Time for a Duke (11 page)

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A knock sounded on Charles' study door.

"Yes, come in." What did his pestering uncle want now? Hadn't the man caused enough trouble? Charles reached over and rubbed Henrietta's ears, glad to have the cat's company. Before Isabella, it never would have occurred to him to take pleasure in a pet.

The door squeaked as it opened, reminding Charles of the door to Isabella's bedroom. His heart squeezed tight, threatening to stop altogether. How long would it take for him to not think of her every minute? She'd left last night, but Charles hadn't had the heart to watch her step into the closet. There was only so much a man could take.

He glanced down at the figures he'd calculated. With Isabella no longer here to occupy his time, he needed to get back to his work. He was behind in caring for tenants who lived on the estate. What was taking Sebastian so long? Henrietta meowed and jumped from the desktop, trotting toward the doorway.

As he darted a glance at the now-open door, Charles widened his eyes. It could not be! Isabella? He jumped from his chair too quickly, causing it to topple over. Charles ran across the room, stopping just short of the woman he loved.
Wait.
She'd said she was leaving, that it was best for both of them. She'd broken his heart. Why was she still here?

He crossed his arms over his chest, regretting making such a hasty dash across the room. "Isabella. Why are you here?"

She glanced down at Henrietta who purred and wound around her boots. Isabella bent over to pet the cat and then straightened. Something glistened in her eyes. Tears? "Charles, I…" She pulled her shoulders up in a shrug.

"I asked why you are here? You made it quite clear your dream was elsewhere." Unless… What if she'd tried the closet and it hadn't worked this time? Waiting for her to answer was excruciating. He wanted so badly to ask if she'd tried and failed, but couldn't seem to form the words.

"I was wrong."

"What?" Had his ears deceived him? He blinked. "You were—"

"Wrong. Please, please forgive me."

"I—"

"Last night I walked downstairs to the closet. I stood in front of the door. I even reached out my hand. Charles, I only went to the closet last night because you said I needed to go. But I couldn't do it. The thought of leaving you tore me apart. I… I honestly felt like I would die if I left." She glanced away from him. "If you don't want me to stay here, I understand. I'll figure something out, a place to live and work. You offered me the gift of true love and happiness and I refused it."

"Oh Isabella."

"Please, Charles. I was a fool. It took me way too long to realize how wrong I was for thinking going back to America and being independent would make me happy. Trying to please a father who never loved me and never will was a waste of my time and heart."

She pressed one hand tentatively to Charles' chest. All of the tension he'd felt since she announced she was leaving poured from his body. Was it true? She was staying? "Isabella, you didn't even try to get into the closet?"

She shook her head. "No. I just couldn't do it." Isabella took a step closer. "I was wrong.
You
are my dream."

He pulled her to him so tightly he feared he might crush her. Loosening his hold slightly, he pulled back to see her face. "You don't know how badly I needed to hear that. You've made me the happiest man who will ever live. I love you, Isabella."

"And I love you." She pressed close again. "Charles, it's my time for a duke."

As he leaned down for a kiss, he smiled. "And my time for a duchess."

Ruth J. Hartman spends her days cleaning teeth, and her nights spinning sweet romantic tales that make you giggle, laugh, and all-out guffaw. She, her husband, and their two cats, love to spend time curled up in their recliners watching old Cary Grant movies. Well, the cats, Maxwell and Roxy, sit in the people's recliners. Not that the cats couldn't get their own furniture. They just choose to shed on someone else's. You know how selfish those little furry creatures can be.

Ruth, a left-handed, tooth-scraping, Jeep driving, farmhouse-dwelling romance writer uses her goofy sense of humor as she writes tales of lovable, klutzy women and the men who adore them. Ruth's husband and best friend, Garry, reads her manuscripts, rolls his eyes at her weird story ideas, and loves her in spite of her penchant for insisting all of her books have at least one cat in them. Or twelve. But hey, who's counting?

Chapter One

Lanna Kirby took a deep breath and shoved the huge cardboard box into the storeroom. Emitting an involuntary squeak at the effort, she pushed until the box was wedged in the far, cobwebby corner. She wiped sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, squinting when a drop sneaked into the corner of one eye.

