Brutal Protector: A Dark College Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Westforde College Book 2)

by Serena Lyons

  “No, they’ll be finishing up their golf.” Her lips purse as she says golf, like it’s a swear word. “Let me get you settled, then I’ll come out to meet them.”

  “Thanks,” I follow her into the grand entrance hall. It’s exactly how the BBC would decorate a country mansion; oil paintings of long-lost relatives line the walls, there’s a suit of armour under the curving staircase and chandeliers split the light into individual rays.

  “I’ll put you in the library.” She opens an oversized oak door. “The fire’s been on all morning, so it’ll keep you nice and warm.”

  “Has Lord Charrington been in here reading?”

  “No.” Her voice is tight. “He spends most of his time down in London these days.” She points towards a maroon Chesterfield sofa in the bay window. “Make yourself comfortable over there and feel free to read anything that takes your fancy. I’ll call Gwen to get you some tea and pies brought—.”

  “No!” I interrupt, much too forcefully. Lady Charrington is looking at me like I’m crazy. “Sorry, I mean no pies for me, thanks. That’s er, why they threw me off the squad today,” I cross my fingers that Lady Charrington has little knowledge of rugby, so will believe my lie. “I’ve put on too much weight to be Fly Half. No more pies, sadly.”

  Please don’t let her suggest Gwen makes me a salad instead. If Gwen sees me here, Faith’s going to be in big trouble.

  “Well, then I’ll get her—.” The doorbell trills, and cuts off the rest of her sentence.

  “That must your bridge ladies,” I smile and sit down on the sofa. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be great in here. I don’t want to delay you any more.”

  “Well, if you’re hungry, wander down to the kitchen and my cook will see to you.” She backs away towards the hall.

  “Thanks, Lady Charrington.”

  She pulls the door behind her with a slam, and her heels clink along the long corridor. The high-pitched voices of her bridge friends are too muffled to make out exact words, but I hear them file into the house and go somewhere upstairs. Probably the sitting room, Faith said that’s where Lady Charrington spends most of her time.

  Now I’m in Millie’s house with over three hours of freedom, I’m torn about what to do. I could easily look around the lower floor and just claim I was looking for the kitchen if anyone finds me somewhere I shouldn’t be. We’d planned to leave all the snooping to Faith—she knows this house as well as her own, and especially how to sneak around it.

  I text Faith.

  Callum: In the library waiting for Lady C’s bridge to finish in four hours. I can totally sneak around unnoticed. What should I look for?

  Faith: Nothing! Stay where you are. If Gran sees you, we’re screwed.

  Callum: You’re coming to sneak around.

  Faith: That’s different. I have a lifetime of sneaking around this house without anyone spotting me. You’ll be caught in five seconds.

  Callum: Thanks for the vote of confidence.

  Faith: Trust me, it’s an old house with lots of creaky floorboards and hidden doors. Look around the library, that’s where Lord xxx keeps all his paperwork. Even Millie was banned.

  Callum: Hidden doors?! What are we in an Agatha Christie murder mystery?

  Callum: But fine, I’ll stay in the library… for now. Good luck with your snooping!

  Faith’s probably right, but give me an hour and I’ll be creeping around the ground floor. There can’t be enough in this room to keep me distracted.

  I stand up for a better view. The three walls are lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, there’s even one of those old-fashioned wheeled ladders to help you get to the upper shelves. Lower, waist high shelves litter the rest of the room with comfy chairs, an elaborate desk and curious oddities everywhere I look. Faith said this was Lord Charrington’s special room—will he have left anything of interest in here?

  The Last Will and Testament of Lord Charrington, 11th Earl of Farrington.

  Bingo. I flip over the first page and scan for details. There’s lots of boring legalese that I skim over.

  It’s dated two years before Millie died.

  Then I notice another footnote at the bottom. Lord Charrington’s living children with his wife.

  “Did you have fun with your bridge group?” I sit down on the sofa next to her regal wing-backed chair it’s angled, so she’s her facing the long lawns outside.

