Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
“I told your mother it was time to break the seal.”
“So it was you who put her in that room.”
“It isn’t an issue, Ian.”
“She’s going to figure Danny out.”
“I’m sure you helped her with that on your tour,” Richard said snidely.
“Might as well save her some time.”
“You can’t see your brother happy.”
“No, I can. I want that for him. What I don’t want is for him to shit on yet another woman while he makes himself happy, just like his father taught him.”
The viciousness of Richard’s next had me holding my breath. “How fucking dare you,” he snarled.
“Pretty fucking easy, Dad. Christ, she’s a shell. You think I’m her son and I don’t feel that for her?”
Richard’s shift of subject felt like whiplash, and I wasn’t even part of the conversation.
“She’s in that room. She’s fine. There’s no reason to move her. It’s a beautiful room.”
“And Louella is in Floral, which is the shittiest room in the house. How stupid do you think women in general are?” Ian sneered. “Do you honestly think they haven’t figured you out, at least Daphne? She had your ticket the second she laid eyes on you.”
“I don’t have a ticket, for God’s sakes.”
“You’re worse than her father, and she smelled that on you before you entered the Pearl Room to greet her.”
Well, surprise, surprise. Ian thought highly of me, because I didn’t, but I also kinda sorta did, just not in the way he thought.
I must have passed his tests.
“This is a ridiculous conversation,” Richard derided. “You’re not needed here this week. You can go back to London tomorrow when Daniel and Portia return.”
“If you think I’m going to leave those women to this pack of hyenas, Dad, you’re dead, fucking wrong.”
Yes.
I was beginning to like this guy.
Damn.
“Also, please, for the love of God, let this sink in,” Ian went on. “You don’t tell me what to do anymore. You haven’t for twenty goddamn years. You never will again.”
“Would that I could break the covenants,” Richard taunted in an ugly voice.
I clapped both hands over my mouth.
Because…
The covenants?
That had to be…what?
What determined the succession of the earldom?
Richard was saying to his son’s face that he didn’t want him to inherit what was rightfully his.
Sure, it was by luck of the birth order.
It was still Ian’s.
“Well, you can’t,” Ian returned. “But go for it. I could buy Duncroft twice and not blink.”
“No one likes a braggart, Ian.”
“You missed my point, Dad. I don’t need the fucking title and I don’t want the fucking house. I’m not stupid, it’s worth a fortune, and since it’s mine, I’ll take it. But unlike you, and Danny, and everyone before you, I don’t need it. And that’s what pisses you off so goddamn much. Because I have something to brag about. And you’ve done not one fucking worthwhile thing in your life, so you’ve got dick.”
Score!
I nearly cheered.
Instead, since this seemed to be winding down, I made sure to keep to the carpet runner and quickly made my way to the foyer.
That was marble, no rug, so I tiptoed as best I could around the staircase, then walked normally when I entered the Conservatory.
Because I knew where I could find a drink.
I was helping myself to a bottle of Champagne (Veuve, as a matter of fact) from the beverage fridge when I cried out and whirled after I heard Ian ask, “Making yourself at home?”
I stood, expensive bottle in one hand, fingers wrapped around the cork I’d already divested of its foil, caught red-handed.
“Uh…”
“Enjoy the entertainment?”
Shit, I could feel the blood rushing to my face.
“You couldn’t miss it,” I said carefully.
“You didn’t have to listen.”
True.
“You’re freaking me out, how did you know I was there?” I asked.
“I heard your heels on the marble of the entryway. Coming and leaving. Even all the way from the Conservatory. It echoes.”
Oh. Yes. Of course. How did I not think of that?
“Did your dad hear me?”
“My father lives in a bubble of his own importance that nothing penetrates. I’d pushed myself into it, necessarily, but regrettably. Since he’s only capable of dealing with one thing at a time, and considering he’d have no issue calling you out for listening, I’d say no.”
He came toward me, and I stood still, wondering what he would do.
He stopped in front of me and yanked the Champagne out of my hands.
Fair play. It was his, or his dad’s, but actually it was both of theirs, really, in a weird way.
My mind stopped rambling when I heard the cork pop and he leaned into me.
His cologne wasn’t cloying. It was elusive, but I smelled moss, clove and something fresh, maybe bergamot.
It was unusual: subtle (not him), yet still strong (totally him).
Oh dear.
When he straightened, he had two cut crystal Champagne flutes in one hand.
He offered them to me.
I took them.