Backwards Honeymoon

A growl came from underneath, and a body, lying on a rolling board, slid into sight.

“What the hell—”

Kathryn’s gaze slid slowly from the man’s dirt-splotched sneakers past a pair of jeans so worn that they were barely blue and across a grease-smeared T-shirt. She focused on a pair of broad shoulders, a tanned, rugged-looking face, a thatch of unruly dark hair, and a pair of deep brown eyes that snapped with aggravation.

“Can’t you watch where you’re walking?” he grumbled.

“Sorry. I was thinking.”

“Oh, you’re one of those people who can’t walk and think at the same time.” He sat up, and suddenly his gaze sharpened. “You’re supposed to be getting married just about now.”

Kathryn looked through him. “You must have mistaken me for someone else.”

“Really? Then what’s that bit of orange blossom doing stuck in your hair?”

Her fingers found the stray petals and plucked them loose, then began to seek out hairpins, destroying the formal hairstyle Antoine had worked so hard to produce.

“Katie Mae Campbell in the flesh,” the man mused.

Kathryn bristled. “Nobody has called me that since I was six years old, and I do not plan to make an exception anytime soon. Miss Campbell will do. Or, if you insist, you can call me Miss Kathryn.”

“And as I’m saying it, I should pull my forelock respectfully like a good peasant, I suppose.” He rose slowly, with a panther’s grace, and reached for a rag lying on the car’s fender to wipe his hands.

He was taller than she’d thought; Kathryn found herself looking a long way up. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Jonah Clarke. My father is your gardener, in case you don’t know.”

“Of course I know his name. That explains why you recognized orange blossom from seeing a single petal.”

“He’d be proud of me. Also he’d be charmed that you came to visit, only he’s not here. He’s over at the big house to attend your wedding. Which sort of brings us back to where we started.”

It was none of his business, of course. “Why aren’t you with him?” The question wasn’t entirely a delaying tactic; Kathryn was honestly curious.

“I wasn’t invited. I’m only here to visit him for the day.” He tossed the rag aside. “So tell me, Miss Kathryn—what gives?”

“I’m not getting married.”

“I gathered that much,” he said dryly. “So what are you going to do instead?”

“I’m…leaving.”

“I see. Well, if you’re looking for your Porsche, I think the garage is still on the other side of the property.”

She bit her lip and looked at him, debating. She was down to minutes, if even that long, before the alarm went up, and standing here talking was getting her nowhere at all.

“Jonah,” she began. “You know perfectly well that I—”

“Mr. Clarke will do.” He mimicked her tone. “Or, if you insist, you can call me…well, let’s stick to Mr. Clarke. It’s much tidier.”

“Mr. Clarke,” she said firmly. “You grew up here on the estate, am I right?”

He nodded. He looked wary, she thought.

“Then you must know if there’s any way out of this place other than through the front gates.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even know me, but you’re assuming that I was the sort who would go sneaking out over the walls at night.”

“Well, didn’t you?”

He grinned. “Of course I did.”

“How?”

“Oh, no. I’m not telling you.”

She caught at his sleeve. “Please,” she said. “I’m desperate, here. I have to get outside these walls, right now. Will you help me?”

His eyes narrowed. “Tell me exactly what’s in it for me—besides a whole lot of grief when your dad catches up with me—and I’ll consider it.”

She looked up at him and let her voice go sultry. “What do you want?”

“What are you offer—” He broke off and shrugged. “Oh, forget it. Katie Mae, you are too dangerous to be let loose on the world.”

“I told you not to call me—” She paused. “Come to think of it, you can call me anything you want to if you’ll just help me get over the wall.”

“Will going through it be good enough?” He pushed open the side door of the garage and leaned into the dark interior. Then he dangled a large, old-fashioned key in front of her.

In a rush of gratitude, Kathryn said, “I’ll give you anything you want.”

“I’ll think it over and let you know. Come on.”

His loose-limbed stride ate up the ground; Kathryn had trouble keeping up with him as he plunged deeper into the woods which filled a good part of the Campbell estate.

“So where are you headed?” he asked over his shoulder.

“You don’t think I’d tell you, surely.”

“That probably means you don’t know.”

“No, it means I expect you’d turn around and sell the information to my father.”

“Sure I will. I’ll march right up to him and say, ‘Jock, old buddy, I can tell you where your daughter went, and I know because she confided in me while I was hoisting her over the wall.’ I’m sure he’d reward me, probably right after he slugged me in the face.”

“What about the key? I thought that meant there was a door or something.”

“You don’t think I’d tell him all my secrets, do you? He’d have it sealed up in a minute, and who knows—I might want it again someday.”

“Thinking of moving back in with your father, are you?” she asked sweetly.