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“That’s true,” she replied, just to irritate him.
But it didn’t work because he grinned and grabbed the plastic sack from her lap. “I’ll carry that inside for you.”
“No, I—” But he’d already taken it away, and she had to hurry after him into the kitchen.
The light Patrick had left on threw a soft glow over the furniture in the family area, as well as the colorful canvases on the walls, but she was too intent on getting her sack back to appreciate the decorating. As Kenny walked toward the dining room table, she saw to her dismay that the handles she’d looped together had somehow come unfastened.
He dropped the sack on the tabletop so that it fell to the side, dumping out some of its contents. “Now, what do we have here?”
She shot forward, but he’d already picked up the first item that had spilled out.
“Hemorrhoid cream? That’s a little more than I wanted to know about you, Lady Emma.”
“It’s not—I don’t actually have—Give that back to me!”
Ignoring her, he reached into the bag and pulled out a paperback book. “Talking Back to Prozac. You be sure to let me know exactly what to say.”
“No!” She sprang forward as his hand closed around a plastic bottle. “Give me—”
He held it just out of her reach and studied the label. “Now, who would have imagined a member of the British aristocracy would have a problem with head lice?”
“It’s seasonal,” she managed.
He pushed aside the Camels, the tabloid, and an early pregnancy test kit to pick up a series of small boxes. “Sheik Lubricated, Trojan Ribbed, Ramses Extra, Class Act Ultra Thins. I guess I know who to borrow from if I ever run out.” He pushed away a package of clothesline. “I’m not even going to ask about that.”
Only one item remained in the bag. Maybe he hadn’t noticed it. Maybe he wouldn’t—
“Now, what do we have here?” He scooped it out and held it up. “Vaginal moisturizer.” His eyebrows shot together. “What in the hell is this for?”
Her face flamed. “Well, I don’t know. . . . I would imagine it’s for—”
“Now, this is where I draw the line! It’s bad enough everybody in town’s going to be thinkin’ I’m sleeping with a depressed, lice-ridden, hemorrhoidal foreigner who likes to be tied up and might be pregnant, although—since she’s just about cornered the market on condoms—I don’t know how that could have happened. But I will not—you listen to me, Emma!—I absolutely will not have anybody thinkin’ a woman of mine needs a vaginal moisturizer, do you hear me?”
“It was—” She swallowed and tried to speak calmly. “It was an impulse buy.”
He snorted.
“I told you Hugh’s man was following me. He came in the drugstore, so I scrambled to buy all this.”
“He was in the drugstore?”
“He saw everything!” Her enthusiasm bubbled to the surface. “I think this just might do it! Especially with what happened between us outside the drugstore. I know you weren’t happy about that, but I’ll explain to Francesca the next time we talk. Beddington’s going to be appalled when he hears, and, by this time tomorrow, the engagement has to be over.”
“This is what your grand plan has come down to? Convincing the duke the two of us are having an affair.”
“It didn’t start out that way. Honestly. But I need to work with what I have.”
“And I guess t
hat’s me.” Kenny transferred the vaginal moisturizer from one hand to the other and looked thoughtful. “Emma, you’re making this way too complicated. Just call him up and tell him you’re not marrying him. It isn’t right the way you’re letting him push you around.”
“I can’t do that. If I make him angry, he’ll close St. Gert’s. I have to be subtle.”
“Subtle?” He shook his head. “You sure do bring new meaning to that old song about being true to your school.”
“It’s not just a school. It’s my—”
“I know. It’s your home. And excuse me for pointing out that’s more than a little pathetic, although, after what you saw tonight of my family at dinner, I guess I don’t have much room to talk.”
