Robert was not nervous because he was a Wyatt and Wyatts didn’t get nervous. Anxiety was a symptom of uncertainty, and Wyatts were confident and sure at all times.
So the sense of unease, the sweaty palms, the unsettled stomach—absolutely not nerves. He wasn’t concerned about how tonight would go. He had no worries about the traps he’d laid and how it’d all unfold in the public eye. He was confident he could get his mother away and handle Landon.
Robert was positive he could handle himself. Which was why he wasn’t nervous at all.
He was excited to see what the stylists had done with Jeannie, that was all. Kelly had sent over a team of three people—hair, makeup and clothes. He anticipated seeing her dressed for his world.
God, he missed her.
It’d been a week since he’d brought her into his home. Seven days since he’d allowed her to touch him. Allowed himself to take comfort in another person. All he’d focused on in that time was laying the groundwork to remove the threat that was Landon Wyatt.
Missing her was more familiar now, a sensation he recognized. It was the same feeling that had thrown him off the night she hadn’t appeared at the bar. The same longing that had gripped him after he’d brought her home after their date.
Date. Ha. As if that word got anywhere close to accurately describing their afternoon together. Something as simple as lunch didn’t leave him a changed man.
And she had changed him, damn her.
The strange thing was...well, he’d missed her. Not just the way she talked to—or texted—him, although he did miss that because no one else dared argue with him. But then, no one else listened like she did, either.
Because of what she’d done—what he’d let her do—he had achieved something he’d always assumed to be beyond him.
Sex with Jeannie had been different. So very different, in fact, that he’d been able to keep it separate from his previous experiences. He’d stayed in the moment. Did she have any idea how unusual that was? Of course not. But he’d been lost to the way the silk had bitten into his skin, the way she’d ground down onto him, her weight warm and slick and silent. Perhaps too silent but after all those times marked by fake moans and real screams, it’d been a gift.
She’d given him the gift of something new, something real. He’d watched her take her pleasure, her body drawing his in, tightening around him, and she’d been raw and honest and even now, after a week, it still left him wanting more.
Which was bad.
Wasn’t tonight proof? She’d left him in a weakened position, one where he allowed her to convince him to bring her to meet his parents, of all the damn things.
He wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t losing his grip. Because Robert Wyatt would’ve never agreed to this. Introducing her to Landon was not just a bad idea—it carried real risks for Jeannie. For them both.
Reginald parked in front of Jeannie’s little house and some of what was definitely not nervousness eased. Well. It was too late to turn back now. The plans had been set into motion. The newspaper photographer and guards were already in place. Kelly, Robert’s assistant, had a plane on standby.
And Robert had personally interviewed the nurse, a young single woman with impressive grades, exceptional references, a valid passport and a desire to see the world, in addition to numerous outstanding student loans and a sister who had no means of affording higher education. She had been more than willing to relocate to a foreign country for six to twelve months at the salary and signing bonus Robert was offering.
Perhaps tonight would go well. He would get his mother to leave with him and, ideally, they’d show the world who Landon Wyatt really was.
They’d just need a distraction.
Would Jeannie really throw a glass of wine into Landon’s face? Oh, who was he kidding? Of course she would. The better question was, what else would she do?
This was madness.
Reginald opened Robert’s door and he stood, surveying the scene before him. Good. The yard had been trimmed and he was fairly certain there were new shrubs around the foundation. The housepainters were due to start after the roofers had finished, which was scheduled for next week.
He almost smiled as he strode up the sidewalk. Jeannie’s little house was small and cramped and no one would ever accuse it of conveying wealth or power or even taste but...there was something he liked about climbing those three simple steps, about the way her door swung open before he could ring the bell, about seeing her...
Everything came to a sudden halt. His breathing, his heart, his forward movement—all stopped.
“Robert.” She smiled, this goddess, blessing him with her benevolent kindness. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Oh, dear God. He had to catch himself on the railing to keep from stumbling back. “Jeannie?”
