by Lauren Smith
“My boss wants to have a conference call with me,” she whispered, placing a hand on her stomach as if she felt nauseous.
Carter curled an arm around her shoulders and closed his own computer so he could focus on her. “Why? Did he say?”
“I don’t know. He’s going to call any minute. What if he wants to fire me?” She buried her face in her hands, not crying, but seeming desolate all the same.
“Why would he fire you? He gave you time to work remotely while here in Italy, didn’t he? You felt good about the proposal you turned in, right?”
She nodded, still hiding behind her hands.
“Then there’s no need to panic. Go take the call in your room. I’ll be right here if you need me.” Carter pulled her hands down, and she met his gaze.
“I need this job, Carter. I can’t afford to lose it.”
“I know.” He knew all too well. It wasn’t just about the money—it was about one’s independence and self-worth. Celia kissed his cheek, her lips trembling against his skin before she picked up her phone and retreated to her room.
Carter opened his computer and read through Tristan’s latest email. His usually upbeat best friend who never took no for an answer was frustrated at the responses they’d been receiving from Hollywood. It seemed there was more to playing the game than just having a nice-looking location. There were taxation issues, exclusivity deals, and dozens of other issues he and Tristan were only just discovering. The deeper they got into this, the more it seemed there was to learn.
Carter’s heart sank like a stone cast far into a deep, dark lake. He and Tristan needed this, not just because it would free Celia of her promise to marry Callum, but so the estate had a future as a tourist destination.
It was all too easy in England for an estate to lose income due to the lack of tenant farms, which used to sustain the lands of the landed gentry. In the modern world, the old estates had to find new ways to survive. He and Tristan knew that being attractive to tourists would be key to sustaining Pembroke.
He started a reply email to Tristan, setting out a few changes to their proposal letter, highlighting the estate’s proximity to London, the affordable long-term hotels for film crews, and the attributes of the estate and the current staff. He hit send and tried to bury the despair that threatened to choke the last bit of his hope.
The door down the hall opened, and Celia rushed out, tears staining her cheeks.
Oh no…please no…
“Oh my God!” She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him until his lungs burned with the need to breathe.
“What? What happened?”
Laughing, she pulled back to look at him. “Lord Kincade chose me! He loves my proposal and wants me to start right away. We have to go home.”
Carter stiffened. They were supposed to have two more weeks of paradise. Two. She couldn’t take those away from him. He couldn’t let her go, not when he’d just glimpsed heaven for the first time. It wasn’t fair to have to give her up.
But he had to. She couldn’t risk losing this opportunity. And even if it killed him inside, he would support her and do whatever it took to make her happy.
“We’re leaving,” he echoed, pain numbing every part of him. “Back to London.” Back to the rest of his life without this woman. He had known it was going to hurt, but the pain he felt now might just kill him.
“Not London.” She brushed her fingers along the back of his neck, confusing his body by starting a war between lust and panic.
“What?” He tried to focus on her words. “Not London?”
She shook her head, her nose wrinkling in adorable exasperation. “Scotland, and you’re coming with me. I asked Lord Kincade if it was all right if I brought an assistant, and he said he would like to meet you. He’s not much older than us.”
“I’m coming with you?” He was so full of forbidden hope that he was afraid to believe it.
“Well, yes. I mean…unless you don’t want to?” Celia dropped her arms from his body, a hint of fear in her eyes.
“Of course I bloody want to. I was just worried that…” He choked down the words, fearing they would make him sound like an emotional sap.
She cupped his face, pressing her body close to his. “What?”
“That this”—he waved around them—“was over.”
She shook her head, smiling. “It doesn’t have to be. Not yet. I was hoping we could spend the next two weeks in Scotland.”
“Scotland it is then.” He lowered his head, stealing a kiss, tasting the salt of her tears, tears of joy because she’d gotten something she’d worked so hard for. He was thrilled and so damned proud of her. She deserved this moment.
If only I could find a way to make her proud of me in return.
He would do whatever he had to do to make his and Tristan’s plans for the Pembroke estate work. He was not going to let Celia go now, not without fighting for her like his life depended on it. She was and always would be his life.
11
Celia sat on the edge of her seat as their private car turned down the long drive toward the Kincade estate. She rolled down the window nearest her, taking in the sweet, piney air that was softened with the aroma of blooming rhododendrons. The castle off in the distance was a rambling thing, but rather than being a dark and forbidding structure, it seemed almost bright in the sunlight because of its smooth stones. The sloping hills around the structure gave way to a loch with waters that reflected the blue summer sky. To the east, there were extensive gardens and a flock of sheep just off the road, a beautiful Scottish collie sitting nearby, eyes locked on his wards. Lord Kincade’s castle looked even better in reality that it had in the pictures.
Carter peered out his window. “Now this is an estate.” He’d have had no trouble getting something filmed here. Everyone in Hollywood loved a good castle.
Celia had to agree with him. She reached for his hand across the seat as she tried to restrain her excitement.
Manor homes were lovely, but there was something primitive and mysterious about a castle. The large, impenetrable stones, the thin slit windows in the towers where men would have fired arrows in the midst of a siege. It was an impressive sight, and she couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into the restoration work.
