She Hates Me Not: A Richer in Love Romance (6 page)

The ellipses which implied a response was forthcoming pulsed for several seconds.  Odd.  While his mother despised acronyms, even in texts, she knew their various meanings.  They never slowed her replies – just escalated her fury.  He envisioned the steam erupting from her ears at his abbreviated reply.

The ellipses disappeared from the screen.  Doubly odd.  His mother owned full stock in having the last word.

Apologizing again, Kip tucked the phone away.  “So rude of me,” he said.  “But my mother is…well, to say she’s a force of nature is a gross understatement.”

“Do you love her?” Lou asked.

Wholly unprepared for the question, Kip hesitated.  “Yes, I do.  Most days I don’t like her very much, but I love her.”

“Do you do what she tells you?”

He laughed.  “Almost never.  In fact I define myself by defying her.  She and my brother are so like-minded.  I’m my father’s son.  He would have been pleased with that, I think, if he’d lived long enough to see me grown up.”

“He died when you were little?”

“When I was six.  Ben was ten.  He handled it better than I did.”  Clearing his throat, Kip sat up straighter in his chair.  “This has taken a rather grim turn, hasn’t it?  Or are you searching for a reason to hate me?  My family is a tempting one.  Won’t you tell me about yours?”

Lou shook her head.  “I can’t.”

Kip clamped his jaw to keep from asking why not.  “Remind me,” he said lightly.  “How many more dates before details?”

She smiled at the sky.  “This isn’t a date.”

“Wouldn’t be hard to change that.  I could nip out and buy you some flowers.  Or we could dance.  Would that count?  You could help me recall whatever it was you taught me last night.”

“The Cajun Traveling Waltz,” Lou reminded him.

Kip reached a hand across the table.  “Should we try it?”

As she stared, Kip held his breath.  He hadn’t sat down intending to seduce Lou into anything more than a chat, but her eyes and her smile and her smoky voice sent him into a frenzy.  He needed to figure out why – if only to learn how to resist.  All addictions had their positive opposites.

When she slid her hand into his, Kip surrendered.  Lou wasn’t some passing fancy.  Or a risky temptation.  She was all too real yet distinctly magical, and although he could be impulsive, Kip knew this wasn’t a mistake.  He wondered if the realization showed on his face.

If only Lou didn’t hate him.

I
f only she didn’t have to pretend.

Lou felt more lightheaded than after her last glass of champagne the night before.  Her skin seemed to hum where it touched Kip’s.  His thumb drifted back and forth against her fingers.  Kip looked as mystified – and enticed – as Lou felt.

A hand and a glove.

The café’s side door opened.  “Tea time!”

Rescuing her fingers, Lou thanked the good Lord.  Moggie’s timing could not have been better.  A few more seconds of that, and she might end up telling the whole truth to a man she’d known for less than twenty-four hours.

As Moggie set down a crowded wooden tray, Lou shot her a withering look.  Their pot of tea had become a miniature feast.

Moggie pulled out all the stops.  A stack of fresh scones.  Clotted cream.  Two flavors of jam including Beryl’s famous whiskey marmalade.  A tea cosy decorated with Anne Hathaway’s cottage covered a pot large enough to serve four.

Kip reached into a pocket.  “Please let me pay you for this.”

“Certainly not.”  Although Moggie always spoke at the same benign volume, she could still win a debate in under one sentence.  “It’s our pleasure.”

While Kip thanked her with endearing sincerity, Lou grabbed a scone and slathered it with cream.  The sooner they started eating, the sooner they’d be done.  Then Kip could get back to his life, and she could get back to hers.

As Moggie retreated into the café, Lou filled her teacup to the brim.  “So where’s your bodyguard?  I can’t remember his name.”

“Yannick?” Kip finished.  “Gone to London on the morning train.  My mother can do without him for only so long.”

“She doesn’t mind letting you off the leash?  The lead, I mean.”

“I do speak some American,” he teased.  “And I chewed myself free many years ago.”

“But you work for her.”

Kip poured his tea before answering.  “I don’t see it that way.  I’m contributing to what my grandfather began, not hiding behind my mother’s skirts.  At the end of the month, I’ll be in India to promote our Rural Schools Rejuvenation scheme.  Richmond Enterprises doesn’t only buy Renoirs.”

Lou could tell she’d struck a nerve.  She might need a reason to hate Kip Richmond, but she didn’t want him to hate her.  The contradiction distressed her more than his unexpected visit.

“So tell me, Kip.”  She offered her most flirtatious smile.  “Why shouldn’t I hate you?”

To Lou’s relief, his good mood returned instantly.  Clearly Kip didn’t mind being teased.

“Are you asking an Englishman to boast about himself?”

