Maid of Dishonor Page 3

  Wariness crossed Marnie’s face. ‘How?’

  ‘By apologising for all the crappy things I said to you on our last night together—which were cruel and juvenile and totally unnecessary.’ She huffed out a steady breath when Marnie remained silent.

  Now for the biggie.

  ‘And more importantly by apologising for seducing your brother the week beforehand—which was equally cruel and juvenile and totally unnecessary.’ Even if it had felt very necessary at the time.

  ‘My only excuse is that I was in a bad place at the time.’ A bad place that had got a whole lot worse in the months after that night. ‘And I did bad things as a result—including being a heartless, reckless, selfish, philandering tart. And although I can’t promise that I won’t do bad things again—because if there’s one thing I despise more than a heartless tart, it’s a hypocrite—I’m trying a lot harder not to.’

  Marnie’s face remained unnervingly impassive, before she gave her head a little nod. ‘Thanks for the apology. But if you were being cruel and juvenile, I was too. And...’ She paused. ‘While I could have done without such a graphic description of my brother’s...’ she coughed, clearly struggling to get the word out ‘...assets, you didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.’ She looked down at her hands, which were mangling the carefully folded napkin. ‘Carter was the one that cheated, Gina. Not you.’ Her eyes met Gina’s, disillusionment clouding the blue depths. ‘And after seeing his marriage die a slow, painful death and seeing what a player he’s become since his divorce—I don’t think you should take all the blame.’

  A player? Carter?

  Gina’s throat constricted as the memories she’d filed carefully away in the ‘biggest disaster of my life’ box had a coming-out party.

  Yes, he’d been devastatingly handsome, and moody and magnetic and sexy enough to make any woman salivate uncontrollably, even an accomplished flirt like her. But beneath that potent machismo had been a man who, like Marnie, had been determined to do the right thing—who had been honourable and sensitive and touchingly reserved, despite the hunger burning in those cool blue eyes. How could that man be a player?

  Nobody could change that much. Even in ten years....

  ‘Reese told me Carter had got a divorce,’ she said. The guilt she’d worked hard to mask ever since Reese had told her the news throbbed in her belly like a lump of radioactive waste—alongside an inappropriate rush of heat, which she studiously ignored.

  ‘I’m sorry about that too,’ she said. It would be conceited of her to think she was wholly responsible for the failure of Carter’s marriage, but she still had to shoulder her share of the blame. She’d slept with an engaged man and then tried to push the blame onto the only innocent party in the whole thing, Carter’s fiancée, Missy.

  ‘You don’t need to apologise,’ Marnie remarked with sober certainty. ‘The divorce wasn’t your fault—they had a lot of other...’ her voice trailed off ‘...issues.’

  ‘It’s nice of you to say that.’ And nicer still to see that she actually meant it. ‘But I was there when it happened, and I know how hard he tried to resist me.’

  Marnie shot her hands out in the shape of a T. ‘All right, time out, because you are straying back into “things I will never need to know about my brother” territory, here.’

  Gina huffed out a laugh at the look of horror on Marnie’s face. Maybe the Southern Belle had grown up, but it seemed she still had the same demure sensibilities when it came to discussing her big brother’s sex life.

  ‘The point is...’ Marnie put her hands down ‘...I’m ashamed of the things I said that night too.’ She drew a circle on the table. ‘I wanted to put all the blame on you, because blaming Carter would mean admitting he didn’t belong on the pedestal I’d put him on.’ She sighed. ‘We’re not close these days.’

  Gina felt the renewed stab of regret. ‘Oh, Marnie, I’m so sorry. Did I do that too?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Marnie said, sounding adamant. ‘It would have happened anyway once I got older and wiser and realised what he was really like.’ The wry smile on Marnie’s lips did nothing to dispel the thoughtful expression. ‘You know, I don’t remember you having such an overdeveloped guilt complex.’

  Gina chuckled at the observation. ‘Unfortunately, it’s the end result of believing everything is about you.’

  Marnie sent her a quick grin, the unguarded moment a reminder of the easy friendship they’d once shared.

  ‘Look, I hope we’re good now,’ Marnie said. ‘Because my relationship with my brother isn’t as important to me as my friendship with y’all.’

  ‘Yeah, we’re good,’ Gina said, but felt oddly deflated as Marnie excused herself to go to the restroom.

  Maybe they hadn’t had a catfight, and maybe she’d finally got out the apology that she should have given Marnie ten years ago... But somehow it didn’t feel like enough.

  Maybe her thoughtless seduction that night hadn’t been the only reason Carter’s marriage had ended, but it had definitely helped to screw up his relationship with his sister. And Gina couldn’t quite shake the thought that Marnie had fallen back on her perfect Southern manners to smooth everything over, but didn’t really mean it.

  The buzzing of Marnie’s phone jolted Gina out of her guilt trip, and made coffee slosh over the rim of her mug. She mopped up the spill and made a grab for the phone as it vibrated towards the edge of the table. Then nearly dropped it at the photo that flashed up in the viewfinder under the text message.

