Beautiful White Lies Duet

by K L Clare

“I’m trying to oil out Neptune, but she’s not cooperating.”

  “The community will settle down.”

  “Your mother said you need to check your ego first.” I peeked around the canvas.

  He winked and took a sip from his coffee mug before he opened The Times. “Neptune?”

  “The old fishing boat in Stonington. You should remember her well.”

  “You’ve painted it from memory?” His newspaper dropped to the sofa, and he came around the canvas to watch me fine-tune my work. “Christ. It’s perfect. Are you attached to it?”

  “I’m almost done, which means I’ll probably never look at it again.”

  “I’ll have it framed, and we’ll gift it to the seafood house where we had dinner. Don’t sign it—that’ll be done ceremonially once it hangs on their wall.”

  I looked away from Neptune and found another plan burning in Will’s eyes. He would polish the best gems within the borders of his earldom, take them from our enemy and anyone else who challenged him, and give them to me. Those gems, places like that quaint seafood restaurant, would be the safe houses of my freedom.

  He placed a sweet kiss on my mouth and left my heart racing before going back to the chesterfield to bury his nose in another daily.

  “When will Thomas start at the firm?”

  “Soon. He’s preparing. I’ll need to guide him for a while.”

  “I’ll hunt you down, William Hastings. I won’t be left alone day and night while you spend all your time in London.”

  “You would, I believe that. We’ll figure it out. I may have to do a lot of back-and-forth for a bit—I’ll do whatever it takes. You are my priority. Lissie too.”

  We’d already decided to test Lissie’s paternity using his DNA because his was comparable to Ethan’s.

  “What if she’s not?”

  “You have nothing to worry over.” When he didn’t get a response, he moved his eyes from the black-and-white print to my face. “Look at her. Watch how Mum looks at her.”

  “Your mother knows?”

  “She suspects. It’s rather hard to miss. How do you feel about adoption?”

  “Adoption? You mean you would adopt her as your own?”

  “We—ours. Mother can help raise her. And the nanny stays. Raising a child isn’t something I want us to manage round the clock. I need you with me.” My possessive lover stared at me, waiting for an obedient response. “Don’t fuck with me, Elle.”

  I was just as obsessed. I nodded and watched the tension drain from his handsome face. “I know you love her. And I know we need time. You come first, Will.”

  His broad shoulders relaxed as he exhaled.

  “Lissie should have your name. She’s your family. No one outside this house needs to know she’s Isobel’s daughter. I mean, I know she’s safe. I know it ends with me—I’m all the Order wants for now. Still, I can’t help but worry for her.”

  Will was next to me in a flash, angered by my choice of words. Words chosen subconsciously to test him. He pulled me to my feet. “Why are you talking this way? You are my family. You are safe. And it ends with us.” He secured me in his arms and protected me with fierce affection. “Say the word, Elle. Us.”

  No matter how many steps forward we took, one of us always seemed to lose our footing, forcing the other to right us again. I pressed my ear to his chest. As a child, strange as it was, I was soothed by severe coastal thunderstorms in the night while tucked safely into my bed. That’s what it was like to hear his heartbeat when he held me. “Us,” I repeated.

  “Lock down on it. It’s the only thing to keep us from stumbling.” He pulled my chin up to kiss me. A soft kiss meant for reassurance bloomed with desire. He shoved his hardening length into my stomach and left me breathless. “I have something to show you.” One corner of his mouth twitched before a striking grin consumed his face.

  I rubbed against his arousal. “I’ve seen that before, you know.”

  His throat vibrated, and he owned my mouth again.

  My body absorbed the feel of his touch—absorbed his taste, his scent, even the sound of his voice—and infused my blood with it, producing the high I’d become so desperate for, day and night. I was a damned junkie.

  Will led me through the hall and kissed me as we climbed the staircase. When we reached his room, he pulled me past the door. I tugged on his arm and whined. “Take me to bed, Will.” I needed my fix.

  He grinned and swept me into his arms. I tried to complain, but he shut my mouth with his—an effective tactic he used often. It became obvious he was on a mission. At the end of the corridor, he stopped in front of a set of double doors. His palm went to the electronic pad on the wall. A lock clicked, and the right side opened with a low hum.

