Sin on the Run (25 page)

“It won't happen again. I promise.”

Rhonda just wanted answers. Was her baby all right? She opened her eyes.

“See to it that it doesn't,” the nurse warned. The woman could give Maggie a run for her money.

When they were alone, Blake returned to Rhonda's side, taking her hand in his. “You don't have to worry. The baby's fine.”

She closed her eyes again with a soft exhalation. The beeping on the heart monitor slowed, only to pick up, after the few seconds it took for it to sink in. Blake knew.

“When were you planning to tell me?”

She swallowed and forced herself to look at him. A little ashamed and embarrassed, she shrugged. Things had changed. She was keeping her baby. Blake might not be hers, but this baby was.

“Damn, you weren't going to tell me. What the hell, Rhonda?” He was upset. Understandable.

She resigned to the inevitable. They were going to argue. On the plus side, he'd probably forgot about her going back into the house,
and
best of all, her baby was fine. She wasn't going to let anything spoil that news. “You don't do forever, remember? A baby is forever.”

“Things change.”

“What exactly has changed? If anything, they've gotten worse.”

“How so? I'm not shirking my responsibilities to you or this baby.”

Responsibilities. She'd been reduced to being someone else's problem? She wasn't her father and she sure as hell didn't need anyone taking care of her or her baby. She did the taking care of. She'd done it all her life.

“What exactly do you think those are? I may not have your kind of money, but I banked almost everything I made after my father died and when I was den mother for the other dancers, Maggie paid all my living expenses. And I think you and I both know I'm good at taking care of things. I don't need you.” Or the hassles of dealing with his grandmother, a woman who'd insist on knowing “who her people were.” Rhonda had no people but she had a past. No way would she stick around and be subjected to ridicule.

“Why are you getting defensive? This is my baby too. Rhonda, you must know how much I care for you. Damn, I think I'm in love with you.”

Her temper flared, setting off the heart monitor again. “
Now
you
think
you're in love?” He didn't love her. He was just a great guy who wanted to do the right thing.

“Stop. You need to relax,” he said, his frantic gaze darting between the machinery and her. “I almost lost you last night. You could have broken your neck. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was trying to save your sorry ass!” She wanted her baby to know its father. Then her anger deflated, remembering why she made the decision, why she risked being discovered by Harris. “I don't want to fight. And I don't want to take this baby away from you. To be honest, when we were in Key West and I first thought I might be pregnant, I considered ending the pregnancy,” she told him, unable to meet his eyes. “But I could never do that. This baby, however, needs parents who love it. A mom who
wants
to be a mom. I wasn't ready to be that mom. Again,” she explained.

“It wasn't fair to me and it certainly wasn't fair to an innocent baby. I'd be as resentful of it as I was of my father. Kids are smart. They figure things out.” Hadn't she? “I thought about giving you the chance to raise this baby without me but couldn't imagine
another
kid thinking it had one parent who didn't love it enough to be there for it. So I decided on adoption, on finding two people who'd make this baby the center of their universe. For this child's sake, someone else had to raise my baby.”

“
Our
baby,” he was quick to point out. “So, what changed?”

She didn't like the way he was looking at her. He was upset, justifiably so. She had planned on keeping his baby from him. But the accusatory tone in his voice and the disappointment in his eyes made her squirm. “Harris threatened your life. This baby
deserves
what I never had.” That hadn't changed. “But putting it up for adoption because I don't want the responsibility of yet another life . . . well, it's not who I am. You were right. I could've walked away from my father. But I didn't. So how in the world can I walk away from this? I'm going to be a mother. And I have to give you the chance to be a part of this baby's life.” She left out the part about how much it was going to suck not having Blake in her life.

“But you still plan on doing this without me?”

She'd hurt him. That had never been her intention. “You and I come from different worlds.” He had to know that. “I don't want to deny you your child.” And now that he knew, she wouldn't. “But I also don't want to be tangled up with your family's problems.”

“That's not an answer.”

This was harder than she thought. How could she explain it so he'd understand? “Don't you see? I can't spend my life wondering if you're with me out of obligation. To me . . . or your family. I will no longer be selfish about raising this child, but I
will
be selfish about that. I deserve someone who loves me for me.”

