by Lauren Smith
“Yes, Celia and Callum are both doing what they believe is a duty to their families. He’s giving his family an heir, and she’s making sure Matthew will be cared for.”
“If it were any more tragic, you’d think Shakespeare would have written it,” Tristan mused. “Father’s still furious that they invested their money so poorly, you know. Uncle Hensley’s a damned fool. Father had to call in a lot of favors to save them. A lot of the estate’s cash has been used to pay their debts.”
“I know,” said Carter. It was part of the reason the two of them were collaborating on a little side project for the estate. One they hoped would pay dividends.
“It’s made for a tense couple of months, I can tell you. I was glad to loan Celia my flat in London so she doesn’t have to stay in that tiny cottage with her parents all the time. They’d likely kill each other after a month of living together. I only wish I could have helped more.” Tristan shook his head and sighed.
“I wish I had a way to give her what she needs,” Carter said, half to himself. But he had barely a thousand pounds to his name. Being a junior steward wasn’t about being rich—it was about having a position that mattered and loving what you did.
Tristan placed a palm on his shoulder. “Don’t hit me for suggesting this, but have you talked about…after the marriage? About still seeing each other?”
Carter shook his head. “Her marriage to Callum might be a marriage of convenience, but I won’t be the other man, and she wouldn’t want me to be. Besides, what happens when a child becomes involved? No, it’s not who we are.”
“So much for the twenty-first century,” Tristan replied. “You always were the better of the two of us. I got good looks and pragmatism, and you got honor.”
They chuckled, and then Tristan turned serious again. “Don’t give up. We still have time. I’ve made more calls to producers in Los Angeles. It might pay off.”
“Right.” Carter tried to smile. He and Tristan and been working for more than a year to get Hollywood interested in the estate for filming period pieces. The payout could be huge, but only if the producers felt it had the location qualities they were looking for.
“Carter, have faith. Celia isn’t destined to marry Callum. She’s always been yours. You know that. Don’t stop believing it, even for a second.”
She loves me, I know she does. The thought filled his chest with a silly warmth that he couldn’t contain. But it was tempered with the cold reality that he couldn’t provide for her, let alone Matthew.
Carter downed the last of his pint as well. They both stood and slapped a few extra pounds on the table before they left. It would be a nice walk this evening back to the estate, one he could use to clear his head. The town of Haresbury was little more than a few cobblestoned streets of tiny cottages with moss-covered roofs and window boxes overwhelmed with flowers. The perfume of the blooms in late May were heady and intoxicating. It blessed a man with sweet dreams at night, dreams of holding and kissing the woman he loved for hours on end.
He’d fantasized more than once of how he would take Celia picnicking and lay her back on the blanket and drink of her lips like wine and taste strawberries upon her skin. She would be a glorious feast, and he’d savor every minute of it.
As a child, he’d run through the fields of the Pembroke estate with her, watching her stain her dresses with grass and get her hands dirty as she climbed trees with him and Tristan, but that had changed when he and Tristan had left for Eton. Carter had been fortunate enough that her uncle had paid for him to attend a school usually reserved for the sons of the British elite. Celia’s parents had separated her from her cousin, sending her to an all-girl’s school since Eton was for boys only. She’d come back polished like any young lady of good breeding. It was only when she looked at him that he saw the hint of her old wildness hiding behind her eyes, the days of forests and childhood laughter like warm sunlight on her face, filling his heart with heat and light.
He was still smiling as he and Tristan walked up the steps to Pembroke’s manor house. They met one of the footmen at the door, a young man named Eddie.
“Late night, eh?” Eddie chuckled, nodding in deference to Tristan. Tristan slapped Eddie on the shoulder and laughed.
“Going to be even later for this one. He has to pack for a trip and have a talk with his father. It’s a toss-up as to which will take longer.” Tristan smirked as he left Carter and Eddie standing in the entry hall.
Eddie nodded at Tristan’s back as he climbed the stairs to go to his room, tripping on the last step. “What was that all about?”
“It’s the ale talking,” said Carter. “But I do need to speak to my father. Do you know where he is?” Carter wasn’t about to tell Eddie he was running off to Italy with Celia. He trusted Eddie, but old houses had big ears, and the last thing he needed was for his clandestine plans to become public knowledge. He’d never make it to the airport. Celia’s father would likely have him shot and buried in the woods.
“Last I saw, he was in his office.”
“Still working?” Carter didn’t like the sound of that. His father had been working too hard of late, and it was taking a toll on him. Running a vast estate was complicated and stressful, and it wasn’t easy, even for John Martin, to please Lord Pembroke. That was why Carter had been taking over more of his father’s duties lately.
Things would be different when Tristan was in charge. Unlike Edward Kingsley, Tristan was more relaxed in his control and expectations, but he also had a great deal of vision when it came to Pembroke’s future. And Carter would be there at his side, helping the estate survive into the future. So many other estates had been broken up and sold to the highest bidders. Carter and Tristan had vowed to never let that happen. It was their destiny to keep Pembroke intact.
But destiny was a funny thing. It had drawn him and Tristan together like two magnets, while it kept him and Celia oceans apart.
