Page 27 of The B-Team

“Honestly, I just wanted you to stop trying to name it after a basketball player.”

That caused more laughter. “LeBron Ford-Taylor Carter has a good ring to it,” he mused. “Or Shaquille Carter. Yeah, I like that one too.”

Rachel groaned. “And if the baby’s a girl?”

“I think the names work for both sexes.” He sounded amused, which was the only thing that saved him from her wrath. If she had the energy to exert any wrath. Honestly, it was hard to be wrathful when snuggling.

“What about Anne or Catherine?” she offered.

“I was kinda hoping we wouldn’t name our kid after the royal family,” he drawled.

Rachel sighed. “At this rate, the child will pick its own name when it comes of age.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Harvard said as the car slowed in the Westminster traffic. The Thames was on their right, and the Palace of Westminster was up ahead, with Big Ben looming over it. “You really think this guy’s just going to see us without an appointment?” He sounded unconvinced.

“I keep trying to explain the aristocracy to you,” Rachel said. “You’d think that as an American who has married into it, you’d make more of an effort to listen to me.”

“My bad,” he said, grinning again.

“The Fitzwaters are what you’d considerconnectedupper class. They’ve been around for centuries, and their old money allows them a level of access that wouldn’t be appropriate if they weren’t so established. They’ve acquired power through politics and by wheedling themselves into positions close to the throne. But they have a weakness we can exploit.”

“I’m listening,” he said.

“They don’t have a title.” Rachel pushed away from him and took a hairbrush out of her handbag. It wouldn’t do to turn up at parliament looking anything less than superbly polished. “At least, not yet. The minister’s youngest son is currently engaged to be married to Fonella White-Smithe.LadyFonella of Chadbury. His son will attain the title of lord, which can be passed down through the generations, therefore taking the Fitzwaters into the aristocracy.” She checked her face in her mirrored compact and nodded with satisfaction.

“I’m guessing this wedding’s a big deal,” Harvard said as he took her hand. “You’re beautiful.”

For the love of Prada, she felt herself blushing and glared at her belly. “This isyourfault,” she told their baby. “I never blushed before you came along.”

“It suits you,” the traitor beside her said. “So, the wedding?” he prompted.

“Yes, it’s a big deal. Honestly, I’ve no idea why the Fitzwaters haven’t married into a title before now. I can only assume no one would have them. But this marriage is their ticket into the inner circle, and considering how much all of this means to their family, I imagine they’re beside themselves with glee.”

Their car weaved through the busy London traffic, making its way toward the Home Office, a few streets past the Houses of Parliament.

“Okay, so the family is going to be stuffed full of lords and ladies,” Harvard said. “How does this help us?”

“Because,” Rachel said with all the patience she could muster, “I amLadyFord-Talbot, daughter of the seventh countess of Ponterley, who is second cousin to the king. In England, pedigree opens doors. In fact, it’s better than a backstage pass to the finale of a basketball tournament.”

Harvard groaned. “First, basketball doesn’t have a backstage. And second, they don’t have a finale either. Once this baby is here, we’re going to watch some games and educate you before I die of humiliation.”

“Drama queen,” Rachel said.

Their driver slowed in front of the building that housed the Home Office and pulled over to let them out. The building was a grotesque cube, seven stories high, with what looked like oversized louver doors covering its front. For some reason that Rachel couldn’t quite fathom, a canopy of rainbow glass hung over the top of the building.

“Modern architecture has absolutely no class,” Rachel told Harvard when he came up beside her.

“I hear it has an indoor street with balconies overlooking it and restaurants on the ground floor. Sounds like a good place to work.”

“Sounds like a Las Vegas casino.”

Rachel raised her chin and headed for the main entrance and the secure reception area. There were cameras, police, and security everywhere. She chose the most important-looking person behind the reception desk and aimed straight for him.

“Ten bucks says we get kicked out,” Harvard murmured.

“O ye of little faith,” she muttered back before addressing the male security officer: “Lady Ford-Talbot to see Minister of State, Mr. Fitzwater.”

The man looked her up and down with a blank expression. “Do you have an appointment?”