“I do love you.”

“I'll never know for sure, will I?” She'd always wonder. What woman wouldn't?

“Sure you will. Rhonda, look in your heart. You know I love you. I loved you before we came to Scotland. I just wasn't ready to admit it or say it. But I was there. You have to know that. And you love me, or you wouldn't have risked your life,” he said, staring at her stomach, “and the baby's life. Which, by the way, was really, really stupid.” He looked up and what she saw in his eyes told her not to argue, on that point anyway.

And she did love him. But in the end, it didn't matter. “I do love you. I've known for a while, but it doesn't change a thing.”

“Sure it does. I love you and you love me. You don't want to get married? We won't. We go back to Vegas and raise this kid together. We'll keep doing what we're doing, except with a baby.”

If they didn't get married and she had a son, he couldn't inherit the money or the title. Not according to the terms of his grandfather's will or the laws that decreed an illegitimate child couldn't succeed to a title. Would his family be happy about that? Sarah would. And Rhonda was pretty certain his family wouldn't appreciate the mother of the next duke being a stripper. So could they play house without them ever finding out? She wanted to be with Blake.

“And Kendrick Manor?” He wasn't going through all the effort and expense to fix it, to leave it behind. It wasn't an investment in real estate. It was his past . . . and his future.

“I'll sell it or rent it. Or,” he said, hesitating, “we can live in it. I saw your face when we walked through it. You loved it. We can move here, and I can give you everything you ever wanted. Let me take care of you. Would that be so bad? You can start over. With me.”

She did love that house. The possibility of being able to help restore it boggled her mind. She could leave the Goth stripper behind in Vegas. She'd never have to be that woman again. The life she had no choice in making could be part of her past. She could start over, here, with him and the baby. But that was a dream and that was all it would ever be. They'd find out who she was. “Your grandmother—”

“Has nothing to do with this.”

“I'm pregnant. This baby could be the heir if Colin and Sarah don't have a child. Which is the likely scenario.
Of course
she has something to do with this.”

“Fine. And if we don't get married, she'll . . . be . . . upset.”

“Upset? Is that how you're really going to describe it? She'd blow a bloody gasket.”

“This has nothing to do with her. Stay here with me and help me renovate the house.”

“Okay. For argument's sake, let's say your family is okay with us not making this baby legitimate.” She snorted. Like that was going to happen. “Why are you not hearing me? Could your boss provide me with a new background the way he provided me with new luggage? Come on, Blake. Get real. If it ever got out, the British tabloids would be all over this.
I'd
be the gold-digger, not Sarah, the friggin' Duchess.” Never in a million years would she allow herself to be humiliated in the papers again.

She'd had enough of the heart monitor going off and tore the sticky pads off her chest.

He didn't say anything. Didn't agree or disagree with her. Instead, he went over to the window and drew the blinds, allowing a burst of sunlight into the room.

“This
is
my baby,” he finally said, turning toward her. “I won't keep that from my mother. But I'm fine with Vegas. Or wherever you want to live. I can't promise my family won't find out about how you made your living. But we'll be far enough away that you won't have to put up with their bullshit. If we don't get married, then no one else has to know I have a child. Is that okay? Can we do that? Can we raise our child together?”

The fact of it was, she was pregnant. Blake was the father. He had a right to know his child and whether they were together or not, his blue-blooded family would learn of it. Did she want to do this alone? Did she want to be without Blake? No, it would kill her to leave him, the same way they'd worried it would kill Colin if Sarah left him. Blake was the best thing that ever happened in her sorry life. And she loved him. God, she loved him. He looked at her expectantly with those amazing eyes. It made her stomach quiver with anticipation. She could have her happily ever after.

A ringing interrupted her answer. Blake frowned at the phone by Rhonda's bedside, as it rang a second time.

Rhonda glanced at it too. “Who can that be?”

“I don't know. I have my mobile. Want me to answer it?”

“No, pass it to me, will you?” She reached with her good hand. “Hello,” she answered, then was surprised by the reply.

“Rhonda, are you all right?” Maggie sounded concerned.

“I'm fine. Broken arm. Nothing major. How did you know where to find me?”

