by E V Darcy
Roman wanted to tear his hair out in frustration. He had to set this right, and he had to do it now. How were they to face the world, take on her grandfather, and convince her trust-fund their story was legitimate if they couldn’t even look at one another?
It wouldn’t be the dream he’d had when he was seventeen, and it certainly wasn’t any of the fantasies he’d conjured throughout the years whenever they’d come across one another. No, this would be better, he decided as he stared himself in the eye again. Because as messed up as the situation was, this would be real. No more daydreams, no more what ifs. His Henrietta would finally be wearing his ring and Roman would be that much closer to capturing her heart for real…
That was if she said yes.
He narrowed his eyes at himself.
‘No more lies,’ he told his reflection. ‘No more half-truths.’ He paused as he thought of spilling his feelings to her. Yeah, after what he’d said to her earlier in the car, that wouldn’t immediately end in disaster as she thought him trying to desperately manipulate her. ‘Maybe avoid some things—for now—but tell her when you can say something. No mind games, no manipulation. If she’s going to fall in love with you, it’s got to be because she loves you,’ he said firmly. ‘No turning into something you think she wants. You’ve just got to be you.’
He frowned at that thought, recalling who he’d been for the last decade and a half.
‘Well, maybe not be that guy. That was Fiona’s Roman, the man who you had to be in order to put up with her; in order to survive your father’s demands on you. Be the guy that you were. The boy with the ideals is still in you,’ he told himself. ‘If he wasn’t, you wouldn’t still be madly in love with Henrietta. You wouldn’t be giving yourself this bloody pep talk and acting like a lovesick teenager.’
He shook his head at himself before taking a deep breath and turning on his heel.
You can do this, he told himself. You have to.
Hattie sat staring, unseeingly at the wall of her childhood bedroom. She hadn’t been to Renfrew since her father had moved them out while she’d been stuck at Guildford. Even when Victoria had taken over the residence at twenty-two, living here all alone, Hattie had avoided coming back, preferring to meet at Pippa’s for holidays and birthdays. She’d used the excuse it was more central for them all, but in reality, it was so she didn’t have to walk these damn ghost filled hallways again.
As soon as she’d arrived, she’d excused herself and retreated here, hoping to avoid any memories that might creep to mind unbidden. But despite the fact all her personal items had been removed years ago, simply the room itself held too much history.
The bed was still the same bed her mother had tucked her into, telling her stories, or wishing her sweet dreams as she got older. The door was the same as the one her father had always stood in, smiling at her as he waited for her mother to finish their nightly ritual, where he’d tell her he loved her and to sleep well before closing the door. Hattie would immediately roll over and wrap herself up in the blankets, a physical representation of their love, before drifting off into the deepest of sleeps.
Even when her mother had got ill, when the cancer had eaten away at her, when she was undergoing the medical treatments that made her almost as ill as the disease itself, she kept up the routine… But her father had no longer stood at the room’s threshold, smiling with eyes filled with love. Instead, he’d watched Melinda like a hawk, looking for any sign of weakness, ready to swoop in and steal her away from Hattie if he got the chance.
When their mother had gone, no one had come to tuck her in anymore, no one came to wish her goodnight or to whisper stories of dreams they had of her future.
Well, no that was a lie. Victoria had tried, but Hattie hadn’t wanted her; she’d wanted her mum. She’d thrown things at her sister, demanded she leave and stop trying to fill their mother’s shoes.
Hattie’s tongue slipped out and curled over her upper lip as she recalled the hurt in her sister’s eyes while she’d ducked to avoid the books Hattie had lobbed at her. She’d only been trying to help, Hattie finally understood. She’d probably been trying to fill the void their mother had left in her own life as well as in Hattie’s.
‘Ah crap,’ Hattie huffed, rubbing her hand over her eyes and forehead before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. That was another apology she owed.
She had to switch her mind off; if she kept examining her past, she was pretty sure she was going to owe everyone she’d ever met an apology.
