Fortune's Prince Page 8

  She’d never jumped out of a window onto an awning but she’d jumped out of plenty of trees. Now she was pregnant, though, so that option was out no matter how badly she wanted to avoid the reporter.

  The knock came again. Followed by a deep voice that she would recognize anywhere. “Open up, princess.”

  Not Ophelia.

  Shaking more than ever, she ran to the door and pulled it open, looking up at Quinn for only a second before dragging him inside. “Are you crazy? What if someone saw you?”

  He was wearing faded blue jeans that hugged his powerful thighs, a plain white T-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders and he needed a shave. Badly. And even though his lips were thin as he looked down at her, he still made her knees feel weak. “If answering a phone wasn’t beneath your dignity, you wouldn’t have missed an opportunity to get out of here.”

  “What?”

  “Your camera-toting friend went to the sandwich shop next door.”

  “How do you even know what she looks like? I didn’t see her leave.” She reached around him for the door. “If we’re quick—”

  “She’s already back,” he cut her hopefulness short. “And there aren’t a lot of people browsing around Vicker’s Corners with that sort of camera clenched in their hands.”

  “Shayla was supposed to let me know if Ophelia left!”

  “Yeah, well, Shayla’s a seventeen-year-old kid and her mom sent her out on an errand.”

  “How do you know that?”

  His expression turned even darker. He crossed to the window and glanced out. “Because I heard them when I came in to see why the hell you weren’t answering the damn phone.”

  Her head swam and she leaned back against the door for support.

  He crossed to the window and glanced out. “Jess called me from the park where her boys play baseball. She got tied up there with the coach trying to keep the guy from kicking Jason off the team for fighting. For some unfathomable reason she was worried about you.”

  She winced. “You can return her phone to her, then.” She’d have to take her chances with Ophelia whether the prospect nauseated her or not.

  She was a grown woman carrying a baby. She shouldn’t need rescuing. Maybe that was one of the ways she was supposed to start acting like one. “You might have gotten up here without Ophelia seeing you, but try not to be caught on camera when you leave again.” She reached behind her and closed her hand over the doorknob. “I appreciate your...efforts...but I need to get my aunt’s car back to her. I’m sure the baby shower she’s attending is over by now.”

  He looked impatient. “Jess told me about the car. I already got hold of Deke. He’s got Jeanne covered.”

  Amelia exhaled. At least that was something, though it didn’t alleviate her anxiety over Ophelia, much less Quinn. “That was—” unexpected “—very good of you.”

  “Jess also told me she’s the reason you’re stuck here.”

  “Ophelia’s the reason. I never imagined that woman would go to these lengths for a few pictures to sell.” Her stomach churned and her palm grew sweaty on the doorknob. “Regardless, you shouldn’t have come.”

  “Afraid your fiancé’ll find out?”

  She strongly considered opening the door and walking out. Only the fact that she’d brought this on herself by not addressing the press—the legitimate press—straight-on from the beginning kept her from doing so.

  She took her hand away from the doorknob and wiped it down the side of her borrowed sundress. “Insult me all you want. I still don’t want Ophelia taking after you, too. Right now—” her lips twisted “—assuming she doesn’t find us here together, all you are is a faceless man with dark hair. She’s still focusing on me, and it’s best to keep it that way.”

  “You’d prefer hiding out here on your own until she gives up and goes away?”

  “If I confront her, she’ll somehow use that for her own gain. I know how these people work, Quinn. She’s not breaking any laws—”

  “Yet. Or have you forgotten already about the ones who did when they hacked into your phone calls?”

  She sighed. She would never forget. “Ophelia doesn’t know for certain that I’m here. And she can’t stay cooped up in this B and B forever. She’s not gaining anything unless she has photos to sell.”

  Or a story.

  And Amelia’s pregnancy would be a whale of a tale. It would put the detestable woman’s career on the map, at least until the next scandal came along.

  “I’m just grateful your sister happened to be in the hardware store at the right time to provide a distraction.” It was at least one thing that had gone her way.

  His lips curled derisively. “Don’t kid yourself, princess. My sister never happens to do anything.”

  “She was there to buy pink paint for her daughter’s room!”

  “Jess doesn’t have a daughter. And I can promise you that none of my nephews would be caught dead in a pink room.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t try to figure it out,” he suggested darkly. He paced around the room as if he found it as cagelike as she. “Jess is a law unto herself. She’s just as infected with royal-fever as the rest of the people around here.”

  Except for him. He’d been fully vaccinated, courtesy of an engagement that didn’t exist.

  “I don’t care why she was there,” Amelia said abruptly. “Facing your sister, whatever her reasons, is always going to be preferable to Ophelia Malone. At least she’s—” She broke off.

  “At least she’s what?”

  Family. Amelia stared at him, the word she’d been about to blurt still alarmingly close to her lips.

  Just tell him.

  She’d wanted a chance to speak with him alone, and now she had it.

  Just tell him!

  Her mouth ran dry. She started to speak. “O-only trying to protect you,” she finished, instead.

