My Dashing Billionaire: A Clean Billionaire Romance (My Billionaire A-Z Book 4)

by Katie Evergreen

  Come on, he chided himself. It’s cold and Everly needs you.

  “Sorry, little one, I need to get going.”

  He pushed the gate shut and locked it securely behind him. Then he wandered back to the house with the cold in his bones, and that same unbearable sense of dread settling into his soul.

  15

  Everly watched him leave, then she walked to the sink and filled the kettle.

  Confusion sullied her mind like a fog, a million questions searching for answers.

  Does he love me? How can I love him? Should I stay? I’ve only known him for a few days. Did somebody see us together? Does somebody know about us? Is that why my work is being targeted?

  Water gushed out of the overflowing kettle and into the sink. Everly turned off the tap, tipped out the excess, and put the kettle on to boil. With Edward outside, the house seemed eerily quiet. Where were the others? Were they all in?

  Maybe they’ve all gone out without you, she thought suddenly. Seeing what a fool you made of yourself earlier.

  It was all too much. Everly felt like running a deep, hot bath and wallowing in it until her fingers and toes turned into shriveled prunes. She had some very important decisions to make, and bath time was a great thinking time.

  Maybe she could give her mom a call, too. Her mom was a great sounding board for all of Everly’s worries, and full of wisdom. But Everly knew she wouldn’t be able to hide the worry in her voice and she’d end up telling her mom everything; the broken painting, the stolen artwork, the way Madame Baudelaire had spoken to her—and Edward, of course. The fewer people who knew about that, the better. Her mom would only worry, and Everly didn’t want that. No, better not to call her, at least this way she wouldn’t cause anyone else unwanted stress—she’d done enough of that already.

  A door crashed open, turning Everly’s knees to jelly. She grabbed hold of the kitchen worktop to stop herself from falling.

  “Hello?” she shouted into the corridor.

  She couldn’t move, her feet were stuck to the floor as though it were made of treacle.

  “Hello?” she called again, looking out of the large windows to see if Edward was heading back. But he wasn’t even in the garden anymore. The back gate was open, swinging in the breeze.

  It’s probably the wind, she thought to herself, trying to remember how to breathe. Just a door swinging in the wind.

  She steeled herself and walked out of the relative safety of the kitchen. Opening the door to the hallway, she saw Jennifer there, bundled up to protect her from the cold. Her bobble hat was pulled low over her ears and eyes, her cheeks flaming. She swung around when Everly came through the kitchen door, fixing her with a distasteful glare.

  “Oh, hi,” she said. “Didn’t realize anyone was here. Thought you’d all gone out. Suppose it makes sense you didn’t go, though.”

  She had propped a large parcel against the wall, the size and shape of a canvas. It was wrapped in creamy white muslin, so Everly could only guess at its contents.

  “Are you going to stand there staring at me?” she went on, pulling the hat from her head. Her blonde curls bounced as though they were in a shampoo advert.

  “Sorry, no. I’m just making a coffee, do you want one?”

  Jennifer looked as if Everly had asked her to give up one of her kidneys.

  “No,” she replied, picking up the parcel and carrying it awkwardly to the stairs. As it bumped against the bannisters and the wall, Jennifer made little huffing noise—as if she couldn’t quite believe she had to do this by herself. Everly opened her lips to offer help, then quickly shut them again. She’d had about as much of Jennifer’s rudeness as she could handle for one day.

  “Everly?” Edward’s voice came from the kitchen. The kettle was calling her back too, whistling at her from the hob, so she made her way back.

  “Oh, gosh, Everly. I was scared for a moment there. Didn’t know where you’d gone.”

  He smiled at her, and he looked irresistibly cute. The wind had ruffled his hair, and the cold night air had his skin glowing.

  “Do you think maybe we’re getting ourselves all spooked over nothing?” she said, filling the coffee pot with grounds and hot water. “I nearly fell over when Jennifer came barging in through the front door.”