Lou blew on her tea to cool it.  “The best defense is a good offense.”

“Right.  Well…”  His blue eyes danced while he gathered his thoughts.  “In relationships I am inexcusably complacent which makes me seem quite loyal.  I grow bored to tears when I’m alone for too long, so people think I’m sociable.  I’m also a risk-taker, a thrill-seeker, and unafraid to try new things – which is psychobabble for an addictive personality.  And I never, ever lie.”

Guilt made Lou cringe at his admission.  “Never, ever?”

“Never, ever.  Because if my mother were to catch me in a lie, the Titans of Olympus would tremble at her wrath.  At least that’s what she told me when I was a boy.”

Lou let herself laugh with rare, deep release.  “You can’t even brag about yourself.”

Kip lifted his teacup.  “Englishman.  Although, my grandfather was Scottish.  Still, I was born and bred in Surrey, so no bragging whatsoever.”

To distract herself, Lou picked the currants from her scone and stacked them on the edge of her saucer.  Why couldn’t Kip be an idiot?  She’d been pursued by plenty of
coullions
since she moved to England.  And plenty more before that in the States.

Lou tried not to be too hard on guys, but most of them just wanted to settle.  Not settle down.  Just settle – for sex, for marriage, for kids they didn’t want and jobs they didn’t like.  They did things the way they’d always been done.  There was no spontaneity, no
joie de vivre
.

Liam McGreevy might have been a three-timing jackass, but he never got lost in their conversations.  He could match Lou beat for beat.  He kept her on her toes.

Kip was clearly the same.  His next question proved it.

“Why should I forgive you for lying to me?”

Lou refocused on her currant-free scone.  “Maybe you shouldn’t.  Maybe you should be hating me.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“You don’t know that,” she argued.  “Maybe I’m a horrible person.”

“Or maybe I’m not.  They say it takes one to know one.”

“Then why did you date Catrella Delcombe for three years?”

“Cat wasn’t horrible.”  Kip tapped one finger against the cup’s curved handle.  “She was just…typical.”

“Maybe I’m a typical person, too.”

“A typical person would never say such a thing.”

As Kip’s baby blues glinted with interest, Lou cupped a hand against her forehead.  Was she blushing?  She felt completely exposed, her defenses dissolving like a sandcastle’s walls at high tide.  For the first time in years, she relished the sensation of being noticed.  Noticed and wanted – not like the catch of the day but something much more substantial.

Draining her teacup, she refilled it.  “Why me?”

Lou made the question ambiguous on purpose.  It was her go-to tool for exposing the agendas of flirtatious men.  Their interpretations let her know what they were after.  Usually it was sex.  Sometimes a substitute mother.  Or a maid.  Occasionally it was babies – but only because they felt like they were falling behind in some imaginary race toward a finish line no one ever reached.

“I’d be lying if I said I weren’t partial to gingers,” Kip confessed with a wink.  “But it’s also because of how you reacted to Catrella’s arrival last night.  You weren’t threatened or tetchy.  Whilst I was panicking, you came up with an ideal solution to what could have been a disastrous encounter.  I don’t know what might have happened had you not been there.  In all honesty, you saved the day.”

With narrowed eyes Lou judged him.  Kip’s answer fell into none of her categories.  He sounded grateful, not scheming.  And intriguingly real.

“You’re just saying that because I kissed you.”

He laughed.  “If I ask Cat to come round, would you save me again?”

“I’d rather she not be around the next time we kiss.”

As soon as she said it, Lou regretted every word.  She had no business flirting with Kip Richmond.  She needed him to leave, not leap across the table and take her in his arms – which he looked halfway ready to do.

“I can’t keep this up,” Lou announced.  “Not right now.”

Kip didn’t seem discouraged.  “When?”

“Maybe not ever.”

“So you’re never going to be with anyone?  You’ll live out your days as a self-declared nun at a café in Shakespeare’s birthplace?”

The possibility made her wince.  “Gosh, I hope not.”

“Then why not now?  Why not me?”

Lou’s brain blanked.  Apart from the two obvious reasons – Amy’s health, her safety – there was nothing that she didn’t like about Kip Richmond.

“Because I’m supposed to hate you.”

“Right.”  He nodded like it was the rational conclusion.  “Can I have your number?”

She ached to say yes.  “Not a good idea.”

“I’ll give you mine, then.  And a souvenir to remember me by.”

Kip pulled a folded wedge of paper from his pocket.  His phone number was already scrawled in a margin.  He’d come prepared.

Lou couldn’t decide if that made Kip pushy or sweet.  Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, she took the paper from his waiting hand and unfolded it.

It was a picture of them.  Kissing.  On the terrace of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre.  Lou’s skin went cold as she read the caption.

