“I’m sorry I hurt you. I never wanted to, you know.”
“I know.”
“And we did have fun.”
Jack nodded, his eyes full of so much emotion she wanted to cry.
“Please don’t be mad at me.” She couldn’t keep the pleading tone from her voice. It really hurt to turn Jack down this way, despite the forewarning she’d given him.
“I’m not.” Jack sighed and his shoulders slumped. “As much I want to be angry with you, I’m more upset with myself. You were clear, but I ignored it. I wanted to sweep you off your feet the way Drew did Meilin. I was jealous of their romance and wanted it for myself.” The crooked smile he gave her was self-deprecating.
Birdie rested a hand on his arm. “You will have it. But I’m not the woman for you. I happen to know Ping’s little sister is wild about you.”
“Wen?” Jack frowned. “Why she’s no older than…you.” A light of intrigue entered his eyes. “Really? It’s hard to think of her as all grown up now. I remember her as a baby, always toddling off somewhere she had no business going. And as a teenager she was a complete disaster, always getting into trouble with her parents. I remember when she got her first piercing, an eyebrow if I recall.” Jack smiled at the memory. “Maybe I’ll have to look in on her, see how she’s doing these days.”
Whew. Great deflection if she did say so herself. “You should do that. I’m sure Ping would love to help find a way to make it look casual.” Birdie gave his arm a light squeeze, then let go.
Jack chuckled, so much more like his happy-go-lucky self. “I know she would. I cringe at the thought of being at her mercy when it comes to matchmaking.”
“If I say a quiet word to her? Suggest you need a distraction from missing me?” The coy look and batted eyelashes earned her another laugh. “Would that help?”
“I’m not ready for the altar, well, unless you are, but I suppose I could look around a little.”
Better to ignore that altar comment. “I’ll put in a word for you. Make you seem very reluctant. Can’t have you looking eager.”
“There is that. Jack the playboy needs to keep his reputation intact.” He rolled his eyes while grimacing.
“I’m sorry you’re not coming to London with us. Sure you can’t get away?”
Jack shook his head regretfully. “My uncle’s health is much improved, so my aunt doesn’t need my help with him, and I have a large caseload this week. One even going to court.”
“Court? Wow, that’s exciting. And what you’ve been waiting for, right?” One year out of law school, he’d been itching to go head-to-head in a courtroom. “Well good for you.” She gave him a huge smile. “I’m very pleased for you.”
“Thank you. I’m quite pleased myself.”
They stood and shared a long gaze for several seconds, until Birdie broke the silence. “So, we’re good now? You won’t mope when I’m around or ignore me to the point of ridiculousness?”
Jack picked up her hand and held it for a long moment, then raised it to kiss her knuckles. “No, I won’t be rude. Yes, we’re good. And if you change your mind about London, I’ll still be here. But wait too long and I may be taken.”
Laughing at his roguish wink, Birdie leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “I’m glad we’re good. You’re going to be snapped up very quickly, and then it will be my loss for sure.”
Still holding her hand, he asked, “You going to Alcatraz?”
Birdie shook her head. “Nope. I’m for shopping with Aunt Liza. She likes to buy lots of gifts. Someone will have to remind her she has only so much space in her suitcases.”
Now if only she could find out why Ozzie had run from her.
Chapter 5
It was late morning the next day, after skipping the wedding brunch, when Oswald gathered his laptop case and exited the plane. At least Court insisted on first class seats. It had made the long flight bearable. He’d even managed some sleep, although his dreams had been filled with pictures of Courtney.
Once more he damned himself for what he’d done. Now he couldn’t rid his brain of images of her laid out on the bed, her lightly tanned skin perfectly covering the contours of her perfect body. The hills of her breasts, the flat planes of her stomach, the enticing valley of her cunny. A landscape he could spend his life exploring.
He’d be better off learning to draw or paint so he could capture his vision forever, because he certainly wasn’t going to get another chance to see her like that again.
Standing in line at Customs and Immigration, he wiped a hand over his face trying to clear the images from his mind. The taste and scent of her from his memory. Coffee and whisky on the plane hadn’t succeeded. How did he expect anything else to work?
Thank God for his job. He had that to look forward to. He had a day-long meeting tomorrow and then planned to spend Saturday in the office catching up from the week away. Sunday he’d have to see Courtney again, couldn’t help that, but he could keep a distance between them. Maybe twice the length of his reach would work. As his turn came, he handed over his passport and the required documents filled out on the plane, endured a search of his suitcase, then made his way out to the cab stand. No point in bucking the system.
Oh, and he knew the system. From the time he’d lost his parents and moved in with his Uncle Larry, he’d learned. Not that Larry was such a stickler, but his Uncle Wilton and his wife had made things clear. How the hierarchy worked. The servants also made sure he knew his place. He may have been an Attenborough, but he was clearly the poor relation. A label that had followed him all his life. Even at Eton he’d been clear about his place. The heirs to their family titles had let him know he’d never reach their level.
Their methods hadn’t been so simple as shunning. No, there’d been more brutal lessons. Eventually he’d learned to fight back, and had grown big enough, strong enough, to defend himself and others like him. Eventually they’d left him alone, although to this day the occasional taunt was tossed out when he happened upon one of those old school chums. They liked to remind him he had three cousins and an uncle before him in line to the title. And now his cousins had children, pushing him even further from inheriting the Barony, a small enough title as it was.
As such he’d had to make his own way. To his thinking it made him stronger. He’d built his own impeccable reputation, had his own investments that tallied up to a respectable fortune few beyond his financial advisor knew about. His was also a highly regarded name in the world of mixed martial arts. He had enough clout in that area he could open his own gym and challenge the top ranking ones in the country.
Not that it would have made much difference to the higher social circles. Oh, he was proper enough to even out a dinner party, handsome enough to escort a minor starlet or rising model, but not good enough to hang with them as their cachet rose. There was always someone with better connections, better looking, or more money to take over when the women who’d hung on his arm gained more and more attention.
Hostesses liked him because he was unfailingly polite. He knew the rules of etiquette and never overstepped his bounds or made an ugly scene. Like a well-trained background actor, he never tried to outshine those at the center of attention. Rather he made them look better. Same as properly behaved younger sons had been doing for generations.
Only he was one step beyond that. The only son of a disgraced younger son who’d had the misfortune to marry the daughter of a poor preacher because he’d gotten her pregnant. A girl who thought by catching James Attenborough, youngest