  Edward fell silent.

  “I think she’s the only one in though, the rest have gone out,” Everly went on.

  “Right,” he said, finding his voice.

  Everly pottered about in the kitchen as though she’d lived there her whole life. She filled a cup with coffee, added sugar and cream, and handed it to Edward, who was standing stiffly, as if the cold air had frozen his joints.

  “Thank you,” he said, wrapping his pink hands around the warm mug and taking a seat at the table. “So, Jennifer just came back in, did she?”

  Everly nodded, hovering around the island and cleaning the coffee pot.

  “How did she seem?”

  “Rude,” Everly said, wringing the cloth and hanging it over a tap. “But that’s nothing new.”

  She walked to the table and took a chair at the head, far enough from Edward that she wouldn’t risk accidentally touching him, or deliberately touching him, for that matter. He looked adorable—his eyes the color of dark chocolate as he stared thoughtfully into his coffee, his lips full and tempting.

  Whoa there, Everly. She needed to stop her train of thought.

  “So, what did you see out there?” she asked.

  She looked out through the wall of glass, looking through her own reflection. It really was only a garden, it seemed silly to have been so scared. She must have seen a shadow, maybe a bird taking flight, maybe a fox scampering through the bushes. She’d heard that the foxes in London were very brave. Edward looked uneasily at his drink.

  “Oh, nothing. It was all quiet. Just a little tabby cat.”

  There was something he wasn’t telling her, she was sure of it. Panic once again rose in her throat.

  “Are you sure?” she questioned, giving him the chance to be honest with her.

  “I am,” he said to his drink.

  “Right, well in that case I’m going to run myself a hot bath and try to make some decisions.”

  “Okay.” He still didn’t look up at her, deep in thought, his gaze darting back and forth over the table.

  Everly wanted him to say something, anything, to make it clear that he didn’t want her to leave. The truth was she didn’t want to leave. But Edward wasn’t paying her much attention at all, he was lost in his own world. There was something troubling him, she knew, but she had no idea what it was.

  Sighing, she left him to it, and went to draw a bath.

  The water was so hot it was almost scalding, and the bubbles were piled high.

  As Everly sank beneath the surface, she felt the troubles of the day evaporate into oblivion. She had no idea of the time, or even of the day anymore. Was it still Monday? How could it only be the first day of the second stage of the competition? She’d already messed up so badly. Not only had she been reprimanded by the most important judge, Madam Baudelaire, but someone had passed off her sketch as their own, and taken credit for her talent. Not to mention the fact that she’d fallen in love with the patron.

  Yep, she’d gotten off to a truly awful start.

  It hadn’t been entirely awful, though. After all, Madam Baudelaire had praised her drawing of Edward, even though the old lady hadn’t realized whose creation it actually was.

  Everly ducked her head under the water, blocking out the noise from the outside world. Her head was noisy enough at the moment. After a second or two, she sat back up, taking a huge breath of steamy air.

  Why had Jennifer taken the portrait from the trash and given it to Madam Baudelaire in the first place? How could someone have the audacity to pretend a piece was theirs? Especially someone like Jennifer, who was so openly confident and in possession of a great talent of her own.

  The stars twinkled through the bath
room skylight. Everly tried to relax, imagining her parents staring up at the same sky. She missed them so much, it felt like a kite string tugging on her heart. A tear rolled down her wet cheek as she sniffed away the sadness.

  I’m being way too emotional, she thought, forcing herself to concentrate on the stars. Think about the brief instead.

  As soon as she’d thought it, Everly realized there was no way she was heading back to Kansas. This was too huge an opportunity to give up, and she’d be doing her parents a great disservice by quitting now. It wasn’t like she was going to win, but if she tried her best and worked hard then she might very well get an exhibition or two out of it when she got home. That way she could showcase her work and find herself a good job once she graduated from her community college. It really was the chance of a lifetime.

