Royal Bastard (Instantly Royal 1)

Megan tsk-tsked behind him. “Poor Mr. Darcy. It stinks when life doesn’t turn out the way you plan.”

“Amen to that,” Nick agreed and stood up.

“I owe you a proper thank-you now. Have you made it down to the Fox?”

He gulped. “You have more animals?”

“No, the pub.” She laughed as she flipped the sign on the door from Open to Closed. “The Quick Fox. Have you met Phillip and Angela yet?”

“I haven’t, but I’ve met the daughters.”

“Both of them?” she asked, opening the shop door.

He nodded and walked through, even though he could hear his mother’s voice in his head telling him to always hold the door open for others. Megan walked through after him, took out her keys, and locked the dead bolt.

“Well,” she said. “You’ve gotten the yin and yang of the Chapman-Powells, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“The friendly and fun sister and—” She paused and pocketed the keys in her purse. “The other one.”

He knew just what she meant by that—he had nicknamed Brooke “Lady Lemons,” after all—but he’d also gotten a peek at a different kind of woman in their texts, and maybe that was why hearing another person call her out got his back up. “I thought Daisy was nice.”

“She is.” Megan nodded and pointedly said no more.

“I guess that makes Brooke the other one.”

“Oh, she’s nice enough, but…well…she can rub people the wrong way.”

And unraveling exactly why that was had him more interested in her than he was entirely comfortable with. He’d met snarly women before, liked them, and fucked them up, down, and sideways. He liked fire and sass in a woman. But he couldn’t shake the idea that Brooke Chapman-Powell wasn’t nearly as bitchy as she acted or that if she was, she had her reasons. What those were, he had no idea, but if he could figure it out, he just might be able to get out of this town sooner than it seemed the villagers and dear old Grandpappy had planned for him.

“So, the pint?” Megan asked, jerking her chin toward the next building, which had a fox painted on a sign hanging above the door.

He nodded. “Let’s do it.”

After the day he’d had and the jet lag starting to make his eyes droop even though it was just after five in the evening, a beer sounded perfect. And if he happened to run into Lady Lemons at the pub and got a chance to observe her in her natural environment to better understand what made her tick so he could foil her plans for him? Even better.

Chapter Seven

When at a loss for what to do next, Brooke went to the one place that always brought everything into focus: the Quick Fox. She lived in the pub—well, upstairs from it, but it was more than that. She’d polished the intricately carved wood bar for a few quid as her first job and pulled pints before moving into the back room to help tackle the books.

When the air turned crisp, there’d be a fire crackling in the fireplace tucked into the far wall. The smell of burning wood mixed with the latest village gossip was her favorite. It eased the tension in her shoulders and made her think anything was possible. And that was something she needed right about now, because not only had she just accepted a mission impossible that turned her stomach—making a stubborn American into an English earl—but she couldn’t find the irritating man in question.

The road to the village had been empty of tall, broad men with more muscles than good sense. Same with the forest walkway and the few shops she’d popped into during her search. Oh, everyone had seen the disappearing soon-to-be earl, but no one knew where he was currently.

That just gives you time to formulate a scheme for what to do to him. She jolted to a stop near the Quick Fox. WITH not TO. She would definitely not be doing anything to just-call-me Nick Vane, she promised herself as she began walking again. No matter how much she wanted to know if each of his eight abs was as well-defined as they’d appeared in pictures or if the earl’s private investigator fancied himself a Photoshop expert.

She pulled open the Fox’s solid wood door and walked inside. Her father was behind the bar using the same ratty towel to mop up a spill despite the new microfiber ones she’d gotten him that were more absorbent. Her mum was nowhere to be seen, which meant it must be Village Heritage Committee meeting day. Daisy stood at the end of the bar, oblivious as usual to the undimmed hope in Riley McCann’s gaze as he sat next to her. No matter how many times she’d pointed out to her sister that the rugged forest ranger had a crush on her, Daisy insisted they were just friends.

A smattering of villagers sat at the tables scattered in the cozy space. A few glanced up at her as she walked in, but beyond one or two lifted chins in greeting, no one said hello. That was okay, though. They weren’t demonstrative, but they’d been there for her before and she’d be there for them now. One way or another, she’d figure out how to make things work out.

The light from the beer garden courtyard behind the pub filtered in through the open door that led to the enclosed area that always caught the last bit of sun each day. A cheer sounded through the doorway. No doubt, there was a game going on in the beer garden as everyone enjoyed a pint or two.

Brooke’s shoulders didn’t relax in centimeters. A sense of ease just whooshed through her all at once. These were her people. This was home.

“If it isn’t my little poppet,” her dad called out with his usual greeting.

“I’m almost as tall as you, Dad,” she answered, her usual response as she stopped on the opposite side of Daisy’s from Riley, signing a quick hello to her sister, who returned the greeting with a hello.