Carter walked down the corridor to his father’s office in the servants’ area, which was between the butler’s office, and the housekeeper’s. Carter saw the light on and walked in without knocking.
John Martin was seated at his mahogany desk, buried in papers. He glanced up, squinting, and floundered for his glasses. Carter stepped closer and nudged the glasses into his father’s searching fingers.
“Ah, Carter,” he sighed, but there was a smile on his lips. “You and Tristan back from the pub?”
“Yes.” Carter wondered if that would earn him a reprimand. His father usually frowned on any activities that kept either him or the future earl from tending to their duties.
Martin chuckled. “Can’t say I blame you. Today’s party was quite exhausting. Mr. Langley’s only just sent the servants to bed after cleaning up. Thank God the caterers were able to help put away tables afterward. I certainly don’t want to see the champagne bill.”
“Father,” Carter began.
His father was back to looking at his papers again. “Yes?” He pushed his glasses down his nose so he could peer over the top.
“I’m leaving for Italy tomorrow. I’ll be gone a month. I’ve spoken to Tristan; he’s going to help you with the accounts and the running of the grounds while I’m away.”
Martin nudged his glasses back up his nose and set his papers down.
“Italy?” The word implied a thousand questions, but as always, his father was patient with him.
“Er, yes. Celia’s invited me. I’m going to go with her while she visits her aunt in Tuscany.”
Martin’s eyes widened. “You and Miss Lynton?”
Carter nodded. “Yes.”
This was something they’d never spoken of. His love for Celia was a thing that more often than not hurt him, and his father was the sort of man to never harm his son if he could manage it.
“I trust you are aware of her engagement to Lord Cavanaugh’s son? I know it isn’t public knowledge, but it occurred today during the party.” His father always managed to know everything that oc
curred on the Pembroke estate.
“I’m quite aware. I also know it’s a marriage of convenience. They’ve both agreed to take one month of…freedom before going public with their engagement.” He felt like a boy caught stealing tarts from the kitchen, but he didn’t know how else to explain it to his father. This was his one chance to be with Celia before life forced them apart.
His father sighed again, the sound far heavier this time. “And afterward?”
Carter shook his head. His father grunted and nodded. “I see.”
He wasn’t fool enough to believe that he’d ever be with Celia, not in the way he wished, but perhaps a month could last a lifetime in his memory. And it didn’t stop him from hoping that he and Tristan might have success in getting some producers to look at Pembroke for a filming location. If they could manage it before the month was up, maybe it could save everything. Lord Pembroke had graciously agreed that if Carter managed to get the estate used for filming, he’d receive ten percent of the payment for the estate’s use. If a studio offered enough, with his small percentage he could ask Celia to marry him instead, and he could cover Matthew’s tuition. There would be the wrath of her parents and Lord Pembroke, of course. But he’d risk all of it for her. And he believed she would do the same.
But time was the enemy. Matthew would start school in two months, and no miracle was in sight.
His father studied him, missing nothing. “As long as you check with his lordship and have him approve the holiday, then I will allow it.”
“Thank you, Father. Where is Lord Pembroke?”
“The evening room, I believe, having a much-needed drink.”
Carter slipped out of his father’s office and headed for the evening room. The house was quiet. No doubt Tristan was already curled up around Kat in their bedroom. On any other night he would have been lonely, but with the promise of seeing Celia tomorrow, and for the next month, he had no room in his heart for loneliness.
He found Edward, Lord Pembroke, reclining in a chair by the fire, an old leather-bound book in one hand and a glass of brandy in the other. Carter rapped his knuckles on the open door, and Pembroke looked up.
“Ah, Carter, come in.” He set his book down and gestured to an empty chair by the fire.
It was perhaps unusual for a steward’s son to sit in the presence of an earl with such familiarity, but Lord Pembroke had always had a soft spot for him—not that Carter had the faintest clue why. The man was usually a devil to deal with, even with regard to how he treated his own son.
Carter stood next to the chair but didn’t sit. “My apologies, my lord, for disturbing you. I’ve spoken to my father, and having received his approval for a vacation, I now seek yours.”
Pembroke straightened in his chair. “Oh?”
“Er…yes. I’ve been invited to spend a month in Italy, starting tomorrow. I have enough saved up to pay for lodging and expenses.”
The earl’s eyes brightened. “And who has invited you?”
Carter held his breath before replying, knowing it could possibly get him fired. “Miss Lynton is the one who extended the invitation.”
Pembroke raised a brow. “My niece? Are Tristan and Kat going with you?”
“No.”
“Hmm.” The earl made a soft sound and then chuckled. “Let me guess—you’ve taken a page out of my son’s book? Going to start a wildfire of rumors in London by running off with a young lady who’s engaged herself to a future earl?”
“We aren’t running off. We’re just…” He didn’t know the words, couldn’t seem to find a way to explain his plans.
“Not running off?” Pembroke watched him as intently as his father had.
“She needs some time before she and Radcliffe…” He didn’t want to finish the thought or picture that future date. It would only crush the happiness he would have for the next month.
“You are so like your mother,” Pembroke said.