When would people get off their duffs and pick up their mail? It wasn’t like she had a ton of room in the post office. It was not their personal storage facility, after all.

Maybe she should start charging storage fees or selling their stuff online. That would get them in here fast.

Dusting her hands off on the front of her faded jeans, she raised her head when the cowbell clanked above the door. As if she needed another reminder she no longer lived in a big city. Scurrying to the lobby counter, she smoothed down her wayward red curls. With humidity off the charts, her hair seemed to have a mind of its own. It didn’t help matters that she had to rush around the small office at breakneck speed. Saturday mornings were busy.

A tall, older woman with white hair pulled severely into a bun and wearing a yellow flowered housedress stood ramrod straight on the other side of the counter. Frowning. The furrows in her brow appeared deep enough to plant corn in. She resembled a giant, unhappy dandelion.

Lanna swallowed hard. The stirrings of a headache threatened at her temples. This woman was an annoyance with a giant, irritating A. Lanna did not need this today, not with everything else going on.

She sighed. “How can I help you today, Mrs. Billings?” It was all Lanna could do to not roll her eyes at her.

The woman glared at her with fiery blue eyes. Lanna imagined sparks flying from them. Should she duck behind the counter? Get an umbrella? She was sure she’d seen some in a box somewhere.

Mrs. Billings leaned toward the counter, her eyes narrowed. “Well for starters, where are the dress patterns I ordered last week? They should be here by now.” She looked at the clock on the wall behind Lanna, as if just by checking the time, she could force the mail to arrive faster.

Good luck with that, lady
. If that were the case, Lanna would have had those dress patterns here a long time ago, just to get Mrs. B off her back. She would even have gladly delivered them to the old hag’s front door.

Lanna took a deep breath. Why did she always get blamed for the tardy U.S. Postal Service? It would be nice if, just every other Wednesday or so, they’d cut her some slack and own up to their own sluggishness.

“I’ve been tracking the package for you online, Mrs. Billings. It should be here in the next day or two.” She put her hands behind her back, twisting her fingers together, willing the other woman to just go away. She’d only worked here for two weeks, and had the displeasure of dealing with Mrs. Billings every day. Surely at some point, the snooty bat would find someone else to bother.

The other woman harrumphed, pointing a bony, arthritic finger at Lanna. “I don’t think you even know what you’re doing here. Maybe you should go back where you came from.” Her gaze lowered to the floor behind Lanna. She frowned. “And just what is
that
? You got an animal running loose in here? “

Lanna took a deep breath, knowing the other woman had spotted her cat’s food dish and toys. Perfect. Now there was another reason for the woman to dislike her. Mrs. B. obviously was not a pet-person.

“Yes, that belongs to my cat. But he—”

“Filthy, disgusting animals should be nowhere near people. You’d better be careful, or you’ll be devoured by them in your sleep.” Thumping her fist on the counter to emphasize her point, Mrs. Billings spun on her heel and left.

Lanna had to hold in a laugh. If Mrs. Billings could see her fat, lazy, orange cat, she might not be so quick to think about him devouring anyone, unless they were covered in catnip. Or tuna. True, Gordon could be moody, but she loved him more than anything.

Click. Click. Click
.

Speaking of her baby, that sounded like his claws on the bare floor.

Lanna turned around to see her cat’s tail disappear into the storeroom. Guess he knew better than to show his furry face when Mrs. Billings was here. Smart cat.

She worked all morning sorting mail and filling mail slots. In between, she answered customers’ questions and arranged and rearranged boxes in the miniscule storeroom.

Sunlight from a tiny window streamed in, causing her to perspire, even though she’d positioned a fan to blow air right at her. Did it ever cool down in Texas, or was she destined to wear a wet blob of red curls for the rest of her life? At her previous job, she had lots of help, so every single task wasn’t up to her to complete. Not here. If she or her part-time helper didn’t do it, it didn’t get done and that wouldn’t make her new boss happy.