  Arrive @ The Standard 7pm 2nite. In NYC til next Fri. Txt me. We need 2 discuss yr allowance. C

  Her heart leapt up to bump against her larynx and the swell of heat that she’d been busy ignoring flared. She pressed her thumb to the screen and ran it over the darkly handsome face that had hardly changed in ten years. His hair was longer, the brutal buzz cut now a mass of thick waves that curled around his ears and touched his collar. Those hollow cheeks had filled out a bit, the electric blue of his eyes looked colder and even more intense, and there were a few distinguished laughter lines, but otherwise Carter Price looked even hotter than she remembered him. She touched the tempting little dent in his chin—biting the tip of her tongue as a blast of memory assailed her. The rasp of stubble and the nutty taste of pistachio as she licked a rivulet of ice cream off his full bottom lip.

  Stop fondling Marnie’s phone, you muppet.

  The sharp rap of metal on wood rang out as she dropped the phone on the table. Carter Price’s unsettling gaze continued to stare at her, so she flipped it over—moments before Marnie appeared at her shoulder.

  ‘Your phone was buzzing,’ she offered, as nonchalantly as she could manage, while blood coursed up her neck and pulsed at her temples.

  ‘Right, thanks.’ Marnie picked up the phone and slid back into the booth.

  A frown formed on Marnie’s forehead as she read the text. And Gina wondered for one agonising moment if Marnie would mention the texter—and then wondered how she was going to conduct a conversation while having a hot flush. But Marnie didn’t say anything, she simply frowned, keyed in a few characters, pressed send and then tucked the phone into the pocket of the briefcase.

  ‘Shall I go ahead and book the Tribeca Terrace?’ she asked, her voice clear and steady and businesslike, the frown gone.

  Gina’s shoulders knotted with tension and the sinking feeling in her stomach dropped to her toes.

  So Marnie had lied—maybe she wanted to pretend that
they were both past what had happened ten years ago, that it didn’t matter any more. But how could it be true when she couldn’t even bring herself to mention Carter’s name?

  Marnie didn’t trust her. And frankly who could blame her?

  They made arrangements to meet up the next day for the bridesmaids’ fittings at Reese’s friend Amber’s bridal boutique in the Manhattan Bridge Overpass District before Marnie—who seemed more than a little preoccupied—rushed off to get to her office in Brooklyn.

  Gina watched her leave, and realised that there was only one way to win Marnie’s trust—and prove to herself that she deserved it. And that was to finally make amends for everything that had happened ten years ago, on the night she’d thrown herself at a virtually married man.

  She gulped down her lukewarm coffee as goosebumps prickled up her spine. Unfortunately that meant apologising to more than just Marnie.

  TWO

  Gina climbed out of the cab under the High Line in New York’s Meatpacking District and mounted the metal steps to the linear park constructed along an old L-train track. The concrete pathway, edged with planters of wild ferns and flowers, bustled with joggers, canoodling couples and families enjoying the pleasantly warm but not overly muggy New York evening.

  Sweat trickled down her back as she stepped out of the heat into the cool lobby area of The Standard Hotel. The retro chic decor—all white plastic sculptures, distressed stone walls and dark leather scooped seats—made her feel as if she’d stepped onto the set of a sixties sci-fi movie.

  She lifted her arms, to deter the sweat from dampening the armpits of the vintage Dior mini-dress she’d spent half an hour selecting from her extensive wardrobe of couture originals and thrift-store finds. The plan was to look cool and sophisticated and in control while finally confronting the ghosts of her past, not like a bedraggled rag doll.

  She lingered for a moment—feeling a bit like an alien from the planet Zod—before taking a deep, calming breath, and stepping up to the reception desk.

  The expertly coiffured receptionist took down the message she’d spent most of the afternoon composing. The perfect combination of polite, impersonal and not too pushy—the single sentence gave Carter the option of contacting her, so she could give him her apology in person.

  Whether he would or not was entirely up to him. The sense of relief as she left the desk was immense. She’d done what she had to do. It really didn’t matter now if Carter called her or not. But somehow she doubted he would.

  Because as well as spending far too much time that afternoon composing the perfect message—she’d also spent rather a lot of it Googling information about the CEO of the Price Paper Consortium of Savannah, Georgia. After wasting a good twenty minutes poring over the numerous pictures, gossip items and local news reports featuring Carter Price and the ever-changing kaleidoscope of model-perfect ‘possible future brides’ who’d accompanied him to an array of high-society functions and charity events in the last few years, she’d had to concede that Marnie hadn’t lied.

  The sensitive, conflicted Southern gentleman who had once been so susceptible to her charms wasn’t just a major player now, he appeared to be attempting a world record for dating and dumping the entire debutante population south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

  This Carter was not the man who had rushed back to his childhood sweetheart crippled by guilt and self-loathing at what they had done. So she very much doubted he’d want to revisit that time in his life. But exactly how much of the change in him was her fault?

  The thought struck and stopped her in her tracks—right beside the entrance to the hotel’s lobby bar.

  Damn, her throat felt as if she’d been swallowing sand. She glanced at her watch. Ten to six. Still an hour before Carter was due to check in. She had time for a soft drink without risking bumping into him.

