Royal Bastard (Instantly Royal 1)

“Why not?” Brooke asked, yanking him away from thoughts of home and work, his two favorite things.

“Because like you said”—he held up a finger—”I’m an American.” He held up a second finger. “And we both agree that I’m not earl material.”

“What I think doesn’t matter.”

“But it’s true, though, isn’t it, Lady Lemons?”

Her eyes narrowed at the nickname, but it seemed she wouldn’t be distracted by a little teasing even if it got a giggle from Daisy and a concerned look from Phillip. “It’s not true. You are earl material.”

“Really?” He leaned in closer and invaded her personal bubble that happened to smell like the tease of lilacs in the spring.

“Well, you will be.” An unspoken dare burned in her blue eyes, turning them a darker hue, as she refused to give in—or even to retreat from his advance. “There’s too much riding on you becoming a success for me to allow you to fail.”

Allow him to fail? As if she could will him into submission. Lots had tried. No one had succeeded.

“Just because the earl says so?” he asked, keeping his tone neutral so he wouldn’t give away the excitement starting to tweak that part of him that loved to prove everyone wrong. “Is that why you’d take me on as your own special project?”

He didn’t want to, but—damn it—his blood was warming to the idea of the challenge and, if he acknowledged the voice of his mama in his head, helping out the village, which obviously needed his help whether the inhabitants realized it or not. Why Lady Lemons hadn’t spilled all, he had no idea, but it was one more riddle involving her that he needed to unravel. Or maybe it was being this close to this woman after so many nights of wondering about her during all the email and text exchanges. She didn’t quit easily, and he admired that, identified with it.

“The why doesn’t matter,” she said with prim dismissal.

“Darling, the why always matters.” His fingers itched to reach out to her to see if the jump in the pulse point on her neck was from annoyance or something more. It was such an out-of-the-blue feeling that he almost glanced down at his hand to see what was going on, but he couldn’t look away from Brooke. There was something about the way she looked all full of spit and vinegar that made him wonder what she’d be like when she was fired up in different circumstances—the kind that didn’t require clothes and, in fact, strongly discouraged them. And damn his curiosity, but it had to be sated. That was the only explanation for what came out of his mouth next. “I’ll tell you what—I’ll prove it to you.”

Now it was her turn to ask for clarification. “What do you mean?”

“You do your best to teach me to be an earl, and I’ll do my best to show you that I’m not made for that line of work. I won’t sandbag your efforts, but I’m not going to go along with anything just because you say so.” It was a dare of a bet that gave him more than a little wiggle room, not that he’d need it, because there was no way he’d ever lose. “You’ll have to stay in that drafty pile of rocks with me. I’m not getting trapped alone with that man.” Sure, Dallinger Park was huge, but the last thing he wanted was to get stuck alone with Charles Vane, Earl of Englefield, and his twisted-up notions of familial duty. Nick held out his hand to Brooke. “Bet on it?”

She looked down at his outstretched hand with a mix of excitement and disbelief clear on her face. “This is ridiculous. As it is, the earl limits the parts of the house that are open because of the immense cost of running a house this size,” she said in a tense whisper that didn’t go beyond the two of them. “The only option for my sleeping quarters was the room that connected to the one the limited staff has made up for you.”

His pulse picked up when she mentioned being next door to him. He wasn’t proud of that fact, but he was honest with himself about it. That he’d keep that reaction in check wasn’t even a question.

“Anyway,” she continued in a ferocious whisper. “I’m the earl’s personal secretary, not a miracle worker or a sacrificial lamb to be put between the two of you.”

“Those sound like excuses to me, Lady Lemons.” Not realizing until that moment that they were standing so close together that if either of them took a deep breath, they’d be touching. The realization sent him into some sort of hyperawareness mode as he took in the flush to her pale skin, the spark in her blue eyes, and sensual curve to her bottom lip that she kept tugging between her teeth. “Do we have a bet or not?”

In the few moments that she glared at him and considered his offer, he swore everyone in the pub—including the two old guys sitting at a table nearby—was holding their breath waiting for her answer. They weren’t the only ones. His lungs were squeezed tight. What in the hell had he been thinking? This wasn’t the plan. The plan was to flip off the Earl of Jerkwads and go back home. This was obviously jet leg–induced insanity with a dash of lust thrown in for good measure.

Finally, Brooke reached out and shook his hand, her long fingers sending a jolt of hello hotness straight to his totally-down-with-it cock. “You have yourself a wager.”

One he was going to win. “You’ve got a week.”

That’s all it would take to show her and the rest of Bowhaven that he wasn’t the earl they were looking for. One way or another, he’d Jedi Master mind trick that fact into a reality neither the village nor Brooke could ignore.

Chapter Eight

An hour later, after Lady Lemons had packed a bag and sent it on to the earl’s house with a local who had been heading in that direction, Nick was once again stuffed into a too-tiny car for a short drive on the wrong side of the road and fighting to keep his eyes open. It was a sad testament to how trying to sleep on the flight over hadn’t done diddly-shit to alleviate his jet lag. He’d had three-alarm hangovers that left him more lively than he felt now. Even when Brooke slid into a busy roundabout with barely a tap on the brakes and zipped off at the second exit, his heart rate barely jumped.

“Home again,” Brooke announced as she drove between the iron gates denoting the back entrance to Dallinger Park.

“It’s someone’s home, but not mine,” he grumbled.

She parked the car on the gravel driveway near the barely maintained rose garden and turned off the engine before pivoting in her seat to give him an exasperated stare. “I don’t mean to be telling your grandmother how to suck eggs, but that doesn’t seem to be the best attitude to take when you voluntarily agreed to our little wager.”

“Grandmother to suck eggs?” His brain couldn’t translate it.

She let out an irritated huff. “It means tell you what you already know.”

“I would have figured that out if there’d been context clues.”