“A suspected terrorist doesn't die without it making the papers. How's Blake?”

So Harris was dead. “He's fine too. He's sitting here if Christian wants to talk to him.”

“Later. Ryan sent the plane, and we can arrange for you to leave the hospital with no one knowing.”

The tone in Maggie's voice set off more alarms than the heart monitor had. She was in mother-hen mode. “You want to sneak me out of the hospital?” She looked up and saw confirmation in Blake's face. Something was wrong.

“I figured you'd want to avoid the press. They're like vultures over there.”

They were like vultures in the States too, as Maggie could attest when the media had found out Reverend Hopewell's daughter ran a strip club. But why would they be all over Rhonda? She was a nobody. If anything, it would be Blake the press would hound. “What's going on?” She hated that she had to ask.

“You haven't seen the papers?”

“No, I just woke up.”

“Oh,” she said, a definite doom and gloom in that one word. “Ronnie, honey, they found out what you did in Vegas. They know who you are.”

J
udging from his pathetic frozen expression, Blake guessed why Maggie had called.

“I'll call you back.” She thrust the phone at him to hang up. “What's going on? And don't you goddamn lie to me.”

“I was going to tell you,” he explained. “Just not now.”

“When? After your family read it in the papers?
After
I decided to move here with you?” She rubbed a hand over her face. “What your mother must think of me. Can you imagine if they found out I was pregnant now?” She tried not to shout but couldn't help it. She
would
be perceived as an opportunistic whore.

“She knows,” Blake quietly announced.

“What do you mean, she knows?”
Dear God
. “You already told her? Why would you do that?” The humiliation of it stung worse than the first time her name had been printed in the papers and scandalized with social media.

“I didn't. She had a board meeting here. There were reporters everywhere. She came to find me and caught me talking to the doctor. She was very concerned about you.”

“Well, she won't be once she reads the papers,” she said, her teeth clenched so tightly, she was giving herself a headache.

“Actually,” he said sheepishly, “she was here when a reporter asked . . . how a stripper from Vegas was involved.”

“Well, great. Just great. She must really appreciate being dragged into my demeaning life.”

“That's not true.”

Sure it was. Lady Helen had enough blue blood in her to consider herself nobility and the mother of her grandchild was a peon—a nobody. What woman wouldn't allow that lovely tidbit of information to bother her?

“Rhonda, don't let this screw with our future.”

“Maggie said she'd arrange for a plane,” she said, ignoring his comment. “Can you find out when I can get out of here?” She didn't want to spend another second in Scotland. She didn't dare, her face plastered in the tabloids, her past exposed for all to see. She wanted out before anyone figured out she and Blake were involved and she was carrying his child. It would only get seedier then. A stripper the mother of the possible next heir of Oakley.

“You're right. We should get out of the country. Before the press conference this afternoon.”

“Press conference? It's about Harris, right? Tell me it's about Harris?”

“It is. The police have assured me they won't answer any questions about you. I'll go arrange for your discharge.”

She nodded, relieved the police probably had enough respect for Blake's family not to sully it with her. She told herself that this wasn't Blake's fault, but it didn't make it any easier. She'd hidden behind the hair and the make-up. For him, she'd stepped away from that curtain she'd so carefully draped to shield herself. She dropped the act and became herself again.

So, it wasn't the stripper the British tabloids were going to tear apart, it was her, the woman who'd bared her soul to Blake. Only that woman was fragile. That woman cried for her father to love her enough to stop drinking. She'd cut herself open and bled for her father on a stage of shame. And not until she learned to hide behind the persona she'd created, had that woman felt safe. But now, she had no shield, and if she stayed here, it would be that first night on stage all over again, only ten times worse.

Once Blake left, Rhonda picked up the phone and dialed Maggie's number.

* * *

Getting out of the hospital wouldn't be easy. Doing it without Blake even trickier. On a stroke of genius, she sent him for clothes, then put on a pair of scrubs and borrowed sneakers a willing nurse had lent her. Lydia, as she was called, was very sweet and agreed to show Rhonda a back entrance. Reporters had been banned from stepping foot in the hospital, but that hadn't stopped the vultures from making camp outside.

