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)
What’s he doing here? Surprise doesn’t cover it. I’m stunned. I wish I could call on my usual sharpness to rise like a shield, ready to snap at him, to keep him at arm’s length, but things have changed since yesterday. The emergency plumber, the way he stepped in, calm and sure, saving my cottage from ruin. My hostility has faltered, softening into something warmer, and I smile, genuine despite myself.
“Hello,” I say, my voice tinged with gratitude I can’t hide. “Is something wrong?” I glance past him, scanning the dark yard, half-expecting a problem to be found behind him.
He shakes his head, but his gaze doesn’t waver. It is steady in a way that makes my skin prickle. “Just checking in,” he says, voice low, like we’re sharing a secret. “The plumbing—is it all fixed? Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding, my fingers tugging at the hem of my tank top, suddenly aware of how little I’m wearing. “All good. The plumber came back today and finished it up. And it was really affordable, too. Prices in England are so cheap. Shockingly so.”
I linger on that, watching him, testing. The price was too low—pipes that old, a job that big, should’ve cost a fortune. I’d nearly argued, but Harry was already packing up, insistent, and I’d let it go. Now, I’m sure Hugh’s behind it, and I want him to admit it, to crack that composed mask. But he doesn’t. His face stays smooth, unreadable. Maybe I was wrong. Prices in these parts of the world are really that cheap.
“Good,” he says simply, leaning a fraction closer, his shoulder brushing the doorframe. “I just wanted to make sure.”
My suspicions unanswered, and thrown by his concern, I can only nod. His eyes flick past me, catching sight of the lamp in the living room. “I saw you reading. I didn’t mean to pry, it’s just that we are neighbors. You’re winding down for the night?”
“Yeah,” I say, too quickly, my words tumbling out before I can stop them. “I did a ton in the kitchen today—ripping out the cabinets, sanding. Anyway, yeah, I’m just… trying to relax.” I’m rambling. My voice is high-pitched and freaking betraying me, and I hate it.
Why am I so nervous? Is it his calm? The way he’s watching me like he sees every flicker of my thoughts? Whatever it is, it’s working. It makes my pulse race like crazy, and I’m pissed at myself for letting it. I take a slow, steadying breath and try to match his ease. Then I remember the lamp, its light spilling over us, impossible to ignore. I saw his eye flick towards it, so he’s definitely seen it. I seize the chance to shift the ground.
“When are you sending your staff to pick the lamp up?” I ask, tilting my chin toward the living room.
He leans in slightly, peering past me, and my stomach flips at how close he is, his scent—leather, earth, him—curling around me. “It sure does look beautiful in there,” he says, his voice warm, ignoring my question’s edge. “It really suits the room.”
“It’s too much,” I counter firmly, though my resolve is wavering under his gaze. “It’s too expensive to keep.”
“Well,” he says. “How about we call it a welcome present?” he says, a glint in his eyes. “From your new neighbor.”
I laugh, the sound slipping out, light and unguarded. “Most neighbors bring cookies. Muffins, maybe.”
“Not many neighbors have much taste,” he says, and it’s not a boast—just a fact, delivered with blunt honesty I’m starting to recognize. It catches me off guard, not arrogant but daring, and for the first time, his directness doesn’t bristle, but charms. What is life if not to be a little reckless sometimes, or engage in a thrilling escapade? I sigh, knowing I’m wading deeper into trouble. My body feels like it’s heating up, too aware of him standing there, close enough to touch.
“Fine,” I say, conceding, my voice softer and more pliant than I want. “Okay, you’re right. Not most neighbors, no.”
“So you’ll keep it?”
I nod. “Thank you. It’s beautiful”
He nods, satisfied, but doesn’t move, his presence filling the porch, the night pressing in around us. I’m burning up, remembering that kiss, that sudden, searing mistake I swore not to repeat. If he tried now, if he leaned in, I’m not sure I’d stop him, and that terrifies me.
He makes me weak, strips my defenses, but I’ll hate myself if I give in, if I prove Cecilia right—another woman falling for the womanizer, another conquest for the 12th Duke of Beauclerk. The thought cools my blood, and I’m ready to end this little interlude, to shut the door when he speaks, voice deceptively casual.
“Would you like to come out with me one night?” he asks, and my heart stumbles. “There’s a club I like—one of the few worth going to in London. I could take you. Just a few drinks, good music, no pressure.”