Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Scarlett O’Hara

Maxine

Hawkvale

PinkwickHouse

The Parallel

I stood, staring out the window at the gathering clouds, the same, figuratively, forming in my head.

Prior to his most recent betrayal, I hadn’t seen my father in over a year. Mom hadn’t seen him in a lot longer. Life was good. Healthy. She was dating that nice Keith. I had a decent job I liked that paid okay, and I loved our residents at the over-fifties community I managed.

We were steady.

Safe.

Why did we both run to him when he called (or, as it was, texted)?

Yes, he said it was urgent.

Yes, he said he was terribly ill.

But he was a conman with a charlatan’s heart and a grifter’s soul, and his gut instinct was always to fend best for himself even if doing so meant he lay devastation in his wake.

We’d learned that time and again.

When did you stop hoping your father would become a worthwhile human being?

The answer to that question for me, apparently, was…on his deathbed.

Except, he hadn’t been on his deathbed.

He’d made another deal with another devil.

And anyway, why would someone text to say they were on their deathbed?

Then again, why did Ed Dawes do anything?

More importantly, why did I believe Ed Dawes when he did something?

Thunder rent the air and I jumped.

“That came on quickly,” Dad-not-Dad mumbled from where he was seated in the duke’s pretty yellow, cream and green sitting room, reading a paper behind me.

Loren had not shown his face again.

Ansley (he told me to call him Ansley, and not what Dad-not-Dad ordered me never to fail to call him: your grace, Lord Dalton, or Lord Copeland) had served us tea with scones and jam and cream (Lord, heavenly, I ate two, even if Dad-not-Dad stared daggers at me while I did, and the seams of my tight dress threatened to burst).

Ansley had then said he had a few things to see to, asked us if we would be all right on our own for half an hour, and when Dad-not-Dad fell all over himself to say yes (I kinda wanted to be shown to my room so I could unbutton a few buttons after tea), he left.

In that time, the storm had come in.

And I had found that standing made it easier for my dress to make room for the scones and cream.

“The carriages are still out there,” I announced.

These would be plural, seeing as Dad-not-Dad’s valet, and my lady’s maid, Idina, had been in a carriage behind us.

Our trunks had been brought in.

But the horses, who had been dragging those carriages for three days, were still hooked to them in what was becoming a rather whipping wind.

“The grooms will be having their own tea,” Dad-not-Dad muttered.

I turned to him. “The horses need tea too.”

His head came up and his brows knitted. “Horses don’t drink tea.”

“No, but they’ve been doing a hell of a lot more work than you, me, or the groomsmen have the last three days. So they should be somewhere warm, sheltered, with water, oats and maybe a few apples or carrots.”

I was talking out my ass, since I was a city girl and didn’t know anything about horses, but people were always feeding them apples and carrots and oats in movies.

“They’ll be seen to,” Dad-not-Dad dismissed.

“A storm is coming, they should be seen to now.”

“They’ll be seen to when they’re seen to, Maxine, it’s not your issue.”

“It is when I’m standing right here”—I swung an arm to the windows—“and I can see them.”

“I can assure you, the grooms know the storm is coming, so if they’re worried about the damned horses, they’ll get the damned horses. They’re horses! They can handle some rain.”

“After dragging your very healthy behind over what has to be at least a hundred miles?” I retorted. “I mean, I don’t wish to fat shame, Dad, but they’ve served us, now it’s our turn.”

His face turned purple.

A throat was cleared at the door.

Loren stood there, again leaning, now against the jamb.

Wonderful.

The papers rustled frantically as Dad-not-Dad hauled himself out of the fancy yellow settee.

“Loren, my boy, we didn’t have a chance to greet each other earlier. It’s lovely to see you again.”

Loren studied Dad curiously, like he was a speck of dirt in this pristine, but very attractive, sitting room, and he had no clue how he managed to be missed by the maids.

In our very brief acquaintance, Loren had shown some dickish tendencies, but now I was thinking I might like the guy.

“I’m afraid the tea’s cold,” Dad-not-Dad went on gamely. “Shall we ring for some more?”

“I don’t drink tea,” Loren declared.

“Really? What do you drink?” Dad-not-Dad asked eagerly. “Obviously, my darling Maxine will need to know all your preferences.”

I looked to the ceiling and mouthed, Oh my God.

“Maxine!” Dad snapped.

I righted my head and caught Loren now studying me, not like I was a speck of dirt, but like I was a fascinating specimen, and he didn’t know what to make of me.

At least the fascinating part was good.

“Yes, of course, my lord, please, I beg of you, share all your preferences,” I said to him, lifting a hand and placing it on my chest for added emphasis of how deeply I desired this knowledge.

