Small Town Duke: A Modern Aristocracy Billionaire Romance (Billionaires of Ballytirrel Book 1)

by Sara Forbes

  Oh my God, I’m in his house.

  It feels so weird to wake up here, in my place of work. I reach out to the space beside me and my hand lands on cool, smooth cotton. Danny’s already up. Indeed, I think I can hear him downstairs talking to someone. He’s on the phone.

  My mind flits back to the scenes yesterday: standing at Owen’s graveside, shivering in the rain outside the house, writhing in Danny’s strong arms by the fireside. Our lovemaking last night was exactly that—love-making, not fucking. I never knew the difference before.

  The difference is, I wanted to be with him whether or not we did anything. All that mattered was that I was with him and that I was making him happy by being there. Every touch was laden with a new meaning. He was so tender, so in tune with what I wanted and needed. It was almost too much to bear and he brought me to the most incredible orgasm ever, one that touched my soul.

  I hug my knees tightly to my chest. I’m wearing one of his white T-shirts. I look the epitome of loved-up girl. And I’m loving it.

  Are you sure your life couldn’t be this?

  His words float back to me. No, I’m not sure. Not sure at all. It’s extremely tempting in a fairytale way. But to stay here long term I’d have to marry him. Could that really be what he was hinting at? What if it went wrong? Then I’m back to worse than square one.

  What if the novelty factor wears off and he discovers he’s committed himself to an American woman with no particular skills, no pedigree, no class from a working-class background?

  My thoughts are interrupted by Danny entering the room.

  “That was Cliona on the phone.”

  “Oh. How is she?

  “She’s fine. Shannon, is it true you talked to Seamus Callaghan?”

  “Yeah. I met him on the road.”

  Why the hell would Cliona go and mention this?

  He folds his arms tight across his chest. “Don’t talk to him again. I’m surprised you did.”

  “Hold up a second,” I raise my palm. “I know there’s bad blood between you and Seamus, but he’s actually quite civil.” I could have said “quite a nice guy” but some morsel of self-preservation stops me in time.

  Danny tries to interrupt, but I hurry on. “No, let me speak. I think this Seamus business is your paranoia getting the better of you. And that’s not helping your image, you know?”

  “What are you talking about?” He stalks over to the bed and sits down. “Whose side are you on anyway?” His breathing is accelerated, his eyes hard and flinty.

  “Jeez, Danny, calm down. What I’m saying is, I want to help. I can’t believe that most of the community truly hates you. Some of that has got to be in your head.”

  “No, you’re wrong. They truly hate me—for what I did.”

  “Well, even if it’s true, that doesn’t mean you can’t change their perspective.” I lay my hand lightly on his arm. It’s hot, pulsing. “Look, I’ve seen industries change their popularity in a matter of days just because they put out a better message. I’ve also seen businesses collapse because they projected a tone-deaf message to the world. I think what you need to do is refresh the image you present to the local community.”

  He squeezes his temples between his thumb and fingers. “I’m not one of your PR projects, Shannon. Writing a pithy blurb is not going to solve my image problems.”

  “Well, sulking in this big old house isn’t going to do it either,” I say hotly. “You’re an easy target in a small, bored community. It’s time you marketed yourself better. Show them what a wonderful person you really are. Oh, and while you're at it,come clean with Lorcan, for God's sake, and you may win back some respect from the Callaghans.”

  His look is chilling—like I'm a stranger in his house.

  Finally he speaks. “I need to get to work. You do what you like today, I don’t mind if you take the day off from us. Go save some company from collapse.”

  I stare at him. His mouth is drawn in a hard line. Stubborn as hell. Definitely not going to back down anytime soon.

  “I made breakfast,” he adds. “Go down when you’re ready, but I have to head out and start working on the east wing—I have carpenters coming this morning.”

  He rises and leaves.

  Is this really the man who asked me yesterday if I could imagine my life here?