  His eyes narrowed, studying her face so closely she had to work hard not to squirm.

  “I wish I had another disguise,” she said. “We could just get out of here. Even if Ophelia doesn’t discover us, Shayla’s mother probably will.”

  “We don’t have to worry about her.” He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it on the bed.

  She eyed the old-fashioned key.

  “I rented the room for the night,” he added flatly.

  Amelia’s stomach hollowed out. “We’re both stuck here?”

  Chapter Seven

  Quinn paced across the room, putting as much distance as he could between them. “I’m not the one who’s stuck,” he corrected.

  The bed with the puffy white comforter loomed large between them. Particularly when she sank down on the corner of the mattress.

  With the red dress and her dark, dark hair, she looked like she might have been posed there for an advertisement. If not for the fact that her face was nearly as white as the bedding.

  He ruthlessly squashed down his concern.

  “I can come and go any time I want,” he continued. “You’re the one who isn’t supposed to be here.”

  “Right. Silly of me to forget,” she murmured.

  He exhaled roughly. “Maybe she’ll want to go out for dinner later and we’ll be able to get out of here.”

  Before morning.

  Before they spent an entire night together in a room with only one freaking bed.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and sat on the rocking chair. The wicker creaked a little under his weight, sounding loud in the quiet room.

  He cleared his throat. “How many times have you had to do this?”

  “Hide out from paparazzi?” She pushed her hair behind her ear. “I have no idea. Lucie and I’ve been doing it since we were teenagers, I guess.”

&nb
sp; Lucie, he knew, was her older sister. “She doesn’t seem to be in the news as much as you.”

  “That’s just because nobody thinks she’s marrying a future earl right now. We’ve always been in a fishbowl, but never as bad as the last several weeks have been.” She rubbed her hands nervously over the bed beside her hips.

  He looked away. Whether she looked terrifyingly fragile or not, imagining her hair spread out over all that white was way too easy and the effect it was having on him wasn’t one he needed just then. “It’s a first for me,” he muttered.

  She spread her hands, smiling without any real amusement. “Welcome to my world.” Then even the fake smile died. “You didn’t tell me before—” Her lashes swept down. “In April I mean, that you were married.”

  It was the last thing he expected to hear and as a cold shower, it was pretty effective.

  “It was a long time ago,” he finally said.

  “How long?”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “Because you’re painting me to be just like her.”

  His jaw tightened. Knowing she was right didn’t mean that he was wrong. “History tends to repeat itself.”

  Her long throat worked. “You have no idea,” she murmured.

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he sat forward. The chair creaked ominously. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She pushed off the bed and pressed her hands together. “Look, despite you trying to help me here, I understand that things are...are over between us. You’ve been more than clear about that. And no matter what I say I don’t expect that to change. You are not under any obligation—”

  His jaw tightened. “Amelia—”

  She moistened her lips. Her dark brown eyes met his, then flicked away again. Her tension was palpable.

  “I’m pregnant,” she said in a low voice. “I came back to Horseback Hollow to tell you.”

  He stared at her. There was a strange, hollow ringing inside his head. “You’re...pregnant.”

  She chewed her lip. “Keep your voice down. Who knows how thin the walls are.”

  “You’re pregnant,” he repeated, a little more softly, but no less incredulously.

  “And saying it a third time won’t change that fact.” She went into the adjoining bathroom and returned with a glass of water. She pushed it into his hand. “Drink.”

  The kind of drink he felt in sudden need of came out of a bottle and was strong enough to put down a horse. He set the glass on the windowsill. “How do you know?”

  She paced across the room again. “The usual way.”

  “You missed your period?”

  A tinge of color finally lit her cheeks. She didn’t look at him. “Yes.”

  “And you’re saying its mine.”

  “Yes.” The word grew clipped.

  “Even though you’re engaged to someone else.”

  She thrust her fingers through her hair and tugged. “I am not engaged!” She dropped her hands and sank onto the foot of the bed again. “And before you accuse me, I know this baby is yours because you’re the only man I’ve ever slept with,” she added in a flat voice.

  He shook his head once, sharp enough to clear it of the fog that had filled it. “You expect me to believe you were a virgin? And I didn’t happen to notice?”

  Her cheeks turned bright. “I don’t care what you noticed or not. That night with you was the only time I—” She broke off. “This baby is not James’s,” she said crisply. “What earthly reason would I have for being here—” she lifted her arms “—if it were? You think I like facing you and, and telling you—” her voice grew choked “—knowing how you feel about me?”

  “Calm down.”

  “Easy for you to say.” She rushed into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

  He sat there, hearing his pulse pounding in his head. Remembering that April night. The dawn following.

  She’d been shy, yes. At first. But he’d never suspected—

  He shoved to his feet, crossed the room and pushed open the door.

  She was sitting on the closed lid of the commode, tears sliding down her cheeks. And her jaw dropped at his intrusion. “What—”

  “It’s only been six weeks.” He bit out the fact that she’d been so careful to point out to him. “How can you be certain? Do you have any other symptoms? Have you seen a doctor?”