The car stopped at the front steps, and the driver opened Celia’s door. Carter got out on his side before the driver could assist him. Celia almost laughed. He would never get used to being waited upon.
The heavy oak doors opened, and a man met them at the bottom of the steps.
“Miss Lynton? Mr. Martin?” he asked in heavy Scottish brogue that was music to Celia’s ears. She adored that accent.
Celia met the man on the steps and shook his hand. “Yes, that’s us.”
“I am Lord Kincade’s butler, Mr. Dean. Please, come let me show you to your rooms. Your luggage will be brought up shortly. His lordship will arrive for dinner in two hours. Until then, you are free to explore the grounds as well as the castle’s interior.” Mr. Dean smiled at Celia warmly. “I understand you are to be in charge of our restoration project, so it would be good for you to familiarize yourself with everything. Let me know if I can be of service to you. My family has been in the employ of the Kincade family for generations.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that!” Celia assured him. She sensed Mr. Dean was most proud and protective of the castle. She wondered if Kincade had shown Dean her plans and whether he felt they faithfully kept the castle’s beauty intact. Perhaps he had, and that explained the warm welcome.
She and Carter exchanged smiles as they followed Mr. Dean inside. Celia tilted her head back, amazed by the vaulted ceilings and the winding grand stairs that split apart into two hallways on the second floor. She’d seen most of the castle through photographs and had sketched much of it a dozen different ways. But seeing it in person, inhaling the scent of the woods and the gardens, feeling the stones beneath her hands, was something that could only be experienced firsthand.
> “This way, please.” Mr. Dean motioned for them to follow. The front desk inside the castle’s entrance reminded her of a hotel, only more personal. The desk was occupied by a red-haired young man who rushed past them to collect the bags from the car.
“That’s Jamie. He’ll take care of your suitcases. If you need anything, dial zero on your room phone, and it will connect you to him at the front desk until eight at night. After that, the night staff are here, and a lad named Cory will answer if you need anything. And if you happen to need me, my number is twelve.”
Celia let her fingertips trail along the banister. The oak was polished smooth, like silk. The halls on the upper floors were spectacular, portraits lining the walls, with comfortable old leather chairs and overstuffed couches tucked in alcoves. It was very much a masculine, almost bachelor-like residence. She would keep that in mind what she suggested interior decorators to come in and finish the work after the restorations were complete.
Their rooms, like in Italy, were across the hall from each other. She laughed at Carter’s expression when he realized they weren’t sharing a room, but it would have been presumptuous of the staff to put them together. She had asked Lord Kincade if she could bring Carter as her assistant because she thought it sounded a little better than her asking to drag a boyfriend along for a free unofficial vacation in Scotland.
“How’s your room?” she asked Carter.
He nodded toward his door and shot her a grin. “Come and see.”
She slipped past him, and her jaw dropped when she saw the massive canopy bed with four posts intricately decorated with carved vines worked into the wood. Blue-and-cream brocade curtains laced the canopy and posts. Two leather armchairs faced a large black marble fireplace, completing the look. It was a perfect bedchamber for a man, just as her room with its more delicate wooden painted four-poster and rose-red hangings was better suited for a lady.
“Reminds me a bit of Pembroke, really,” Carter said. Celia leaned against his side, hugging him. She loved how much he adored her uncle’s estate. He saw it as his home because he’d grown up there. But that was part of British culture. People who worked on these vast estates weren’t simply servants—they had a right to call these estates their home, because they were part of the system that kept these places afloat, both through thin days and times of plenty. Men and women like Carter were vital to the survival of such places. It made him incredibly valuable, yet Celia knew he didn’t recognize his own worth.
“Your father still handling everything okay?” she asked.
Carter kissed the top of her head and squeezed her waist. “He’s well enough. I imagine he’ll be glad to have me home in a couple of weeks.” His tone took on a hint of melancholy, one she understood because she felt the same. Only two more weeks together, and then it would all be over. She would announce her engagement to Callum, and…
Celia shut down that train of thought before it could leave the station.
Carter pulled her in front of him and cupped her face, kissing her gently. The sort of kiss that made her want to curl up in his arms by a warm fire while it snowed outside.
“Want to test out the bed?” he murmured against her lips.
She shivered and placed her hands on his chest. His muscles leapt beneath her palms, and his eyes burned with hunger. She started walking back toward the bed and pulled him along by the shirt. “Maybe…”
When they reached the bed, he caught her by the waist and lifted her up. She wrapped her jean-clad legs around his waist, and he leaned over her, his lips capturing hers, this time with raw, wild lust that sent her senses spinning. As she gripped his shirt and pulled it over his head, someone knocked on the door.
“Damn it all,” Carter growled adorably against her mouth. She teased him by running a hand down his chest to his groin, cupping him through his jeans. He moaned helplessly.
He started to kiss her again. “Maybe they will go away.”
There was another knock, and Mr. Dean spoke through the closed door.
