Royal Bastard (Instantly Royal 1)

Brooke? He froze, staring out the window, fear gripping his lungs tight at how quickly the confusion returned each time he shoved it away. Anxiety pinched and poked at him as he fought to keep his mind clear of the memories that seemed more real as his sense of mental control ceded. He was a man of a certain stature—a peer—and he knew the difference between past and present. Still, life became a little more frightening as his grip on that fact loosened a little each day.

He iced the fear, cooling his tone to better remind himself of the value of control. “Yours is an opinion I don’t require.”

“Sorry, sir,” Katie said, escaping through the door at a fast clip.

Alone again, he strode over to the tea set and picked up one of the melatonin tablets. Maybe tonight he wouldn’t have the dream again, wouldn’t relive that last fight he’d had with William before the car accident, wouldn’t hear those words coming from his son.

“I’m going back.”

The lorry had slammed into his car while William had been on his way to the airport and the plane that would take him back to America. He’d decided that being separated from his wife and child until he was thirty and had access to his trust fund wasn’t worth it.

“I don’t care about the thirty million,” William said, his volume rising with each word. “I’ll wash dishes. I’ll empty the bins. I can’t do this.”

“Stop this foolishness. They aren’t your duty. The estate and the title is.”

“This place can go rot. I never should have listened to you. I never should have left.”

A woman’s laugh, carried on the early-evening breeze, came in through the open window. Looking out, he spotted a blonde laughing with someone he couldn’t see from his vantage point, not that he needed visual confirmation.

Tomorrow, he’d go out and deal with William’s inappropriate behavior. Tonight, he just had to stay sequestered in his wing of Dallinger Park.

Chapter Twelve

After almost a week in London, the earl had returned to Dallinger Park, where he now stood behind his messy mahogany desk staring at Brooke as if she were the most inc

ompetent personal secretary he’d ever had the misfortune to hire. Yeah, it was going lovely—sort of like being sent to the headmaster’s office and being told you had to take A-level exams again because the score was so atrocious that you’d be lucky to find a job.

“So you’ve spent the past week fannying about on the moors instead of turning my grandson into a proper earl?”

She still hadn’t worked out exactly how she—a pub landlord’s daughter—was supposed to be teaching an American how to become an earl, but that wasn’t the response the earl wanted to hear, so she went with the facts. “We’ve been going over etiquette, the history of Dallinger Park, and your family history as well as Bowhaven’s current status and what could be done to improve it. Such as—”

The earl waved a hand in the air, dismissing her response. “Yes, I am aware of your obsession with bringing in tourism dollars by making us a destination for pigeon fanciers and celebrity gawkers.”

Her cheeks flamed. Why was it that no one would just listen to her ideas? “There is more to it than just that,” she said, her voice more strident than was smart, but damn it, this was important. The earl raised an eyebrow at her tone and she added more softly, “My lord.”

“No, there’s not,” he said, his tone icy as he returned his attention to the stack of bills on his desk. “This is my ancestral home, and I won’t be turning it into a tour stop like so many others.”

Yeah, so many others who’d realized that running a household the size of Dallinger Park took money that many aristocrats—including the Earl of Englefield—no longer had in the bank.

“Yes, sir.” She might be surrendering the battle but not the war. She’d find a way to change his mind.

A loud bang sounded from the direction of the great hall.

The earl jerked up his head. “And what exactly was that?”

She cringed, not wanting to deliver the news bound to make the earl’s head explode. “Mr. Vane is working on a project.”

“What kind of project?”

Of course, he wouldn’t let it go with that vague explanation. “The fireplace in the great hall.”

The earl’s face went blank. If it weren’t for the grim way he pursed his lips together and the resulting white line of displeasure around his mouth, she wouldn’t have thought he’d heard her at all.

She took a deep breath, and the words came out in a rush. “The one that gets stopped up no matter how often the chimney sweep comes.”

His look grew darker, but she pressed on anyway.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. “He’s putting in some type of contraption he rigged up to help keep the flume free from blockage.”