Earl Power: A Modern Aristocracy Billionaire Romance (Endowed Book 2)

by Sara Forbes

  If I want to renovate the Millhouse, I have an additional reason to get hold of that land. It’s the land that the house looks out over, for the most part.

  Mother clucks, like she’s got the equation all sorted out, then smooths back her scarf and glides off in the direction of the ballroom, leaving me alone with my tumbler of whiskey.

  I know how Mother sees it. According to tradition, Alex's duty, as duke, was to make a match that would benefit the family. It wasn’t Hayley being a commoner that made Mother balk—that's all the rage since Kate Middleton—but rather that she didn't bring a single benefit. So now it’s up to me.

  I’d been trying not to think of Liv in such crass terms, but I can’t deny she’s an elegant solution to the problem of getting my hands on that land. Liv would not only bring her estate to the family, but also a legitimate earldom. I would have a title no one could take away from me.

  And this is all wrapped up in a pretty little package that many men would kill to get their hands on. Mother’s influence with the Earl of Strathcairn guarantees an obstacle-free road to matrimony should Liv decide she wants that with me. And the way she shoved the bouquet in my face indicates she’s not disinterested anyway.

  Ken sidles up out of nowhere. “You’d be a real earl.” His tone is off, like this wouldn’t make him happy. “You wouldn’t need the phony nickname anymore.”

  I bristle. “What the devil are you talking about?”

  He slides me a don’t-give-me-that-shit look.

  But why not? Why not some legitimacy for me as well? And for my other family. If I can’t be a real duke, then why not a real earl?

  7

  MARA

  THE PARTY'S OVER. Hayley and Alex took off for South America last night. So, for me, it’s time to go home. I’m glad that Dave didn’t insist on traveling or sight-seeing. Not that I’d have agreed to it anyway. I have to get back to work on Monday. It was hard enough getting Friday off from Mike.

  My phone alarm chimes and I make my way over to Dave’s room to remind him of our agreed-upon departure time. I rap on his heavy oak door.

  “Dave? Taxi here in ten.”

  No answer. Maybe he went downstairs for breakfast. Or changed his mind about flying home after all. But then he opens up. He’s neatly dressed, his luggage packed and sitting by the wardrobe. As he shuffles backwards towards the light, I notice the sheen of sweat on his face.

  “Hangover from hell?” I ask, even though I didn’t see him drinking much. He left after his first dance with Hayley—which is strange, come to think of it.

  Dave holds a hand to his forehead. “No. It’s nothing.” He releases a rasping cough that disproves his statement. The accompanying wheeze as he drags breath back into his lungs takes so much out of him he has to sit back down on the bed and double over.

  “Holy crap.” I run over to him.

  “It’s just this cold.” He straightens up again, only to be racked by another cough. “I’ve been battling it for a while.”

  “This is no cold.” Comfortable as I am with him, I can’t bring myself to press my hand against his forehead to guess his temperature.

  He nods. “Best place for me is home.”

  He’s in no state to go anywhere, least of all to endure waiting lines in an airport and stale airplane air. I launch into problem-solving mode. Luckily we have a window of about an hour, so I can reschedule the taxi. “Let me get a doctor’s opinion. Uh, Alex’s uncle William—he’s a doctor. He’s probably around.” William is an expert on gastrointestinal diseases. We had a brief conversation yesterday after the cutting of the cake.

  “No.” A new expression of pain crosses his face. “The insurance.”

  “You’re covered.” I was the one to sort out the travel insurance for him, so I’m certain of this.

  “I am?” Dave's posture sags even further, all the fight gone out of him. Usually he’s an independent man who turns avoiding doctors into a sport.

  “You are. I arranged the travel insurance just after I booked the flights.” But if he’s travelling with me, I want a doctor to certify him fit for the flight, for my own peace of mind if nothing else. I promised Hayley I’d take care of him while she was off on her honeymoon, so that’s exactly what I’m going to do—whether Dave likes it or not.

  The house is full of noise as people amble down to the dining room for the arranged après-wedding breakfast buffet at nine. They all look more crumpled than yesterday, but still in high spirits. I search among them for William.

