To Win Her Smile

by Mackenzie Crowne

  Like no man she’d ever met, he had an uncanny ability to keep her off guard, and the way he could draw a laugh from her even when she tried to hold back made him a temptation nearly impossible to resist. The trip between like and love would be a very short one but, the question remained, could they possibly overcome the daunting barriers circumstances had created in their individual lives?

  Her stomach twisted into knots. The scars left after her failed engagement had long since healed, but the thought of baring them was still bloody uncomfortable. However, if she and Wyatt were to have a chance at moving forward as he’d suggested, they needed to start somewhere. And if she was reading the situation wrong? If sharing the details of her life blew up in her face?

  Well, she’d simply deal with it. She was the eighth Baroness of Delaney, after all. She’d deal with it, right after she hired a hitman to kill Wyatt Hunter dead.

  Mentally rolling her eyes, she sucked in a ragged breath and jumped in. “I was once engaged to Cody Beckett.”

  Chapter 18

  Cody Beckett? The soccer dick? That explained a lot. Especially Piper’s initial aversion to Wyatt as an athlete. With Beckett as her yardstick, it was a wonder Wyatt had gotten within ten feet of her.

  He grunted. “My condolences.”

  Her tension was broadcast in the thin line of her lips, if not in the uneasiness shadowing her eyes. “The breakup was my decision, although Cody would argue with my version of events.”

  She slid from Wyatt’s lap and he let her. She was talking, which was what he’d asked, but she wasn’t happy about it. If moving around made her feel better, he was good with that. But just in case… He rose to his feet and placed himself between her and the exit.

  Propping his hip against the side of the couch, he crossed one bare foot over the other as she dug into the outside pocket of her camera bag. “You misunderstand, duchess. I wasn’t commiserating with you on the breakup, but on the fact you spent any amount of time with the asshole.”

  The truth was, he couldn’t imagine his duchess giving Beckett the time of day, never mind agreeing to marry him. Wyatt had only met the captain of the London Guardsmen once, at a party in Cannes last spring. A petite blonde, whose name Wyatt couldn’t remember, had dragged him to France for the film festival. Drunk as shit, Beckett had publicly felt up a young waitress, then chastised her for delivering his double martini with only two olives instead of three.

  Bent over her bag, Piper paused and cocked her head to look at him. “You know Cody?”

  “Not really. I met him once. My first impression was that he’s an elitist dick with narcissistic tendencies. You’re way too good for him.”

  And there was the triple blink.

  She straightened with her phone in her hand. “Thank you. That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.”

  Wyatt winked, relieved by the return of her smile. “We aim to please, ma’am.”

  “Yes, well, don’t get too cocky. You asked me to talk to you, and I’ve only just begun.” Thumbing her phone, she typed something in and stepped in front of him. She kept her gaze on the screen as if waiting for a page to load, then held the phone out to him.

  Curious, he took the device and spun it so he could see what she found so interesting. He read the headline and looked up. “The Gold-Digging Baroness?”

  “That’s me.” She crossed her arms and bumped her chin toward the phone. “By the way, I’m not a duchess. I’m a baroness.”

  He glanced from her to the phone and back. The bold text fronting the article read, With her scheme to bilk Beckett of his millions exposed, the Gold-Digging Baroness has holed up on her cash-strapped country estate.

  Scrolling down, he stopped at the photo of a redhead glancing into the lens over her shoulder while ducking into a garden doorway. In her hand, she carried a—he held the phone closer—shit, was that a chainsaw? The photo was grainy, but there was no mistaking Piper’s face or the sweetly curved behind molded lovingly by faded denim.

  He slowly lifted his head. “You’re fucking kidding me?”

  “I wish,” she grumbled, then angled her chin at a proud angle. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Wyatt. My name is Piper Darrow. I’m the eighth baroness of the Delaney. Or, as Google refers to me, The Gold-Digging Baroness.”

