His Dutchess

chapter 18

Samantha pushed her arms into his shirt. After buttoning it up, she carefully

removed her bra and then leaned down to remove her jeans. When she kicked free of her clothes and straightened to her full height, Blake’s eyes were riddled with desire so thick she felt sorry for him. The cool water dripping off her hair and down her back did a decent job of chilling her libido.

“You’re wicked.” Blake’s hungry words made her laugh.

He reached for her but she squealed and managed to duck away. He let his hands drop.

“Take a cold shower, Blake. I said I’d think about it.”

“I’ll get naked and we can think about it together.”

She laughed. “Even if I decided to go for your completely foolish proposal, I wouldn’t act on it now… not with a camera in the next room.”

Blake’s rubbed his hands down both sides of his face. “But we’re trying to convince whoever is watching that we did… why not just—”

“Not gonna happen,” she cut him off. “Take a cold shower.” Wearing her underwear and Blake’s shirt, Samantha slipped from the bathroom and smiled as she continued with her packing.

****

They packed a minimal of things, mainly clothes and personal items Samantha needed immediately. Then Blake suggested they hire a moving company to do the rest. He went out of his way to mention his intention in front of the camera in her livingroom. With any luck, whoever planted the surveillance cameras would scramble to remove them before the movers had a chance of finding them.

Neil had already hired some friends to watch the house to follow and record whoever came and went. They might get lucky, find the culprit, and put an end to their watchful eyes.

Back at his Malibu home, Blake informed his staff that any and everything Samantha needed was to be taken care of immediately. She had complete charge of his house and expected her to be treated like the duchess she was. He considered her small role here a launching pad for what was to come.

“It’s been a long time since I had a maid,” Sam told him once they were alone.

“I can’t have my wife doing housework.” He was prepared for her fight, and smiled when she didn’t challenge him.

“I never liked mopping floors. You’ll get no argument from me.”

Such blatant honesty and about the simplest of things, pleased him.

“You won’t have time for that anyway,” he informed her. They sat out on the veranda and watched the sun setting over the Pacific.“Why’s that?”

“I need you to talk to the caterers and designers about the reception at Albany Hall.”

“You want me to plan a party for a place I’ve never been, for people I’ve never met?”

Blake sent her a sympathetic look. “I need you to approve what they come up with. I trust my staff there completely, but I need them to be prepared to ask you about these things when we get there. It’s best we start that relationship now.”

She stretched her legs out on the chaise and tucked them under a blanket. “Is this the first party you’ve thrown at your home?”

“No.”

“Then who planned them before? I can’t see you doing it.”

Her mind was so sharp. “My mother did most of the party planning.”

Although his mother would want to continue planning everything in his ancestral home, he wanted to make certain Samantha had choice over everything.

Sam’s curiosity didn’t sit long before she started asking more questions.

“Where does your mother live?”

“Albany Hall.”

“She lives in your house?” There was a small amount of surprise in Sam’s voice.

Blake wondered how much he should reveal, how much truth he could trust his wife with. He started with the facts that would be easily obtained if Samantha bothered looking.

“My mother was the Duchess of Albany for the time she’d been married to my father. After his death, she kept the title, until I married you.”

“Ouch. Talk about a wedge between a mother and a daughter-in-law. This can’t be a good thing.”

Blake shifted in his seat to look at his wife.

“It’s expected. She knew the day would come sooner than later. Once my father’s will was read I’m sure she realized I’d do everything in my power to secure my inheritance.”

“How close are you and your mother?”

“We do okay.”

“That doesn’t sound hopeful.”

The air around him started to chill. There was a time when he and his mother had been close. When they had a common goal of hating his father. “You don’t have to worry about her.”

Samantha seemed to gather the information, process it, and then kick out a

solid assessment. “But there is someone I need to worry about, isn’t there?”

He wanted to lie, but couldn’t. With Sam, if felt wrong to let white lies begin and possibly wedge between them. “My cousin. He’s on my short list of people who might have planted those cameras in your home.”

“You’re kidding?”

“I wish I was. Howard stands to inherit a hefty sum should our marriage fail.”

“I take it the two of you aren’t chummy.”

“Barely tolerate each other is a better description. He stays at Albany as often as he can manage. My mother is too kind to send him away.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I’m not there enough to care. Though now that will change.”