  He’s so entrenched in the past that he feels he can’t change anything. Which is funny when you consider how wealthy, powerful and well-connected he is. If I had only half his power, I’d feel capable of changing the whole damn world.

  ***

  The day is long, very long. Danny and I avoid each other. I’m glad of the strenuous, mind-numbing task of cleaning the main staircase today. I polish the wood furiously, making the weathered teak shine like it’s never shone before. Even Lady Ellen seems impressed with my work today.

  We end up in the kitchen at the same time in the middle of the afternoon. Somehow, I feel it’s not entirely a coincidence that he chose this moment to come down.

  He slides onto a bar stool, picks up The Irish Times and pretends to read the front page.

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  He doesn’t elaborate on what he’s sorry for, so it’s clearly my turn.

  “No, don’t apologize,” I say, “It was me, dishing out advice in my ham-fisted way. “I shouldn’t have compared you to a business that needs PR. I shouldn't have given you advice on Lorcan. That was insensitive of me and it's none of my business. It’s...something I need to work on.”

  “And I needed to hear it,” he says heavily, pushing the paper away and looking at me properly. “I need someone to take me less seriously than I do myself. I come across as paranoid sometimes, don’t I?”

  I hesitate. “Maybe?”

  His mouth twitches. “You could have denied it.”

  I chuckle and catch his gaze which is warmer now. “Oh, come on, your ego isn’t that fragile. You wouldn’t have started this conversation if it were.”

  “True. I still hate that Seamus Callaghan.”

  “I know.” I lay my hand over his clenched fist. I turn his fist over and dig at his fingers so that they slowly relax and unfurl. The heel of his hand shows red indents.

  His eyes meet mine, tortured and blue. “But I don’t have to let it drive me mad, or drive you from me. That would be the ultimate backfire. That would be him winning. I couldn’t be having that.”

  “Seamus Callaghan will not drive me from you,” I say. “That much you can be sure of.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He pulls me in his arms. I feel the tension dissipate in his shoulders. I’m enjoying it, but it feels so weird. I’m not used to arguments getting settled. They usually escalate until they’re out of control, and fester forever.

  We stay still like this for a long, holding each other close. We’ve survived our first impasse. There will be more, no doubt, but the way we’ve handled this gives me hope that we can do it again.

  “Are you free tonight?” he asks.

  “Yes. I just have to go down to the shop with a message for Sean from Nuala and after that I’m all yours.”

  “I like the sound of that,” he says. “All mine. Does that mean I get to do anything I want with you?”

  I raise my eyebrows. “As long as it’s something I’d be prepared to do back to you.”

  “Hold that thought,” he says, tracing my collarbone with his thumbs. By the passionate look in his eyes, I know he’s thinking up something kinkier than feasting on me on top of a piano.

  ***

  After five, I traipse my way down the windy road toward Sean’s shop. The first signs of Spring are here, daffodil heads craning toward the sky, crocuses in full bloom. They don’t really get what you’d call winter in this place. It’s more like Fall rolled into Spring.

  I have a lightness in my stride. It feels almost like…home. If not my real home, then still a home of sorts.

  Am I falling for the fantasy? My visa runs out in three weeks. I can’t figure o
ut the plan for the rest of my life in that short a time. I’ll just have to go home, check what the situation is, and then see about getting a new tourist visa.

  I can’t bear the thought of not being with Danny. But I have to be realistic, too. It could all go wrong, and if I was stuck here, I’d have nothing. At least at home, I have my life, my job, my mom, Marci, and a couple of other friends I can count on. I can make my own decisions. I had only just started doing that again and I liked it.

  Without even noticing it, I’ve reached the post office. I push in the bright red door and near the cheerful bell jangle.

  Sean is busy with someone so I can’t relay him the message from Nuala just yet so I wave quickly and potter about in the tiny stationery section as I need a notebook anyway.

  “Shannon!” my cousin says when the customer goes away.

  “Hey, Sean.”

  His face screws up in sly mirth. “Oh, I’ve been hearing things about you.”