  I’m tempted to lean forward to check the garden for Faith. What route did she say that she was taking? Could Lady Charrington have spotted her? But if she hasn’t, I could draw attention to her. It’s not worth the risk. I just have to trust that everything is going to plan.

  She doesn’t answer me just stays staring into the distance, but something tells me she’s not really focussing on anything outside.

  There is a jingle and Gwen walks in with a tray of

  silver tea things.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. There’s no way she won’t recognise me. I stare straight ahead out of the window, in the hope that she’ll realise I don’t want her to say anything.

  It seems to work: Gwen’s head jerks as she recognises me but she doesn’t say anything. Christ, she’s wearing a Victorian style uniform complete with frilly white pinny. It’s insane.

  I grew up with help around the house, but this recreation of Victorian servants is so goddamn weird. We just had ladies who came in wearing jeans and t-shirts for a few hours a day to clean, and the odd chef or waiters to help out when Mum and Dad were throwing a party. This uniformed personal slave approach is way outside my wheelhouse.

  “Just put it over there.” Lady xxx waves her hand dismissively at Gwen, who bobs her head then silently leaves the room.

  I can’t believe they’ve worked together for nearly twenty years, Lady xxx treats her like a nameless serf. I want to say thanks, but I know that would just put Lady xxx on the wrong foot, and I need to be as charming as possible with her right now.

  “Tea?” She asks.

  “Let me get you one, you must be tired of hosting this afternoon.” I jump up and walk over to the tea tray.

  “Slice of lemon no sugar.” She barks at me, then nods to a small standing table near her chair. “Why are you here, Callum?” Her eyes—exactly the same blue as Millie’s, but without her warmth—pierce through me. “You waited four hours, that’s not exactly a casual courtesy visit.”

  “I told you, I had a match close by and… well…” I look down at my hands. I need to give her something. “The truth is, I want to apologise to you.”

  “Hmm?” She makes a little sound, like a woodland animal.

  “I wasn’t there for you all after, well, you know, Millie. I behaved badly let your family down. I wanted to say sorry.”

  “We’re rather past that now, don’t you think?”

  I pause, not quite sure what Lady xxx is trying to imply. “I thought better late than never.”

  “My daughter’s dead, Callum, nothing matters now.”

  Something about the lack of emotion in her voice makes me want to just outright ask her about Millie’s death. To see how she reacts. Faith and I agreed on the exact opposite, but it’s clear I’m not going get anything out of Lady XXXX any other way.

  I put my cup down and lean forward to look straight at her. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I think there’s more to Millie’s death than meets the eye.”

  Her face barely moves, just a slight twitch then tightening of her cheek, while the tea and saucer in her hand stay completely still.

  “I don’t think it was suicide.” I add.

  “Callum, I don’t know what you’re implying, but let me assure you the police investigated every possibility at the time.” She purses her lips and looks out the window, her face a blank mask without emotion. “Much as I hate to believe it, our darling Millie took her own life.”

  “I don’t think they did, though. There was that letter—.”

  Her voice is sharp as she interrupts me. “That letter w
as all the wicked imagination of a piece of scum. The police quite rightly saw it as such.”

  “But the handwriting is Millie’s, I’ve seen it. Look Lady Charrington, I think the police should reopen the case, I think that—”

  She yells this time, her face now white with anger. “You stay away from my family. I won’t have any of this, do you hear me? Stop sticking your nose where isn’t want it. I can’t cope with any of this. I can’t lose…” She stops mid-sentence like she was about to give something away. “Get out of my house,” she screams her final words like someone in great pain and guilt runs through me.

  “I’m sorry, Lady Charrington,” I murmur lifting my hands in the air to show I’m no threat. “I’ll go, I’m sorry I—”

  Her teacup flies past my ear, spraying brown liquid across the antique furniture before smashing on the flock wallpaper behind me. She looks furious that she missed me.

  “I’m going now,” I quickly move out into the long corridor. As I turn to close the door, Lady Charrington is staring

  What the hell just happened? She knows more than she is letting on that much I’m sure of.

