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  “Y-you’ve seen my feet,” she stammered when he reached for her ankle. He slipped off the shoe, cradling her heel and pressing his thumb into the arch of her foot.

  A moan escaped Alice’s lips before she could stop it. As much as she favored fancy heels, they did often leave her feet sore. “That feels nice,” she whispered, closing her eyes to enjoy the sensation. His hands felt like heaven as they massaged, the touch alternately soft then firm.

  He finished with one foot, then took off the other shoe. Alice tried not to think of his touch as foreplay, imagining his hands on other parts of her body.

  But before her daydreams had time to overtake her, Flynn let out a sharp cry.

  She jerked away from Charles.

  “He’s hungry,” she said, as she scooped up the baby, embarrassed at how husky her voice sounded.

  “I’ll get the bottle,” Charles offered, without missing a beat.

  She stood with Flynn in her arms, not bothering to put on her shoes. Charles shook up the formula, uncapped the bottle and handed it to Alice. She was careful to take it without touching him, not sure she could handle the contact with how sensitized she felt at the moment.

  The baby guzzled happily, and Charles cleaned up the remnants of their meal.

  “I can do that when he’s finished.”

  “It’s not a problem,” Charles told her with a smile. “Think of it as your very own royal treatment.” His grin was so cheeky she couldn’t help but return it.

  As Flynn finished the bottle, the band appeared on the stage. They were a bluegrass quartet. The lead singer played the banjo and was accompanied by a fiddle player, upright bassist and drummer. The crowd applauded, several couples near the front surging to their feet to dance to the spirited music.

  “They’re good,” Charles said, putting the lid back on the picnic basket.

  “Most music in Austin is good.” Alice lifted Flynn to her shoulder and patted his back. “We’re famous for it.”

  “This is Texas to me,” Charles said softly, and reached out a hand to her.

  Shifting Flynn to a more secure position in one arm, she lightly placed her fingers in Charles’s. He spun her slowly, then gathered her close. The three of them danced together, swaying to the music as the band launched into a ballad, the fiddle player taking the lead with a resonating melody that tugged at her heartstrings.

  Pale streaks of pink and orange colored the sky above them, and Alice could just see the faint outline of the moon beginning to rise behind the stage.

  “You’re barely breathing,” Charles whispered against her ear.

  She pulled back. “I seem to have forgotten how,” she said, and sucked in an almost painful gulp. “It’s the music.” She laughed and moved off the blanket, clutching Flynn to her chest. “The fiddle gets me every time.”

  Charles lifted a brow as if he knew too well that she was lying through her teeth. “Of course. The fiddle.” He didn’t move closer but tapped his toe in time to the music. “I like it here, Alice.”

  She brushed a light kiss across the top of Flynn’s head. “I like it with you here, Charles.” She turned away as soon as the words were out of her mouth, embarrassed at how much they revealed. This was temporary, she reminded herself as she swayed to the music with Flynn. Charles had made no promises, and she didn’t expect him to. Her only connection to him was through her son, even if it felt like more every time they were together. She kept her attention focused on the band until her emotions were under control.

  “Do you want to hold him?” she asked, turning to Charles after the next song finished.

  He gave her a searching look, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end only nodded. “Certainly.” He took the baby carefully, balancing an alert Flynn on his forearm.

  “You look like you’re holding a football,” she told him as she slipped back into her shoes.

  He made a face. “It’s a rugby hold. A football is something you kick with your feet.”

  Alice made a show of glancing around. “You’d better not let anyone in Texas hear you say that. We take our American football seriously around these parts.” She purposely put an extra bit of twang in her tone. “They’ll run you out of the state quicker than you can say ‘God save the queen.’”

  “Don’t listen to her, young man,” Charles cooed at the baby. “Stick with Daddy and I’ll teach you what’s what with sports.” He looked up at Alice and winked. “He’s quite awake for it being so late.”

  She couldn’t resist taking a step closer and reaching out to trace a finger along Flynn’s soft cheek. Her wonder at her son never waned, no matter how tired or stressed she felt. But being here with Charles, it was easy to forget all those troubles. “He likes watching you,” she murmured.

  “Or maybe it’s the fiddle,” Charles said, and she could hear the teasing note in his voice.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped a finger against her chin in mock seriousness. “Yes, we’ve established that the fiddle is thrilling.”

  “Thrilling,” he repeated.

  She nodded. “In a friendly sort of way.”

  He let out a bark of laughter that made Flynn jump. The baby’s face contorted as he let out a wail. “I mucked that up,” Charles said.

  Alice automatically reached for the baby, but Charles shook his head. “Mind if I try to quiet him?”

  “Sure.” She watched, emotion wrenching her heart as he rocked the baby to the beat of the music. Charles might blend in with the crowd in his American clothes, but to her he still looked like the British playboy she’d read about for years in the tabloids. He was someone who had every advantage that money could buy, but here he was, trying to fit into her world—her son’s world—even as he was so clearly out of his depth.

  How could she resist falling in love with him?

