Thirteen

“Come with me.”

Robert kept his voice low, using the laughter of the crowd to hide his words. He didn’t look at Cybil Wyatt as he spoke. Instead, his gaze was locked on to Jeannie—or, rather, Lady FitzRoy. He couldn’t believe people were buying this line of BS, but even Landon seemed smitten with her. Or at least smitten with her breasts.

“...in a hospital, for God’s sake,” she said, wobbling toward Landon as she said it. How much had she drunk? Aside from the wine at lunch last weekend, he’d never actually seen her drink before.

Everyone laughed at his expense, Landon loudest of all.

“I can keep you safe,” he added as Landon’s predatory gaze zeroed in on Jeannie. Jeannie had sworn she could handle herself. And he had to admit, she was one hell of a distraction.

His mother’s grip on his arm tightened before she removed her hand entirely. “It’s not safe,” she said, smiling that smile he hated because it was a mask, a lie. “He’ll come after you. He’ll find me.”

Like last time. She didn’t say it, but she didn’t need to.

Mom looked awful. The way she held her body—didn’t anyone else here see the lines of pain around her eyes? The way her shoulders weren’t even? Had that bastard broken her ribs again?

Landon Wyatt was going to pay for everything he’d done.

The world went a little red at the edges, narrowing to Landon and Jeannie. She had another champagne flute in her hand and was waving it around. Champagne sloshed everywhere and people stepped back to make sure they didn’t get hit. Then she took another long drink and all but dropped the flute. A beleaguered waiter caught it before it hit the ground and then Jeannie had a fresh glass.

Landon slid a taunting glance his way and then slid his arm around Jeannie’s waist, pulling her closer so he could whisper in her ear.

Robert’s stomach rolled. Hard. Because he was supposed to be protecting the women he cared about. He wasn’t a kid anymore, forced to stand by and watch helplessly as Landon hurt women in the name of a teachable moment.

This wasn’t happening. Jeannie wasn’t a paid escort. And she knew who she was dealing with.

Trust me, she’d said.

Did he have a choice?

She looked at Robert, a mean smile on her lips. But then her glance bounced to his mother and back to him, her eyes widening just a little, and Robert got the distinct feeling she was telling him something.

“He won’t find you,” Robert told his mother, hiding his mouth behind his glass as he spoke. His plan had been set into motion tonight and he couldn’t stop it if he wanted to—and he didn’t want to. He just needed to be sure Cybil was nowhere near Landon when the chips began to fall. Robert couldn’t bear to think of that bastard blaming Mom when things all fell apart. “He can’t win. But I need you to come with me.”

For what felt like a century, she didn’t answer, didn’t look at him. She laughed politely at something rude Jeannie had said—about Robert, probably. He wasn’t paying attention.

“When?”

Relief hit him so hard he almost cried. “My car is waiting. Jeannie or I will take you there.”

That got her attention. She turned to fully face him, which was a rare mistake. It was never a good idea to give Landon Wyatt your back. “Who?”

“My date.”

Color deepened on Mom’s cheeks as if she was embarrassed that someone else knew their private shame. But all she said was, “Ah,” and turned back to face Landon just as Jeannie pulled away from his grip.

She took another deep drink of her champagne and then held the glass at such an angle that nearly half the contents poured directly onto the floor. “But I’m ignoring our hostess!” she cried in what was truly a terrible British accent.

Robert couldn’t believe people were buying this act. How was he even looking at the same person who blended behind the bar at Trenton’s, ready with the perfect Manhattan and a sympathetic ear? How was this the same woman who’d wrapped a silk tie around his wrists and then wrapped her nearly nude body around his?

She was so much more than just the sum of those moments.

And she was heading straight for him and his mother, pausing only long enough to get another glass of champagne. Landon’s friends—men who had power and wealth, although never as much of either as Landon had—sniggered at the sight of this supposed lady making a complete ass of herself.

“Do you know,” Jeannie began, her words now noticeably slurred, “that I do think this is very good champ—whoopsie!”

