The Fake Husband. Lynnette Kent
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on panic. “Who is this person?”
“No, Mom, it’s not like that. I met him yesterday at lunch. Andrew Lewellyn, Mr. Lewellyn’s son. And he was so obnoxious, I couldn’t believe it.”
From upset to panic to horror…Erin had met Rhys’s son on his first day at school. “And…?”
“He said his dad wouldn’t let me ride Imperator even if I did take lessons.”
“That’s probably true.”
“But I’m good enough. I know I am. Anyway, then Cathy said we kinda look alike—we both have black hair and blue eyes. So I said I’d be a redhead by today, so I couldn’t possibly look anything like such a jerk.” She posed her hands on either side of her hair. “And—ta-da!—here I am.”
Oh, dear God. An unobservant teenager had noticed the resemblance between Erin and Andrew. It would only be a matter of time until more perceptive people commented. Jacquie saw her worst fears cascading toward her like an avalanche.
At least Erin’s red hair might give her a little extra time. But only a little. Somehow, she had to deflect this disaster.
And Rhys would have to help her.
SLOUCHED IN A CHAIR Tuesday night, half asleep and half intoxicated, Rhys considered not answering the phone’s insistent ring but, at the last minute, changed his mind. “Fairfield Farms, Lewellyn speaking.”
“Rhys, it’s Jacquie.”
The glass between his fingers slipped to the floor, spilling the dregs of his fourth…or fifth?…brandy. “Damn,” he muttered, awkwardly getting down on his knees to rescue the leased carpet.
“I beg your pardon?” Her voice was as stiff as his mother’s starched tablecloths.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean that for you. I spilled a drink.” He blotted the wet spot with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I didn’t expect to hear from you again. Ever.”
“I know. But…I’ve thought about it, and I think we should meet. Dinner will be okay, if you’re free. Friday night?”
Rhys eased back into his chair. “Why does it sound as if you’re facing the guillotine?”
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. Does seven work for you? At the Starting Gate?”
“I assume that’s a restaurant. You’ll have to give me directions.”
She did so in a hurried, distracted voice that told him she couldn’t wait to get out of the conversation, and Rhys didn’t push her. Whatever was wrong, he had a feeling she would offer the explanation Friday night. If she didn’t offer, then he would push.
HE ARRIVED EARLY at the restaurant just for the pleasure of watching her come toward him across the room, and the experience didn’t disappoint him. She wore her hair loose, glinting like strands of soft, rosy gold draped across her deep blue sweater. In dark pants and boots, her walk wasn’t a feminine sway but the strong, direct stride of a strong woman. Rhys shifted in his chair, thinking he really was too old to be turned on by a woman’s looks.
But then, this wasn’t just any woman.
He stood as she reached the table and went around to pull out her chair. “Hello, again. I’m glad to see you.” She took her seat without answering, or even meeting his gaze.
The waiter appeared at his elbow. “Drinks, sir? Or wine?”
With a tilt of his hand, Rhys deferred the question to Jacquie. She shook her head. “Could I have some coffee? I got chilled on the way here,” she explained, when the waiter had left. “I’d really like to warm up.”
“Your fingers do look frozen.” Rhys reached out to touch her, just a stroke of his fingertips, and was startled when she jerked her hands off the table, into her lap. His patience, which stretched much further for horses than humans, suddenly snapped.
“I think we need to cut to the chase.” Folding his arms along the edge of the table, he leaned closer and held her gaze by sheer force of will. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but I am sure I’m tired of playing games. Why are we here, Jacquie? What do you have to say to me?”
The waiter, with impeccable timing, returned at that moment with their coffee. And then wanted to take their orders, which required consulting the menu. But with all those details taken care of, tension still bracketed the table, isolating them from the other diners.
“Well?” He took hold of his coffee mug with both hands. “I’m waiting.”
Jacquie’s eyes widened, as they had on her first day at his barn in New York when she’d arrived at the riding ring two minutes after the scheduled lesson time. For a second, Rhys relived his own immediate attraction to the girl with the sunny green gaze, which made him even more brusque. “Come on, Jacquie. You were never one to avoid a fence.”
“You’re right.” Her voice was steadier now. “Although this one’s been a long time coming.” She drew a deep breath. “You asked me why I left without saying anything.”
“Yes.”
“You came to my room that night, in New York, to tell me your…wife…had returned. She was pregnant, you said, and the man she had been living with didn’t want your baby.”
Hearing her relate the memory brought all the anguish rushing back. “I remember.”
When he didn’t say anything else, Jacquie continued. “I was hurt, of course, that you’d chosen your wife over me. And furious that you’d slept with her so recently before we…” She picked up her coffee and took a sip. “But I knew your decision was the right one, and I couldn’t stay to make the situation more difficult.”
“Where did you go?”
“Oklahoma. I got a job as a nanny for a family with horses, so I taught lessons, as well.”
“And you met this Archer and married him?”
She stared at him for a long time, her lips pressed together. “I…no. There is no husband. I invented him because I couldn’t come home as an unwed mother with an illegitimate child.”
Setting down her coffee, Jacquie looked him straight in the eyes. “Your child, Rhys. My daughter, Erin Elizabeth Archer, is also yours. The only proof you’ll need is a single glance at her beautiful face.”
His breath left him, just as it had after his fall from Imperator. He could only manage a whisper. “Say it again.”
“We were going to have a child together. I was pregnant.”
“Dear God.” She was a virgin, their first time together. He didn’t have to wonder if there’d been others.
Their waiter, timely as ever, brought a dinner that neither of them touched. Rhys pushed his plate away first. “You could have written, or called. I would have helped.”
Jacquie stared for a second at the green bean on the end of her fork, then returned it to the plate. “I didn’t want to hear you suggest an abortion.”
“I wouldn’t do that.” He hoped he wouldn’t have done that. But he had been an arrogant young man.
“And I didn’t want to be bought off with your family’s money.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“If your parents had gotten wind of my condition, they would’ve done whatever they thought would protect their precious son. They might have tried to take my baby away altogether.”
Her bitterness ran deep, with justification. His parents had not treated her with respect. “They aren’t bad people.”
“Just people with money who are used to getting their own way.” She didn’t smile, made no effort to take the sting out of the comment.