  At the thought, Alice stumbled back a step. This was the worst of all possible outcomes for her time with Charles and a secret she would take to her grave. But it wasn’t the Charles Effect or his charm and natural affinity with women that had done her in. It was these small moments of sweetness and authentic emotion when he wasn’t relying on his reputation. She saw Charles for who he was, flaws and all, and that was the man she loved.

  But he was still the man she would never have.

  Despite how she’d tried to guard it, her heart splintered into tiny pieces at the thought.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Have you lost your handsome British mind?”

  Charles paused midbite to glance at the black-and-white photos thrown onto the table before him. He’d stopped in the hotel restaurant to grab a quick breakfast before heading over to the Texas Tourism Board office.

  It was a bit disturbing how much he wanted to see Alice, especially after having spent most of the previous evening with her. Despite her protests that she was fine, he’d insisted on walking her and Flynn home from the concert, then had taken a cab back to his empty hotel room.

  She hadn’t invited him in, and he didn’t blame her. He’d been the one to throw down the “friend” gauntlet, but no matter how he tried to convince himself it was for the best, he hated it. It was easier to think that was why he craved being close to her—she was an itch that he hadn’t been able to properly scratch.

  But what if that wasn’t the whole story?

  Normally Charles tired of women quickly, and not just in the bedroom. Alice was different. He was crazily attracted to her, but even without acting on that desire, Charles enjoyed being with her. She talked to him like he was a real person. She teased him and flirted without even realizing what she was doing. Flynn was a huge motivator, as well, and Charles wanted more time with both of them. For a man who’d done his best to avoid commitment for most of his life, all he hoped for now was that Alice would give him a chance to prove he could change.

  Because he could, except...

  “What the hell is the meaning of this? Did you have me followed?” His voice was stiff and dripped
with contempt as his gaze shot up from the pictures. As much as he loved the image of the three of them as a happy family, this was a violation of the worst sort. But it wasn’t a slimy paparazzo or tabloid reporter who stood in front of him.

  The woman who stared down at him regally from the other side of the table was the epitome of class and style. She was clearly older, although nary a wrinkle marred her porcelain complexion. It was as if she had refused to allow something so trivial as the passage of time to mark her. There was an air of power around her that few would defy, but Charles had never been one to cower when faced with an outright challenge.

  “Kate Fortune,” he said with a practiced smile, placing his fork on the white tablecloth. “I was wondering when you would grace me with your presence.”

  “You can save that suave charm for one of your high-society groupies, Charles.” She tapped a manicured finger on the table. “If my people can so easily deduce your identity, despite your American disguise, it won’t be long until your secret is out.”

  Charles pressed his lips together. “I want privacy while I’m in Texas,” he said through clenched teeth. “There’s no secret to discover beyond that.”

  She arched one fine brow. “Are you going to invite me to join you?”

  “Of course,” he said, standing and pulling out the chair next to him. “Please have a seat, Ms. Fortune. Would you like a menu? The waffles are quite good.”

  “No waffles,” she answered with a small chuckle, her expression softening a bit. Lucie had told him Kate had remained in Austin longer than she’d planned because she’d fallen ill and the doctor suggested her recovery would be easier in Austin than at home in Minneapolis during the brutal Minnesota winter. As Charles studied her, he noticed her silk suit seemed to be too big for her tiny frame.

  “I’m still strong enough to manage both my company and my own affairs,” she told him, as if reading his mind.

  “And your family?” he asked.

  “Cheeky boy,” she muttered.

  “That’s what my mother always told me.”

  Kate draped the cloth napkin across her lap and signaled the waiter for a cup of coffee. “I like you more than I expected.”

  Charles tilted his head, acknowledging the compliment. “Then I’ll strive to continue to exceed your expectations.”

  “From what I understand, that would be a rare feat for you.”

  “Were you this charming with the rest of the Fortune offspring?”

  She smiled at the question. “Certainly not. I tailor my conversation to each individual.”

  “You spoke with Lucie recently,” he observed.

  “Your sister is a lovely girl. She takes after your mother.”

  “Indeed she does.”

  “I wonder if you are very much like your father.”

  Charles felt himself stiffen and had trouble keeping his gaze neutral. “What do you know of Sir Simon?”

  “I know he was a good man and an even better father. I’ve done my research on all branches of the Fortunes, and you British lot have spent so much time in the spotlight that it’s easy to gather facts on you.”

  “The tabloids often don’t tell the whole story, if any portion of it.”

  One side of her mouth curved as she sized him up. “Does that mean you’re not a charming rake with a raging Peter Pan complex who skated by on your looks and family name for the better part of your life?”

  “I... It doesn’t... There hasn’t been... I don’t have a Peter Pan complex.” Charles broke off as he struggled to keep his breathing normal. He darted looks to the tables on either side of them, but it appeared no one had overheard Kate’s scathing assessment of his worth. He wasn’t sure whether to be outraged, embarrassed or some combination of the two, since this virtual stranger had concisely summed up his existence in a well-placed verbal attack.

  Kate paused as a cup of steaming coffee was set in front of her. She added a scant dollop of cream and stirred, then carefully removed the spoon, setting it neatly on the saucer. Charles got the impression that Kate Fortune was methodical about every move she made, and it was no accident that she’d sought him out after discovering his connection to Alice and Flynn. The thought made an unfamiliar wave of protectiveness roll through him, crashing through his shored-up defenses like a river breaching a dam.