The goddess’s eyebrow notched up as she grinned at him and then it all snapped back into place and he could see Jeannie underneath the dramatic makeup, the big hair and that dress.
“Well?” she said with what sounded like a knowing smirk. He couldn’t tell for sure because he was too busy staring at that dress. She did a little turn. “What do you think?”
Robert lurched forward, grabbing on to the door frame. A wave of lust, pure and intense, nearly brought him to his knees. He’d seen her body dressed in nothing but those lacy pink underthings. Seen the trimmed swath of dark hair that covered her sex, watched in fascination as her fingers had stroked over it while he strained to be deeper inside her, more a part of her.
But he’d never seen her like this.
His bartender was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Jeannie had been completely transformed. Her short hair had been blown out so that it crowned her head, a far cry from the sleek style she normally wore. Her eyes were dark and mysterious, lips two shades darker than the red dress. Diamonds dripped off her ears and an enormous diamond teardrop pendant hung nestled between her breasts, which were barely contained by the vee of her dress that went almost to her waist. The rest of the dress clung to her hips and legs in a way that could only be described as indecent.
She was bold and scandalous and, most important, completely unrecognizable.
She was perfect.
“Hmm,” she mused, her lips forming a little pout. He noticed, which meant he’d apparently stopped staring at her body. “I do believe I’ve stunned you speechless. It’s quite different from your normal silence.” She touched the tip of her tongue to her top lip. Robert had to bite back a groan. “Yes,” she practically hummed and he realized he barely recognized her voice. She bit off her vowels differently, held herself taller. Although maybe it was the dress? “Quite different.”
Maja appeared from the baby’s room. “See?” she clucked in that grandmotherly way. “I told you it’d work.”
Jeannie beamed and there she was again, his Jeannie. “I was afraid the dress was too much—to say nothing of the danged diamonds, Robert,” she explained, as if Robert had asked a question when all his brain wanted to do was peel that dress off her and get lost in her body again. And again. And again, until nothing else mattered. “The stylists brought a black one but—”
“But with her coloring—” Maja added. Dimly, Robert realized she was holding the baby “—red was the obvious color,” she concluded, sounding triumphant. “The color of luck.”
“Yes,” he managed to agree. Somehow.
Jeannie turned back to him and she was different again. He couldn’t say how, but she was. “And you,” she said, her hips swaying indecently as she moved toward him. “That’s quite a tuxedo you’re filling out there, Robert.” She reached out and straightened his tie.
He nodded, which was probably not the correct reaction but it was all he had. What had she texted him?
She could blend. She’d promised.
By God, this was not blending. And he couldn’t care less.
“Go on now,” Maja said, scooping something off the coffee table and handing it to Jeannie. A handbag, small and black and sparkling. “Enjoy your night. I’ll be here the whole time so...”
Her words trailed off and Robert realized the nanny was giving them both permission not to come home.
Well. He did pay her for going above and beyond, didn’t he?
He nodded again, this time managing to find his usual imperiousness. Jeannie smoothed his lapels, sending licks of fire over his chest. But then she notched an eyebrow at him again and he saw the challenge in her eyes.
“Thank you,” he added. Maja inclined her head in acknowledgment.
Jeannie beamed up at him and it took every last bit of self-restraint he had not to pull her into his arms and mess up her lipstick. This time he wanted to touch her, to see her body bared completely. By candlelight. He wanted to feel her hands on him. He wanted to taste her, every single part, his lips on her skin, inside her body.
To hell with the perfect Manhattan. He would be forever drunk on her.
“We should go,” she said softly in that strange voice of hers, giving his lapels a pat.
“Yes,” he said, barely recognizing his own voice.
She turned and walked—swayed—back to Maja. “Be good tonight, sweetie,” she said, brushing her fingertips over Melissa’s head. “Love you.”