  She lowered her arms to her sides. “For the record, my country estate is indeed cash-strapped. Frighteningly so. A situation I was unaware of until my father’s death three years ago. However, contrary to what that article and others like it claim, I never expected Cody to bail me out. In fact, I have never asked him for a single shilling.”

  She dropped her gaze to the phone in Wyatt’s hand. “The Gold-Digging Baroness moniker was a creation of Cody’s monumental ego and, of course, the press and his fans believed every one of his lies as if they were gospel.” She looked up with a wry laugh. “Why wouldn’t they, when no sane woman would walk away from Cody Beckett to run a B&B in the wilds of northern England?”

  She hiked her chin even higher. “And, for the record, I’m perfectly sane. Delaney Manor is not only my home, it’s a legacy handed down to me through four hundred years of Delaney women. Selling it, as Cody insisted I do to pay off my creditors, was no less out of the question then than it is now. As the Baroness of Delaney, the estate is my responsibility. One I don’t take lightly, especially considering there are others who depend on the estate for their livelihoods.”

  Her chest heaved with an indignant sigh. “I was vilified by Cody’s vicious toadies in the press as they snuck around the grounds and popped from the bushes, but I will not apologize to anyone for doing what had to be done to preserve my legacy. Nor will I apologize for opening my home to strangers or earning a living by accepting odd job offers like the ones from you and the Marauders.”

  She stood before him with her eyes full of wary expectation as if waiting for him to accuse her of bilking him out the funds they’d agreed upon. Of their own accord, his hands curled into fists. His duchess—shit, she was a real-life baroness—was no more a gold-digger than he was a politician.

  The tension in her stiff stance scraped at him, and his heart accelerated straight past interested into uncharted territory. He wasn’t willing to name the change, not until he’d had the opportunity to examine the shift from every angle but, though he expected panic to follow, it never came. Instead, a rightness he’d never experienced settled over him.

  In the meantime, the starkness in her eyes made him want to hunt down Cody Beckett and break him in two. Wyatt promised himself that day would come but, for now, what he wanted more than anything was to bring back her smile.

  He cocked his head. “A baroness, huh?”

  “That’s correct.”

  He dragged his palm over his chin and jaw and studied her in silence for a moment. “So. Am I supposed to curtsey or something?”

  She hiccupped, half laugh, half relieved sob. His stomach muscles clenched painfully as she stepped into him to press her forehead against his chest. Sliding her arms around his waist, she held on as if he were a lifeline, and his eyelids briefly slid closed.

  “I’ll take that as a no.” He wrapped her in a loose hold. “I’m not up on the whole royal thing. Which is higher? Baroness or duchess?”

  “Duchess.” She spoke against the bare skin of his chest, making it hard to concentrate. “But my title isn’t of a royal line. In simple terms, my grandmother, eight times over, was granted the title by writ to be passed to the next female in the Delaney line. I’m the eighth.”

  He didn’t know what the hell a writ was, but he got the point. Piper wasn’t in line to take up residence at Buckingham Palace. Thank God. As it was, Walter Crowley was going to shit himself when Jennings handed in his report. Wyatt made a mental note to call Meg the first chance he got.

  He contracted his arms in a gentle squeeze. “Are you hungry? I’m
starved.”

  Piper leaned back to stare at him, disbelief widening her eyes. “Am I hungry?” She shook her head. “Wyatt, that article you read is only one of dozens. Your father and his campaign will not be happy with you once they learn you’re spending time with a woman whose name and face were plastered all over the tabloids for months.”

  He snorted dismissively. “My father and his campaign are never happy with me.”

  “Maybe not, but I’m...”

  “With me.” She bit her bottom lip and satisfaction surged through his veins. He didn’t know where, exactly, this thing between them was headed, but the fact that he’d left her speechless said she wasn’t averse to exploring the possibilities. He dropped a kiss on her nose and released her to round the island, returning to the sandwich he’d been making. “We can keep our relationship quiet for the time being if that’ll make you more comfortable, but I’m not turning my back on what could be between us because of some imagined problem my father or his political machine might have.”

