* * * * *
Douglas was not happy.
In fact, he was angry.
Not at his stubborn, pig-headed bride-to-be or at least not because she was stubborn and pig-headed. That, he found, was actually a rather endearing trait of hers.
True, he would have preferred Julia to be spending her time choosing flower arrangements, drafting wedding invitations and spending long nights squirming under him as he did all of the delicious things he fully intended to do to her. Not spending her time engaging in a head-to-head battle with him for her body, heart and soul. However, he was enjoying the battle, mainly because he knew he was winning and the interim was just sweet anticipation. Anticipation that caused a slow ache that he knew would be magnificently fulfilled once he eventually triumphed.
No, he was angry because of the unknown Tony.
And he was further annoyed because of his mother. He’d just put down the phone from talking to her.
She wanted to come home to Sommersgate.
Now was most definitely not the time for Monique’s return.
In fact, Douglas had decided, there was never going to be a time for Monique to return.
Unfortunately, when he told this to his mother and, considering the frequency he, Julia and the children needed the Kensington house, informed her as well that she would need to find elsewhere to live, Monique had flown into a rage.
He listened to her tirade without reaction and then said, “Sam will find a few flats for you to look at in London, choose one.”
“A flat? You want me to live in a flat?” she snapped, acting as if he told her he’d find her a nice cardboard box on a relatively safe street corner.
Douglas didn’t answer.
“Am I to have any say on this flat?” she seethed.
“If you have requirements, call Sam tomorrow morning.”
He was finished with the conversation and although she spluttered and raged for several more minutes, he eventually finished the call. Monique, being Monique, would not take his actions without a fight but whatever she did, he knew he could handle.
However, he had bigger things to worry about because, tonight, Julia was out with Tony.
Tony, apparently, was a friend from Indianapolis who was in Bristol for some business.
Tony, apparently, was a beloved acquaintance that had Julia in throes of ecstasy at seeing again.
Tony, definitely, was a man.
It was nearly ten and Julia had left the house at five to meet Tony (the man) for drinks and dinner. Carter had taken her and she was to call when she wanted to come home. The children were all in bed and Douglas felt that any responsible guardian should have long since returned, preferably around six.
Therefore, in Douglas’s mind, she was late. Very late. Even unforgivably late.
He was just about to go find Carter, ask where she was and bring her home, kicking and screaming if he had to, when the man himself knocked on the study door.
“Sir?” Carter called.
Douglas’s head came up.
“Miss Julia phoned, she’s ready to come home. The problem is, the Bentley has a flat tire. It’ll be awhile to fix so I wondered if I could use the –”
Instantly, Douglas surged to his feet and stated, “I’ll get her.”
He grabbed his keys, Carter explained that she was at the South American restaurant that Douglas introduced her to and she’d be waiting on the pavement in twenty minutes.
It took all of his willpower not to speed through the winding roads to Bristol. He did this because the last thing Julia and the children needed was for him to crash his car. Further, if he were to crash his car, he would also miss the opportunity to wring Julia’s neck.