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

by Sara Forbes

  Of course, it was too much for the boy to take in all at once. So, we’ve reiterated the message in various ways, trying to soften it, but the lad keeps asking me about how much blood there was, and how big the gash was on Owen’s head.

  Other times, Lorcan looks at me like he knows he wants to ask me something deeper about the incident, but he can’t quite find the words to formulate the question. We keep to our old schedule so as not to upset him any further. I’ve taken him to his football as usual and he’s had his sleepover.

  There was only one appointment we skipped. We skipped the weekly visit to the Callaghans, claiming Lorcan was sick. Cliona just couldn’t face them because Lorcan is sure to blab. As we’ve noticed with Lorcan several times, trying to persuade a six-year-old to keep a secret will lead to guaranteed failure.

  Now that I’ve calmed down, I no longer blame Shannon. I should have known Brett would cause trouble. She’d warned me about him and I just didn’t listen. I should have smashed my fist into his face the minute he put his feet on my doorstep.

  Yes, I was angry with her, too. I saw a wall of black and I couldn’t function. I hated her behavior, her helplessness. What was she thinking, bringing him to my house, telling him those things about my past? I was so furious that she let him visit her.

  But then, I snapped out of it. Or crawled out of it.

  I started to miss her. So badly. And I acknowledged that there had been little she could have done to stop someone like Brett.

  Time is dragging. Now, everything in the house reminds me of her. Every cup of tea, the sound of the kettle whistling, the sound of the back door opening, the stupid hens. It’s driving me insane.

  She won’t answer my calls, my texts. Nuala’s remaining tight-lipped and so is Sean. Shannon clearly doesn’t want to be contacted.

  I’ve begun to realize that what I thought was her powerlessness was actually less to do with her character and more to do with Brett. The guy is insane, and he belongs behind bars. There was no legal way to get rid of him unless he got physically abusive. She told me all this, and I should have believed her. I should have anticipated his following her, and protected her. But no, I failed.

  I researched the laws of Texas, and it’s true—there’s little can be done about an overbearing ex assuming control of your life unless you can prove his or her intent to do harm. Not that the situation is much better in Ireland.

  I wanted to provide her with the good things in life that she deserves. I wanted to give her everything—my body, my soul, my castle, my future, but it’s all too late. The problem is that my terrible temper comes in that package and she doesn’t want that. Her radio silence is proof of it.

  A knock on the study door jostles me from my thoughts.

  Cliona’s head appears around the side of the door. She shakes her blond waves. “Hey. Anyone home?”

  “Come in.”

  She comes into the room. “Moping, huh?”

  “No, I’m working. Lorcan’s just had his lunch. He ate everything.”

  “That’s good.”

  I exhale a ragged breath. “Cliona, I’ve been thinking.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m going over to the Callaghans. They have to know what happened here. We can’t hide Lorcan from them forever.”

  She nods quickly, like she’s been waiting for me to say this. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No, I need to handle this alone.”

  “I swear, Danny Moore, do not lose your temper. If you feel you’re losing it then get out of there.”

  She sounds exactly like she does when she’s scolding Lorcan.

  “I can control myself,” I say stiffly.

  “You bloody well better.”

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m driving up the long road to the Callaghan Hotel. It looms up ahead, a sprawling edifice, white and ghostly against the dark clouds. Built on the ruins of an ancient Celtic ring fort, they claimed. I doubt that’s true. The tourists lap that bullshit up and the Callaghans make them pay a premium for it.

  I trudge into their reception area. My skin prickles. I told myself years ago I’d never set foot in here again. It hasn’t changed since my youth—same parquet floor, same arched, high ceilings, same Celtic swords and shields on the wall with the colorful Books of Kells motifs. They keep the place in good order; I have to grant them that.

  It’s Niall at reception, looking unprofessional because he’s reading an e-book. His face goes through the motions when he sees me…curiosity—recognition—disdain.