Robert had to grip the door frame again because this was something new and real and he didn’t know how to make sense of it, this display of maternal affection. There was something so right about Jeannie looking down at the baby with such tenderness.
Then she turned back to him, a sultry smile playing across her lips. “Shall we?”
“Yes,” he repeated again.
“Have fun!” Maja called out after them.
Working in silence, Cybil applied the thick foundation liberally, blending it all the way down her neck. Lupe, her maid, spread it over Cybil’s back and shoulders, covering the bruises. They hadn’t faded yet and if Landon saw any trace of his violence...
It’d be so much easier if she could wear a dress with a jacket, but Landon had chosen a deep blue gown for her to wear tonight and of course it was off the shoulder, with an attached capelet. Elegant and sophisticated—and it left her décolletage and shoulders bare.
Lupe finished with the makeup and began to fix Cybil’s hair into an upswept French twist. They worked in silence. In theory, Lupe’s English was not very good, which made conversation difficult. In practice, Cybil had learned long ago not to trust a single person on staff.
Tonight she was going to see Bobby again. He was coming, his assistant had assured Landon’s assistant, Alexander. He would be there. She would see her son with her own eyes, see that he was healthy and whole and, she dared to hope, happy, even. That she’d kept him safe by staying, by keeping Landon away from Bobby.
She dared to hope that Bobby had forgiven her for leaving. That he understood she’d done so to protect him.
She dared to hope...
But she did not allow any of this hope to show. No excitement danced in her eyes as she watched Lupe work in the mirror. She was resigned to her role as hostess for the gala, a role she could perform effortlessly. She was prepared to act the politician’s wife, smiling widely as her husband lied through his teeth about how he cared for this state, this city, the millions of people whose lives he could improve—or ruin. She’d had years of practice, after all.
And if Bobby offered her shelter again...
She couldn’t go to his home. She couldn’t risk him like that again. But surely, he knew that. Surely, he wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
Dear Lord, Cybil prayed, please don’t let me make the same mistake again, either.
There had to be a way.
“Are you breathing?” Jeannie asked as the car crawled through downtown traffic.
She stroked her thumb over Robert’s knuckles. He had a hell of a grip on her hand. She’d explained the persona she was adopting tonight and she could tell he wasn’t 100 percent on board. Not that she could blame him.
This was, hands down, the craziest thing she’d ever done.
“Yes,” he said after a long moment in which she was pretty sure he hadn’t breathed. “I’m fine.”
“I doubt it.” She saw a quick flash of teeth. “Is there a plan? Because I can wing it but this sort of feels like one of those situations where a plan would be a good idea.” After another few seconds, she added, “Sharing it would be an even better idea.”
His grip tightened on her hand and she had to work hard not to gasp. “Reginald will be parked by the service entrance in the basement, engine running. There’s a service elevator in the back, next to the restrooms. It’s down a short hallway.” He cleared his throat, sounding painfully nervous. “If I can get her to come with me, we’ll leave without a look back.”
She thought on that for a moment as she fiddled with the heavy diamond pendant. The rock alone was probably worth more than she made in a year, not to mention the earrings or the dress. A Valentino dress, for God’s sake! She was easily wearing thirty, forty thousand dollars’ worth of fabric and diamonds. Which was not a huge deal to Robert but, if she let herself think about it too much, it would easily freak her the heck out.
But tonight she wouldn’t fret about cost or Robert’s world. Tonight she was going to waltz into that gala party on his arm like she owned the damn room and if it took three stylists, diamonds and a Valentino to do it, so be it. “So I’m to...what, distract your father while you two make a run for the airport?”
“God, no—you stick with me.” He pulled his hand free and—shockingly—adjusted his cuffs. “You are not to be alone with him under any circumstances. Ever.”
She almost rolled her eyes at his tone. “I can handle myself, Robert. I’ve been fending off drunks and avoiding wandering hands since I was a teenager. Don’t worry.”