  Outside the kitchen, after rescheduling the taxi for an hour later, the last person I want to see advances towards me. Seb studiously avoided me all evening yesterday, so it’s clear where we stand. And that’s fine. Water under the bridge. We had our moment and it was nice, and I’ll probably remember it for far longer than I should. But that was fantasy and this is reality, and boy, do I know the difference.

  As he comes close, my eyes wander over his shirt. This one is black silk—or satin. It fits him loosely and the top two buttons are undone, showing a hint of dark chest hair which proves he’s not wearing a t-shirt underneath. That little glimpse of bare chest is enough to get my imagination working, enticing me to rip those buttons apart and get access to the chiseled pecs and flat abs that I have no doubt he’s hiding under there.

  Damn, he’s hot.

  “You’re leaving soon,” he says, shifting his weight to his other foot, seemingly at a loss for words, as he should be. I’d like to crush him with my silence, but unfortunately, he’s my best route to locating his uncle. Damn it.

  “Do you need a lift? I could drive you to the airport.”

  He seems surprised at his own suggestion.

  I save him from his dilemma. “No thanks. Is your Uncle William around?”

  He blinks at me in surprise. “He’s on the list for breakfast. I’ll find him. Is everything all right?”

  “Oh yes, fine, fine.”

  As Seb strides off, I stand sentry at the dining room. I wish I was already in the airport—no, on the plane—no, landing in Portland. The mornings after weddings are bad enough with their empty, sickly, all-downhill-from-here feelings. But throw in a crush-hangover, a flu-ridden travelling companion, and a fifteen-hour flight in economy class, and you have the recipe for hell.

  I’m not left to wallow in self-pity for long. Seb and the uncle—a fit, gray -haired man in his early sixties—emerge from the dining room, walking at a brisk pace.

  “Here she is,” Seb says to William, his dark eyes darting between me and Dr. Belgrave. I can feel his need to know what’s going on.

  “Thank you,” I say, but Seb doesn’t get the hint and remains standing there.

  “It’s a private matter,” I add.

  Seb gives me an infinitesimal eyebrow quirk, which could mean absolutely anything; damned if I know. Then he turns and leaves, disappearing into a doorway halfway down the corridor. I don’t know why I don’t want to share my problems with him. Something to do with choice, I suppose. I don’t want to be railroaded into any decisions on the basis of what someone else—namely, Seb—feels is best. And yet, as he walks away from me, I feel a wrenching loss.

  Is this the last time I’ll ever see Sebastian Belgrave?

  “Dr. Belgrave,” I say, “it’s Dave, Hayley’s dad. There’s something wrong with him.”

  William’s chin bunches up in concern. “Yes, I noticed last night he didn’t seem well.”

  Half an hour later, outside Dave’s door, William gives an ominous shake of his head. “High fever. I suspect the onset of pneumonia.”

  “Pneumonia?”

  William nods gravely. “I have an assistent on his way with medications.”

  I lean against the wall for support. I’ll bet Dave hated hearing this. Hell, I hate hearing this.

  “He’ll need bedrest for a few days at the very least,” the doctor adds.

  “Can’t he fly and get treated at home? ” I ask in desperation.

  William winces
. “No, that’s not to be recommended.”

  I presume this is the famous British understatement at work and what he actually means is, “You’ll kill him if you do that.”

  I nod. “Thank you, Dr. Belgrave. You’ve been such a help. I don’t know what I’d have done.”

  “William.” He smiles warmly and pats my shoulder. “I'm going nowhere. Here’s my number. You’re surrounded by friends here.” His eyes rove towards the stairwell, from which the smells of frying bacon and coffee are drifting up.

  “Go.” I wave him off. “Have your breakfast before they eat everything.”

  He hurries off with that purposeful stride all the Belgrave men seem to possess, and then I’m alone again. Surrounded by friends. With Hayley and Alex out of the picture, the only people I feel comfortable with are Ken and Letty. I guess I’ll be putting all these friendships to the test very soon.