  “Good afternoon, Niall,” I say. “I’m only here to ask one thing. Are your father and Seamus here?”

  With exaggerated slowness, he clicks off his e-book. Two years younger than me, he was always a provocateur in school.

  “Dining room,” he says, jerking his head in the direction of the arched entrance. “Late dinner.”

  “Hm, thanks.”

  I march forward. The restaurant entrance is decorated with trellises of honeysuckle on either side. A weathered portrait of Pope John Paul II hangs on one side and Bono from U2 on the other. Once I pass that threshold, I’m truly in hostile territory. But there’s no turning back now.

  “Wish me luck,” I mutter up to Bono.

  I walk in.

  Seamus Callaghan Senior and Junior sitting by the window, each engrossed in his food. When I reach their table, they look up, their heads cocked at a similar angle—an effect that only shared genes can produce. Lorcan looks up at me that way sometimes, too.

  I clear my throat. “Good afternoon Seamus…Seamus.”

  Father and son glance at each other and then up at me. Where Senior looks pissed off that I’ve disturbed his dinner, Junior looks sly and bemused—as if he knows something the rest of us doesn’t. Then again, he always looks like that.

  “I’ll get to the point,” I say.

  “Good,” Senior grunts. “And then you’ll get out.”

  Seamus Junior sits back in his chair, arms folded, eyes narrowed, a sneer on his lips. “I agree with Da here. You’ve got some nerve coming here, Moore. And it dinner time an’ all.”

  I glance down at their meat, spuds and two veg dinner. Traditionalists to the core, these Callaghans, and damn, it smells good. I haven’t had a decent meal since Garrett was staying with us. “I apologize for that,” I say even though it’s twenty past two, way past any normal person’s dinner-time.

  “You will be, if this isn’t important,” the older man says.

  “Life or death,” his son adds.

  “It is. Kind of.” I exhale a long breath. “Lorcan knows about Owen. About what happened before he was born. He knows I’m Owen’s killer.”

  Senior nods curtly and takes a forkful of mashed potatoes, avoiding my gaze. Junior rubs his chin and avoids me too. Neither of them says anything for a long moment, so the only sound is the old man’s chomping and the clank of saucepans in the kitchen.

  They let me stand there, and stew, for what seems like forever. As the seconds tick by, I begin to regret more and more coming here.

  Junior speaks first, wagging his fork in my direction. “Did you actually use the word ‘killer?’”

  “I can’t remember the exact words, Seamus, but I was unequivocal. I explained that my actions killed him, but also that it was an accident. So, you’re free to discuss it with him as you see fit. I’ve hidden nothing. But you must say it was accidental.”

  Seamus holds my gaze steadily, his cheek twitching. It’s hard to say whether he’s enjoying torturing me like this. My guess is, he is.

  “Fine,” he says.

  “And I’ll get out of your house now.”

  “That would be best,” Senior says with a derisive sniff.

  I back away.

  “Hold up.” Seamus Junior raises his hand. “Why now?”

  I consider lying, but decide against it. “My hand was forced. Shannon’s ex came around and spilled the beans. Brett basically called me out as Owen’
s killer in front of Lorcan in my kitchen. So, there you have it.”

  I brace myself for a fresh wave of disdain and their calling me a coward for not initiating it myself, but there’s nothing they can say that I haven’t already told myself.

  “Fuck’s sake,” Seamus Junior says under his breath. “Why did she have to tell him? I met the guy; he’s an idiot. I thought she had more sense.”

  For the first time in six years, I like Seamus Callaghan Junior.

  “Yes, well. It is what it is,” I say.

  “No.” Senior looks up from his potatoes. “She didn’t tell him. I did.”

  Seamus Junior and I stare at him.

  “Why?” we ask in unison.

  “I don’t know.” The old man shrugs defensively and shovels more butter onto his potatoes. “It was bar talk. How was I supposed to know he’d go up to the manor and blab to the child?”

