“And you think the barrister and the nanny has a better ring to it?”
“Maybe. For a little while, at least. Let’s face it,” he adds, his tone mild. “It’s not like either of us are about to make her a permanent fixture in our lives.”
Callous. Cold. Perhaps even true, though I flatter myself, my reasons are better than his. Maybe that’s just it. Maybe it is self-flattery. He is just like our father, I find myself thinking. I suppose I should feel sorry for him.
But fuck that.
“What you do with your life is up to you. What you do on this estate, that comes down to me. And whatever you think you know, I’m telling you, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I had nothing to do with her being at Kilblair.”
If I say it enough times, I might come to believe it myself. Either way, it sounds so much more plausible than telling Griffin I sent her away from both of us.
God knows she deserves better than either of us.
He appears to consider my explanation as his gaze dips to his shoes.
“If I’d known she’d ended up here, I would’ve—” I halt, though my mind races on. If I’d known, I would have been here sooner. I wouldn’t have dreamt about her all those weeks. I’d have enjoyed her instead, exactly as Griffin plans to do. Which will happen over my dead body.
“You would’ve what? Made sure I wasn’t here?”
“This is not about you.” At least, not now it isn’t.
“You’re sure?”
I sigh and shake my head. So much animosity. He thinks Holland is a toy I resent him having when it isn’t the case at all. Because he hasn’t had her. I have. And I intend to hold on to her.
“It’s almost serendipitous.” For a beat I think he’s still flogging that lame horse; Holland and I, here in the Scottish wilderness. But when he speaks again, I wish he was as my blood runs cold. “I’ve taken a holiday from my chambers,” he says far too carefully as he stares up at the castle battlements, shielding his eyes from the sun. “I thought I might stay here for a while. And well, she’s here. I’m here. Who knows what might happen?”
I grit my teeth as I remind myself that punching your brother in the face isn’t really an advisable redirection tactic.
“And it sounds like I’d better act fast. It seems she’s created a bit of a stir, the way I hear it. She’s a popular girl.”
Is he suggesting she’s promiscuous or trying to lose his teeth?
“In a village of a few hundred inhabitants, that’s hardly surprising,” I say, deliberately misunderstanding. “An American moving here might even make the local newspaper.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he says with a frown.
“Isn’t it? What a surprise.”
“Did you know she had a date with one of the gardeners?”
“What?”
“There are likely others. Like you say, Kilblair is a small pond to fish in. That’s probably why some of the villagers look a bit weird,” the arsehole says meaningfully. “But a barrister has to be a better prospect than a gardener, don’t you think?”
What do I think? I think a gardener I can keep in line and my brother can go to hell.
If a barrister is better than a gardener, then I’m sure a duke trumps a barrister.
But I don’t say any of that. It doesn’t matter who or what I am because it was my bed she spent the night in.
Affecting a bored tone as I reply, “I imagine that all depends on her.”
Her. I can’t quite bring myself to say her name in his presence. Holland. Holly? I know which I prefer.
“I imagine—”
I know exactly what he imagines, and the thought of it has me suddenly stepping into him.
“Keep your thoughts to yourself.”
I know I’ve made a mistake immediately as he steps back, a stupid fucking grin growing on his face.
“I knew there was something going on between you two.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Can I assume this is one of those times we’re not going to share?”
“That happened one time,” I growl menacingly. One time before, I knew who he was. Before I knew who I was, blindly following in my father’s footsteps. How the old fucker must’ve laughed. The apple doesn’t fall from the tree, does it, boys? “I swear, Griffin, if you so much as breathe in her direction, I will—”
“You’ll what? Have me escorted from the premises, never to darken your door again? Wouldn’t that make a good story for the dreaded tabloids? I can see the headline: the Duke, his Brother, and the American Nanny. That’s the kind of deviant love triangle the masses love. It might even be like old times.”
There is no love triangle. This is purely linear, the line running directly from me to Holland with no stop in between.
“I’m sure being embroiled in a scandal would do your career a world of good,” I drawl in response. “Not to mention, bring you to the attention of your newest client. I can’t imagine the Russian’s will take kindly to journalists digging about.”
A wide smile spreads across Griffin’s face. “Someone’s been talking to Van. But I note you didn’t say she’d be worth it. Worth the risk, I mean.”
Maybe she is, but that’s not something I would ever discuss with him.
“What I can’t make out is if you’ve fucked her yet,” he says ponderously.
“I didn’t realise my sex life was of interest to you.” My easy answer is at complete odds with how I feel.
“Yours isn’t. Hers, however . . .” He turns carelessly, sauntering on a couple of steps before turning back to face me. “I’m going to say you haven’t.”
“I live to entertain you.” I sketch a mocking bow.
“The way I look at it,” he replies, swinging to face the other way. “It’s either that,” he calls over his shoulder, “or the girl has a magical pussy.”
As the twelfth Duke of Dalforth’s bastard son ambles away, I hear the words that go unsaid. Either way, he’s determined to find out for himself.
28
Holly
I am so stupid.
But maybe not as stupid as I originally thought after Isla cleared up a few things for me this morning when I’d sneaked into the family kitchen to grab myself something to eat while I thought everyone would be downstairs for breakfast.
She’d seemed to materialise out of nowhere.
So maybe fate did bring me here. Even if Alexander did interfere in an attempt to keep me away from his brother. It seems as though this has been, as Isla had suggested, one big cosmic coincidence. Which is better than discovering the man you’d slept (twice) with—a duke no less—has bundled you off to Scotland because you were such a good lay, he’d like the opportunity to repeat the experience again.
I know, say it out loud, and it sounds ridiculous. If he’d wanted to have sex with me, he could’ve said as much in London when I’d bumped into him while I was serving because I’m sure I would’ve hopped on that train.
Like I did last night.