She refocused on the wall in front of her, counting the grains in the wood panelling from left to right. Maybe she could just fall asleep here at the desk if she kept it up, never having to face the room or the ghosts it housed. But before she could get far with her enumeration, a soft knock sounded at her door.
She sighed. It was probably Merryweather being sent to check on her by Victoria so he could report back. Well, they weren’t getting the satisfaction—and she didn’t care if she was being childish. She’d had the day from hell, and she just wanted to be left alone.
‘I’m fine!’ she called, loud enough that she knew the man could hear her from the other side of the door. She was about to drop her head onto her folded arms and give up for the night, when she heard the squeak of the door handle being pressed down.
She spun around in her chair, her eyes wide in incredulity at the audacity of the butler coming in uninvited, but before she could give him a dressing down, Roman’s head appeared in between the door and its frame.
‘Ah, good, you’re not in bed yet,’ he said when his eyes landed on her.
Hattie blinked.
Why the hell was he here? Why, rather than waiting for an invitation to enter, was he opening the door and stepping inside her room? And why wasn’t she stopping him from doing such a thing?
It took her a moment for her brain to catch up, but it was too late, he was already inside, door closed, and taking in her room.
Roman Tyrrell was in her bedroom.
Fourteen-year-old Hattie began having a panic attack. Fifteen-year-old Hattie was picturing him on her bed, snogging her senseless, his hand up her top. Sixteen-year-old Hattie was plotting his murder.
Thirty-one-year-old Hattie wanted to do all of the above.
‘This was your room growing up?’ he asked with mild curiosity as his gaze bounced from the walls to the floor, to the daisy dotted white curtains hanging up on the windows, and everything encompassed between them all, before landing on her. He raised his brow and Hattie knew he was waiting for an answer. She sighed; he wasn’t going to leave until he’d said his piece.
‘Say whatever it is you want to say, then leave me alone. I’m tired.’
He levelled his gaze at her, that same damn intensity within his eyes that he always looked at her with. She wanted to slap it from him, to shake him and beg him to stop, to plead with him to tell her what it was he saw when he looked at her in such a way.
Instead, Hattie rubbed her hands over her face, before resting her elbows on her knees. She cupped her chin in her hands and stared back, waiting for him to finally speak up. He merely held her gaze; unmoving until he got his answer.
‘Well, spit it out,’ she finally snapped when he didn’t say a word. But he still didn’t speak, and the challenge in his eyes only grew. ‘Fine, yes,’ she admitted as she sat up straight. ‘This was my room until Daddy decided he couldn’t stand me being around any longer and packed me off to Guildford.’
‘Does it look like it did back then?’ he queried staring again at faded yellow walls. Hattie had to bite back the scream of frustration. She rubbed her tired eyes with the heels of her hands, far harder than she should have if the stars that bloomed behind her lids were anything to go by.
‘Save for the lack of personal items, yes,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘Now tell me why you’re here.’
He took a turn around the room, running his fingers over the empty bookshelves, along the bare tabletops, peeking into
the vacant cupboards.
‘Roman.’ She was on her last nerve and ready to crack, but even the warning in her voice didn’t dissuade his snooping.
‘You know I thought you might have had a nosy around my place,’ he confessed as he poked his head into her still empty wardrobe. ‘That you might have gone digging through my cupboards and drawers,’ he added, closing the wardrobe and pulling open a barren drawer. ‘I was surprised when you didn’t.’ He pushed it shut before turning to face her again, a scowl on his brow. ‘I was concerned when you just sat there.’
Hattie snorted at the comment. ‘Thought you’d have been more worried if I did go snooping. Never know what I might have stumbled across.’ She threw him a pointed look, but it only made him frown harder.
‘Anything I have that I don’t want people to find is locked tight in my safe or secured at the bank.’
Hattie couldn’t help the roll of her eyes as she muttered, ‘Of course it is.’
‘You could have gone through anything—you still can if you want to.’