She stumbled forward, splashing Mom right in the chest and somehow managing to get a good part of the champagne onto Robert’s sleeve and face, as well.

He nearly burst out laughing. Whoopsie. She’d had this planned from the moment she’d informed him she was coming with him, hadn’t she? By God, he’d never known a woman like Jeannie before.

She wobbled dangerously on her heels, her dress nearly falling off her shoulders and exposing her breasts as she stumbled into Mom. “Oh, dear,” Jeannie said, a hysterical laugh in her voice that made her accent even more awful. “Oh, I’ve made a mess of your lovely dress. Oh, what a pity, it was so pretty. Grafton will be so displeased. Oh,” she said, clutching Mom by the arm and looking properly terrified, “you won’t tell him, will you?”

Mom looked around wildly, wine dripping off her chin and running down her chest. Her makeup gave up its hold on her skin as flesh-colored rivulets ran onto the bodice of her dress.

An uneasy hush had fallen over the crowd. People weren’t sure if they should laugh or offer assistance or what. Another round of flashbulbs went off, reminding everyone that this series of unfortunate events was on the record.

Landon Wyatt shot Robert a look that promised pure pain. Robert didn’t allow himself to shy away. He met Landon’s stare head-on and then wiped alcohol from his chin. Really, Jeannie had done an excellent job making as big a mess as humanly possible.

“No, no,” Mom said, finding her voice and grabbing Jeannie’s hand before she could start smearing the body makeup. “But why don’t you and I go to the ladies’ room? I bet you’ll feel better after we both freshen up.” She looked to her husband—for permission. The pause made Robert’s teeth grind.

This, he vowed, would be the very last time Cybil Wyatt asked her husband for permission to do anything.

Landon nodded. “Perhaps we should cut the duchess off.” He turned back to the crowd. “I suppose the Brits can’t hold their liquor.”

“I’d like to hold her,” someone muttered. Robert didn’t see who’d spoken but he refused to allow himself to react.

Leaning heavily on Mom, Jeannie allowed herself to be led toward the ladies’ room, babbling about how Grafton would be most upset...

She’d missed her calling as an actress; that much was clear. Robert felt an odd sort of pride at her performance. But that was immediately followed by an even odder sort of fear as he caught Landon looking after the women. Robert recognized that look. It seemed benign, that level gaze, that slight quirk to the lips. Friendly, almost.

A shiver raced down Robert’s back and he had to dig his nails into his palm to keep from letting it out. Because the times he’d seen Landon Wyatt look like that—especially if he made it to a full smile—those were some of the worst moments of Robert’s life.

Like a nightmare come to life, Landon’s smile widened.

It didn’t matter that Jeannie hadn’t looked or acted like herself. She was in danger for embarrassing Landon in front of his friends and donors and cameras. Jeannie might as well have painted a big red target on her back, and Robert? He would be in just as much trouble for bringing the notorious Lady FitzRoy to the party in the first place.

That was bad enough. When Landon discovered Jeannie had actually absconded with his wife...

Robert’s lungs wouldn’t move, wouldn’t inflate. It only got worse when Landon turned back to the crowd. His gaze snagged on Robert and the man smirked.

Smirked.

This was Robert’s doing, all of it. He’d agreed to let her come, agreed to let her act the part of a noble drunk. It was Robert’s job to keep Jeannie safe. A deadening hole opened up in his stomach as he realized what that meant.

He had to stay as far away from her as possible. No more lunch dates, no more evening drinks at Trenton’s. It didn’t matter if she went back to work or not; Robert couldn’t risk her by ever darkening the restaurant’s doors again.

Well, that was being a little melodramatic. But as long as Landon Wyatt had power and a means to wield it, he was a threat. Robert had always known that. That was why he was sending his mother halfway around the world. Landon was a threat to Robert, to Mom and now to Jeannie.

Tonight would be it, then.

Robert fought the urge to look at his phone. God willing, in less than two minutes, Reginald would be on his way to the private airfield north of the city, where the plane and flight crew were on standby.

