Hurt slowly filled Moira’s blue eyes. Tilly didn’t say a word but, then, she didn’t need to. Her silence was more condemning than if she’d lashed out with angry accusations. The back of Piper’s nose stung and her eyes began to mist as she pleaded for understanding.
“I’m sorry for not telling you the truth from the beginning, but I didn’t want you to worry.”
Tilly huffed and turned back to the oven. Snatching a pair of mitts from the hook beside the stove, she donned them to retrieve the bread. She placed the hot tray on the stovetop and shook her head. “The manor and its business may be your concern, young lady, but we’re a family. Families share their worries and it lessens the load. I taught you better.”
“Mum, don’t.” Moira slid a hand over Piper’s and squeezed. “Can’t you see she feels bad enough already?”
“Here now, what’s this?”
Piper whipped her head around. Angus stood in the doorway with Wyatt behind him. She met his watchful gaze, then quickly spun away to swipe at the tears hovering on her lower lashes.
“What have ye done to make me lass cry?” Angus demanded of Tilly.
Tilly propped her fists on her ample hips and returned his glare. “I’ve done nothing, but your lass can’t say the same.”
Angus’s eyes darkened and he slowly turned his head Wyatt’s way. Horrified at the obvious direction of her cousin’s thoughts, Piper slid from her stool. “Don’t look at Wyatt, Angus. This is me.” She shook her head. “It’s all me.”
Angus was no happier than Tilly to learn Piper had kept the deadline from them, but her promise to send Abigail and her estate agent packing tomorrow went a long way toward smoothing his ruffled feathers. He did, however, insist he be allowed to accompany her to Glasgow when she settled the debt with her cousin—the moment she returned to the manor after finishing in New York.
Wyatt remained silent throughout the discussion but, holding her hand in his as they explored the grounds after a dinner of sandwiches made of Tilly’s fresh bread, he repeated his offer to transfer the balance of what he owed her immediately.
“That’s not necessary.”
“Maybe not, but the offer is still on the table.”
“And I appreciate it.” Sniffing the air, she changed the subject. “Is that sawdust I smell?”
He grinned. “I had to promise your cousin I’d let him take the Land Rover for a spin before he let me anywhere near his damn chainsaw. He’s planning to take the SUV out in the morning to search for more troublesome limbs to bring down.”
She laughed as she led him down the path toward her favorite spot on the estate.
“This place is beautiful, duchess. It’s easy to see why you love it so much.” Wyatt tucked her arm through his. “I’m curious. For a woman so protective of her privacy, it must have been difficult to open your home to strangers.”
She looked away and her shoulders heaved with a sigh. “Actually, it isn’t as bad as I’d feared it would be. At times, it’s a lot of work, but that’s to be expected.” She smiled. “Tilly is in her element. She loves to cook and absolutely adores chatting with guests from all over the world, and Moira is surprisingly good at managing it all.” A laugh gurgled in her throat. “Angus stays clear of the guests for the most part but, thankfully, those visitors who have crossed paths with him seem to have been charmed by his gruffness and straightforward speaking.”
“It’s probably the accent.” Laughter sparkled in Wyatt’s eyes as he attempted a Scottish burr. “An insult dropped on yer head is a lot easier ta swallow when it comes at ye in a lyrical tone.” He cocked his head, looking quite proud of himself.
She batted her lashes. “I think you may be right about the accent, but you should probably keep your day job.”
He squinted at her in mock affront. “Ach, yer a cruel lass, ye are.”
She bared her teeth in a grin, but then cleared her throat. Bloody hell. He sounded suspiciously like her inner nag.
They walked together in companionable silence for a time, eventually leaving the open pathway behind for the wooded foot path circling a good portion of the estate’s land. An occasional break in the thick forest offered a partial view back toward the shrinking manor house and formal gardens.
At one such clearing, he bumped his chin toward a dwelling far off in the distance. “What’s that?”