Loren’s eyes fell to my hand.

They stayed there.

He smirked.

Well, there’s one.

I’d taken off my jacket.

I was baring cleavage.

And he was a tit man.

Thank goodness I had ample in that region.

More thunder, closer, and the darkening room lit with lightning.

I dropped my hand, turned back to the window and saw the rain come sluicing down.

This wasn’t an afternoon thunderstorm.

This was a monsoon.

And the horses had their heads ducked, all eight of them on the two carriages, as the deluge pelted them. The wind was tearing at their manes and tails. And I could swear to God, I saw one of them shivering.

I whirled on Dad-not-Dad.

“Are you going to call a damned groom?” I demanded.

My not-father dropped all pretense, and his face twisted.

“Watch that mouth, lady,” he snapped.

I dropped my chin into my neck, mouthed, Fuck it, then stormed toward the door.

Loren still lounged there.

He was lit with another flash of lightning as thunder rattled the house, and he was hot even with spooky lighting. He was also now watching me with open interest, but I didn’t take the time to enjoy it or do anything about it.

I swept past him.

“Maxine! Where are you going?” Dad-not Dad shouted.

I didn’t answer.

But I wasn’t going to ramble around a humongous house looking for the grooms when the horses were fifty yards away from my person and I knew where the goddamn stables were.

I had no clue how to drive a carriage, but if Scarlett O’Hara could drive one, by God, I could too.

I stomped out into the rain, and immediately regretted my decision, not only considering my updo was instantly ruined and it had taken Idina a million years to curl and arrange my hair that morning before we left the inn where we’d spent the night last night (I would never take electricity for granted again). But because a monsoon even in Disney Come to Life was no joke.

However, I was rolling, and there was no going back now.

“Maxine!” I heard yelled over the rain and wind.

And it wasn’t Dad-not-Dad.

It was Loren.

I was going to look over my shoulder at him when, instead, I stopped dead because his fingers wrapped around my upper arm pulled me to a halt.

“Get in the house,” he ordered.

I blinked up at him through the rain. “I’m taking care of the horses.”

“Get in the house,” he repeated.

I pulled at my arm. “The horses need to be taken to the stables.”

He dipped his face right in mine, like, an inch away, and I didn’t have a chance to process how sexy his lashes were when they were spiky with wet as he barked, “Get in the godsdamned house!”

Oh no he didn’t.

I yanked my arm from his grip. “Don’t tell me what to do!”

I then turned, and as fast as my tight skirt would allow me, I ran toward the carriage.

This was not fast, and I was probably moving like a geisha, so, unsurprisingly, he caught up with me.

When he did, what he didn’t do was drag me to the house.

He picked me up.

Yes, me and my rather generous ass.

He then pretty much tossed me high into the driver’s seat of the carriage.

My hip banged against it (no worries, the seat was padded), and I nearly fell to my knees on the floor.

I did not because Loren was up after me, his arm sliced around my stomach, he hauled me around and deposited my ass in the seat.

He then sat next to me, nabbed the reins, shouted, “Hee-yah!” while he flicked them, and the horses were so danged ready to not be in the freezing, driving rain, they bolted forward.

I nearly rolled ass over head off the back of the seat and had to grab on to Loren in order not to do that (important aside, his arm felt like it was made of steel).

Either the grooms were making their way to get the carriages or folks were battening down the hatches, because there were people doing things at the stables. When they saw us speeding to them, two of them rushed to the doors and opened them.

We raced in, and Loren pulled back the reins, yelling, “Whoa!”

The horses stopped, the carriage creaked ominously behind us, I nearly went head over ass forward this time, but I didn’t because Loren grabbed hold of me, then he immediately stood.

He dragged me across the seat until I was sitting where he had been. He jumped lithely to the ground (and yikes, that was a shocker, the seat was pretty high up).

He then reached up, caught my waist in his hands and hauled me down to my feet.

At that point he commenced towing me through the stables, ordering, “You get that other carriage inside, you disappear. Am I heard?”

“Yes, milord,” someone said.

I wasn’t paying attention.

Because we weren’t leaving the stables.

He was taking me to a room off where all the horses were (and proof positive this place was scary awesome: the stables didn’t smell like stables—they smelled like fresh cut hay and summer rain, which someone needed to make into a candle).

We got to that room.

I lifted a hand to push back my sodden hair and saw there were a bunch of saddles lying on beams lining the walls (like, a bunch, as in, they could open a store). Pegs that held bridles and reins and such. A couple of benches with some scattered tools where it looked like they did work on the saddles. And a ratty armchair next to a little iron stove in the corner at the back, where one would rest after their weary work on saddles.