“How so?” Samantha said.

“My mother has the right to live in the house until the estate turns over to me next year. It’s understood that once I took a wife, she, you, would take on the duties of Duchess and my mother would move to the smaller estate on the grounds.” He didn’t expect Sam to take all this in and understand it. But he wanted her to grasp most of it before they left for Europe.

“I don’t think I’ve done enough research on your family home. I assumed Albany Hall was a convenient name for a manor house. Something you British used to make things grander than they are.” Samantha played with a lock of her hair as she spoke. Her eyes kept drifting toward the sea.

“Once you see Albany Hall, you’ll understand my reluctance to choose a bride.”

“Hmm, you know, something has bothered me since we met.”

“What’s that?”

“Why don’t you have a British accent? You grew up there, right?”

Memories of hearing his father scold him for not speaking properly chased around in his head. Blake did everything he could to go against his father’s wishes, right down to speaking American English and not the Queen’s English.

“I spent summers at Albany when I was in boarding school. Every chance we could, my mother took my sister and I here to the States. I immersed myself in American culture.” Blake noticed the fog bank drifting closer as his mind drifted with it. “I rebelled against my father on many levels.”

“Do you think that dissension between the two of you prompted him to make it more difficult to collect your inheritance?”

Blake gave a curt shake of his head. “My father had to have the last word. Even in death.”

“Was he that awful in life?”

“My father was a typical British Royal. Old money filled his pockets and awarded him with the ability to be a pompous jackass whenever he wanted. He married my mother knowing he’d be unfaithful.” He remembered the first time he’d seen his mother crying over his father’s infidelity. A British tabloid

splashed his father’s face over the cover with a woman ten years younger on his arm.

That was when the trips to America began to shape Blake’s life. “He thought he was entitled to walk on people.”

“Why didn’t your mother leave him?” The softness in Samantha’s voice forced Blake’s attention away from the sea. Her bright green eyes watched him through lowered lashes, as if she were an intruder carefully trying to avoid detection.

“I don’t know. Money, probably. They never spoke of divorce. They lived separate lives most of the time. After my sister was born they stopped sleeping in the same room.”

“So was your hatred for how your father treated your mother what pushed the two of you apart?”

Did he really hate his father? Blake never put such a strong word to his emotions. He didn’t like the man, no doubt about that. “My father wanted me to be just like him. ‘Go to school, get an education, but don’t think you have to work more than a day a week.’”

Blake let his father’s accent bleed into his

mockery.

A sad smile spread over Samantha’s face.

“So your rebellion was to make your own fortune.”

Blake sat taller. “I funneled my allowance into stock in the shipping company I now own. Halfway through college, I made my first million. My father was furious.”

“He wanted to control you,” Samantha said.

“He couldn’t do that if you were a self-made man.”

Blake stared at his wife and had an overwhelming sense of pride. He couldn’t

remember anyone ever diving this deep into his past and concluding everything so perfectly. Samantha listened and truly heard what he said. “Exactly.”

“Tell me then, why work so hard to hold onto his money? It isn’t like you need it.”

“I considered walking away. But my sister, who only knows the lifestyle we were raised in, and my mother for that matter, don’t deserve to have their life ripped away. Not to mention we’re talking a hell of a lot of money.” He laughed, trying to put the somber walk down memory lane behind them.

Samantha appeared to simmer on the information for a few minutes as the last rays of the sun sizzled into the ocean.

“You know something, Blake?” she asked, her eyes left his and stared into the fading sun.“What?”

“I’m starting to think you’re more martyr than mercenary.”

He huffed out a laugh, reached over, and took her hand in his. “This coming from a woman who married me to secure her sister’s care.”

Samantha snapped out of her haze and squeezed his hand. “Oh, no. Jordan.”

She started to push up from her comfortable position.

“What is it?”

“It’s Saturday. I forgot about my weekly visit with my sister.” Samantha pulled her hand out of his. “I’ve got to go.”

“Isn’t it too late?”

Samantha waved his question away. “Of course not.” She sent him a curious glance. “Do you want to come with me? See where all your money’s going?”

Blake had a dozen things he should have been doing instead of revealing his past to his wife. He didn’t want to do any of it. “I’d love to meet your sister.”