  “Da,” Seamus exclaims.

  I grit my teeth. Stupid old man. And I’d blamed Shannon for that. God.

  When Seamus Junior’s green-eyed gaze meets mine, it feels like six years peel away and we’re back to being those young men coming back from college in Dublin, meeting down in MacAuleys with our whole lives ahead of us, not a care in the world.

  The mirage disintegrates quickly.

  “Is Cliona all right?” Seamus Junior asks, his tone a smidgen gentler.

  Senior rolls his eyes.

  “As good as can be expected,” I say.

  “And Shannon?” he asks.

  “Gone home.”

  “Is she coming back?”

  “Doubt it.”

  I stare into space before I remember where I am and with whom. I’ve said more than I meant to. “Sorry for interrupting you,” I mutter.

  I turn abruptly and head toward reception. Niall’s gaze follows me every step of the way as I stomp past his reception desk out to the car park.

  Backing out, I see them in my rear-view mirror—three blond heads, the father and two sons, peering through the dining-room window. I resist the urge to flip them off. They actually weren’t as bad as I’d been expecting though. Well, Seamus Junior wasn’t.

  I drive mechanically past the road home and onto the motorway. I just need to drive and clear my head. I keep within the limit because I don’t want any hapless police officer on my case. I don’t want to have to speak to another human being for a long, long time.

  The dark rumors will always swirl around me. My name will always rouse suspicion and hatred in some households in this community. They have too little else to amuse themselves with. But knowing that all the people closest to Lorcan will support the truth that his father’s death was accidental is what matters. In a strange way, we’re all on the same side now.

  This tentative link to the Callaghans that I’ve just put in place is the one good thing to come out of all this.

  But the price I paid was way too high.

  31

  SHANNON

  When I get back to Dallas Fort Worth, it feels as if I never left. Somewhere between the bustle of immigration and baggage claim, the sense of ever having been away has evaporated. All I’ve left of Danny is the messages he sent to my phone and one or two blurry photographs. I should have taken more. But enough is enough. I'm going to have to block him now.

  Marci is waiting in Arrivals. It’s a surprise. I smile for the first time in twenty-four hours.

  “Oh, girl,” She flings her arms around me. “I can’t believe what you’ve been through.” She glances around. “Brett didn’t follow you, did he?

  “No. He’s still there, or he’s over the Atlantic somewhere. Definitely wasn’t on my flight.”

  “Phew.”

  She knows the full story so I don’t have to re-hash that. Her sympathetic glances are all I can deal with anyway. We head toward the parking garages, pulling my luggage behind us.

  “What do you want to do? Get drunk?”

  “No, I have a deadline for tonight.”

  She stops, her eyes bulging. “You are freaking kidding me.”

  “Nope, Marci, life goes on. It’s my new resolution. Work, work, work. And avoid men. It’s all I have control over. If Danny doesn’t want me then I don’t want to be anybody’s. That’s just how I feel.”

  “Is there any chance he’ll come around?”

  I shake my head. “I messed up too badly. Put him in a terrible situation. He’s glad I’m gone—or indifferent at least. I refuse to prolong the torture so I've blocked him.”

  “But the job? Are you bound by a contract?”

  “No, it was never was official. I could leave at any time.”

  “Did they even pay you?”

  “Yes, I got weekly wages. I only have two unpaid days and I’ll bet Lady Ellen has deposited that in my bank account already. If not, they can have the money, I don’t care. I'd pay it all back if I could take back the mess I've made of the situation.”

  “From where I’m standing, he’s been in a bad situation for six years though,” she argues.

  “Which was accidental. What Brett did was deliberate.”

  “But you’re not Brett.”

  “I know. But I’m responsible nonetheless.”

  She sighs. “There’s no convincing you, is there?”

  We get to her Prius at the top of the parking garage. It’s sparkling in the midday sun. “Siberian Sky,” she says proudly.