The stove was lit, and the room was cozy warm.

Okay then, maybe we were going to wait out the storm here.

Good idea.

Except Loren slammed the door really loudly, whirled me around to face him using my hand, and then shouted, “Have you lost your bloody mind?”

“I—”

“You’re soaking, godsdamned wet,” he declared.

He was too, and one could say that shirt plastered against his wide chest, even with the waistcoat in the way, was something.

Okay, deep breath and…

“That isn’t lost on me, your grace,” I replied.

“Women do not drive carriages,” he proclaimed.

Ummmmmmmm…

“They do not stable them,” he went on. “Or horses.”

I sucked both my lips in.

“Servants deal with the conveyances,” he kept going.

I held my breath in order to hold my tongue.

“And you do not”—he gave my hand he still held a slight jerk—“ever dash into a bloody storm.”

“It’s just some rain,” I pointed out, though we both knew that was a tad bit of an understatement.

“You’re a bloody female,” he stated.

Okay, I needed to hold on to my patience.

I didn’t hold on to my patience.

“I’m glad you noticed,” I retorted sarcastically.

His expression changed and my immediate world changed with it.

He was furious, he wasn’t hiding it, and he was this to such an extent, the heat of it felt like it was singeing my skin.

It was scary AF.

He let my hand go but advanced on me in a way I had no choice but to retreat.

“If this caper was to get my attention, it’s both stupid and cruel,” he said in a dangerous voice as he backed me toward the corner.

Cruel?

“I simply wanted to put the horses away,” I told him something he knew.

“You came with two grooms, and we have at least that many. You wish the horses stalled, you pull the fucking cord to call a servant to tell them to tell the grooms to put the fucking horses away.”

Wow.

He said the f-word.

Twice.

To me.

A lady (as far as he knew).

I knew they had that word in this world because Dad-not-Dad hated me saying it.

But I’d never heard anyone else say it (though, until very recently, I hadn’t been around anyone but Dad-not-Dad).

And somehow, having that be the only time I heard it from someone other than me, it gave it much more gravitas.

I hit something, it was the armchair, so I was forced to stop.

Loren stopped toe-to-toe with me, so close, I could actually feel the hem of my skirt resting on his boots.

“I think you’re being a bit dramatic,” I whispered, sounding uncertain of my own words because his presence was overpowering, and it was that not only because he was a pretty big and definitely powerful guy.

“Do you?” he asked with an almost sneer. “Is that what you think?”

I wasn’t a fan of the sneer.

“Actually, right now I think you need to step back.”

“My mother was seeing to some villagers. She did that when people were ill and needed assistance, or were recovering and needed company. She was in a phaeton. The weather turned when she was on her way back. She got caught in the rain. She caught a chill. A week later, she was dead,” he shared.

I blinked up at him.

“My sister had a puppy who fell into the creek. The one right out there.” He jabbed a finger toward the window, but he didn’t look that way, he kept his eyes locked to me. “She went in after it. It was late fall. Warm in the morning, chilly by the afternoon. But the creek was freezing. The puppy lived. She went down with a cough that turned into a wracking fever that eventually burned her little body away. She was eight.”

“Oh my God.”

His head twitched.

Damn.

Dad-not-Dad told me they had more than one god here.

“My…my gods,” I covered.

“Am I being dramatic, Lady Maxine?” he asked.

“I didn’t know about your mother and sister.”

“Everybody knows about my mother and sister.”

Although I knew how to wear a hat and how to address a duke, this very important fact about my husband-to-be had not been covered in my tutelage, thank you so much (not), Dad-not-Dad.

“I’ve been away in Fleuridia at school, your grace, until very recently. Father wanted me to stay down there, especially during the troubles, and I became enamored of my studies. He isn’t much of a correspondent, and I didn’t get a great deal of news from home. I’m sorry, but I really did not know,” I told him.

“You’ve been away in Fleuridia,” he stated.

And he did this dubiously.

Oh boy.

Why would he be dubious?

I mean, of course he should. I not only wasn’t his fiancée, I wasn’t even of his world, and I intended to play him and then disappear.

But why would he be?

“Yes, I extended my studies there.” God, how to rattle this off without sounding like I was rattling it off? “Art history and—”

“It matters not whether you know art. What matters is if you have a fertile womb and know how to host a party.”

Record scratch and repeat.

Oh no he…did…not.

But he did.

And he kept going.

“And you have the sense not to run out into the rain. And you know your place in a household, or perhaps more importantly, a servant’s place. But you have enough of a hold on your place never to speak to me in the manner you address your sire.”