  She used her toe to twist the faucet, more hot water pouring into the bath.

  There was another reason why the day hadn’t been as bad as she’d first thought.

  Edward had feelings for her.

  She squealed a little and ducked back down under the water. A man—a caring, intelligent, kind and wonderful man—really liked her. How on earth had this happened? He was a prince too! Not a real prince, but a member of the Royal Family, and a man, so technically didn’t that make him a prince? She surfaced into the steamy bathroom with a huge grin on her face. A real-life Prince Charming had fallen in love with her.

  There was no way she could fly home and leave Edward, not until she’d figured out exactly how they felt about one another, and what they were going to do about it. No, they’d have to sit down and talk about how they could manage their feelings. And to start with, it seemed sensible to not be alone in a room together. Everly began to make a mental list of all the things they could do to help, and by the time she got to item number twenty-five she’d forgotten the first one and her bathwater was tepid.

  Stepping out onto the warm tiles, Everly enveloped herself in a huge, fluffy bath towel and padded through to her bedroom. Drying herself, she slung on the luxury bath robe and let her hair tumble, dripping, down to her shoulders as she lay on the bed.

  Tomorrow was another day. She knew that she could show the world her true potential. She would concentrate on that, going forward, she would concentrate on her work. Edward could wait.

  But as she lay there, her eyes becoming heavy, she found that his smile was the only thing in her head.

  16

  Edward sat bolt upright.

  Not that he had much choice, considering he was perched on the world’s most uncomfortable chair. He shuffled his bottom around a bit to try to jiggle some life back into it, but all he ended up doing was bashing his spine on the wooden struts at the back. Sighing, he admitted defeat and stayed resolutely in a position designed to make even the most poised person sore.

  It had been this way most of his life, the wait to see his parents. It was a bit like when he’d been sent to see the headmaster at Eton, stuck outside the office listening out for the door opening, a lead weight in his stomach. The only difference was that his headmaster had a leather chair outside his office, and Edward had only sat in it once, when he was waiting to be informed he had made Prefect status. This was different. This chair had sat here for years, and it was designed to make you feel anxious. His father had kept it here to make sure he had the upper hand in any negotiation, especially one with his own son.

  Edward’s palms had started sweating again, and he wiped them on his pants, hoping that his father wouldn’t notice.

  He had left his townhouse last night, after Everly had excused herself and disappeared to her room. The walk back to his apartment hadn’t been long enough to mull over all of the thoughts flying around his head. He had wanted the time to fully consider his feelings for Everly, to work out how she had stolen his heart so easily, and what on earth they were going to do about it.

  But his mind had been too busy trying to piece together the weird goings on. Why had Everly’s painting fallen? Had there been someone listening to his conversation with Madame Baudelaire? Why had the garden gate been unlocked? Was someone watching him? Someone careless and clumsy? What were they trying to find? He had come to the bitterly disappointing conclusion that this was a family matter, and that he needed to talk to his parents.

  Now that he was actually here, though, he was regretting that decision a million times over. His mother and father were in the middle of a heated discussion, he could hear it behind the closed oak door beside the chair.

  Nothing changes, he thought, wondering if he’d ever surprise them with good news instead of disappointing them into an argument every time he came home.

  The door flew crashed and his father stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders almost touching each side, his tailored suit impeccable, his white moustache bristling. He’d always been a formidable gentleman. A Colonel, a Duke in his own right. And he stood at merely fifteenth in line to the throne, a position that kept his head held high.

  “Edward, enter,” he commanded, his voice echoing around the vast hallway.

  His family home was Victorian, and dreadfully gothic. There were windows scattered all over it as though they’d been thrown from a distance and stuck where they landed. The chimneys were plentiful, and the dark slate roof seemed to have a halo of fog regardless of the actual weather. Inside, everything was dressed in dark wood, which always made the building feel more like a mausoleum than a home.