“The estate’s buildings include three free-standing cottages. They are spread out at one kilometer each, leading toward the coast. That one is the farthest from the main house. Some of our guests prefer a bit of solitude to the family style atmosphere of the manor’s accommodations.”
He glanced down at her, then back toward the cottage and other buildings dotting the land. “Shit, how many people does the estate sleep?”
“All together, the cabins will accommodate twenty-two and the bedrooms in the main house will hold another twenty-eight.”
“Fifty?” He shook his head. “How the hell do you manage an enterprise of that size with such a small staff?”
“The simple answer is, we can’t, so we don’t bother to try. With careful scheduling and time management, and some help from the local villagers, we handle an average of twelve guests per weekend. Any more and we’re stretched thin, plus we’ve found a consistent twelve guest schedule optimizes our income potential.”
She grinned at a chipmunk, chattering at them from behind a thick tree root. “With very few exceptions, we’re empty on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Guests who wish to stay through mid-week are encouraged to book one of the cottages. Having the main house to ourselves two days a week allows us to catch up with inventories or cleaning, or to simply enjoy a lazy day without the concern of bumping into a stranger in the den or kitchen.”
They rounded a bend and she tugged him toward a smaller trail leading off the main one into the thicket. “Come on.”
“Where to?”
She dropped his arm as the well-traveled pathway narrowed rapidly and forced them to proceed single file. She spoke without looking back. “I’m going to show you the best view on the estate.”
He chuckled and she briefly glanced over her shoulder. “What?”
Pointedly dropping his gaze to her bottom, he sucked air through his teeth. “I’m already looking at the best view.”
Her laughter echoed through the trees as she led them through wild shrubs and beneath low-hung branches on a track she’d traversed a thousand times before. Here and there, the tall trees on each side of the trail gave way enough to allow dappled sunlight to dance like fairy points of light on the forest floor. Several kilometers later, the bramble and brush opened up onto a rocky outcropping and she drew a breath of sea air.
Below and to their left was the Atlantic. As far as the eye could see, sunlight played chase with the occasional chop of a wave. Up and down the stretch of rocky shoreline, sea fowl rode the current of the wind before dropping into the water to pick up dinner. Far off to their right, the pitched roofs of the manor house could be made out beyond the wild expanse of virgin forest.
“Wow.” Wyatt wrapped his arms around her from behind, easing her back to his chest and pressing his cheek to hers.
She lay her arms over his at her waist and looked out over the familiar vista. “I told you.”
He contracted his arms, pulling her into closer contact with his body, and she couldn’t miss the interest pressing against her bum.
“It’s not as fine a view as your ass in those jeans, but it’s damn close.”
She snickered and he paid her back by sliding his palm up to cover her left breast. The fire his touch always inspired flared in her belly. “This is my special place. My very favorite place in the world.” He kneaded her gently, and she hummed her pleasure. “Da used to bring me here as a little girl and we would listen to the cliffs.”
Wyatt rubbed his cheek against hers. “Listen to them?
”
She smiled at the memory. “When the wind blows just right, it sounds as if the cliffs are singing. When I grew older, I came here to think and dream.”
“What did you dream?” He dragged the pad of his thumb over the tight peak of her nipple.
“Oh,” she said with a sigh. “The usual. That I could step off the cliffs and fly along with the gulls. Or that I would one day travel the world snapping my photographs.” He closed his teeth over her earlobe. “Or that a handsome jock would appear one day, right on this spot,” she exaggerated her natural shudder, “and make me shiver.”
He chuckled and dropped kisses along her shoulder. “Tilly put me in a bedroom on the second floor.”
She sucked air. “Yes, I know.”
Freeing his other arm from beneath hers, he skimmed his hand down to cup her through her jeans. “Your bedroom is on the third.”
“Unfortunately, yes.” A shift of his hips proved his interest had grown as he touched her, and she wiggled her bottom just enough to make him sweat.
He hissed air through his teeth. “I’m feeling a little dizzy, duchess.”