  “Sean, come on.” I glance around but luckily, we’re alone in the shop. “Don’t go blabbing, OK?”

  “I won’t. But you’ll not be able to keep it secret for long.”

  “Yes, well, let me worry about that. Anyway, what I did come here to talk about is that Nuala’s having a jewelry-selling party and wants you to order stuff for it from the internet.”

  He takes the list and scans it. “Yep. I can do that. You know, she asked me last night about getting her own internet—talk about a change for the books. That’s your influence.”

  “My influence?”

  “Oh yes. She sees how you’re running your business, and she’s discovering in the power of a website and branding and all that. I mean, about time, but you’re making a positive change here, cuz. In more ways than one.”

  I’m swelling with pride. I’ve never felt I’ve had an impact on anything before.

  “So, how about we head over to Mac—?”

  The doorbell rings as someone comes in.

  Sean pulls a quick face. “OK, one more customer at 4:59. Gotta get this Shannon.”

  I nod and turn.

  Then I do a double take. The man in the rust-colored blazer who’s just walked in is familiar—deadly familiar. My heart takes a sickening dive to the floor.

  It’s Brett.

  26

  SHANNON

  Brett just stands there in the middle of Sean’s shop. Luckily, I’m not holding anything because I would have let it drop. I can’t breathe. I twist to face the door.

  Is running an option?

  Brett’s face warps into this terrible, familiar, crooked smile. “Shannon! There you are!”

  Sean’s expression is rigid. My cousin has figured Brett out in minutes—something I failed to do in months.

  “What are you doing here, Brett?” I croak.

  “What do you mean what am I doing here? I came to see you! You and Nuala….so who’s this?” he cocks his head at Sean.

  “Sean,” I say.

  Sean gives a curt nod which Brett intercepts with a haughty cock of his head, looking between us as if to ask what’s going on here?

  I leave him in suspense.

  “I’m staying at the Callaghan hotel,” he says.

  “Why did you come here, Brett?”

  “Hey babe, don’t be like that. I’ve just flown three thousand miles and driven for five hours to see you.” Brett starts walking toward me. “I decided we needed to talk, you know, properly?”

  “Uh, no, actually, Brett, I have a job which I have to get back to. And besides…” I feel bolstered by Sean’s presence. “We’re not dating anymore, so it’s not appropriate to decide we need to talk.”

  It feels surreal to have to spell this out, almost like it’s not true. I feel the fog of confusion creep into the sides of my mind that always accompanies discussions with Brett.

  “The hotel folk told me about your job in the manor.” He knits his brows. “A cleaning lady? You can do better than that.”

  “It’s OK, Brett, I know what I’m doing.”

  Brett turns to Sean. “She’s always getting herself into trouble. Way too trusting.”

  “The Moores treat her well, and the money’s good,” Sean replies.

  “You know a lot about her,” Brett says in an accusing tone.

  “Only some things,” Sean says mildly. His face is smooth, devoid of expression. I like how he doesn’t tell Brett he’s my cousin.

  “The money’s good?” Interest flashes in Brett’s eyes as he turns back to me. “Are you saving up for something?”

  Yeah, a hitman.

  “Just paying off debts, Brett.”

  Brett never liked the idea of me amassing my own money. Or having my own bank account, for that matter

  “Well, why don’t I drive you back to this manor then? I’ve always wondered what the other half lives like.”

  “No!” I say. Then in a quieter voice, I add, “I’m done for the day. I don’t need to go there. We can go…to your hotel.”

  A public place is safer for a discussion. And although I don’t know the Callaghans, somehow I feel I’d be safe with that lot of Vikings around.

  Sean frowns like he thinks this is the wrong move, but he doesn’t know Brett as I do. There’s no point in arguing. It’ll make thing worse. Right now, I have to play along. Wait for an opportunity.

  My body has turned to lead. I follow Brett dully out of the post office.