  Caudwell Hall had been in his family for centuries, on his mother’s side. She loved the place so much that when she married his father she had requested to live there instead of in the palatial townhouse offered to them by the Queen. Edward hadn’t realized until he was in his teens quite how contrary that had been. He loved that rebellious streak in his mother, and he was pretty sure he’d inherited it too, much to his father’s disdain. He’d always teetered on the very edge of well behaved, and quite often a toe would poke over the threshold and the Colonel, as his father was known, had to mop up the mess.

  It was never anything illegal of course—missing curfew, skipping the ticket kiosk at the cinema, that kind of thing. But if there was one thing Colonel Ivan Harrington couldn’t abide, it was rule breaking. And now, Edward was doing it in abundance.

  But that wasn’t why he was here, and if he could make it to the end of the interrogation he was about to receive without mentioning Everly, he’d be safe.

  “Sir,” he said, pushing himself out of the hard, wooden chair and facing his father.

  Despite his six-foot-tall frame and his gym honed body, Edward felt dwarfed by the Colonel. He snuck a glimpse past his father into the study that he’d been forbidden from entering until he hit adulthood. His mom sat in a wing-backed chair by a roaring open fire, her colorful shawls at odds with the dark furniture. Bookshelves lined the four walls, and a great, hulking desk sat smack bang in the middle of the large room.

  “Mum,” he said, running into the room and enveloping her in a bearhug.

  Her familiar scent of soap and cinnamon threw him back to his childhood with a thump. The heat of the fire was wonderful against his cold fingers and toes. Squatting, he warmed himself by the flames.

  “Hello, Edward, how are you, my darling?” she said, the reflection from the flames flickering in her eyes.

  “I’ve met someone, Mum,” he blurted out, kicking himself for his lack of willpower.

  “Oh, Edward,” she took his hands in hers and smiled. “Your father and I were just discussing that.”

  Edward dropped his mother’s hands and walked to the window. Outside, the shrubs glistened, the morning dew frozen into ice crystals. The sky was a steely grey, threatening more snowfall or slushy rain. An icy shiver ran down his spine.

  “Edward,” his father said. “Only fools do not take their lessons from the past. Have you learned nothing?”

  Edward’s face hardened. He didn’t dare turn around for fear of what he might say in front of his mother.

  “My love
life is not why I’m here,” he said. “This is more important. It’s about the competition. I think someone is stalking my house, or the winners. I think they’re in danger.”

  His father let out a hearty guffaw.

  “Why would anyone be interested in a house full of artists?”

  “Father, please,” Edward said. “Can we leave your feelings about my work by the wayside for a change?”

  A robin landed on a branch outside, puffing out it’s red breast and shaking its feathers. It looked through the window at Edward, twittering its beak in a flurry of tunes that twinkled through the glass.

  “It’s ridiculous,” the Colonel huffed, taking up residence in the large desk chair.

  Edward wasn’t sure if he was still talking about his art school, or the idea that someone was stalking them. In his father’s eyes he was sure it was all ridiculous. He looked to his mother for guidance but her eyes were fixed on her husband, narrowed and cold.

  “I don’t want to get into an argument,” Edward said, looking at his father. “Or restart another one. I just wanted to make you both aware, I’m sure there is protocol for this kind of thing.”

  “There is a protocol for stalking, you’re correct.” The Colonel drummed the tips of his fingers together. “Threats to the royalty are taken very seriously, even minor royals like yourself.”

  “Well, will you put something in place for the house?”

  His father shook his head. Edward started to talk but the old man held up his hand to silence the words before they’d been formed.

  “A protocol does not stretch to a vivid imagination and a possible threat against a girl you may have developed inappropriate feelings for.”

  A sickly feeling spread upward from Edward’s stomach. He started to pace the study.

  “There’s been a broken picture, smashed glass all over the floor,” he said. “Someone was in the garden watching us through the window. It’s not nothing. It feels wrong to allow this threat to hang over my artists.”