His head swung around and even in the dark interior of the car, she shivered at his intensity. “You are not to be alone with him, Jeannie.” His voice was dangerously quiet, all the more menacing for it. “Ever.”
“O...kay. So how do we know he won’t follow us?”
“He won’t want to make a scene. The whole point of tonight is to put on a public performance.”
She mulled over the options. “What if—and I’m just throwing this out there—what if I can get your mom alone? Like, we go to the ladies’ room together. You can stay behind to keep an eye on your father and I can get her to the car.” Assuming Mrs. Wyatt would go with Jeannie. A complete stranger.
But it would be easy to get her alone. She needed a drink. One that stained would be best.
Robert’s expression reflected doubt. “Reginald knows where to go. Everything else is ready. Take her and leave.” He leaned over, his fingertips barely brushing over her cheek. “Just be safe. I...I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you.”
Oh, Robert. “Listen to me, you stubborn man. I will be fine. It’s you I’m worried about.” He was already a mess. The average person wouldn’t be able to tell, but she knew. His voice was rough and he was straightening his cuffs again. Worst of all, his leg had begun to jump. “If you can get an opening, promise me you’ll take it. Send me two texts in a row—so I know you’re gone and I’ll get away. Trust me, Robert. Don’t worry.”
“I’m a Wyatt,” he said sternly as the car pulled up in front of a building right off the Magnificent Mile, as if that was the cure for the world’s ills. “We never worry.” But then the hard lines of his face softened and the very corners of his lips curved up in a faint smile. “Ready to crash a party?”
She grinned. “Hell, yes.”
Reginald opened the door for them, his normally jovial face a blank mask. Robert handed her out of the car and then tucked her fingers into the crook of his arm. Then he murmured, “Be ready,” as they passed and Reginald nodded smartly before closing the door behind them.
A crush of people waited to get through security. The crowd was a sea of black—black tuxedos, black gowns—Jeannie was suddenly glad she’d gone with the red. Her role was to be a distraction and in this dress, she stood out like a siren. Seriously, her boobs in this dress were practically works of art. For how much this dress cost, they damn well better be.
Jeannie squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and tried to look bored as Robert cut through the crowd. A weaselly-looking man with thinning hair stood at the front of the line.
Robert leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Alexander, Landon’s loyal assistant.”
She nodded, sticking close to Robert’s side. Loyal? In other words, this was not a person to be trusted. It was easy to look all icy and disapproving when that was exactly how she felt.
When the weasel caught sight of Robert, he waved them past security, calling, “Dr. Wyatt? This way.” Someone in line started to protest, but Robert swung around, daring anyone to complain with a cold glare. Jeannie tried to match his look.
The crowd fell oddly silent in the face of Robert’s displeasure. Somewhere nearby, a camera flashed.
Which was good because Jeannie needed to remember that she wasn’t here with Robert, a complicated and conflicted man who cared for sick children and infants and who had literally been the answer to her prayers. No, she was here with Dr. Robert Wyatt, of the Chicago Wyatts, a billionaire bachelor and one of the most powerful, dangerous men in the state.
Time to own this room.
She let her gaze slide over the people she passed as if she couldn’t be bothered to see them. Alexander led them through the crowd, up a spiral staircase. She was barely able to keep up with Robert’s long strides in the strappy black sandals the stylist had put her in to go with this dress.
But even if she didn’t acknowledge the other party-goers, she could feel their reactions as she and Robert moved effortlessly through their ranks. People stopped and stared as they passed, but the moment they’d gone by, the loud whispers started.
Hadn’t there been rumors of a falling-out between the elder Wyatt and the younger?
How gauche that Wyatt dirtied his hands practicing medicine.
And who was she?
Dear God, was Jeannie really doing this? This was more than just crashing a gala. This was pulling a fast one over on the person who could put the fear of God into Robert.
She stiffened her spine. Go big or go home.
“This way,” Alexander said. He glanced at Jeannie and she stared down her nose at him, daring him to make a comment about Robert bringing a date.
