Love is a Battlefield: Games of Love, Book 1 (14 page)

Ash-blond hair swept mischievously over the man’s forehead, and he had an almost cherubic smile, with soft, supple lips and a dimple in one cheek. His eyes were large, his nose a perfect slope, his clothing in keeping with the car he drove, tailored and immaculate.

Kate was certain a more perfectly beautiful man had never before existed. It almost shamed her to be seen standing next to him.

“I couldn’t help but notice your altercation with Wallace. I thought I might be able to help. The name’s Duke. Duke Kilroy. The third.”

He grabbed her hand and bestowed a light kiss on its surface. In any other man, it would have seemed silly—theatrical, almost. But not him. From the top of his perfectly side-swept hair to his wingtip shoes, he was a born gentleman.

Her heart, full of clichés and rainbows, fluttered.

“I’m Kate,” she replied, mesmerized by the ice blue eyes that appraised her with painstaking calm. “But it wasn’t an altercation.”

Not an altercation. A triumph. If they were keeping score—
and they were
—she was currently in the lead.

“Well, Kate, I hope you won’t use Julian’s bad manners against all of us.” The man, Duke, flashed her a charming smile and leaned against his car. “Can I give you a lift somewhere?”

Part of her considered taking him up on the friendly overture. Absconding with Julian’s visitor would be a good way to get a little rub in before she left, and this man certainly looked like he wouldn’t be a hardship to travel with. But adult responsibilities beckoned on the horizon, and she had to get to work.

“Thank you for the offer, but my car is around the corner. Besides, if you were going in to see Julian, I don’t want to keep you.”

“Oh, it’s nothing that can’t wait. How about a cup of coffee? Or dinner? I hate to let you walk out of my life like this.”

Again, she hesitated, chewing her lip in contemplation. It hardly seemed like a good idea, what with the Fauxhall Gardens to plan and all the energy she’d been expending on the Julian front. But Duke was smiling at her with such warmth, and there was such a benign air about him, she felt a profound urge to take him home and cook him a pot roast.

Before she could respond either way, Duke gave a friendly wave toward the house. Kate could just make out Julian standing in the window, holding back the curtain and watching the exchange.

Seconds later, the curtain fell and the door pounded open. Julian obviously wasn’t happy to see her still standing there, but his walk was controlled as he made his way down the sidewalk. Too controlled—Kate could feel the power behind it from several feet away.

“Is there something I can do for you, Kilroy? My mother wasn’t expecting the delight of your company.”

“Oh, I was passing by,” Duke replied. “I saw the way you were treating this lady, and I thought I’d stop and see if I could offer my assistance.” He moved closer to Kate’s side, and she thought for a moment he might put an arm around her waist. But he didn’t. Instead, he pulled himself into a firm, upright position, all tensile strength that seemed like it might snap at any moment. Julian echoed the movements. It was like standing in front of a pair of elk posturing at the height of the rutting season.

Kate laughed, trying to dispel some of the tension. “I’m sorry, Duke, but I think you’re laboring under a misapprehension. You’re supposed to be directing your anger at me.
I’m
the enemy—not Julian.”

Duke looked her over with a sweeping gaze. He didn’t seem to think anything of her shoes—in fact, Kate sensed approval of all types. It was a nice change.

“If you’re the enemy, then I think I want in on the war.”

Kate couldn’t help it—she gave a girlish giggle. Nothing loosened her tongue and her resolve like a little urbane flattery. She was about to reply with an equally coy rejoinder when Julian stepped forward, pushing her back with one of his outstretched arms.

“It’s nothing. She’s not your concern, Kilroy.”

“I beg your pardon?” Kate’s spine stiffened in a bit of posturing of her own.

“So that
is
which way the wind blows,” Duke murmured.

Kate wasn’t done with her anger yet. “I’m nothing?” she asked Julian. “You’re currently the toast of the drag-show town, and you think I’m nothing?”

