to save Elliott from becoming a curmudgeon?”

“I heard that, you pestilential blight.” Elliott strolled into the room, sniffing appreciatively. “I hope you were planning on bringing me some toast and tea while I was slaving away trying to put food in our respective mouths, Alice. A man cannot survive on a mere sandwich for luncheon.”

“You ate three sandwiches, and half of the pasta salad I was going to save for dinner, so don't try to guilt me.” Alice ruffled his hair affectionately as he sat down. “As a matter of fact, I was planning on a nice little chat with Lorina to explain to her what a mad wonderland she'd stepped into, but I guess that will have to wait. More toast coming up. Help yourselves to tea.”

Elliott reached across the table for the sugar and poured himself and Alice each a cup of tea. He paused, giving me an odd look. “Lorina.”

I started guiltily, and stopped trying to ogle Gunner out of the corner of my eye. “Yes?”

“That's your name.”

“Yes, it is. Is something the matter with it?”

He set down his toast and frowned, as if he was thinking hard. “What's your surname? Little?”

“Not quite—it's Liddell. Sounds almost the same, but spelled differently.”

To my surprise, he started laughing, pulling Alice down onto his lap when she arrived with another plate filled with toast. “Wonderland is right.”

“What on earth are you cackling about?” Alice asked, giggling when he obviously squeezed her on the behind.

“Lorina Liddell. Alice.” Elliott looked from her to me to Gunner. We all stared back at him. “Have none of you ever read the classics?”

“Classic what?” Gunner asked.

“
Alice in Wonderland.
That Alice's sister was named Lorina Liddell.”

“Oh,” I said, the penny finally dropping. “Yeah, my mother was a big Lewis Carroll fan. That's why she named me Lorina. She never liked the name Alice. Oh, sorry. No offense intended.”

“None taken,” Alice said. She was about to say something else, but evidently changed her mind, because she slid off Elliott's lap and picked up a tray on which she collected one of the two teapots, a plate of toast, and a couple of cups. “My darling, I think I'd rather discuss this fascinating insight you have into classical literature upstairs. In your office. In private.”

Elliott stood up slowly, frowning as she took the cinnamon toast from him. “Why? I'm quite comfortable here.”

She gave him a look that had him examining first Gunner, then me, and finally nodding. “Ah, yes. I see your point. Privacy with cinnamon toast is much desired.” He took the tray from her and, without a look back, left the room, Alice in tow.

“That was subtle,” I said when they were gone. “Do they expect us to have sex right here on the kitchen table?”