“Mr. Martin. Miss Lynton. His lordship has arrived early and has asked me to invite you both to join him in the library.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dean,” Celia said as Carter worked his hands under her shirt to cup her breasts, and then she bit her lip to stifle a giggle at the compromising situation they were in. When they were sure he was gone, Carter kissed her again, this time with a desperation born of knowing they couldn’t do anything else right now.
“Soon,” he promised.
“Soon,” she agreed. She immediately missed him as he let go and stepped back from her.
She handed him back his shirt, and she ran her fingers through her hair before they headed downstairs. They found Mr. Dean waiting at the foot of the stairs. There was a soft twinkle in his eyes, as though he knew exactly what he’d interrupted.
“His lordship is this way.” Dean led them to a large library that made Celia’s heart leap.
Books filled the room, tucked in all the nooks and crannies of the shelves, filling every available space. A book lover. Celia recognized a kindred spirit instantly and smiled.
A man stood at the long table in the center of the room, his hands pressed flat on the stout oak table as he studied some architectural plans laid out before him. He raised his head as Mr. Dean escorted Celia and Carter inside. Kincade was a tall, muscled man, and he was wearing a white dress shirt and gray trousers. And he was handsome—she could certainly admit that—with dark hair and gray eyes, but her tastes ran toward fair hair. She wanted to reach for Carter’s hand but didn’t. It would be unprofessional.
“Miss Lynton.” Lord Kincade glanced between her and Carter. “And Mr. Martin?” He skirted the desk and came over to shake their hands.
“It’s a pleasure, my lord,” Celia said, and Carter echoed her words.
“Please, it’s Garrick. I insist.”
“You have an astounding library, Garrick,” said Carter. His gaze roved around the tall shelves and the gleaming spines illuminated by sunlight from the high windows.
Garrick looked upon the bookcases with pride. “Thank you. My family has always been obsessed with books. When the castle partially burned down in 1821, my ancestor Brock Kincade and his English wife, Joanna, filled the new library with hundreds of books. Many of them are at least a century or two old. It’s hard not to appreciate their obsession.”
“A noble obsession,” Celia said.
“I like to think so. Now, to business.” Garrick turned back to the table of plans. Celia rather liked that he brushed aside niceties and pretenses to focus instead on work. As they joined him at the table, Celia had a sudden flutter in her stomach. She realized Carter would be watching her work on her first big project. No pressure there. She focused on the plans and began to walk Garrick through the renovations, hoping she could pull this off like the professional she believed herself to be.
CARTER COULD WATCH Celia talk for hours. She was completely engaged in her vision, and Garrick seemed spellbound by it as well.
He loves his home as much as I love Pembroke.
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He murmured his excuses as he left the library to check on it. It was a voicemail from Tristan.
“Carter, don’t panic, but your father’s in the hospital. He had a minor heart episode. I’m with him and so is Father. Call me when you can.”
Carter gripped his phone so tightly it felt like his fingers would break. Hospital? He tried to steady his breathing and calm the rush of his thoughts as he dialed Tristan back. It was his worst fear, to be away from home when his only parent needed him most.
Tristan answered on the second ring. “Carter, thank God.”
“How is he?” The words scraped out of his throat.
“Fine for now. His vitals are good but they are running some tests, but. It seems his heart was out of rhythm, which happens to men at his age, according to the medic.”
“Can I speak with him?” Carter asked.
“I’d
say yes, but he’s asleep. I can call you back when he’s awake.”
“Yes, please.” Carter paused and spoke again. “Tristan, should I come home?”
Tristan sighed. “Let me talk to the medics. I know you don’t have much time left with Celia, and I wouldn’t want to take that from you.”
Carter pressed his thumb and forefinger against his closed eyes and drew in a deep breath. It didn’t help ease the tightness in his chest. “I know.”
“Breathe,” Tristan told him, and Carter nearly smiled.
“I just did.”
“Keep doing it. I know you. When you’re worried, you forget the little things like oxygen.”
“You’re such an ass,” Carter growled, but he was smiling now. Tristan always knew how to cut the tension. It reassured him somehow that his father was going to be okay.
“I’m hanging up now,” Tristan warned with a chuckle. “Go to Celia. I’ll call you as soon as your father is up and let you know what the doctors say. And to make sure you’re still breathing.”
“Thank you.” Carter slipped his phone back in his trouser pocket. He scrubbed a hand over his face as he considered what to do.
In the end, there was only one thing to be done. He would leave in the morning. Back inside the library, he was glad to see that Celia was still fully invested in her presentation. She had worked so hard on this project, and he was so proud of her. By the way Kincade was listening to her, he seemed to be in agreement with her approach. Lord, the woman was brilliant and talented.
“Excellent. I can have the work hired out immediately,” Kincade said as he rolled up the architectural plans and put them away inside a gray plastic tube.
“Carter, Mr. Kincade is going to give us a tour of the house and grounds before dinner.” Celia beamed at him, and it almost banished the shadows growing inside him. He couldn’t tell her about his father, not right now.
He held out his hand, and she took it. He squeezed her fingers gently, the contact grounding him so he didn’t feel like his panic would resurface and drown him. They followed Kincade to the front drive, the white stone gravel crunching beneath their feet as Kinkade talked about his home.