‘Yeah, right,’ she scoffed. ‘After you’ve had someone go through it and remove all the incriminating evidence.’ She screwed her eyes closed tight and bit down on her lip as she realised what words had tumbled from her mouth.
‘What evidence?’ He paused as his brain worked to make the link in her words. ‘You mean to connect me to Conner O’Malley?’
She said nothing and kept her eyes closed, knowing that if she looked at him, more of her thoughts would come tumbling out. It had been too long a day, so much had happened, and she’d not only ridden the emotional roller-coaster, but had done so in the front carriage, with her arms held high as it threw her through its twists and turns. She was tired and clearly unable to stop her mouth from spewing forth whatever it wanted.
‘You don’t trust me.’ It wasn’t a question, but he said it so dejectedly that Hattie finally peered at him through one eye. His back was to her as he stood in front of her old shelves that had once been overflowing with books of every kind. He was running his fingers over the wood again.
‘I don’t know you,’ she finally said, opening both eyes and slumping in her chair again. ‘Not anymore.’
‘I won’t hurt you, Henrietta,’ he told her, his voice quiet. She wanted to believe the truth within them, but it was difficult to do after the way their friendship had ended and even more so with the way he’d lied to her today, playing her so well to get what he wanted. After what he’d said in the car on their way to see Dick.
‘No, Roman, you won’t,’ she admitted. ‘But not because you choose to, but because my grandfather won’t allow you to.’ His fingers stilled. ‘You know that if it even looks to Ol’ Dick that you’re not one-hundred percent committed to this relationship, he’ll destroy you and your family. Seymour Medical will be shunned by everyone in the country, shareholders will leave in droves, and your father will lose everything. Any links to Conner O’Malley will be the least of your worries,’ she scoffed.
‘God, Roman, even Fiona knew you wouldn’t be able to cope with being tied only to me.’
At the mention of his ex, he turned back to face her, a determination in his eyes.
‘I won’t cheat on you,’ he declared, and Hattie had to admire the conviction in his tone. She almost believed him.
‘No, you won’t but as I already said, it’s not because you won’t want to. That’s not the same thing.’ She sighed, propping her elbow on the desk and resting her cheek in her hand as she stared. ‘Look, I’m sorry you’re trapped, but you only have yourself to—’
‘You don’t get it, do you?’ he bit out in frustration, cutting her off. ‘I wasn’t in love with Fiona that’s why I—we—cheated. God,’ he spat, running his hand through his hair. ‘I didn’t even have a modicum of respect for her, never mind a hint of love.’
‘What?’ Hattie spluttered at the confession. Was he saying he was in love with her? She wanted to laugh hysterically at the thought. No, he wouldn’t try that with her. Even he knew that would be a step too far, a tale too unbelievable.
‘Fiona and I were never even friends, Henrietta; we were,’ he motioned between the two of them. ‘We could be again. At least… At least I’d like to hope we could.’
Oh, God, she wanted to laugh. How could they be friends after all this time? After everything had been left to fester between them. Although the more pertinent question was why did he suddenly want to be her friend again? She wanted to ask so many things, but was scared of what the answers might be. Terrified that he might once again be lying, playing some angle as he had in his proposal earlier.
‘How can I trust you?’ she asked, swallowing down her fear. ‘How can I believe anything you say when you lied to me? When you told me you’re just after my money and my name?’
Now it was his turn to sigh, long and deep as he dropped his head back between his shoulders. He took several deep breaths as his gaze focused on the ceiling, giving Hattie a chance to look at him properly.
He didn’t look like the cold and intimidating Roman Tyrrell she had seen around the charity scene. The strong, cocksure man who could make a grown man cry or a woman drop their panties with just a stare was no longer there. Instead, his shoulders were slumped, he’d discarded his jacket—the first time she’d seen him in anything but in years—and he was sans tie. The top button of his shirt was open at the neck, giving her a tantalising glimpse of his tanned chest. Her mouth went dry at the thought of unbuttoning the rest of that shirt, pressing her lips to each inch of his smooth chest it revealed. Kissing her way down his body, lower and lower, until—
‘Fiona and I never got together for romantic purposes,’ Roman confessed, interrupting her daydream. Hattie cleared her throat as she sat up straight in the chair again, hoping the heat in her cheeks didn’t translate into an obvious blush.