He didn’t. Instead, he led them to where a handsome man, almost as tall and almost as broad as Robert, was holding court. Landon Wyatt, billionaire gubernatorial candidate and total asshole. Not that anyone else would know it. All the tuxedoed men and glamorous women around him laughed heartily at his jokes, champagne flutes in hand, gems glittering at their necks and wrists and ears.
They sounded like jackals. Maybe they were. Thank God she didn’t recognize any of them as customers from Trenton’s.
Next to Landon stood an elegant older woman, smiling brightly and occasionally touching her husband on the arm or shoulder as he talked, as if she had to let him know where she was at all times. As Alexander wormed his way through to the inner circle, Robert’s mother caught sight of them.
Although the crowd was too loud to hear Cybil Wyatt, Jeannie physically felt the woman’s sharp inhalation, saw the overwhelming longing in her eyes.
Alexander tugged on Landon Wyatt’s sleeve and motioned to Robert with his chin. By the time Landon turned to his wife, her face was carefully blank.
Wyatt’s face was how Jeannie might’ve imagined kings of old looking when a foreign dignitary dared grace his throne room. “Ah, here he is. Robert, my boy, how have you been?”
Jeannie felt the tension in Robert’s arm. Say something, she mentally ordered him.
“Father,” he managed. Then he looked to Cybil. “Mother.” He cleared his throat and his arm moved and Jeannie knew that if she hadn’t had a hold of him, he would’ve been straightening his cuffs.
This was exactly why she’d insisted on coming tonight. Robert could be intense and scary—boy, could he—but when faced with his father in front of a crowd, he froze up.
Landon’s gaze flicked over her. “What do we have here? I didn’t realize you were bringing a date, son.”
She gave Robert a whole two seconds to respond but when he didn’t she stepped into the gap. “How do you do,” she said in her snootiest British accent. She released Robert’s arm and extended her hand to Landon, palm down. “Lady Daphne FitzRoy. Charmed.”
“Lady FitzRoy?” Landon said, his lip curling as if he instinctively knew she was an imposter.
“Of the London FitzRoys?” She sighed heavily and let her gaze narrow dismissively. She hadn’t been reading historical romances for the last fifteen years or so for nothing. All those ballroom scenes, with cuts direct and dukes and duchesses—an informal education in the British aristocracy was about to pay off big time. “But of course. I forget how you Americans are. Perhaps you’ve heard of my brother? The Duke of Grafton?”
Because nothing caught the attention of a bully like a good old-fashioned reminder of where he really stood in the food chain.
And it worked like a freaking charm. Landon Wyatt inhaled, his nostrils flaring as his pupils darkened and for a fleeting second, Jeannie understood exactly why Robert was terrified of this man. She felt like a little rabbit who’d just realized the wolf was pouncing.
But she was no meek bunny. She cleared her throat and shot a disdainful look at her extended hand.
Wyatt got the hint. He pressed cold lips to the back of her hand. Jeannie refused to allow her skin to prickle. “I’m not familiar with the FitzRoys of London,” he admitted, putting humor into his voice. “But welcome! Any sister of nobility is a friend of mine. And, apparently,” he added, cutting a glance to Robert, “a friend of my son’s. Well done, Robert.”
Had she thought a wolf? That was wrong. He was a snake, one with hypnotizing eyes.
She wouldn’t let him charm her. She tugged her hand free and turned to Robert’s mother. “You must be Cybil. Delighted, I’m sure.” Jeannie kept her voice bored, determined not to give away her interest in Robert’s mother.
“I didn’t realize Bobby—Robert—was bringing a guest,” Cybil said, her gaze darting between her son and Jeannie. “How...nice to make your acquaintance.”
Years of observing customers kicked in and Jeannie noticed Cybil Wyatt wore her makeup too thick and that it went all the way down her neck and across her chest. Hiding bruises, maybe? She held her left shoulder higher than her right and her smile only used half her mouth, as if her jaw on the right side pained her.
