Royal Bastard (Instantly Royal 1)

The earl whirled around in the small space, the vein in his temple throbbing. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I k

now.” Not that his mama had ever spelled it out that way, but Nick had put the letters together all on his own.

“There’s more to the story than you realize,” the earl said, his voice as hard as the stone lining the hunting butt. “But this isn’t the place for that discussion.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Nick shot back, his own temper flaring. “I know the only reason I’m here is because you didn’t have any other choice. We’re not family. Not really.”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d call the look that crossed the earl’s face hurt, but he did know better. This was the same man who’d arranged for his mama to lose the man she loved for reasons Nick never understood and for him to be a bastard without a father but a title that didn’t mean shit to him. The earl opened his mouth, but before any words could come out, shots blasted through the air as the grouse took flight.

…

Dallinger Park was total chaos. Between the movie crew setting up lights and cameras and a million other things Brooke couldn’t put a name to, the earl giving the whole process a dismissive glare before retreating to the east wing, and the villagers hanging around to see if they’d get chosen to be an extra in the big zombie wedding ball scene, it was a madhouse. Crowds didn’t normally bother her, but the huge crush of people inside the great hall, the noise, and the number wandering outside the doors leading to the formal garden had her twitchy.

Nick was near Queen Victoria’s fireplace talking to his mate Mace. The two had an easy give-and-take between them with lots of laughter and manly shoulder punching for emphasis. Watching the byplay between the two men was like getting to see another side to Nick. For someone who presented himself to the world as if he was all laid-back charm, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to him than he was letting on. Really, if he was as lazy as he tried to appear, would he have fixed Mr. Darcy’s kennel (Megan had told half the village about it once and the other half of the village twice), Paul’s fish fryer, and the flue for the fireplace he stood in front of right now, giving her an amazing view of his muscular arms as he gestured while talking with Mace?

As if he could hear her question without her even uttering a word, he turned and looked at her and then started walking directly for her, sending a lightning bolt of awareness right through her.

Nick didn’t bother to stop when he got close, just slid his palm across the small of her back and started walking them both toward the french doors. “Let’s get out of here.”

“We can’t leave.” No matter how lovely that sounded.

“What good is being the heir to an earldom if I can’t throw my weight around and get us out of this mess?” He didn’t stop their forward progress out the doors and to her little car, where he held open the driver’s side door. “Come on. Take me away from all of this before Mace talks me into being a one-eyed zombie with a drooling problem.”

She didn’t have any plan in mind when she turned the keys in the ignition—she just drove, trying to ignore the way his masculine, woodsy scent filled the car, reminding her of how her pillows had smelled of him after they’d swapped rooms the first night. She’d sniffed that pillow a lot—too much for a grown woman to ever admit out loud.

They ended up at the Bowhaven Forest, which almost smelled as good as Nick—calling Dr. Freud. Serious hikers mostly left it alone, but there was a tree-lined path dotted with huge hand-carved wooden foxes, frogs, bats, and owls that didn’t require hiking boots. That’s where she took Nick, hoping the beauty of the walk could keep her distracted enough that she didn’t give in to the growing urge to pull him behind a tree and have an outdoorsy repeat of the other night. If the path had been deserted, she might have, but as it was, they talked about his inventions and her plans to run for village council as they walked past the families with kids on the rough-hewn wooden swings and the couples on blankets taking in the last warm days of the season. It was nice being here with him, almost like they were just a girl and a guy, not the earl’s heir and the earl’s secretary. Looking up at the sunrays peeking through the branches, she realized that this was about as relaxed and happy as she’d been outside of her family’s pub since Reggie. It was almost as if that part of her life had never happened. God, wouldn’t that be a dream.

Someone at a picnic table had brought Bluetooth speakers and was playing one of the older songs that her parents had danced around to in the kitchen. Like Pavlov’s dog, she was singing the da-da-da-das along with the band until the music faded away.

“I love that song,” she said, unable to keep the grin off her face as they stopped in front of a giant carved wooden sheep, complete with intricately carved wool.

“Are you kidding?” Nick asked, shaking his head. “It’s the worst. Like anyone would actually walk five hundred miles for someone else.”

“It’s nice to think that someone would, though.” That someone would always have to be on your side, dependable, solid. She knew what the opposite of that was like and couldn’t help but hold out hope that she’d find it.

“Lady Lemons,” he said, brushing a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear, sending her pulse skyrocketing. “Are you a closet romantic?”

“Not anymore.” At least not that she’d ever admit.

He looked down at her with enough heat and hunger in his brown eyes to make her knees weak, her mouth dry, and her panties damp. When all she should be doing was running the hell away from him, all she wanted in the world was to have him lean down and kiss her until the rest of the world disappeared. God, what this man did to her wasn’t fair. She really needed to watch herself or she was going to fall—and fall hard—for the last man in the world she should want. And that was the exact moment when she realized it was too late. She already was falling for him—probably had started before he’d even landed at the airport with those emails and texts she’d read a million times.

“Fuck me,” she hissed under her breath.

Nick arched an eyebrow, but he didn’t kiss her. Instead, he took a step back and inhaled a shaky breath. “We should get back.”

“You’re right,” she agreed, trying desperately to remember who she was (publican’s daughter), who he was (earl’s heir), and that anything between them wasn’t meant to be because life wasn’t a fairy tale and women like her didn’t end up with men like him.

…

“Surly” didn’t begin to cover the black mood Nick had been stuck in since yesterday’s walk in the woods with Brooke. When she’d looked up at him with that expression on her face like she thought there was something more to him than just a good fuck and that she was down for it, he’d been about three seconds from giving in, from dipping his head and kissing her so that he blasted away every last thought she’d ever had about any other man in the world but him. He didn’t just want to fuck her—he wanted to claim her, and that wasn’t him. He wasn’t that guy. In that way, he really was his father’s son.

“The clock’s ticking on this place,” said Karen, yanking Nick back to the task at hand. She was one of the local electricians Paul had recommended when Nick went to find out how Webster had done with the voice recordings—shitty, it turned out. “This wiring has got to be fixed, and it’s not going to be cheap.”

Of course it did and of course it wasn’t. “What happens if it isn’t?”

Karen didn’t utter a word, but the horrified grimace on her face said it all.