“Here it is.” Lydia indicated the exit at the end of the small corridor they'd taken. “Your American friends arranged a car for you. It's in the back alley.”

“Thank you for everything.”

“Take care and good luck,” she said, opening the door.

Immediately, the narrow hall lit up with camera flashes.

“Damn it all,” nurse Lydia cursed. She tried to shut them out, but one of the reporters had stepped inside and blocked her attempt.

Rhonda flinched with each flash as she tried to shield her face.
Shit
, how was she going to get through them? And their questions?

“How are you involved with Interpol?” one asked as he elbowed his way in.

“Are you and Lord Blake dating?” another shouted from the back.

She stiffened, waiting for the question that would humiliate her most.

“Does the Dowager Duchess approve of her grandson taking up with a stripper?”

She didn't want to answer any of their questions. What she wanted was to tell them all to go to hell, then shrivel up and die. But she was no longer that kid who felt she had no choice in her life. And even if she were, that kid hadn't shrunk into a corner. She might have changed who she was to survive, but survived she had. And whether because of it, or despite it, it was time to admit she was stronger.

“That's a dumbass question,” she said. “And Blake Cameron and I are
not
together.” Not anymore. “But I want to know why you're all harassing me? While I make for juicy gossip in some rag, a Pulitzer-Prize story would be why Joe Harris tried to kill the Duke of Oakley's brother. Twice.” She held up two fingers and grinned at the little man who'd asked the question.

Some of the sleazeballs stayed, most ran off to catch a better story at the press conference she remembered Blake telling her would be taking place at this very minute.

“Come, dear,” Lydia said. “Say nothing else and let's get you to your car. Gentlemen.” She turned to face them, shielding Rhonda with her body. “The lady is recovering from a severe fall she sustained while saving Lord Cameron's life. Jostle her and I'll have you all charged with assault.”

No one stopped them.

* * *

As the pilot readied for takeoff, Rhonda opened yet another piece of luggage and made a mental note to thank Sheppard. A guy shouldn't have to furnish your wardrobe four or five times without some form of gratitude expressed. She found the easiest things to put on with one hand, a maxi tangerine skirt and plain white tank, and settled in, as much as her bruises would allow, and took her seat. This time around there was a flight attendant on board who brought Rhonda an orange juice.

Blake would come looking for her. That much was obvious. He didn't deserve being dumped this way. But she couldn't bear to be with him. She felt sunburned, raw and blistered. She needed time to heal. She'd been kidding herself. She couldn't have a life with him. He was an aristocrat. He could try and turn his back on it, but he was what he was. And she didn't want to go down in history as
that woman
. “The title would have continued if not for that woman.”

And then there were the papers. It had taken months to get over the media hinting at prostitution the night of her attack. Her name, her profession, had been exposed for everyone to question what she'd been doing on the streets when Jason had gone after her. She wouldn't repeat history. Every time Blake returned to see his family, the press would remember he'd aligned himself with an ex-stripper. That his child's mother wasn't good enough for his blue-blooded family. And if the papers didn't do it, his grandmother would.

Blake had said that if she couldn't stop judging herself for what she'd done for her father, how did she expect others to? He was right. So no more. She may not have liked stripping, but she'd done what she had to. It was a job like any other. And it was time she stopped caring what other people thought.

But no way in hell would she subject her child to that kind of scrutiny. She risked everything to save Blake's life, but this wasn't life or death. As much as she loved and would always love him, her child came first.

The attendant, who could've passed for a young Cameron Diaz, brought her the juice. “Can I get you anything else before dinner?”

Rhonda shook her head. “No, thank you.”

She'd helped her board and knew Rhonda was injured. “You let me know if you change your mind.” Then with a sweet smile, she disappeared behind a curtain wall.

Rhonda drank the juice when what she wanted was coffee. She was just grateful she wouldn't have to dye her hair anymore. She'd heard once that hair dye was dangerous to babies. She didn't know if it was true, but she wasn't going to take any chances with her kid.