He didn’t respond.

Kate was all at once struck with the difference between the two men standing on either side of her. Julian, dark and his face set in an unreadable mask. Duke, fair and never once losing his charming smile.

Julian muttering, “Don’t be ridiculous, Kate.”

Duke adding, “Such a thing could never be possible.”

It was like comparing night and day. Beelzebub and Gabriel.

She’d have been lying if she said a thrill didn’t run through her at standing between the two of them, their hostility in her hands like clay she could mold any way she wanted. These were big men, strong and capable, and although she wasn’t deluded enough to think she was anything more than a pawn in an animosity that existed long before she ever came onto the scene, it still felt good to be the source of so much contention. Great women always caused strife. Just look at Helen of Troy.

“Well, I’m sure it was lovely to meet you, Duke, but I’d better be going.”

Duke grabbed her hand. “And about my offer for dinner?”

Kate was about to politely demur when she caught a glimpse of Julian’s face. Flushed with displeasure and most decidedly set in a scowl, his expression offered a rare glimpse into the cogs and wheels of the industry behind it. He really didn’t want her to go with Duke.

Consorting with the enemy suddenly seemed like a very good use of her time.

“I’d love to!” she chirped, flashing Duke what she hoped was a dazzling smile. “Are you free tonight?”

Though a slight bit of shock registered on his face, Duke was much too educated in the ways of gentility to let the look linger. If not for her belief that this was a man who could handle any situation with aplomb, she’d almost feel sorry for him. He was about to get swept up in a situation that was growing rapidly out of control, a situation she wasn’t even sure she knew the ideal outcome of any more.

All she knew was that she wanted to
win
, even more than she wanted Cornwall Park. Kate had never been the competitive sort before. It was easier to bury her nose in a book or hide behind Jada’s enthusiastic fervor for action and sex and grabbing life—or men—by the balls than to fight over something she didn’t particularly care about one way or the other. Competition was for people who were passionate, whose lives were so tied up in the outcome that it was all they could breathe or eat.

Although she loved the JARRS group, she wouldn’t say she was passionate about it. She wasn’t passionate about anything. Twenty-six years of life on this earth, and she had yet to find anything that filled her with such vehement longing she’d sacrifice everything to get it.

It was a sobering reflection.

She and Duke ignored Julian as they made plans for the upcoming evening, but that didn’t mean Kate wasn’t acutely aware of him standing right behind her. He was silent and still, a perfect statue of righteous indignation.

Before she left, she turned to Julian with a smile. “Would you care to join us? I’m sure Duke wouldn’t mind.”

For a moment, she thought he was going to take her up on the offer. She could picture the three of them sitting together over dinner, hands hovering over the steak knives in case of any sudden movements.

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt,” Julian said coldly. “Unless there’s something you need, Kilroy, I’d appreciate it if you’d return to your hole. And Kate, you’ll be hearing from me.”

His voice was so serious, she couldn’t help herself. “Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon?” she quipped. “And for the rest of my life?”

Julian’s mouth quivered, but he turned and stalked back up to the house before she got the satisfaction of hearing him laugh.
 

Chapter Seven

Duck Confit

“Why are we doing this, again?” Michael asked, climbing into Julian’s truck. He was decked out in black from head to toe—shirt, pants, shoes. He’d even thrown on a black knit skull cap for good effect.

Julian laughed and looked down at his own attire, jeans and a white T-shirt. “It’s broad daylight, Mikey. And we’re not about to break into the National Trust.”

“You said espionage. I distinctly heard espionage.”

“Actually, I said reconnaissance.”

“How is that different?”

Julian pulled his truck out of the driveway and headed in the direction of the South Hill, one of the nicer areas of the city. Like most towns, theirs was one that valued high ground, and each block that increased in altitude was proportionate to the rising costs of the properties found on it. There were more country clubs up on the South Hill than apartment buildings, and, owing to the number of city council members who had private residences at the very top, the streets were always the first to get plowed in the heavy Spokane winters.

