Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
His mind whirled so fast he couldn’t keep up. Number one priority was how the hell he was going to manage to keep his hands off his lioness. Then again, did he truly want to?
Hell no, but none of that changed his plans. He was leaving and he wasn’t about to put her in such a situation where he’d damaged her reputation. He was helping get some adventure and have fun before she was married off. That was it.
She’s asking for it. She is asking me to find her a man to teach her about pleasure. I would be doing her a favor.
Yeah, if he listened to his cock he’d be in a world of trouble. This wasn’t about him, but her. And he’d do well to remember that. He knew exactly which carriage she rode in and continually kept it in sight.
“Your protectiveness over her is unrivaled.”
Of course his friend would have picked up on that. Bryn grunted.
Falcon moved up beside him, riding with nearly equal ease. He jutted his chin in silent question, a gesture Bryn knew from practically growing up with this man.
“I’m fine. She’s fine.”
“Who are you going to point her to, or are you listening to your insane sister and setting her up with a madam to learn her own pleasure?”
He couldn’t stop the groan from slipping by his lips any more than he could halt the breeze. It wasn’t fair.
“Fuck you.”
Falcon laughed. “Riding getting uncomfortable?”
Bryn hated his best friend knew him so well. “Yeah, because I have such experience riding with an erection.” He gave him a pointed glare. “I’m not you.”
“Of course not. I’m far too handsome for you to pass as me. Plus, women and children love me, they don’t run hiding.” He touched his tricorn and Bryn rolled his eyes.
* * * *
Something settled in his chest when they rode up the drive. So many years had passed since his first trip up the mixture of crushed shells and rock.
“You all right there, Bryn?”
Smile strained, he gave his friend a slight nod. “Just thinking about my first time riding up to this house.”
Falcon shot him a sympathetic glance. “When you first came over from America.”
“Yes.” Casting his gaze to the carriage that held his parents, Bryn gave a soft smile. They’d endured so much to find their happily ever after. And while he didn’t think it was in the cards for him, a tiny part of his soul couldn’t help but retain hold onto that romanticism.
Bryn sat high in the saddle as they unloaded from the carriages before the sprawling home. Only once he spied the curvaceous body of Rosamunde being assisted out of the coach did he turn and touch his heels to the sleek sides of his horse to head to the stable.
Only once he was certain—or hoped to hell he was right—she would be upstairs in one of the guest rooms, did he make the trek to the house. Nodding in greeting at the staff, he took the stairs two at a time to his room.
Releasing a contented sigh once he was securely behind the heavy oak door, he removed his boots and padded to the large chair by the window and sank to it, grateful to be off the horse and just, well, home.
Within the hour, he’d changed after a bath and found his room full of childhood friends. Four of them were from the island and were his Uncle Phillip’s children. They talked and laughed until a footman knocked and informed them the evening meal was ready.
The joy continued as they moved down to the ground floor, footsteps thundering, joking and bantering. It made him smile and realize he’d needed this far more than he’d believed.
“Bryn!”
He was moving as his gaze landed on Falcon’s mother—not by birth, but by all that mattered to their family. Leona, much like his own mother, only got more elegant and stunning as the years passed.
“Aunt Leona.” He moved across the room and without hesitation enveloped her in his embrace. “I have missed you.” Yes, she’d been at the opera but, as was true with most of his family, they held in affection a lot if they were in public.
Her arms tight around him brought him the familiar scent he’d always associate with her. “Come to the coast then, and visit.”
He kissed her cheek, mindful as always of the watchful gaze of her husband, Falcon’s father, Trace. “On my way to America, I will make sure to stop by.”
She patted his cheek and stepped from his arms, leaving him to welcome his Uncle Trace. Again, they weren’t blood, but to him this entire room was full of family. His family.
As they hugged and greeted one another, they also claimed seats around the long table. Holding the chair for Isabella, whose father—again, not by blood—was his Uncle Phillip, he gave her hair a gentle tug even as a tingle danced up his spine, announcing without any words on who had just walked into the room.