  I didn’t even mention the will.

  35: Faith

  As soon as I finish clearing up all our breakfast things, I let myself out of the back door of the house to go the quiet way to Millie’s. I pass through the creaky gate to the alley behind our house and then sneak into the words that separate our village from the Charrington’s gigantic estate.

  Until two years ago, I did this hundreds of times. Whenever Millie was home for holidays, exeat weekends she’d demand that I go to meet her. She’d call me on her burner phone of course. She didn’t dare to store my number in her main phone, her mum would’ve gotten apoplectic if she saw it.

  Fuck. I step in a puddle deep enough to seep over the top of my trainers. Then the realisation hits me: her burner phone. I don’t think anyone apart from me knew about it, maybe that will have some clues if we can find it.

  I text Callum to tell him. I’m sure if we find that we’ll start uncovering what really happened to her. I watch the screen, but there’s no sign that he is online to read it.

  The wind blows a sudden gust, like it’s reminding me to keep moving. It’s late morning, and if it was summer, the woods would be full of people; children scampering away from their parents, dogs running triple the distance of their own as they sniff the wonder of the wildness. Today is one of those grey October days, when getting off the sofa feels like too much effort, so I have the place to myself. The low sun casts long shadows and I wrap my leather jacket tighter around myself.

  “The things I do for you, Millie.” I say out loud.

  The Charrington’s house is on top of the hill and completely open to their acres of grazing land on three sides. If you’re inside, it gives you a false sense of security that nobody could sneak up on you. All the family’s rooms look out on these long, open vistas, on a clear day you can even see the North Sea. What they forget is how encroached the building is on the back where the old servants quarters used to be, where the pokey rooms are and the kitchens. They don’t bother to heat, visit or tend to those areas of the house, so it’s easy to sneak up that way.

  Getting to the summer house is probably the trickiest bit as it’s in the middle of open grassland in full view of the family’s rooms, but it’s where Millie always wanted to meet. It was her private den. Even more so than her bedroom. It’s probably where anything is hidden, but I’ll go to the house first as I’ve less chance of being spotted there.

  Gran says it’s just Lady xxx around at the moment. Lord xxx has been spending more and more time down in London, attending to ‘business matters’ ever since Millie passed. Apparently he’s living with a mistress most of the time.

  I wish I could feel sorrier for Millie’s mother, but she was always such a complete cow to me, even when I was a young kid. One of my earliest memories is me crying on Gran’s lap after Lady XXX had ordered me to stay away from Millie.

  I run along the back of the house to the old servants’ entrance. It opens to a long dark stone corridor. At the far end the door to the kitchen is ajar, and I know that’s where I’d find Gran. Warm, steamy air is spilling out of the room and I’d love to go in and give her a quick hug. It’s not fair going in though, she’ll be in enough trouble if anyone notices me here, if we’re found together she’d be fired immediately.

  I creep past the empty storage rooms that used to hold riding gear. Halfway along is the door to the servants’ staircase. Gran is the only member of staff they have these days, unless the throw of a party and have a few extra helpers, but still I’m half expecting someone to be on the narrow claustrophobic stairs. To scream at me to get out.

  There’s no light in the staircase, just a glow on the first few steps from the door I’m holding. I jump in, then gently close the door behind me. The air smells damp, like no one ever uses this passage and it makes me breath a bit easier. I daren’t turn the light on, so I hold both walls and feel my way up in the dark. Climbing the two flights to Millie’s room seems to take far longer than it should.

  I can’t move at first when I enter her room it’s too much, the undeniable Millie-ness of it all. I sink to my knees on the floor. The room isn’t right without her in it. All of her things are exactly as I remember, but they look dated now as time passes she is becoming more and more irrelevant.

  Man up, Faith. I force myself to push up. I and break down any time, I might never get a chance to look in Millie’s room again. I need to find something that’ll explain this crazy mess.