  She shrugged off the thought of how much Carter appeared to have changed in the last ten years as she entered the brightly lit bar. Apportioning blame for that now was a little late.

  Crowded with New York’s young and lively in-crowd celebrating the start of the weekend and a few tired-looking tourists ready to call it a day, the pristine blonde wooded space was already throbbing with life. One small table right on the outskirts of the action was still vacant. She nabbed it and waylaid a member of the wait staff.

  ‘A club soda, please.... No, scratch that,’ she said as indecision struck. ‘Make that a small dry martini, light on the vermouth.’ One drink couldn’t hurt and she’d earned it.

  When the martini arrived, Gina took a single sip, then placed it on the table in front of her, savouring the flowery taste of the gin and resisting the urge to down it in three quick gulps. She never drank to excess any more. Mostly because she now knew that inebriation had a direct correlation to stupid behaviour.

  She speared the olive at the bottom of her glass with a cocktail stick and swirled it around, savouring the light buzz from the alcohol as the guttural chatter of the Japanese tourists at the next table cocooned her in the blessedly anonymous corner. The muggy scent of body odour and expensive perfumes and colognes overwhelmed the blast of cold air from the bar’s air-conditioning system, drawing her back in time to a sultry summer afternoon a lifetime ago.

  The ripples in her martini glass shimmered out to the rim and dissipated as the hazy memory floated at the edges of her consciousness and invaded her senses.

  The phantom scent of lime polish and hyacinths tickled her nostrils as she recalled the pleasantly cool hallway of the clapboard house on Hillbrook College Campus. The parquet cold beneath bare feet as she tiptoed down the compact house’s corridor with her shoes clutched in her fist. Guilt tugged at the pit of her stomach—because she was creeping home at four in the afternoon after an all-night frat party when she had promised faithfully to spend the day revising at the college library with Reese. And then she heard again the sound of an unfamiliar male voice, low and brusque despite being infused with the lazy rhythms of the Deep South, echoing down the stairs from Marnie’s room on the first landing.

  THREE

  ‘No is my final answer, Marnie. Mama’s not going to allow you to go on a road trip with your friends and neither am I. Once the wedding is over, you will be staying in Savannah for the summer.’

  Gina’s brows drew down in a sharp frown. So the famous older brother, the Sainted Carter, had finally showed up to transport Marnie’s stuff back to Savannah. She slipped her shoes back on and decided to stay put in her hiding place—and get some vicarious pleasure from hearing Marnie give the guy the smack down he clearly deserved.

  What a tool, ordering his sister about like that.

  ‘I don’t believe I need your permission, Carter,’ Marnie replied, succinctly. ‘You’re not Daddy—and Mama will come around once I’ve spoken to her.’

  Way to go, Marnie.

  Pride swelled in Gina’s chest at the knowledge that a year ago, when Marnie had first arrived at Reese’s house on campus from deepest, darkest Georgia, she never would have had the guts to talk back to the Sainted Carter like that. A man Gina and Reese and Cassie had all suspected was a total douche, hence the nickname they’d given him together, despite the way Marnie gushed about him.

  ‘Mama doesn’t control the mill’s finances, I do,’ came the low, irritatingly patient reply. ‘So I’d like to know how you’re gonna go on this road trip, if I refuse to pay for it.’

  ‘Daddy left me a share in the mill, surely I can—’

  ‘Daddy left your share in trust,’ he interr
upted with the same implacable calm. ‘A trust which he left me to administer until you reach your majority—and I’m refusing your request for funds on this occasion.’

  ‘That’s not fair, Carter.’

  Gina’s fingers fisted into tight balls as the argument continued and slowly but surely all the confidence and assurance Marnie had gained in the past year leached away as her brother refused to budge. In fact, Gina was fairly sure from his uninterested replies that he wasn’t even listening.

  For that alone, Gina could have throttled him with her bare hands. Why did so many men have to be like her father, judgmental and superior and always, always right?

  She pressed back into the alcove as Marnie’s bedroom door closed upstairs and footsteps came down the stairs. She caught a glimpse of a tall figure dressed in a creased chambray shirt and suit trousers as he strolled into the kitchen.

  She stayed in the alcove, hearing his heavy sigh, and debated the wisdom of getting involved: with her tendency to be provocative she was liable to make it worse, and it really wasn’t any of her business. But as she walked to the kitchen doorway and spied on him helping himself to one of Reese’s chilled diet colas from the fridge, anger and resentment flared.

  He closed the fridge, his broad back to her as he twisted the cap off the bottle and flipped it into the bin, then took a long swallow of the cola. One large hand gripped the edge of the sink but the rigid line of his shoulder blades relaxed.

  Why should she respect his privacy when he hadn’t respected Marnie’s—and how could she possibly make things worse?

  Leaning insolently against the doorjamb, she gave her voice the soft smoky purr she knew made men putty in her hands. ‘You know, you really ought to take that huge stick out from up your arse. It’s going to ruin the very nice line of those designer trousers.’