“My mother?” He knew that his mother had lived on the estate before she’d married his father, but he hadn’t thought she’d crossed paths with the earl much, if at all.
“Yes, she was all fire and spirit, not afraid to follow her heart, much like yourself. You know full well that my niece will marry the Radcliffe boy, but you’ll spend what time you can with her. That’s it, isn’t it?”
Carter stared into the fire, watching the flames, unable to meet Pembroke’s gaze.
“If it’s one hour or a month, it doesn’t matter. I will take however long she will give me.” He tensed when the earl stood and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“You have your mother’s gray eyes too. I miss her very much. She brought so much life to this house.” The man smiled as though remembering something from long ago, then became serious again. “Very well, you have my permission. Go on now.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Carter exited the room, a strange tightness in his chest. The earl knew the color of his mother’s eyes?
He stood in the corridor for a moment, and his cell phone vibrated. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw it was a text from Celia.
Hope you’re packing. Bring your swim trunks. Aunt Holly has a pool.
For a moment he made himself forget that this was going to be his only chance for her to be his. He wanted to believe this was the beginning of something, not the beginning of the end. A smile crept across his lips and soon took over his whole face as he typed a response.
When we go swimming, we won’t need suits.
She didn’t respond, but rather than be upset, he started to laugh. No doubt she’d been embarrassed by that. It was going to be a fun month. Celia had become too proper, but while they were in Italy, he was going to show her how wonderful being bad with him could be.
3
I shouldn’t be this nervous. There is no reason to be freaking out.
Celia shot a glance at Carter as their private car pulled onto the long dirt road that led to her aunt’s villa just outside Siena. She continued to sneak glances at him, glad her sunglasses could hide her checking him out. He looked so damned good in his jeans and black T-shirt. He wore a pair of aviators, and his blond hair was slightly windswept as he stared out the car window. A shadow of dark-gold stubble glittered like gold dust in the late-evening sun.
She swallowed, her mouth a little dry as she noticed for the tenth time that she could see his T-shirt clinging to his abs. It was rare for her to see him dressed so casually. They had never been truly alone together since they were children, except for the drive from London to Cambridge the previous winter after Tristan’s car crash. But there had been no enjoying that moment then because they’d been so worried.
Now they were here in Italy, just the two of them, and for the first time in her life she was nervous. Because she knew what might…what she wanted to have happen between them. She wanted one last taste of freedom, and she wanted to spend that time with the only man she’d ever loved.
Carter turned away from the window. “How is it that I’ve never met your aunt before?” He reached across the seat between them and took her hand in his, setting it on his lap so he could stroke the back of her hand with his fingertips. The move felt so natural, as though he’d always caressed it like that.
She had trouble thinking past the delighted hum his touch created in her head, like lazy summer bees outside their hives. It made her want to lie down in the grass and soak up the sun and the euphoria of it all.
“She’s my father’s younger sister, but they’ve never gotten along. She doesn’t come home much anymore. They only end up fighting.” She watched his elegant fingers trace mysterious patterns on her hand.
“Is she a free spirit? That seems like the sort of thing he’d object to.”
He still brushed his fingers over her skin, and it gave her delicious goosebumps on her arms.
“You could say that. She’s never wanted the life my grandparents laid out for her. They wanted her to marry up in the aristocracy, be the wife of a peer.”
“The usual,” Carter added flatly.
“But she had other ideas. She came here to study painting, fell in love with this country and a man she met here, Stefano. He died only a few years ago. He’s the one who left her the villa.”
She looked at the villa through the windows ahead, the rolling green landscape dotted with cypress trees in long lines. It was an old stone villa. The gardens that led up to the house were lush, with bushes trimmed in perfect geometrical shapes. Fountains were covered in lily pads, the white stone statues gleaming in the sun.
Carter exhaled as he leaned forward to get a better look. “My God.”
She understood his reaction. There was nothing more spectacular than an English countryside estate, but an Italian villa was…an entirely different and magical experience. It felt warm and enticing in a way those in England never could. It was as though the winter never came here. No blizzards could touch the glowing hills with their waving gold grass and dark-green trees that stretched into the sky.
Celia tried to hide a smile as the car stopped in front of the house. Her aunt was standing in the doorway, holding an orange striped cat with one arm and waving at them with the other. Holly was a willowy forty-year-old woman, but she still looked like she was in her early thirties. She might have even been able to pass for Celia’s older sister. She wore a pale-pink sundress and cork wedge sandals, fitting right in with the sunny Italian landscape.
“Celia!” Holly set the cat down on the ground and opened the car door for her. Celia had to pull her hand from Carter’s grip as she got out. He exited from his side of the vehicle and paid the driver his tip before turning to the boot of the car to fetch the luggage.
“Well, hello there, handsome,” Holly breathed as she stared at Carter’s lean, muscled form. Holly offered her hand to Carter as he reached her. “I’m Holly Rossi.”
“Carter Martin. Pleasure.”
“Oh, the pleasure is all mine,” she said with a predatory smile. Carter shook her hand before he retrieved their suitcases from the trunk and followed behind them as they walked inside the house.