This baby would have a good life. He or she would go to school without worrying about leaving a parent in a drunken stupor. There'd be no fear of hunger or being dragged away to foster care. There'd be a mom cheering in the stands at a softball game or clapping in the audience at a dance recital. There'd be a prom and dreams to live, with no shame, no regret. Her baby would have everything she hadn't had. She'd allow Blake to see his child, but she couldn't be part of that aristocratic life. And as unfair as it might sound, nor could she allow her baby to be part of that world, not if it meant the child being demeaned because Rhonda was seen as an unfit mother.

* * *

“Maggie won't tell me where she is.” Blake was losing his patience. It had been months and all he'd gotten was the occasional text delivered through Maggie. Rhonda had been frustratingly smart, knowing he'd trace her phone. And Christian, the traitor, wouldn't let Blake anywhere near Maggie's phone.

“I love you, man, but don't fuck with my wife,” he'd warned.

He didn't want to fuck with her. He just wanted to know where the mother of his child was hiding. He'd never once dumped a girl by text. He not only got dumped via text, he had his heart ripped out. Since then, he made weekly trips to Maggie's house in hopes the high priestess would give in and tell him where Rhonda was.

“I gave her the time she asked for,” Blake ground out. “This isn't fair,” he repeated for the millionth time.

“I feel for you, I do. But I warned you not to play around with one of Maggie's girls,” said Christian. “She takes no prisoners.”

“Talk to her,” he pleaded, pacing the terracotta floor in Maggie's and now Christian's house.

“Again, I tried. She refuses to listen. She said she's sympathetic, but Rhonda comes first. So when Rhonda is ready, Maggie will let you know where she is.”

At least he had to be grateful she said
when
Rhonda was ready, not
if
she was. A good sign, right? “Three months, Christian. How much longer is it going to take? The tabloids have stopped printing the stories. How is this fair to me?” Fair to them, for God's sake. “I know they went after her because of my family name. Maybe I should have anticipated it more. Christian, it never occurred to me they'd be that brutal.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Fuck.”

“Bad luck for you. If this had been the first time, she might have been able to see beyond it. After the incident with Jason, I kept her in that private hospital longer than needed just so she could avoid the media. They kept hounding her for interviews. And maybe if Maggie's name hadn't been linked to the murders, Rhonda would have gone undetected. Which is another reason my wife won't help you.” Christian plopped his feet onto the mosaic coffee table. “She feels responsible, and she was the one who had to tell her the tabloids found out she was pregnant. With your illegitimate,” he used air quotes, “heir. Imagine how much fun that was.”

“If she'd told me where she was, I would have told her. What do I do? I miss her. And I hate not seeing for myself how she is.” He stopped pacing, only to realize he couldn't sit still and began pacing again.

“I get it, you're worried. But Maggie makes her call or text every day. She's good.”

“Are you two done complaining about me?” Maggie entered the living room.

“Yes,” Christian said.

“No,” Blake contradicted. “Maggie—”

“Honestly, you are more pig-headed than he is.” She pointed to her husband. “Get your feet off the coffee table.”

Christian did as he was told.

“She's pregnant. With
my
child. I need to see for myself that she's all right.”

“I get that. But she
doesn't
want to see you. I have something for you, though.” She reached into her bag, pulled out a DVD case and handed it to him.

“What's this?” he asked, taking it.

“My laptop is on the coffee table, where my husband so rudely had his feet. Go ahead,” she urged.

Curious, he took a seat on the sofa beside Christian and opened Maggie's computer. He slid the disk into the drive and waited. The DVD icon opened.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked.

What the hell was going on? He pushed play. A black and gray image filled the screen and then to his astonishment . . . began to move. The image altered as the angle of the shot changed. He could make out a small head and a tiny hand that moved like a conductor leading an orchestra, its thumb reaching for but not quite making a mouth. Everything blurred.

Blake blinked, clearing his vision and opening his heart to a love unlike any he'd ever felt. His face, neck and shoulders, then his entire body prickled at seeing his unborn child. He smiled as those wee fingers floated back and forth as if waving to him, knowing Blake watched.

He reached out and touched his own index finger to the tiny hand, feeling oddly disappointed by the cold computer screen. He desperately wanted the months of waiting to be over, so he could hold his baby. So he could tell his child he loved him, and would so every single day of his life.