Landon’s smile shifted subtly into a more genial look as Robert felt another trickle of champagne drip off his chin. “She got you, too, eh, son?” he said to chuckles, as if he was a sympathetic father.

“I shouldn’t have let her drink,” Robert replied, because that was a sentiment Landon would approve. “I’m sorry for the mess.”

How many seconds had passed? Had it been a minute? Were they in the elevator yet?

Landon stared at him, his eyes flinty, before his whole face changed into one of good humor. “Go get cleaned up—but I expect to see you back here. I’m giving my big speech in a few minutes and the cameras will be rolling.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Robert said, managing to paste some sort of smile on his face. It must have been appropriate because people made noises of sympathy.

He hadn’t taken three steps before his phone buzzed. Jeannie. Thank God.

Jesus, that woman.

Robert broke into a run.

“Buckle up,” the woman in red said, sounding not particularly drunk nor particularly British.

“Who are you?” Cybil asked, impressed that she could speak at all.

This was really happening. She was really in a private car with a complete stranger who had dragged her into an elevator and then shoved her into a car.

And she was going along with it because the alternative to what was potentially a kidnapping was to stay with Landon.

“A friend of your son’s,” was the reply she got, which was almost comforting. Then the woman in red had her head through the dividing window and was talking to the driver. “Thirty seconds!” the not-lady all but shouted. “Just a few more seconds!”

The driver replied, but Cybil couldn’t make out his words over the pounding of her pulse in her ears.

Landon would be so mad if he knew about this. Bobby was putting himself directly into harm’s way—the very place Cybil had worked so hard to keep him from—and for what? For her?

“I should get back,” she said, fumbling with the seat belt.

“Sorry, Mrs. Wyatt, but that’s not happening.” The woman in red slid into the seat next to her and put a firm hand on the buckle. “And I apologize for ruining your dress. It was pretty.” This strange creature turned her head to the side, appraising Cybil with unnervingly frank eyes.

“He’ll come after Bobby,” Cybil said, her voice breaking on the end. She scrabbled at the woman’s hands, trying to pry them loose of the seat belt. Panic tasted metallic in her mouth. “He’ll hurt my son! I have to protect him!”

“He’s a grown man,” the stranger said, taking hold of Cybil’s hands. Her grip was firm but not cruel. “Bobby is capable of protecting himself. And you, if you’ll trust him. Just trust him.”

The car started to move. “Five more seconds!” the woman yelled at the driver.

“He said to go now!” the driver yelled back.

“What’s happening?” Cybil said, hating how the weakness bled into her voice. Hating that this was what she’d been reduced to. Begging a complete stranger for information.

To her surprise, the woman carefully wrapped an arm around Cybil’s shoulders. “You’re going somewhere safe. Believe me, your husband will never be able to find you.”

The car began to roll again just as the passenger door wrenched open and Cybil screamed as the woman in red shielded her because for a second she thought it was Landon there, eyes blazing, chest heaving, and she knew this time, a few broken bones would be child’s play. But then it was Bobby, her Bobby, climbing into the car and slamming the door shut behind him. Bobby yelling at the driver to go, dammit. Bobby helping the woman into the seat across from Cybil.

Bobby sitting next to her, wrapping his arms around her.

“My son,” she said, promptly ruining his tuxedo jacket with her tears and smeared makeup and spilled champagne.

“I’ve got you, Mom,” he said, his voice breaking as he held her—but gently, like he could tell where she was hurting. “You’re safe now.”

“You’re not,” she wept because Landon would destroy him. Landon would destroy them all. “Why, Bobby? Why would you risk yourself for me?”

“He’s stronger than you think,” the woman said, her voice kind. “Because that’s how you raised him to be.”

Cybil got herself under control. Years of practice made it practically second nature. “Who are you?” she asked because clearly this was someone her son trusted.

The woman smiled. It looked real and soft, and unfamiliar hope fluttered in Cybil’s chest. Had Bobby found someone?

But then the woman spoke and dashed her hopes. “I’m his bartender.”