  Her expression went smooth, her eyes remote. “I did a home pregnancy test.”

  “Sometimes they come back false.” He grimaced when she just looked at him. “Another experience from my regrettable marriage.” Before the “I do’s” Carrie’s test had been positive. After, the test was negative. But he couldn’t even accuse her of lying about it, because at that point, he’d still believed she loved him and he’d been right beside her when they’d looked at those test results.

  Carrie had been relieved.

  He hadn’t been. Not at that point, anyway. He’d built their house with a family in mind. A family that had never come. Not for him.

  “Two years later she got pregnant for real,” he added abruptly.

  “With her ex-boyfriend’s child.”

  He studied her for a long moment but could see nothing in her expressionless eyes. “Either you’ve been listening to really old gossip or my sister’s got a big mouth.”

  She didn’t respond to that. “I’ll agree to whatever tests you want.” Her tone was still cool.

  He really, really hated that “royal” face of hers. “Another pregnancy test will do for starters.”

  Her brows lifted, surprise evidently overcoming remoteness. “I meant paternity tests.”

  “I know.” He could only deal with so much at once. “When you arrived in my barn, you were worn out. Exhausted and full of stress. You collapsed, for God’s sake. Let’s just make certain there’s a pregnancy to begin with.”

  She sucked in her lower lip for a moment. “I don’t think now’s a good time for me to stroll into a pharmacy to buy a test kit.”

  He stifled an oath. For a moment there, he’d managed to forget the very reason they were in the guest room at all. “After we get back to the Hollow,” he said. “My sister’s pregnant so often she’s probably got a stockpile of tests.”

  As far as humor went, it fell flatter than a pancake.

  Turning slightly, she swiped her hand over her cheek. As if he couldn’t see perfectly well that she was crying.

  “First things first,” he said gruffly. “Sooner or later, your stalker downstairs will have to eat. Or sleep. And then we’ll get the hell out of this place.”

  * * *

  “Here.” Several hours later, Shayla handed Quinn a set of keys on a key chain with a plastic heart hanging from it. “Mrs. O’Malley said to give these to you, too.”

  It was finally dark and Ophelia had left the B and B, presumably for dinner, though Shayla reported that she’d had her camera with her when she’d gone.

  The teenager—who clearly thought she was taking part in an exciting adventure—had also delivered a knapsack much like the one Amelia had ditched in the airport restroom, filled with clothing and a long blond wig.

  “Those are the keys to Mrs. O’Malley’s van?”

  The girl nodded, looking conspiratorial. “It’s parked at the end of the block in front of the bar. You could see it from your window if you looked out.”

  The bar, Amelia knew, was O’Malley’s and it belonged to Jess’s father-in-law. She looked at Quinn. Aside from working out their escape plan with his sister and Shayla, he hadn’t said much in the past few hours.

  He hadn’t done much except watch Amelia, leaving her to imagine all manner of dark thoughts he was having about her.

  “I can just as easily drive my aunt’s car,
” she argued not for the first time.

  “Ophelia probably already knows it belongs to your aunt,” he returned, also not for the first time. “It’s been sitting there all day even though the post office closed at noon.”

  As long as Ophelia didn’t spot them together, there was no reason for him not to drive his own pickup truck back to Horseback Hollow.

  Her stomach was churning. The longer they’d waited in the pretty guest suite, the crazier she’d felt. The news that Ophelia had left the B and B on foot had been a relief, but it didn’t mean the end of her problems.

  Not by any stretch of the imagination.

  “I’ll change into the clothes then.” It wasn’t as if she had many options. She looked at Shayla. “You’ve been a big help, Shayla.”

  The girl bounced on her toes. “Are you kidding? Nothing interesting ever happens here! I’m just glad my ma’s out on a date tonight. I love her, but if she knew you were here, so would the rest of the town. She can’t keep anything a secret.” Holding her finger to her lips, she slipped out the door and closed it behind her.

  Amelia exhaled and, avoiding Quinn’s gaze, took the clothing into the bathroom. She changed into the diminutive bandage of a skirt that was as bright an orange as Shayla’s hair and the white V-neck shirt that came with it. Amelia wasn’t wearing a bra and when she pulled the thin cotton over her head, she cringed at her reflection. The neckline reached midway down her chest and the shadow from her nipples showed clearly through the fabric.

  If she asked for another blouse, though, they’d be delayed even longer. And they had no idea how long a window Ophelia was unwittingly allowing them. So she swallowed her misgivings and wound her hair into a knot on her head before pulling on the cheap wig that Shayla had provided. The hair was synthetic and an obviously false platinum blond. But it covered Amelia’s dark hair and reached down to her waist.

  As a disguise, she decided she far preferred the boy look she and Molly had attempted.

  She kept the sandals on that she was already wearing. There was nothing distinctive about them and the platform wedges that Shayla had stuck in the knapsack were too small anyway. Then she zipped the discarded dress inside the pack and, hauling in a steadying breath, opened the door to face Quinn.