Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Get me Knox right away,” I order.
“Yes, m’Lord,” he replies and hurries away. A few minutes later, Knox comes over. I speak to him. He nods briefly and pulls out his phone, scrolls through it and calls a number.
“Harry’s number is engaged, but I’m pretty sure he’ll be at your service.”
“Thank you. Text me his number and I’ll keep trying,” I say.
As a quiet ping sounds on my phone, he says, “Will there be anything else, m’Lord? Only I’m in the middle of decanting the claret for the after-party toast.”
“No, that will be all. Thank you, Knox. You return to your decanting.”
He hurries away after a quick glance at Lauren.
I pull out my phone and dial Harry’s number. He responds on the second try.
“Harry,” I say briskly, “It’s Hugh Montrose. There’s a problem at Sweetbriar Cottage. A pipe in the bathroom has burst, and it’s flooded the house. I need you there as soon as possible.”
“I’m so sorry, Lord Montrose. You know, I’d love to help, but I’m tied up on another emergency job across town, so I can’t leave right now. But I’ll be more than happy to look in tomorrow morning or in a couple of hours and—.”
“If you can’t get here within the next ten minutes, you’re of no use to me. But if you do get here, I’ll make it worth every second of your time, and you can name your price. I don’t care what it is.”
He pauses, a low grumble of someone else rumbling through the phone, the sound of a man weighing inconvenience against a paycheck.
“Ten minutes?” he says, skeptically. “I’m halfway across town.”
“Then drive fast,” I say, firmly leaving no room for debate. “This can’t wait. Whatever it takes, Harry.”
“Alright, I’m on it. Ten minutes, maybe twelve. I’ll do my best.”
“Good,” I say, and hang up.
I turn to Lauren, her eyes fixed on me, wide, something like awe shimmering in them. It catches me, that look, like a hook in my chest.
“He’ll be at your place in ten,” I say, my voice almost gentle. “Or as close as he can get, but rest assured, the problem is under control.”
She exhales, a slow, shaky breath, her shoulders easing as the tension drains from her frame. The sight of her relief—it’s like warmth spreading through me, thawing a place I’ve kept frozen.
“Thank you. Thank you so much,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. Then, as if suddenly shy, her gaze flicks away. She glances around, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her jacket. “I… I should head back to wait for him.”
“There’s nothing you can do at your place. Stay and enjoy the party.”
Her eyes wander, drinking in the ballroom—the gilded ceiling, the long tables covered in crisp linen, the silver trays gleaming with delicate canapés and the flutes of golden champagne bubbling without a care in the world.
“Your party’s beautiful,” she says, a touch of wonder in her voice, like she’s seeing something out of a storybook. “It’s like… how I imagined a party in a palace would be.”
I follow her gaze, seeing it all anew: the open doors to the rose garden, moonlight spilling over the gravel paths, guests drifting in and out, their laughter mingling with the scent of night-blooming jasmine. “It’s not my party,” I say, keeping my tone light. “A favor for a business acquaintance who wanted somewhere grand for his fifth wedding anniversary.”
“That’s… really kind,” she says, and her sincerity hits me, unexpectedly, like a ray of light breaking through a cloud. She’s not biting, not guarded, and it throws me. I bite back the instinctive sarcastic retort about the favor being worth £1.2 billion, knowing talk of wealth would spook her, make her retreat.
She stands, smoothing her jacket, ready to bolt. “I should go—”
“Why?” I ask, moving closer, catching the faint lemon of her shampoo, a scent that pulls me back to that kiss. “You don’t need to wait alone in a cold, flooded house. The plumber will call when he gets there. Come and join the party.”
She falters, glancing down at herself, her fingers tugging at her skirt. “I’m not dressed for this,” she says, voice tight, a flush creeping up her neck. “I look… out of place.”
“You look beautiful,” I murmur, and it’s not flattery. It’s truth, raw and unguarded. Her skirt hugs her hips, her top bares a sliver of skin, and that jacket makes her real in a way no gown could.
She freezes, her cheeks deepening with color, and I see the way the compliment lands, softening her edges, making her pause. “Thank you,” she says quietly, and after a long moment, “Okay. I’ll stay.”
Relief floods me. The feeling is unexpected and unsettling. I turn my head and catch a waiter’s eye, signaling him over.
“Champagne okay with you?” I ask her, keeping it casual, like it’s nothing to keep her here.