With the heel of his palm pressing against her heat and his talented fingers plucking at the hardened tip of her breast through her blouse, it was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate. What had he said? Oh, right. Dizzy. She’d never been a fan of sex on a twigs and leaves bed but, in an emergency, she could be flexible.
She sighed and arched her neck to give his mouth better access. “I’m a little off-balance myself.” And this encounter was rapidly becoming an emergency. If they hurried, the Rose Cottage couldn’t be more than a ten-minute walk.
“It’s Tuesday.” He latched on to the tendon in her neck and she quivered beneath his open-mouthed kisses.
“Tuesday?” she groaned.
His pained laugh vibrated through her as he dropped his forehead to her shoulder. “You said there were no guests. I think we should check out the closest unoccupied cottage. We really should lie down until the dizziness passes.”
Spinning around, she jammed her fingers into his hair and kissed him soundly. She grinned as she pulled back. “Why, you lovely man. You read my mind.”
Chapter 22
Piper ejected Tuck’s SD card from the slot in her laptop and inserted Wyatt’s. He and Angus were off somewhere chasing manly pursuits with the chainsaw. Hopefully, they’d find something to keep them busy long enough to miss Abigail’s visit this morning. Piper wouldn’t mind skipping it herself. Time spent with her cousin normally ended in a bout of high blood pressure followed by a migraine.
To keep both from overtaking her as she waited, Piper had spent the last hour organizing the shots she’d be turning over to V at Friday afternoon’s meeting. With little over a week to go in both contracts, the work was pretty much done. She was more than satisfied with the results of her labor, and expected Caroline Wainwright and the Marauders to be so as well.
There were still two shots to get for Wyatt’s calendar. She’d finished the photos for every month but January and February, and was scheduled to shoot Jamal Knight’s Mr. January later in the week. She’d saved Wyatt’s February Super Bowl extravaganza session for last, and planned to take her time next week to produce the perfect image.
Her hotel suite was booked through a week from Monday but, after that, she just wasn’t sure. They hadn’t discussed the details of how things would work between them going forward, but access to each other would be greatly diminished once she’d returned to the manor full-time. Sure, she’d be flying in for his games, at least for the next two months, but weekend stopovers in random cities wasn’t the same as curling up together every night.
He’d said he wanted to see where things led. If the anxious longing squeezing her heart at the thought of saying good-bye to him every Sunday evening was an indication, she’d already tumbled from that cliff she’d been trying to avoid.
She shoved aside the nausea the knowledge produced and eyed the clock on the mantel. Abigail was due to arrive in a half hour. Once she’d set her cousin straight, Piper didn’t want anything interrupting the hours she and Wyatt had left here at the manor. Refocusing on her laptop screen, she was soon immersed.
Back and forth she went. Keep this shot, delete that. As incredibly photogenic as Wyatt was, V would have plenty of choices for her Fab Five project.
Some time later, Piper stilled her fingers over the keyboard. Her throat tightened as she stared at the photograph she’d snapped of Wyatt with his sister and niece. With a quiet sigh, she studied the shot she’d taken in Wyatt’s den the afternoon of Richard Hunter’s presidential announcement.
Everything, from the lighting to the composition, and especially the models, called to her as an artist and a woman. For obvious reasons, the shot could never be made public, but she couldn’t bring herself to delete it, either. Perhaps she’d gift Megan with a print. One she could display somewhere in her private quarters.
With an internal nod, Piper saved the shot to her hard drive.
“I was quite disappointed you weren’t out front to meet us when we arrived, Cousin. It’s been ever so long since we’ve had the chance to spend any quality time together.”
Piper jumped at Abigail’s deceptively soft purr which, of course, was completely at odds with the dislike shining in her china blue eyes. Piper lifted a brow at the ridiculous implication that either of them had ever willingly sought the other’s company. The fraudulent inference was no doubt for the benefit of the man behind her cousin.