  27

  SHANNON

  I’m shaking with fury in the passenger seat but trying to hide it. I’m trying to act like I’m amused and startled to see Brett here. I have to play it this way. To grant Brett the first point in the game. Soften him up. Maybe then I can convince him to leave me alone.

  Part of me knows it’s impossible.

  But what I absolutely have to avoid is giving Brett an excuse to take me away. I have to get Brett out of here and the only way is to go with him.

  “I got a BMW for the rental. They were gig to give me a Fiat, but I kicked up a fuss until they gave me the beamer.”

  “Hm,” I say. I finger my phone inside my bag. Can I shoot a text message to Danny to let him know what’s happening? Would it even be a good idea? He’d be sure to worry unnecessarily. Or worse—come down and fight Brett.

  “Damn left-hand driving,” Brett grumbles. “Why can’t they adapt to the rest of civilization?” We turn a sharp corner and narrowly miss a pedestrian.

  “Holy crap, why is she out walking on the road like that? Did you see her, Shannon? She deserves to get mowed down. Did you see her?”

  “Yes,” I say wearily.

  “These country roads weren’t designed for driving at all. How can people even live in this shithole?”

  I shrug. I don’t know whether he means it or is just saying it to provoke me. And I don’t care. I‘ve become immune to provocation.

  I listen to him drone on, the cadence of his complaining voice so mesmerizingly familiar, yanking me back to my former life.

  Cleary, my angry texts backfired. All that angst for nothing. If verbal abuse doesn’t work with him, then I’ve got nothing else. It’s not like I could take him down in a fight.

  “So, I bought you a return ticket to LA,” he mentions casually as we’re driving up the hill to the Callaghan hotel.

  I clutch the dashboard. Even for him, this is bad.

  “Yeah, on the seventeenth. Next Tuesday. Good prices, mid-week.”

  I force myself to take shallow breaths. That’s six days away. Six days. Six days to be with Danny.

  No, I can’t think like this. I’ve six days to sort this out. Six days to achieve what I haven’t been able to achieve in six months—to wean Brett off me, off our dysfunctional, bullying relationship. Six days to send him packing.

  I feel Brett looking at me as I pretend to be studying the foliage next to the Callaghan Hotel.

  “You don’t look very happy,” he says.

  I surprised his powers of observation picked up on it.

&n
bsp; “It’s fine, Brett. I just…didn’t think I’d be leaving quite this early. I have commitments here. But yeah, it’ll be good to see Mom again and have good weather.” I gesture to the windscreen which is dotted with raindrops as if to underline my point.

  “Yeah, shit weather here. Has it been like this the whole time?”

  “Pretty much,” I lie. I won’t tell him about the glorious sunsets, the bursts of sunlight, the magnificent rainbows.

  As predicted, Brett seems to have calmed down, back to his usual self as we walk up to the hotel. I’m glad he doesn’t take my hand. I think he knows it would look unnatural if he did. But we’re still walking close enough to suggest we’re together—he’s made sure of that.

  Even in my current state of misery, I’m curious to see the inside of the famous Callaghan hotel.

  “Uhm, let’s have a drink in the bar,” I say. “I hear the beer selection here is the best for miles.”

  I’ve heard no such thing but it’s all I can think of.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Welcome back, Mr. Eggerton,” comes a thickly accented voice. The third-born Callaghan, Niall, comes into view as he pokes his head above the receptionist desk. He’d been slumped down in his chair reading a Kindle. Although he shares the Callaghan’s stocky, blond looks, he has a more thoughtful air than either of his brothers. If Brett wasn’t here, I’d definitely ask him what he was reading.

  “And Shannon, how are ya?” he adds.

  “Fine,” I grind out.

  If he’s surprised to see me here, with Brett, he doesn’t show it. His green eyes rove over us, making quick assessments and assumptions.

  He turns to Brett. “Would you like to book dinner in our restaurant again tonight?”

  “Nah, we’re heading to the city,” Brett says. “They’ve decent restaurants there, right?”