“I would certainly not speak to you that way,” I said softly.

“I should hope not,” he replied.

“Unless you were acting like an utter ass, as you are now. On those occasions, I make no promises.”

His eyes flared.

“Now, sir, step away from me.”

“Considering we’re set to spend the rest of our lives together, there are things we should discuss.”

“And we shall do that,” I retorted. “When I’m not sopping wet and…” I got up on my toes, “insanely angry at you.”

His brows flew up.

“Angry at me?”

“Allow me to make one thing clear, your grace.”

He didn’t move away even if he gave a sense of settling in.

“And that would be?” he prompted.

“I have been living on my own, in charge of myself, for some time. I am more than likely not what you’re accustomed to in this world.”

“This world?”

Shit.

“Country. Hawkvale. Whatever,” I snapped. “I am independent. I know my own mind. If I feel the need to speak it, I…um…shall. Now, allow me to assure you, I kill at hosting a party.”

“Kill?”

“I murder a party, as in, I’m bloody good at throwing one.”

“Excellent,” he muttered, his gaze beginning to drift over my face.

“And I have a variety of things to say about servants, and the bourgeoisie, but I suggest we save those for another time as there is not only a variety, but also a great deal to be said.”

“Mm,” he hummed. Then asked, “Bourgeoisie?”

“That would be you,” I stated.

“And you, dear heart,” he retorted. “And I’ll add, very Fleuridian of you.”

I had figured out, in some of Dad-not-Dad’s teaching, that in Fleuridia, the country south of Hawkvale where I was supposed to have spent the last twenty years of my life, they spoke French.

Though they didn’t call it French, of course.

Sadly, I did not speak French, which I worried would eventually be awkward to explain.

But that wasn’t for now.

“We’re getting off topic,” I warned.

“Are we?”

“I’m enumerating all the fabulous things you’ll get when you get me, regardless of my fear that you won’t think they’re fabulous.”

“Indeed. Fleuridia is known for producing headstrong females.”

“Oh my God…zzzzz,” I hissed. “Did you just use the word ‘headstrong’?”

“Do not fear, Countess, I’m changing my mind about the manner in which I’ll allow you to address me.”

“A-allow?” I choked.

His eyes settled on my mouth. “Do you need me to stroke your back?”

My nipples suddenly perked up.

“Why on earth would I need that?”

His gaze came to my own. “You seem to be choking on your words.”

I shifted out from in front of him, declaring, “I think we’re done here.”

He caught me with an arm around my belly and pulled me back.

I looked to where I stood but a moment before, then I looked down at the toes of his boots that were again amongst my skirts.

Then I looked up at him.

“Did you just deny my departure and do that physically?”

“I did, as I disagree. We are not done here.”

“A warning, Lord Remington,” I said low. “When I wish not to be somewhere, I do not allow a man to waylay me.”

“Do you not?”

“It would seem we’re destined to wed,” I pointed out.

“It’s lovely to know you understand the concept of a contract.”

I allowed myself to smile.

His eyes raced to my mouth with that.

So he watched my lips say, “And it’s lovely to know I haven’t scared you off and you have more mettle than I first assumed.”

His lips twitched, accepting my score.

And then I shared softly, “So I will be your wife, and I may give you daughters. I urge you, your grace, to consider for a moment how you would feel if another man prohibited me or them from going when we wished to go.”

His gaze came to mine.

“Countess,” he whispered, appearing contrite.

In other words, he got my point.

“Call me crazy, but I’ve enjoyed our tête-à-tête. However, it would mean a great deal to me if you would make an effort to learn when to back me into a corner, and when…not.”

My heart skipped in my chest when he immediately stepped aside.

Okay, um…

Why was that the sexiest thing a man ever did around me?

Feeling weirdly nervous all of a sudden, I touched my wet hair and moved to the door, mumbling, “I must be off. I fear my toilette prior to dinner will take twice as much time.”

I stopped after I opened the door and turned back to him.

Damn, he was good-looking.

Also, he liked ass too, since when I turned, his eyes were aimed at mine before they came up to my face.

“I’m very sorry about your mother and sister. I’m also sorry, with what happened to them, that what I did with the horses concerned you. I’ll make a point not to do something like that again.”

“I would be obliged, Countess.”

I dipped my chin.

He watched me intently.

I slipped out the door.

During our discussion, the rain had gone.

Dodging puddles, I dashed to the house as quickly as my skirt would allow me, feeling unsettled.

Because before I got to Pinkwick House, Loren Copeland, Marquess of Remington was just a guy I had to play to buy time to get my mom safe and get the hell out of there.

Now he was a guy I might just like.

And that complicated things.

Greatly.