Their destination, Kilroy Hall, put even the best homes on the Hill to shame. It was all masonry and ivy and enough rolling lawn to employ two full-time gardeners.

“We’re going to look around, not do anything illegal—that’s how it’s different.”

“But, ah, aren’t there security cameras up there? And what if Kilroy sees us?”

Julian sighed. Michael, for all his attention to wardrobe, was not turning out to be a very good recon partner.

“Mikey, you need to relax. Kilroy and I may not be the best of friends, but we’ve known the guy for years. I have connections. And I know for a fact he’ll be out tonight.”

He didn’t tell Michael why he knew it or how he knew it. Or that Kilroy was probably sitting in the leather seat of his Lotus right now, pulling up to Kate’s house with some ridiculous and totally inappropriate gift like flowers or a diamond tiara.

Except she’d probably squeal over the flowers. Have dozens of little Duke babies over the tiara. That’s what women did when faced with the Kilroy heir and fortune.

Julian knew better. Kilroy wasn’t one to accept a turned-down proposal without a fight, and it was obvious some sort of plot was underway. Kilroy never “just happened” to be driving past his mother’s house in the middle of the day. The Wallace family lived and worked in an entirely different sphere than the Kilroy family—as separate as if Duke actually was the nobility of the land and Julian lived in a thatch-covered bovine refuge. But Julian didn’t care about that. All he cared about was figuring out what the bastard was planning and coming up with a big enough wrench to toss into the works.

His phone rang. He tossed it to Michael without even looking at the Caller ID panel. “You deal with it. I’m not talking to any more of them.”

“Them?” Michael didn’t make a grab for the phone.

“The excited or the angry. It’s one or the other.”

His phone had been ringing off the hook all afternoon. Half the callers wanted more information on the men in kilts show, and he’d long since stopped trying to explain the mix-up to them. He’d resorted to inviting everyone to come and enjoy the event, stage wear optional. He didn’t know what else to do. There was either going to be a crowd of highly disappointed drag queens at the Games or one hell of an after-ceilidh.

The other half of the callers were his fellow SHS athletes, not exactly pleased with the way their sport was being represented here in the Spokane branch. Kate had known where to hit him, that was for sure—right in the manhood. If there was one thing these guys didn’t mess around with, it was stiletto heels. They either belonged on women or staked into the heart of any man who dared question the virility of a Scotsman.

Michael picked up the phone, listened for a few seconds, and promptly turned it off again. “Shit. She got us with that one, didn’t she? Shouldn’t we be doing some espionage over at her house instead? Playing peek-a-boo with a woman bedding down for the night is much more my style.”

“If I so much as hear you went within ten feet of her house without my knowledge, I’ll take a caber and shove it so far up your ass—”

Michael held up one of his hands, clad, of course, in a black leather glove, and laughed. “Message received, Jules. Save the tooth-baring act for Kilroy.”

They reached the outer gates of Kilroy Hall, a wrought-iron barricade that wound all the way around the huge grounds of the place. Instead of pulling up to the front, Julian veered sharply to the left, taking the truck on a narrow track labeled with a sign that read
Access Only
.

“Where are we going?” Michael asked, peering back toward the house.

“Servants’ entrance.”

“They have servants? With their own entrance?”

“It’s not quite that formal. A friend of my mom’s works in the kitchens here. I used to make deliveries for them when I was sixteen or so, back when I worked at that grocery store. I hated it—I was sure I’d run into Kilroy, and it killed me to think he might see me anywhere other than the playing field.”

Julian pulled the truck into a small parking lot near the back of the house, which rose up for four stories of pristine brick above them. They ivy was only in the front, only for show. Julian shrugged as he pulled the keys out of the ignition. “In all the time I delivered here, he never came down to the kitchens. It’s a safe place to start.”