Piper closed her laptop on the den’s small desk and stood. Leave it to Abigail to find an estate manager who more closely resembled Jude Law than the slick car salesman one normally associated with real estate hacks. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome carried the requisite briefcase, but the tailored and obviously expensive suit would have placed him at home in any of the world’s most powerful boardrooms. He remained in the den’s open archway, his expression blank as his gaze drifted from Piper to Abigail and back.
Piper ignored him to turn to her cousin. “Please. You can hardly stand to be in the same room with me and, believe me, the sentiment is mutual.”
With the sham that they shared anything but animosity exposed, Abigail gave up the act. “How true.” She wandered farther into the room and trailed her fingertips along the edge of the distressed wooden mantel. “For three years, I’ve put up with your excuses and have yet to see a pound of my mother’s inheritance.” Selecting the smallest of the decoratively displayed white enamel pitchers, she studied the delicate pottery. Her nose wrinkled in distaste, and she replaced the antique on the mantel. Dusting her hands, she faced Piper. “Obviously, you don’t have the cash, but you do have this drafty old house.”
The estate manager cleared his throat before Piper could suggest Abigail bugger off.
“I apologize for intruding on your time, Baroness Delaney. My name is Broderick Faulkner.”
Bloody hell. Piper snapped her head around. Proper etiquette demanded she acknowledge the man with a polite smile, but she couldn’t manage to dredge one up. Her temporary paralysis had as much to do with name recognition as it did the odd sensation she was staring into the eyes of a predatory jungle cat.
Literally. His watchful, unblinking eyes were a beautiful, feline gold.
Broderick Faulkner. The man was no common estate agent. Even if Piper hadn’t received his phone call shortly after Da’s death, she would recognize his name. Anyone who had dealings in the north of England would. And now that she’d met him, it was easy to see why the wealthy land-developer had gained a reputation for succeeding where his competition had failed. Clearly, tenacity played a role, but any opponent he faced would be at a distinct disadvantage while trapped by the glow of his catlike eyes.
She mentally shook her head at the rare flight of fancy and dipped her chin in greeting. “Mr. Faulkner, I’m afraid you’v
e arrived here under a false assumption. As I mentioned in our previous communication, Delaney Manor is not now, nor was it ever, for sale.”
“Broderick, please.” He flicked an accusing gaze at Abigail. No emotion showed on his handsome face as he looked back. “And if that’s the case, then I definitely owe you an apology. I was led to believe you and your cousin were on the same page when it came to the sale of the estate.”
Piper met her cousin’s unhappy sneer. “Abigail and I have rarely been on the same page about anything.”
“Then you have my money?” Abigail demanded, dropping any pretense of civility.
“I will.” Piper smiled widely and, bugger, did it feel good to watch the color drain from her cousin’s face.
Fury replaced the usual sour countenance Abigail reserved for anyone she couldn’t manipulate into giving her what she wanted. “You had better. If I don’t have the funds in my hand at one second past midnight on December thirty-first, my lawyers will tear you to shreds. When I’m through with you, your precious estate will wind up on the auction block and sell for a fraction of what you seem to believe it’s worth.”
Broderick lifted a brow as if surprised by the vehemence spewing from Abigail’s mouth. Piper almost felt sorry for the guy. He wasn’t the first to be fooled by her cousin’s piquant blonde looks and soft voice.
The smile he offered Piper didn’t come close to reaching his eyes. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, and mine. If you’ll excuse me…”
Surprisingly, Abigail had the grace to look a bit nervous as she turned to Broderick. With good reason. The tick in his clenched jaw clearly pronounced his displeasure.
“If you wouldn’t mind, Broderick, I really must powder my nose before we go. I’m sure Baroness Delaney will see you to the foyer.”
Anything that would expedite Abigail’s departure worked for Piper. She nodded and held out her hand.
Broderick pinned Abigail with a stern stare. “Be in the limo in five minutes or find your own way back to Glasgow.”
To Win Her Smile Page 22