  It feels like someone is watching me, I swallow down the dread that’s rising in my throat. They can’t be, I’m just being paranoid.

  I pull out my phone again, nothing from Callum or Nina.

  Finally I’ve gone through everything, every drawer, every hanging space checked under her mattress. Nothing.

  The sun is already starting to fall in the sky. I can’t stay here for that much longer. Everything’s entirely PG in here, nothing too personal at all…

  Of course, she wouldn’t keep personal stuff in here, not where her brothers could find it. They used to be incorrigible when she was younger, especially Philip, her brother closest in age.

  I might as well give up and go to the summer house. I take one last look at her room expecting something to jump out of me, but nothing does.

  [Hmm a bit boring, how to make something actually happen in this chapter?]

  36: Faith

  Fuck, someone’s outside. How do I get rid of them? I’m trapped in here. Fingers trembling, I text Callum.

  Faith: Can you stage a distraction? Someone’s outside the summer house and it’s only a matter of time until they find me.

  His answer pops up straight away.

  Callum: Lady xxx just threw me out, she’s lying about something. I’m up for making a scene.

  Faith: Be quick. Tnx.

  A dark shadow passes the calico curtains, I daren’t breathe. I drop my head and dip down behind the reclining sofa.

  Please don’t see my silhouette, please.

  A floorboard creaks loudly, whoever’s outside is close to the door. I screw my eyes shut.

  Hurry up, Callum.

  There’s a clinking, like someone wearing a ring has just grabbed the door to the summerhouse.

  Oh God, I’m—

  Beep! A car horn blares from outside.

  Callum!

  The horn keeps blaring and an engine straining. The entire room vibrates as the floorboards bounce. The person must be sprinting over the outside decking.

  Then footsteps thunder down the steps off the patio and my room is silent again. Whatever Callum did seems to work. Now I need to use the time to get out of here. I want to curl up and keep on hiding, but that’s stupid. I need to use this opportunity to leave. If only there was more than one door out of here. If the person is anywhere close, they’ll see me exit. I’ve got to risk it.

  If only the s
ummer house was hidden in the trees, it would be a much better hiding spot then. Of course, I’m an idiot - the tree house. Everyone else seemed to forget about it years ago, Millie and I were the only ones who every went up there, having to brush away cobwebs whenever we climbed up the steps.

  I crawl to the window and move the curtains a few inches. No one’s on the veranda, and I can see a dark, masculine looking body sprinting across the grass to the long driveway, running to Callum’s car.

  It’s parked halfway down the gravel and he’s out of it, running manically across the grass. God only knows what he’s doing. I’ll have to find out later, I don’t know how long he’ll be able to distract my prowler for. I need to run, even if my legs can barely function properly.

  I dart to the door, inch it open then scoot out, keeping low to the ground. I want to be as unobtrusive as possible in case my stalker turns around. I dash to the back of the summer house—it’s not the quickest way to the tree house, but it’s the most hidden. I daren’t turn around to see if the figure has noticed me. I have to trust that Callum’s providing a sufficient distraction, turning might get me spotted.

  My legs burn as I sprint faster than I ever have in my life.

  Reaching the trees, I allow myself to hide behind a thick bush and peek back in the direction I came from. I can’t see the hooded figure.

  Hooded like the person who attacked me by the towpath. Like the person who chased me through the park. A shiver chills my very soul. I want to run home and throw myself under my childhood duvet.

  I can’t. I might not get another chance to visit the treehouse. I whip through the woods until I get to the copse that houses our old play area. Getting closer. I spin slowly looking for the rope steps that are better camouflaged every time I return.

  There, trailing with vines. I sprint over and grab the damp rope. It’s slimy from a kind of forest mould, but I grab on and start climbing. The tree house is only seven or eight feet in the air there are cobwebs over the entrance hole when I reach the top.

  I yank up the ladder after me, wincing as the thick rope slaps noisily against the wood. Has my bet paid off? If the person chasing me knows the ladders exist and sees they’re missing, they’ll know exactly where I am.