Royal Bastard (Instantly Royal 1)

“How very American,” the earl said, his tone snide.

&n

bsp; Nick snorted. “Like you don’t have assholes in England when our family history proves otherwise.”

His grandfather’s nostrils flared. “She can stay on only if you stop this ridiculousness and agree to take your proper place here as my heir.”

If Nick had been the kind of man to back down, this would have been when he’d done it. He wanted to. Hell, he should have. Instead, he dug his heels deeper into the well-tread floorboards of Dallinger Park’s great hall.

“I’ll be your heir, but I’m not staying in England.” He had a life back in Salvation. Sure, he could do his job from anywhere, but the lake was in Virginia.

Red splotches colored the earl’s cheeks. “Every Earl of Englefield has lived in Dallinger Park since it was built.”

“Times change,” Nick said, refusing to back down. “I’ll be your heir, but I’ll live in America.”

Where in the fuck did that come from? That wasn’t the plan. He wasn’t even supposed to be here for this long.

The earl stepped closer and examined the fireplace mantel as if none of what they were discussing mattered in the least. Nick wasn’t fooled.

After running his fingers across the detailed woodwork, the old man turned to him, his chin lifted at a stubborn tilt. “You’ll remain in residence nine months out of the year.”

“Three.” Shut up, Vane. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

The earl smiled, a devious, snotty little smirk that did not look good on a man of his age. “Six.”

“Only if Lady Lemons stays…and you start doing a little more to help Bowhaven.” Why was he negotiating on her behalf? He and Brooke weren’t lovers. They weren’t even friends. And Bowhaven? It was just a middle-of-nowhere place determined to village-nap him. He risked a glance over at Brooke, and the sparkle of hope glimmering in her eyes hit him like a punch to the gut. He knew that look. He’d been naive enough to wear it himself a time or two before he’d learned that other people always disappointed and that the best plan was to leave before they got a chance.

The earl’s already rigid spine snapped to attention. “How dare you try to tell me how to—”

“Yes or no, Gramps?” He relaxed his shoulders, putting on the practiced nonchalance that would burrow under the old man’s skin like an electric buzzer. “Just how much do you really give a shit about the family legacy? Because I don’t care at all. I could walk away tonight and never look back.”

“Six months out of every year and you agree to doing what it takes to ensure the family name will continue.” He leveled an imperious glare at Nick. “I’m sure we can find you a proper English bride who will overlook your heritage in exchange for a title.”

“No more American bastards, huh?” he shot back.

“Exactly,” the earl said without a drop of irony or shame.

“Deal.” The word was out of his mouth before he had time to consider.

And he lost his chance to say anything to mitigate it when the housekeeper knocked on the open door, interrupting their war of wills, and announced dinner was served. Without a second glance at anyone in the great hall, Gramps strode from the room, his head high and his steps stiff.

Nick stood glued to his spot in front of the fireplace that now wouldn’t smoke up the joint and possibly burn the whole place down. What in the hell is going on, Nicky boy? Fuck if he knew, but if he had to guess, he’d just blackmailed a relative and had insinuated that he’d stay in this gloomy country six months out of every year and get married. Someday. The wily old English asshole should have negotiated an end date to that. So much for getting off one plane, telling the old man to fuck off, and getting onto another. Christ. This whole thing was a clusterfuck. His mama had no clue how lucky she’d been to have been rid of these people.

A soft sniffle drew his attention away from the door Gramps had just walked through to the woman standing near it. Brooke’s nose was red and there was a cherry splotch at the base of her throat, but her chin didn’t dare to tremble. She drew in a deep breath and transformed before his eyes from a stoop-shouldered woman who’d been metaphorically kicked in the balls to the epitome of an iron lady with the proud posture to go with it. If he hadn’t seen the change himself, he wasn’t sure he’d have believed Lady Lemons had a single solitary hurt feeling. She was made of stern stuff, as his mama would have said.

He took three steps toward her before he realized he was moving in her direction. Why? Like everything else that had happened since he’d stepped off the plane, he had no fucking clue.

As soon as he was within range, she held out her hand. He gripped it on autopilot, and she shook it with a firm grip that managed to send a jolt up his arm and straight down to his gut. He wasn’t going to like what was about to come next.

“While I appreciate the gesture,” she said, her voice not giving away any emotion, “I won’t stay where I’m not wanted. Thank you and good luck. I’m sure you’ll be brilliant.”

She released his hand, but he didn’t let go. “I want you.” Where in the hell had that come from? “I mean, you can’t leave me alone with that man.”

The words came out more gruffly than he intended, but he was a boat on the lake without any oars at the moment. She tugged at her hand again, and he let it go, not liking the fact that he didn’t want to—not in the least.

She flexed her fingers as if she’d felt the zing from the touch as well but never dropped eye contact. “The earl is your grandfather.”

“That may be so, but it doesn’t mean I have to like him. He’s a prick, and he treats you like shit.” Which shouldn’t bother Nick, but it did. “And six months will last a lifetime if I have to spend it alone with him.”