Thank goodness it was Saturday. Noon hadn’t come fast enough. Any other day of the week, she’d be working until five o’clock. Except Sunday, which was her one day off. Darren, her part-time helper, at least took some of her load when she had to be out of the office for rural deliveries. She really liked him but wished he’d bring something other than tuna for his lunch. The entire post office smelled like a marina. Gordon, though, didn’t seem to mind. She’d saved Darren’s sandwich from her cat more than once when the tuna was left out. Putting away the paperwork she’d had on the counter, Lanna locked the storeroom.

She started up the cracked, wooden steps to her apartment, wincing when she heard a creak or groan. Would these steps hold her weight until she reached the top? One of her job "perks" was that she got to live in the old, cramped rooms above the post office. But it worked out okay. Lanna didn’t have to hunt for a place to live, and the commute to work was easy. Having priced the few apartments in the tiny, rural town, it had been a no-brainer to accept the low-cost apartment upstairs.

Her knees and shoulders ached from lifting heavy packages in the storeroom. A nice soak in a warm bath would help. Halfway up, something soft brushed against her ankle. She glanced down.

“Gordon, there you are. I haven’t seen you since early this morning.”

Her orange tiger cat rubbed his face against her outstretched fingers. He curled up his lip, rubbing her skin with his gums. She giggled.

“That tickles, little man. You could have stayed down here with me, you know. The mayor said it was okay as long as you didn’t cause any trouble. You’re just lucky he likes cats.”

Gordon flipped his plumed tail and rubbed against her leg. His fur swished against the denim on her jeans. She picked him up and hoisted him over her shoulder. A loud rumble boomed from his chest.

“Goodness, you are getting to be a big boy, aren’t you? We may have to cut down on your food.”

The cat smacked her ear with his paw.

“All right. Just kidding. No diet for you. Maybe just more exercise.”

He smacked Lanna’s shoulder. At least his claws weren’t engaged.

“Fine. No exercise, either, Pudge. Just be your happy, roly-poly self.”

Another purr erupted next to her ear.

“That’s pretty much what I thought, Gordon.” Lanna laughed, lugging her cat up the steps to her apartment. She took her time, though. The steps were steeper than the inside of a lighthouse. Who in the world thought steep, shallow, rickety wooden steps were ever a good idea, especially for someone as accident prone as she was? Bending to poke her key in the door lock, she kept a tight hold on Gordon. He squirmed to get down.

“Hang on there, Tubs. Let me open the door first.” She grabbed the knob. Nothing. She pushed on the middle of the door. Still nothing. Lanna sighed. Stupid door must have swelled again in the heat. Holding Gordon tight against her chest, she leaned sideways and whacked her hip against the door.

Pop!

Lanna nodded. There. Who said wide hips were only good for birthing babies? Setting her keys on her grandmother’s hand-me-down table she’d had since high school, she closed the door.

Once inside, Gordon jumped down. The fur on his back rippled. Did he have an itch? He reached his head around to lick the offending spot but couldn’t quite reach it. Straining his neck, he stuck out his pink tongue but never made contact. He spun in a circle. When that didn’t work, he sat on her garage-sale-find throw rug and harrumphed.

Lanna raised her eyebrows. “Need some assistance there, sir?”

Gordon glared at her. His green eyes narrowed.

She held up her hands. “Okay, just trying to help. Kind of a ‘you scratch

my back, I’ll….’”

Gordon stared at her, unblinking.

Lanna frowned. “Never mind. Why did I think you’d ever be anything less than selfish? The world doesn’t necessarily revolve around you, you know.” Being an only child and having lost her parents the previous year, Lanna was glad to have Gordon, even if he was moody.

The cat angled his backside in her direction, flipping his fat orange tail. He stomped off to Lanna’s favorite recliner in the living room, jumped onto the worn rust-colored cushion, and turned in a circle for a nap. Gordon closed his eyes, burrowing his nose under a front paw.

Lanna muttered, “Well if that isn’t the feline version of flipping someone off, I don’t know what would be.” Once she made it to the bathroom, she stripped off her clothes and flung them toward the open wicker hamper. Some made it in, some didn’t. She shrugged.