  She heaved a sigh and followed him to slide onto one of the stools fronting the island. “I don’t want to be a point of contention between you and your father.”

  He lathered slices of bread with a grainy mustard, and twisted his lips in a smirk. “Yeah, I wouldn’t worry about that. Points of contention pretty much rule our relationship and always have.” He layered Gouda over thick slices of ham. “Anyway, considering you’re a bona fide baroness, he’ll no doubt consider you an improvement over quite a few of the women I’ve dated through the years.” She arched a brow and he shrugged. “Either way, it doesn’t matter. If not you, he’ll find something else to bitch about. He always does.”

  “I’m sorry, Wyatt. I was very close to my Da. I can’t imagine what it’s like to always be at odds with a parent.”

  He glanced up and wasn’t surprised by the empathy in her eyes. She had a soft heart and it showed. And that fucking accent… Damn, who knew the word Da could be so sexy? He grunted deep in his throat and turned to retrieve a couple of plates from a cabinet. “The relationship between my father and me has always been more like that of CEO and employee than father and son.”

  “That’s sad, but you have Meg and Mandy, and Rosa, too. If you don’t mind my asking, what happened to your mother?”

  After slicing the sandwich down the middle, he arranged the halves on the plates. “She was killed by a drunk driver when I was six. Meg had just turned one.”

  Piper slid a hand over her heart, but didn’t offer random platitudes like most would. He appreciated the restraint, but had to wonder if her silence on such a painful subject was a natural byproduct of her proper, English upbringing or something more personal. He’d put money on the latter.

  He slid one of the plates in front of her along with a napkin. He’d left a bottle of wine breathing on the end of the island. He picked it up and lifted a brow in question. She nodded.

  “What about you?” He handed her a glass. “You say you were close to your father, but didn’t mention your mom.”

  “She died within an hour of my birth.”

  “Shit.” He hesitated, then poured himself a glass and set the bottle aside. “Sorry. What happened?”

  “I was several weeks premature and had some trouble breathing.” Her shoulders went stiff, and she dropped her gaze to her glass. She scraped her thumbnail down the stem. “The midwife attending the birth was busy taking care of me and didn’t notice my mother was struggling as well. The doctors called it a postpartum hemorrhage. She’d bled to death before anyone knew there was an issue.”

  “Jesus. That must have been tough.” The haunting sadness in her eyes was tempered with acceptance. The combination wrenched his heart, and he was tempted to skirt the island and hold her until the remembered grief faded. Before he could move, she nodded.

  “It was for Da, for a long time. I missed her, too, in my own way, but she’s never been more than an abstract image in my mind. She was the star of each of the stories Da shared with me over the years and the heroine of all my childhood fairytales, but he was the one who made sure I knew I was loved.”

  Wyatt leaned his hands on the edge of the island, absorbing the nuance of emotion crossing her face. Yearning, simple pleasure, wonder, all took a back seat to a profound sadness she couldn’t disguise as she spoke of the man who’d raised her. “He sounds like a good man.”

  “He was the best.” Genuine affection dampened the strain of sadness as she smiled.

  “What about extended family?” He rounded the island to take the stool to her right. “Do you have anyone else around you now that he’s gone?”

  She set aside her wine and picked up her sandwich. “I do have one cousin who I’ve never been close to, but Tilly Perkins has been the housekeeper at Delaney Manor since before I was born. Her daughter, Moira, is the sister I never had. She co-manages the B&B with me and her mother feeds the guests.” She bit in to her sandwich and hummed in appreciation. “Oh my. I didn’t realize how famished I was,” she said around a mouthful of ham and cheese.

  He chuckled and ripped off a large bite of his own. They’d worked up an appetite earlier. If he had anything to say about it, they’d need to refuel a number of times before the night was done. For the moment, however, she was talking, just as he’d asked. He was content to listen.

  She reached for her wine. “Then, of course, there is Angus.”