  For starters, I need an internet connection. Things get magically solved with Google at my fingertips. I’ll go back into “my” bedroom, unpack again, and set up a mini-office to postpone the flights, cancel the taxi I just postponed, call up the insurers and figure out the next steps. I’ll feel a lot more in control then.

  When I turn, I crash into a hard, immovable object.

  “Holy fuck,” I yelp.

  My eyes fly up the frame of the tall man standing in front of me. Seb. He slid up silently out of freaking nowhere. “Don’t do that.”

  I look down at my hands, splayed against his torso. There is no other way to describe the way my fingers are greedily attached to his warm, hard abdomen. He’s looking down, too, and his expression is not one of amusement. Neither is it annoyance, but something altogether darker and more dangerous.

  Trailing my eyes upwards doesn’t help. I know what being kissed by that perfect, sulky mouth feels like and the memory is making me buzz all over.

  “Dave’s sick and has to stay here,” I mumble, pulling my hands away.

  He laces his long fingers together in thought, right at the position where my hands had been. “That’s why you needed Will.”

  I nod.

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Suspected pneumonia.” I let out a long sigh. Dave’s wellbeing is more important than my ego. “Your Uncle William says he needs antibiotic treatment and bedrest.”

  “Good Lord. Do you need to stay with him or do you have to get home?”

  “I’m staying with him.” Never mind that I’m picturing Mike exploding with rage when I’m not sitting at my desk at 8 a.m. sharp.

  He eyes me earnestly. “He’ll have the best care, right here. We’ll see to that, and we’ll organize a new flight home for him.”

  I meet his dark eyes full on. “I’m the one who booked the flights so it will be easier if I contact the airline and organize everything.”

  “Shall I get Hayley and Alex to come back? They’re only on stopover in Madrid as we speak. A mere—”

  “It’s their honeymoon. Besides, if we call them back, it’ll look to Dave like we’ve given him up for dead. I don’t think that’s a good message to send the poor man.”

  “Fine. I’ll check with Will if a private clinic’s an option. When Dave’s better, we’ll arrange new flights for both of you.”

  “Whoa, whoa, rewind a sec.” I wave my palms in the narrow space between us. “I’m looking after him. I’ll deal with it and make all the arrangements, okay? Will’s already contacted a hospital. I’ll find an airB&B or something. Everything’s under control.”

  “I wouldn’t hear of such a thing. You and Dave will stay here,” he says, seeming genuinely confused. “But what about your job and your college classes?”

  Hah! He knows I’m in college and have a job. I wonder who he asked and what else he knows about me. “They can wait.” He doesn’t have to know that Mike will be dreaming up creative ways of killing me when I inform him of these new setbacks.

  “And your family?”

  I snort. He can’t know that much about me, if he asks this. “They’ll survive another few days without me.”

  He’s examining me with those deep, soulful, panty-dropping eyes.

  “I’ll stay out of your way,” I say. “I know you’ve got your hands full.”

  And, yes, he can take that any way he likes, my added emphasis included.

  He frowns. Yeah, he knows what I’m getting at.

  I cross my arms, keeping what I hope is an ironically amused look on my face. Truth is, I’m trying not to picture Liv swept up in his arms. It’s not that I’m the jealous type; I just hate being messed with. “In fact, I won’t bother you at all. Just pretend I’m not here.”

  Because you’re good at that, aren’t you?

  A flash of something crosses his face.

  Eager to seal my victory, I add, “Well, I’d better get back to business, so if you don’t mind…?” I point backwards with my thumb, to the door of what I’m officially claiming as my bedroom.

  As I fumble with the door handle, I still sense him behind me. But I don’t turn. Because I know if I do, I might just have to run to him, to pull his head down to mine, his mouth down onto mine, and I won’t be responsible for what happens after that. Because the possibility, strangely, is in the air, despite everything.

  “I suggest you get some breakfast while it’s available,” comes his deep voice.

  “Maybe.”

  He turns on his heel and walks down the corridor, leaving me. I am starving. But not for food. I crash into the room and sprawl on the bed, considering my options. I groan up at the ornate ceiling as I realize I don’t really have any options. If I left Dave in the lurch, I’d never forgive myself.