‘Then what did you get together for?’ she asked, hoping her voice didn’t sound as breathless as her lungs felt.
‘For an alliance.’ He sat heavily on her old bed, his eyes focused on the wall just above her head, and for the millionth time in her life, she wished she could read his mind. ‘My father pushed me to it; our names, our fortunes, the children we’d have to take over the family businesses and—’
‘Every reason we’re together,’ she pointed out. ‘You said it yourself, the Snape name will open more doors for you. You said that you wanted the child to be the Tyrrell heir.’ His eyes dropped to meet hers. ‘So why wouldn’t you treat this the exact same way you treated your relationship with Fiona. What’s different about us?’
Roman licked his lips and stood up, his hand dipped into his pocket and for just a second before it disappeared Hattie thought she saw a slight tremor within it.
‘This is different,’ he said as he took a small box from within his pocket’s depths. Hattie’s brows rose in surprise at what was obviously a ring box. He took a step towards her and opened it, and Hattie had to bite back the gasp of surprise; the Tyrrell Red Diamond.
The small ring sat nestled in a bed a white velvet, its dark red stone surrounded by smaller colourless diamonds, glistened in the soft light of the room, and Hattie found herself enthralled by it. She itched to reach out and touch it, to slide it on her finger and marvel at its deep rich colours against her fair skin.
‘My grandmother left this to me when I was twelve. She wanted me to give it to the woman I was going to spend the rest of my life with.’ Hattie frowned at that titbit.
‘Why didn’t you give it to Fiona?’ she asked tentatively, glancing up at him. She recalled perfectly how the other woman had tactlessly flaunted the giant stone Roman had given her at Jensen’s funeral. Roman let out a dry bark of laughter at her question.
‘Grandma would have rolled in her grave if I had! Fiona is not the type of woman my grandmother had in mind when she bestowed it on me.’
‘And I am?’ Hattie gave him a look of disbelief. There was no way he was asking her to wear the famous ring. ‘I’m t
he girl your brother knocked up and who is using you to claim her inheritance. I’m hardly any example of the sweet, virginal bride she had probably imagined you bestowing it on.’
For a just a second something that looked a lot like sadness, flickered in his eyes at her words, but it was gone with his next blink.
‘I think Grandma would have liked you,’ he said with a small smile instead. ‘She’d have liked the fact you speak from the heart.’ He took a deep breath, playing with the box. The light kept catching it, making it sparkle and shine, and for just a second Hattie pictured herself wearing it, showing it off to Grammy who would absolutely adore such a gem.
‘The world knows the general history of the Tyrrell’s fortune,’ he began, taking the ring back and playing with the box. ‘Like how my great-great grandfather Edward Tyrrell discovered the Avalone Ruby-Diamond, the one and only red-diamond ever found in our country’s mines. He had it cut into three small stones, one went to the royal family as a gift—although my grandfather says it was demanded by King Henry at the time.’
‘Wouldn’t surprise me,’ Hattie muttered and Roman turned her way, his lips lifted in a wry smile.
‘Yes, after meeting your grandfather today, I actually believe him now.’
Hattie scoffed but kept her mouth shut, wanting to hear what else Roman had to say about it.
‘But as I was saying, one to the royal family and the other two stones he sold on. My great-grandfather, William, was only a boy at the time and he’d been dragged along by his dad to see the handiwork of the jeweller. My grandfather told me that William, being as young as he was, had grown bored and had been playing with the man’s tools when he saw the tiny red rock tucked away—the jeweller had been trying to swindle Edward, telling him the four and a half carats rough could only be cut into two, three-quarter carat stones and a half carat. He’d been planning to keep a small piece for himself to cut and polish later.’ Roman shook his head as he gazed down at the ring, his thumb gently caressing the rock.