Oh well, who cared, since she lived alone? Gordon wasn’t going to tattle on her. Lanna frowned. But if he could, he certainly would. That cat sure could hold a grudge. It wouldn’t surprise her if this one lasted several hours. He wouldn’t show his face for the rest of the day.

Until it was time to eat.

Turning on the hot and cold faucets in her claw-footed tub, she held her hand under the water stream to test the temperature. Still kind of hot. Ever since she was little and had burned her skin with too-hot water, she’d tried to be careful. The babysitter had gotten an earful over that, since Lanna hadn’t been old enough to judge the temperature for herself. Now where were those bath salts? She dug through the two boxes in the corner. She remembered bringing them when she packed to move, but couldn’t seem to locate them.

Not there. Maybe in her vanity? Opening drawers didn’t produce them either.

She stood up to open the medicine cabinet. A glance in the mirror told her she shouldn’t have been in such a hurry that morning.
Oh for goodness sake
.

Why didn’t anyone tell her she had a glob of mascara the size of Canada under her left eye? That never would have happened in her old job in the Indianapolis post office. The snooty, picky women she worked with there would have pointed it out before she made it in from the parking lot.

Lanna frowned… She missed Indiana, but not everything.

And especially not Drake.

Giving up on the bath salts, Lanna stepped over the high rim of the tub. This certainly was something her apartment in Indianapolis hadn’t had. The tub there wasn’t big enough to spritz a gnome.

Lowering herself down into the water, she winced. Yikes! Still a little hot. But she was half-wet now. Inch by inch, she submerged herself until the water was up to her collarbone. Inhaling, she closed her eyes, leaning her head against the back of the tub.

Drake. Why couldn’t she just forget him? Her heart crumbled a little more every time she thought about him. What happened after that? Could a person’s heart self-heal? She didn’t want to waste her thoughts on him, but couldn’t seem to stop.

Scooting down a little more in the water, tiny waves rippled under her chin. She’d wasted two whole years on that man.
Enough. More than enough. Time to move on.

Of course, if she’d figured out sooner what he was like, she would have dumped him. It didn’t matter now. He had what he wanted, a younger, richer, and skinnier version of her, red hair and all. Why had it taken Lanna so long to figure out he was two-timing her?

She frowned. It seemed a semi-professional racecar driver got away with a lot. At least her former boyfriend had. But once he’d dumped her publicly, she hightailed it out of Indiana. Texas seemed far enough away to escape her troubles. At least she hoped so.

Tears burned behind her eyelids. She would not cry. Would. Not.

People always told her she was too trusting. She hadn’t believed them. But she did now and would never make that mistake again, especially not with a man. She rippled her fingers through the warm water in the tub, making tiny waves against the porcelain side.

A creak and swoosh pulled her thoughts back to the present. She gasped, feeling steam from the tub fill her throat. What was that? Had she locked her door when she came into the apartment? Could someone have followed her up the stairs?

Her heartbeat sped up. She scooted farther down in the water, barely noticing some water splashing up her nose until she felt a sneeze coming on. This would not be the best time to alert a prowler to her whereabouts. Clamping down on her nostrils with a thumb and forefinger, she willed her nose to cooperate.
Come on sneeze, take a hike.

She darted her gaze around the tub, looking for some kind of weapon to ward off the intruder. Soap? A washcloth? Get real. Not effective unless the intruder was a large, smelly germ.

A tiny noise, like something bumping the outside of the bathroom door, filtered in. Lanna let go of her nose. If there were someone out there, they’d find her anyway, sneeze or not. She
had
locked her apartment door, hadn’t she? She’d been trying to hold onto Gordon when she came in. Maybe she’d forgotten. And none of the doors inside the apartment latched. If there was something in this building that was plumb, she’d like someone to point it out to her.

Being new in town, she didn’t know if there might be some crazies who habitually hung around outside the post office. Could someone have followed her from inside the post office when she came upstairs? The outside door was left unlocked so people could have access to their lock boxes after hours. Her heart thudded in her ears like a tom-tom.