  Ten minutes later, I’ve got my stoic face plastered on and I’m spooning scrambled eggs from a roll-top silver tureen in the dining room. A buffet table extends down the center of the thirty-foot room with a dazzling array of food. When an excited voice trills behind me, I nearly drop the spoon. I swing around. It’s Liv.

  I offer her a smile. With her long blonde hair, heart-shaped face and captivating hazel-green eyes, I think of her as Tinker Bell—pretty to look at, and, if my experience of this type is anything to go by, probably hard as nails underneath. Although I shouldn’t project negative thoughts onto her, as she doesn’t seem to have a bad bone in her body. No wonder Seb’s into her. She’s one hell of a catch.

  Grinning, she balances a slice of pineapple on top of a cherry muffin. “Is it true you’re staying?”

  “News travels fast,” I reply.

  Seb emerges from behind a group of people waiting for omelets. He opens his mouth, but Liv breezes in first. “It’s awful that Hayley’s dad is sick, isn’t it?” Delicate lines of worry crease her forehead. “I can’t bear the thought of you lonely here, Mara, without Hayley.”

  “Well, I—”

  “So why don’t I stay, too?” Her eyes widen with glee. I follow her gaze to Seb, who isn't exactly jumping for joy, but Liv either doesn’t notice this or doesn’t care. "Let me stay and help Mara, please?" she asks Seb. “Mummy and Daddy have already left for Montreaux and Cook’s not home, so I don’t want to go there.”

  “But you were going to Marrakech,” he says.

  “I can join them later. It’s just a twenty-first party. You will let me stay and help Mara, won’t you?”

  Bombarded with her smiles, he crumbles. His fingers massage his temple. “Of course.”

  She squeezes his forearm in a territorial clutch. “This is sooo exciting. I just need someone to get my car over from the house. And my clothes, of course.”

  Seb puts down his plate of stacked toast and scrambled eggs. “Ken or I can drive over with Old George, and one of us can drive your car back. I can alert Mrs. Seymour to have some things ready, or you can come with us and sort it out.”

  “Oh yes, wonderful. And I have to tell Mummy and Daddy. They’re sailing but I’m sure they’ll have their phones on.”

  “I’ll send them the message,” Seb offers.
>
  Her delicate frown appears. “It would be better coming from you, yes.”

  My attention yo-yos between them as they continue this ridiculous conversation revolving around the logistics of getting Lady Liv from point A to point B. I feel sorry for him. Then again, perhaps this kind of living in each other’s houses is common among the upper classes. Kind of like me and Hayley, although we’re not upper class by any stretch, and we don’t need servants to prepare and cart our luggage for us and a communications service to let our parents know where we are.

  Ken and Letty show up together, yawning their blond heads off. In their tired faces, I detect the family resemblance now—they’re the spitting image of their mother. The two older brothers must take more after the father, or maybe Seb after his biological mother, whoever she is.

  Liv rushes up to them, and judging by the animated gesturing, seems to be informing them of the joyous new developments.

  Ken’s face transforms from grumpy to delighted in less than half a second.

  “That’s fantastic,” Letty shrieks, skipping over to me. “We’ll have such fun.”

  Ken looks sheepish as he addresses me. “I do hope Dave gets better. It’s a damned alarming business, of course.”

  Letty looks stricken. “Of course, poor Dave. How dreadful. Such a lovely man.”

  “Dreadful,” I repeat in the same tone. I better watch it or I’m going to start sounding like them.

  Seb slinks out the door with a slice of toast dangling from his mouth, his hands busy with his phone. Business as usual, I suppose. He could look a bit happier to have his arranged girlfriend under his roof for a few more days.

  8

  SEB

  FOUR KILOMETERS AROUND the back lanes with the dogs and our pace slows from brisk walk to a dawdle. Samwise, the older red setter, is getting weak—nearly eleven now. Meriadoc, five years younger, frolics around in a circle, tugging at a discarded plastic bag lying in the ditch.