  Before he could voice his concerns, Kate held up her hand. “I’m not going after you, Charles.” She flipped the pictures over so the images were hidden from view. “My goal is to secure the future of Fortune Cosmetics. I need someone who can work with me to learn the business and dedicate him-or herself to the company the way I have.”

  Charles pushed his plate to the side, his normally hearty morning appetite ruined. “That isn’t me.”

  “Are you asking or telling?” Kate retorted.

  “A bit of both, I suppose. I’m not interested in running your cosmetics company, and you don’t think I have it in me to dedicate myself to the business.”

  She studied him over the rim of her coffee mug. She clearly wore lipstick, skillfully applied like the rest of her makeup, but not a trace had bled onto the white porcelain of the china cup. Everything about Kate Fortune was perfect. “As I said, I’ve done my research. You are actually quite an asset to the British tourism industry. Despite outward appearances, I think you take your role as an unofficial ambassador very seriously.”

  Charles released a breath, relieved that the formidable cosmetics maven hadn’t skewered him again.

  “But,” she continued, setting the cup back on the table, “I wonder if you truly understand the value of family and the commitment it takes to maintain ties with the people nearest to you.”

  “I’m committed to my son,” he said, gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white. “Since I found out about Flynn, I’ve been more dedicated to him than I have with anything or anyone before in my life. Arrangements have been made for his future, ensuring that he will always be taken care of no matter what. I put my own plans on hold to stay in Austin and spend time with him. I plan to be a part of his life going forward.” Charles forced himself to relax his fingers, running a hand through his hair. “I may never measure up to Sir Simon, but I’m bloody well going to be the best father I can to that boy. No matter what you or anyone else thinks about me.”

  She reached out and patted his hand, as if placating a small child. “Don’t get all riled up on my account. I’m not talking about your son. It’s easy to love a baby.”

  Charles nodded. It had certainly been simple to become enamored of his son. And as for Alice—

  “But family connections through the generations are just as important,” Kate continued, before he could fully wrap his mind around his feelings for Alice. “They aren’t always neat or easy, but it’s essential to maintain those ties.”

  He focused on her words and on what Lucie told him had been developing within the Fortune family. “Do you include the Robinsons in those family ties?”

  Kate’s eyes widened a fraction. “That’s a complicated situation.”

  “Indeed, but in the name of family, they are just as important as any of the rest of us.”

  She frowned, as if considering that. “My sources tell me that Ben Robinson has tracked down Jerome Fortune’s mother.”

  “I’ve heard that, as well.” Charles didn’t volunteer any of the other information Lucie had shared.

  “Jacqueline Fortune, Jerome’s mother, insisted that her son is dead.” Kate’s expression was carefully neutral.

  “Do you believe that?”

  Kate shook her head. “I don’t. Do you?” She leaned forward, her eyes narrowed, waiting for his answer.

  “No,” Charles said after a moment. “But as you say, it’s complicated. I realize how lucky I am to have had the father I did. Not all children have that, and from what I understand Gerald Robinson was not the easiest man to have as a parent.” Charles didn’t know much about the scion of Robinson Tech and had met o
nly a couple of the Robinson children at a charity function the previous year. Lucie had become friends with Vivian Blair, who was now engaged to Wes Robinson, who was in charge of research and development at the powerful computer company. His sister had wanted to pepper him with details about the relationships within that family, but Charles had too much going on in his own life to worry about a different branch of the Fortunes.

  “He won’t admit that he’s really Jerome,” Kate said, her mouth thinned to a worried line.

  “But his children are convinced he is,” Charles said softly. “They have reason to make a claim on the Fortune name beyond wanting to know the truth.”

  “The Fortune name holds a lot of weight in many areas.”

  “So does the Robinson name,” Charles countered. “They don’t need the money and it can’t be easy to go up against a man as complicated as Gerald.”

  “Jerome,” Kate corrected.

  Charles nodded. “We’re in agreement on his true identity.”

  “Perhaps we agree on more than just that,” Kate murmured.

  “Like that I’d be a terrible choice to take over your business.”

  She laughed, a throaty chuckle, and her eyes sparkled in enjoyment. “You really are a scamp, Charles Fortune.”

  “A lovable one, I hope.”

  She arched one sculpted eyebrow. “I’ve heard that, as well.” Kate reached for her purse and pulled out a small velvet pouch. “I have something for you. It’s been in the Fortune family for many years.”

  Charles automatically shook his head. “I can’t take—”

  “You can take what I offer to you,” Kate said, her tone as regal as any aristocrat Charles had met. “And be grateful.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, quietly chastised.

  She slid the velvet case toward him. “Open it.”

  He gently pulled out a glittering emerald engagement ring with brilliant smaller diamonds surrounding the center stone. It was clearly vintage, in an understated art deco style, and he’d guess it was worth a small fortune, to use the word in the literal sense. There was a bit of filigree outlining the top edge and he could see the letter F in the design. “It’s beautiful,” he told her with a half smile, “but not quite my size.”