  He waited as she sipped, then set aside her glass and bit off another bite. When she said nothing more, he frowned. “Who’s Angus?”

  “Angus Graham.” She swallowed, then wiped her mouth with her napkin. “He’s Alick’s brother.”

  “Yeah, that tells me a lot.” Wyatt didn’t quite grumble the words, but it was close. And the fact he was bothered by her rattling off the names of faceless men said more about that shift he’d experienced a few moments ago than he wanted to acknowledge.

  She cocked her head, her eyes twinkling with teasing laughter. “Alick is my favorite model. I included a photograph of him in the Marauders’ fundraiser last week. Apparently, there was quite a bidding war over him. But then, I can understand why. There is just something about a man in a kilt, especially when it’s the bold blue and green pattern of the Graham tartan. So manly and sexy at the same time.”

  She hummed appreciatively, deep in her throat. “A wealthy, female stock broker paid a fortune to take Alick home with her.” She sighed and nipped at her sandwich.

  An image of the scarf Piper had worn the night of the team fundraiser flashed in Wyatt’s mind. Plaid silk in blue and green. The same pattern as the kilt worn by the old-time fisherman in the largest of her photos. The little minx was playing him. He narrowed his eyes and she burst out laughing.

  “Angus is Alick’s twin. They turn seventy-nine a week from Tuesday.”

  Wyatt shook his head, though he was utterly charmed by the dimples creasing her self-satisfied smile. “Smartass.”

  “Just returning the favor after that comment about your father preferring a baroness over your other women.”

  Okay, that he could live with. He propped his elbows on the counter. “Jealous, duchess?”

  She snorted. “That’s baroness, thank you very much.”

  “You’ll always be a duchess in my eyes.” He waggled his brow and straightened. “Do the sexy old kilted twins live at your manor, too?”

  “Just Angus.” She pushed her mostly finished sandwich aside and picked up her wine. “Alick lives in Inveraray, not far over the Scottish border. The first Baroness of Delaney came from there. The sea has always been Alick’s first love, but Angus prefers the solidness of the ground beneath his feet—when he’s not climbing a ladder.” She shook her head, but her grin relayed her affection for the old man. “He’s been a jack of all trades at Delaney Manor since my mother was a little girl. She was their cousin, twice removed.”

  �
�Inveraray.” Wyatt settled comfortably on his stool and sipped his wine. “You mentioned spending your summers there as a girl.”

  “I did?” She squinted. “When.”

  “That first day, in Tuck’s kitchen.”

  “Oh.” She smiled, but then her brow wrinkled slightly. “Da split our summers between there and Italy where I met CC. He sold the villa in Cinque Terre about five years ago and the cottage in Inveraray a year later. I thought he’d sold the homes because we barely found the time to visit them anymore, but it turned out he was liquidating properties to pay for some much needed repairs and an extensive renovation at Delaney Manor. I wish he’d told me what was happening at the time.”

  “Maybe he didn’t want to worry you.”

  She nodded. “Probably, but I’ve been left with plenty of worries, despite his keeping me in the dark. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. Delaney Manor is my home and I love it, but it’s a lot of work. At five hundred acres, the estate grounds are mostly wooded and don’t require a lot of maintenance. Other than the occasional removal of a fallen tree or such, which Moira or I handle if we manage to get to the chainsaw before Angus does.”

  Which explained the photo in the online article. “A baroness skilled in the use of power tools.” Wyatt whistled through his teeth. “I’m getting a hard-on.”

  She snorted a laugh, but he noted she shot a quick glance at his crotch. He grinned and she rolled her eyes.

  “As I was saying, the wooded areas aren’t a problem, but the lawns and gardens are still quite extensive and keeping up with them can be a bit time consuming. Then there is the manor itself. It’s over four hundred years old. Even with the updates Da had done, it seems there is always wrench work to do. When I’ve finished here in a few weeks, I’ll be in the position to hire a new handyman, and I’ll have a battle on my hands when Angus finds out.”