35
20 March
Austin Manor
Rowan heard the throaty roar of Juliana’s Vantage a split second before the squeal of tires ripped through the air. As quickly as he could, he crutched toward the front room, where he had left Juliana and Jamie. His dogs were hot on his heels but mindful of his movements. Except for Leia. She skittered down the hallway, her nails click-clacking as she scrambled to the door. Her whining began before Rowan reached his destination. If he hadn’t been aware of the turmoil suddenly shattering the peace of his retreat, the crown prince’s defeated countenance would have provided a blinking signal.
“Ran her off, did you?” Rowan asked.
Jamie’s gaze shifted to Rowan. “Should have anticipated her pulling a runner.” He looked back to the window. “Juliana mostly handles anything thrown at her, but when you catch her off guard, it’s her MO. It took the staff three hours to find her one time when I was sick. And when our parents were assassinated, she disappeared for almost a whole day. Never found out where she had gone either,” he finished, more to himself than Rowan.
“She does enjoy making an exit,” Rowan concurred.
Jamie chuckled absently. Rowan continued to study him, but Jamie’s focus remained on the window. He thought if he waited him out, Jamie might tell him what had spooked Juliana, so he crutched his way to the couch and settled in.
Before his injury, he might have remained standing, held the higher ground. A couple inches taller than the prince, Rowan would have calculated that his greater stature would give him some of the power, maybe intimidating the slighter man. Now, he didn’t have that option. Standing on his crutches, no matter how tall he appeared, diminished his presence. This was what he was contemplating when Jamie turned away from his vigil and seated himself across from Rowan.
The two men sized each other up so thoroughly that Rowan thought they might as well have sniffed each other’s arses and gotten the whole thing over like two alpha dogs. His lip must have twitched with amusement because Jamie suddenly smiled and relaxed back in his chair. Rowan wondered if it was breeding or Jamie’s nature that made him seem so stunningly majestic. Twice today, he’d been in the presence of royalty, but this was the first time he felt a little awed.
“Interesting meeting with the queen?” Jamie quipped.
“You could say that. Or, you know, another astonishing play by the duke.” Rowan could have hedged, but he needed to talk this through, and he didn’t think he could wait for Juliana to return.
“Seems a demanding prat.”
Rowan laughed. With one comment, the prince had made himself into a confidant. “He is that.”
“Yes.” Jamie concurred. “So, will we all be attending a wedding in a matter of days?”
The damn man caught him off guard again. Rowan hadn’t anticipated the blunt question and hadn’t had a spare moment to think about an answer. He’d been relatively unmoved by the queen’s ambush earlier in the day. He knew his father well enough to know some scheme had been brewing behind the forced announcements. Mildly curious about the motives and political maneuvering, he hadn’t really thought much about the possibility of being unable to extricate himself from this debacle of his own making. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if his father knew he was bluffing and was merely playing chicken with Rowan, waiting to see who would blink first.
“Appears so,” Rowan answered confidently.
He kept his gaze steady. He expected sweaty palms and nervous fidgeting, but he was surprisingly calm. Until Jamie’s brow rose.
“You’re willing to play this all the way out. But what about Jules? Is she?”
Rowan was fucking gobsmacked. He opened his mouth to deny, or answer, or say anything. But instead, he closed it when the denial he vehemently needed wouldn’t spring from his lips.
Instead, he merely said, “You knew?”
Jamie’s head tilted. “Not at first,” he said. “Not even being around you two. Whatever it is between you, it is real enough to be convincing.”
“There’s really nothing.” Rowan bristled, but the declaration made him twitchy.
“Mmhmm. Well, if that’s what you need to tell yourself,” Jamie remarked. “I suppose it would be simpler if it were true, so I hope for both your sakes, the feelings are more … physical …” he questioned. But when Rowan refused to give in to his fishing expedition, Jamie continued, “If that’s the case, what is the exit strategy?”
Exit strategy.The massive miscalculation hit Rowan all at once. When he’d dreamed up this crafty farce to yet again thwart his father’s plans for him, Rowan had convinced himself he would finally outmaneuver Barrington. So, he would pretend to be in love with a beautiful, if infuriating, woman who had her own reasons for participating.
Big fucking whoop. Piece of cake.
Maybe he should have taken into consideration his own mental state at the time. High on pain medication, depressed over his circumstances, raging mad at his mother, and lulled into some romance-novel scenario by his fifteen-year-old half-sister, he’d not given a thought to the consequences or to the conclusion. In the beginning, however long ago it was now, he’d banked on an ending. Maybe a wicked public fight or a family squabble coming between them. Definitely something dramatic and believable.
With a jolt of surprise, he realized he wasn’t quite ready to let her go. But if he didn’t, did that mean they would have to get married? He shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought of marrying Juliana Altamirano. Unfortunately, his mind wouldn’t let it go, and he conjured a vision of her, decked out in a figure-hugging ivory gown, her hair undone and wild around her shoulders, a delicate tiara buried in the tresses, a luminous smile decorating her lovely, freckled face.
When had things taken a turn between them? Had it been Leia’s obvious worship of her? Juliana’s ability to make fun of him without invoking his ire? Maybe her legs straddling his head and his mouth buried inside of her? He couldn’t pinpoint it, and perhaps he didn’t need to. Maybe he just needed to know something was different.
Finally, he said, “I think my original exit strategy will need to be reconfigured.”
Jamie’s gaze was steady on him, and a trickle of unease stole through Rowan. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
No, I’m not sure of anything.“My only other option is marriage. The plan never included something so drastic.”
“What was the plan then?”
If Jamie hadn’t known for sure the whole thing was a hoax, he absolutely knew it now. Rowan couldn’t work up any upset over his capitulation on the point. There was too much at stake.
“Originally, the plan was to get out of the parade of single nobility crowding Xavier Hall. With this”—Rowan waved an impatient hand at his leg—“there was no escape. When I found out Juliana would be there”—he shrugged—“I asked for her help.”
“I’m sure any of those women would have stepped up. Why Juliana?”
“She owed me,” he snapped.
Jamie bit back a smile, and Rowan cursed his loss of temper. He didn’t like being on the receiving end of an inquisition. But he supposed he was due.
“The situation is more complicated than just you and Jules. Things have denigrated politically over the past six months, as I am sure you are aware. But your little tête-à-tête with the queen is more worrisome than I think you and Jules realize.” Jamie leaned forward, intent on his message. “We need to be prepared, and we need to have a plan. A timeline is already in place. And the clock is ticking. We have T-minus two weeks.”
Jamie’s urgency pressed against Rowan, making him anxious. He was damn sick of the state of his life. He longed for the days when his sole purpose had revolved around a football pitch. This political intrigue, the life his father dreamed of for him, was a noose slipping more tightly around his neck.
Rowan grabbed the back of his neck and rubbed his head. Maybe the quickest way to extricate himself from all of this was to go along with whatever plan they came up with because he was fairly certain the crown prince not only allowed for ingress, but also egress. The only way to get out of this mess might be to get sucked in.
“What is it you want from me?”