  “It’s perfect,” I say, running my hands along the bonnet. You wouldn’t know there’d ever been a scratch on it.

  “I still think you shouldn’t have paid,” she says, “But I’m getting a sense of why it was so important to you, so I’ll let it go. As long as I can pay you back in cocktails someday.”

  I smile. “Yeah. Someday, I’ll hold you to that.”

  ***

  I’m snapping the lid of my laptop shut after a ten-hour writing stint the next day when a knock sounds on the front door. The male voice floating up from outside is Brett’s.

  My stomach churns.

  He’s arguing. That insufferable, whining tone is truly the stuff of nightmares.

  “Shannon?” Mom calls up. I hear the strain in her voice. “Will you come down and talk to Brett?”

  I descend and join my mom at the door. She hasn’t invited him in and there’s no chance of me doing that either.

  Standing there, arms folded, he says. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Shannon. Don’t be an idiot. Look, I paid for your ticket home and you just wasted that. You’re throwing money away.”

  “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

  “You won’t make it without me. Not long term. You’ll end up just scraping by and miserable all the time.”

  “That’s my problem.”

  He sighs. “We’ve been here before, and you came back to me.”

  “Not this time.” I round on him. “You stalked me, tormented my mom, my friends, drove me to leave Texas. Then you followed me to Ireland, messed up my life there and drove me back here again. Seriously? Are you happy now?”

  There’s no indication of remorse on his face. If anything, he looks smug.

  “But here’s the thing,” I continue. “I let you do it. But now? Now I know I don’t need you and I don’t have to put up with you.”

  His grin remains intact, like he’s saying yeah, yeah in his mind.

  “And what’s more,” I say, “now I know what love looks like and it doesn’t look anything like you.”

  His grin falters...and dies.

  “So, from now on, like I said in my texts, leave me the fuck alone. Sorry for the language, Mom. I’m done running away from you. Go off and pester someone else!”

  Brett’s face is twisted with distaste. “Are you saying you’re in love with that dirty, murdering duke?”

  “Oh yes,” I say, lifting my chin. “I am. Now and forever. You will never have control over my heart. Never.”

  His face stiffens, his lips turn white. He holds up his hands, backs up two steps. “You
are so going to regret this.”

  “My only regret is that I didn’t do this sooner because you messed up the best thing that’s ever happened to me!” I yell at his retreating figure.

  Brett storms down the path to his car, gets in, and drives away from the curb with a screech of his tires.

  I stare after him. Have I done it? Have I really made him go?

  I turn to my mom. “I meant every word I said.”

  “I think that’s what made the difference,” she says.

  32

  DANNY

  TWO WEEKS LATER.

  I bang the last of the slate tiles into place and wipe sweat from my brow. The roof is finally fixed. I pat a gargoyle on its head and look around. From this height, I get a view over the hills into the valley. In the distance, the white facade of the Callaghan hotel gleams on its hill. I give it a glare before I step down the ladder.

  “Good work,” I tell my handyman, Ronan. “If we’re lucky, that should keep for another hundred fifty years.”

  He chuckles. “Pity we won’t be around to see it ourselves, Lord Moore.”

  “I just hope some Moore will.”

  He nods sagely and we tidy away the tools in companionable silence. I wonder how much he knows and what gossip has been spreading in the village. Ronan is kind of my ethical barometer. As long as he’s happy to work with me, I haven’t done anything too bad.

  What I have done is throw myself into a frenzy of castle-maintenance projects, catching up to where I’d planned to be by this point. The physical labor gives structure to my day. My aching limbs serve as a distraction from thinking about a certain person who is no longer in the country.

  I’m not having any luck contacting her. I badgered Nuala for information on her niece, but she wouldn’t tell. Neither would Sean when I cornered him in the shop. Frustrating as it is, I have to respect her right to privacy. Otherwise, I’m just as bad as Brett.