Jeannie caught sight of a waiter and impatiently snapped her fingers, mentally apologizing to the dude. People who snapped for attention at the bar got either too much ice in their glasses or a small pour.
He hurried over, looking not the least bit bothered by her rudeness. Jeannie took two glasses from his tray and handed one to Robert. “Is this champagne or that American knockoff you all seem so proud of?” she asked in a voice too loud to be a whisper.
She physically felt people pull back. Good. She’d shocked them—which meant they wouldn’t be able to stop looking at her.
With a light laugh, Cybil said, “The champagne is French, I assure you. Sparkling white wine just isn’t the same, is it?” Her gaze darted to her husband and then she stepped around him. “It’s so good to see you,” she said, gripping Robert by the biceps. Jeannie could hear the truth of it in her voice. “I’m so glad you came.”
“So am I,” he said, staring down at his mother, his concern obvious. Then he seemed to snap out of it. “Daphne was curious how politics work in America.”
Right. This was her role. She waved this comment away, slugging back half her glass. She’d need to look drunk in relatively short order. “He exaggerates, of course. Politics and politicians are a complete and utter bore.”
The hangers-on actually gasped out loud at this brazen insult but Jeannie refused to cower. She would not cede a bit of her pretend high ground. She was counting on keeping Wyatt’s attention by pretending to be beyond his spheres of influence. Instead, she rolled her shoulder in a not-apology.
After a beat too long, Wyatt burst out laughing and quickly, everyone around them joined in. “Ah, that dry British humor,” he said out loud, his hand closing around her wrist like a manacle and drawing her by his side. Which was not a safe place to be, but it had the advantage of pushing Cybil and Robert a little farther away. “Tell me about yourself, Duchess.” This last was said in an openly mocking tone.
“Oh, I’m not a duchess. That’s my sister-in-law. You may address me as Lady FitzRoy.” She said it pointedly because a true lady would demand respect.
“My lady,” Wyatt said, his mouth moving in what might have been a grin. Oh, he was playing along but Jeannie knew he hadn’t decided if she was legit or not. “Do tell.”
“What is there to say?” She finished her champagne and snapped at the waiter, who hurried to exchange her glass for a full one. “Grafton—my brother—does his part in the House of Lords but he’s dreadfully dull, as I said. So responsible.” She let her lip curl in distaste but at the same time, she brushed an invisible piece of lint off Wyatt’s shoulder and let her fingers linger. “Tell me, why would anyone want to run for office? Especially someone of your considerable stature? Public service is just so public. I’d think it’d be beneath a man of your obvious...talents.” She cut a dismissive glance at Robert. “Like working. In a hospital, for God’s sake,” she added in a stage whisper that everyone heard.
Oh, that did the trick. Wyatt threw back his head with a brutal laugh—real humor at the expense of his son. A shiver of terror went down her back, but she smiled and notched an eyebrow at him, playing along. She saw the answer in Wyatt’s eyes when he looked at her—he was drunk on power and like any addict, he needed more.
But like a good politician, he said, “As you know, we Wyatts are quite well-off.”
She rolled her shoulder in that dismissive shrug again as if being billionaires was just so much dross.
His pupils dilated. He was enjoying himself. Good. “I don’t seek the office of the governor for myself, you understand. I have everything I could ever want.” Wyatt’s gaze dipped to her breasts. She repressed a shudder. “It’s time to give back to the good people of Illinois. They deserve more and, having managed my company for so long, I alone have the skills to set things right and steer this great state into the future!”
The fawning jackals broke out in applause. Flashbulbs flashed.
Jeannie snapped for the poor waiter again because Lady Daphne FitzRoy was a bitch—and an alcoholic at that. She exchanged her half-empty glass for a full one and drank deeply. She needed to look sloppy drunk.
She could feel Robert’s gaze on her.
She refused to look.