Kip Richmond and his mystery date steal away from the ritzy Stratford Gala to sample what’s not on the buffet.

“Where did you get this?”  Her voice quivered with a panic she couldn’t control.

“Today’s
Birmingham Mail
.”

The printed image was grainy and dim, taken with a long lens in very low light.  Its photographer had shot them from across the Avon, not stayed with the others in the theatre lobby.  Lou’s black dress and Kip’s tuxedo created an illusion of oneness, their bodies meshed together beside the moonlit river.

Staring, Lou doubted the moment had actually happened.  It looked more like a Renoir than anything real.  Redhead or not, she couldn’t be the girl who was wrapped in Kip’s arms, her lips plastered to his.

Thank heavens her maw-maw wasn’t alive to see this.  She’d have Lou kneeling on rice for a week.

But lots of other people still were alive.  People who’d done business with her daddy.  People who believed rumors that simply weren’t true.

Lou felt herself start to hyperventilate.  Her chest tightened as her limbs went slack.

“Who else do you think has seen it?” she mumbled.

“Whoever reads the
Mail
, I suppose.”  Kip left his chair to crouch beside her.  “Are you all right?”

“I was,” Lou wheezed.  “I was fine until last night.”

Her mind conjured an email from three years before, when Amy thought she’d been discovered in Santa Fe.  Two men with Bayou Country accents dropped by the spa where she was working.  They claimed to be long-lost cousins and wanted a home address.  Amy had quit that day and didn’t return to her garage apartment.  Abandoning what little she owned, she hid for weeks in another town.  She spent months out of work and living in fear that the men would track her down.

All for what?  Money.  Money that didn’t exist.

“Lou.”  Worry sent Kip’s voice an octave lower.  “Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

Unable to speak, she pressed a hand to her breastbone.  Her arm was warm where Kip’s fingers braced it.  The rest of her felt like ice. 

“You two ready for a top-up?”

Moggie opened the side door with intentional slowness, like she might catch Lou and Kip reenacting the scene from the photo.  A picnic basket over one arm, she eased the door shut behind her.  Moggie was as even-keeled as a boat on calm waters, but that didn’t stop her from moving toward Lou with obvious concern.

“What’s happened?” she asked.

When Lou didn’t answer, Kip shrugged.  “I haven’t a clue.”

Moggie spun the picture in her direction.  Silently she examined it.  Then she shook her head.

“Who writes these rubbishy captions?”

“Rubbishy people.”  Rising, Kip stepped away.  “I should go.”

Moggie offered him the basket.  “I thought you two might want to share this, but perhaps it’s not the right time.  Take it with you, Kip.  You look like you may have missed lunch.”

He waved a hand to refuse.  “I couldn’t.  I’ll get something at the hotel.”

“It’s only today’s leftovers.  Roast chicken, mushy peas, and chips cut fresh this morning by Lou herself.  I tossed in a sticky toffee pudding also.  And a comment card if you return.”

Kip stared at the basket like it might bite.  “I insist on paying you for this.”

“Payment makes you a stranger,” Moggie said.  “You’re welcome anytime.”

Reluctantly he took it.  “I’ll post a smashing review on Yelp.”

“Please yourself.” 

As Moggie sat down in the empty chair, Lou watched Kip hustle down the alley toward Wood Street.  There were no pensive pauses.  No lingering turns.  Shoulders tense and head bent, he seemed eager to leave Lou and her crazy behind.

She didn’t blame him one bit.  That was her goal after all – to chase Kip away.  Her latest meltdown may have finally done the trick.

Reaching for the photo, Moggie examined it more closely.  “You neglected to mention a kiss.”

Lou groaned at the mild reminder.  She’d given Moggie and Beryl a SparkNotes version of the evening’s roller coaster events.  Kissing Kip Richmond hadn’t made the final cut.

“I didn’t think it mattered.”

“It mattered to him, apparently, if he searched for you all day.”

Her head flopping backward, Lou groaned again.  “I was doing him a favor.  That’s all.  And now look what it’s got me.  My face in a newspaper for the whole world to see.”

“It’s a tidbit of gossip at the back of the
Mail
.  And you don’t even look like yourself.”  Moggie pointed at the sentence below the picture.  “You’re ‘mystery date.’  No one’s going to recognize you from that.”

“They might,” Lou argued.  “Mean doesn’t equal dumb.”

“True.  But those mean people are an ocean away.  Why on earth would they be reading our papers?”

“For that much money, I’d read every newspaper in the world.”

Moggie let go of the clipping.  “I don’t pretend to understand all that happened with your father, but it’s been six years since the trial.  If the United States government believes you, then so will the criminals, and if either wanted to find you, they’d have done so by now.”