  He kicked the door open wide. “Welcome home, baby.”

  I squished my brows together. “What?”

  “Our separate rooms are too small. And separate. We need more space.” He stepped inside. “I won’t have lath and plaster between us any longer.”

  “But—”

  “Elle. You’ll give me this,” he commanded before setting me on my feet. He narrowed his eyes and stared—maybe reworking the lecture he’d given me about the diamond bracelet.

  The “but” wasn’t about the load of cash he’d spent renovating the suite. I shook my head as if that would clear it and give me good sense. It was stupid to wonder why he hadn’t asked me to move in with him. Stupid to fear living with him. We already lived together.

  Living in Will’s house wasn’t my long-term plan when I agreed on England. I came because of my resolve to bide time and plot vengeance, and more importantly, it had been for Lissie’s sake. That’s what I’d told myself. Truth slapped me in the face as I stared up at him. I’d fallen in love with him before England. The proof was in how I had thanked God it was Will who was thrown into my life before we flew across the Atlantic.

  As clichéd as it was, he had me at hello. That rumbling, accented hello on the pier had unsettled the silence of my lost soul and changed me.

  I gazed into his blue eyes. There was no fire, only love. And steely determination—that enormous, unbridled ego wasn’t about to be denied. I swallowed hard, overwhelmed by a surge of emotion. I’d been over it in my head more than once—my love for him was insane. It was irrevocable. A smile stole across my lips at the thought, and I dragged my fingertips along his unshaven jawline. “Okay. You’re right. It makes sense.”

  Will kissed my hand and then held it as he led me through our new suite.

  Inside the entrance was a large living space that included a plush gray sectional and a beautiful wooden dining table. The original fireplace was preserved, though it had been converted to gas and surrounded with sleek built-in shelving. A generous wet bar was tucked into a corner. Its elegant carved cabinets with etched glass doors hung above white marble and were filled with shining crystal barware. There was a stocked wine cooler on one side of the sink and a dishwasher on the other. Bottles of Will’s favorite Scotch and a multifunction espresso machine rested on the counter.

  He led me through a door into an incredibly opulent bedroom. It had sweeping, deep-blue velvet draperies hanging from two ornate oriel windows that faced east and framed the English Channel. I wondered if I might see the lights of Boulogne-sur-Mer on a clear night. There was a masculine wooden desk on one side of the room where Will would work nights while he stayed close to me. The huge, four-poster bed had a grand headboard made of rich mahogany, and it was covered in layers of luxurious white and deep-blue linens. Blue-and-white silk Persian rugs covered much of the wooden floor.

  There were no words. I stared with a gaping mouth at the romantic boudoir.

  Within the bedroom, there were three doors. The first led to a master bath filled with white-and-gray marble. The second was his walk-in closet, already filled with clothing and weapons. One oversize rack displayed his many tailored Italian suits.

  I lifted a brow. I hated the thought of him leaving me f
or London.

  “Soon.” He kissed my forehead. “We’ll figure it out.”

  Beaming with satisfaction about what was soon to be revealed behind door number three, he opened it and nudged me inside. I stood in a posh, custom dressing room so large it would take decades to fill. It was an entire room complete with its own fireplace, a settee, white fur rugs, and a crystal chandelier.

  When he caught me eyeing the glass box that displayed Pearl, he put his arms around me. “It’s a lovely family heirloom, baby, meant to be treasured, not fired.” The old gun didn’t mean much to me, but what he’d done with it meant everything. My eyes stung with unshed tears.

  “Will, my God. It’s . . . everything is . . . it’s magical.”

  “You’ll fill it in time.” His face lit with pride.

  “So that’s the trick—build your woman an irresistible dressing room and hold her captive by virtue of the temptation to fill it.” I lifted onto tiptoes and nipped his earlobe.

  He patted me on the ass. “Whatever it takes to tie you down. There’s one more room.” Holding both hands, he pulled me through the front living room to a set of French doors.

  The space on the other side of those doors was flooded with natural light. The north wall was nothing more than a bank of windows. A stunning vintage easel and its blank canvas were strategically positioned, and a tall project table with built-in shelving was loaded with painting and sketching supplies.

  Will stood pressed against my backside. His arms held me snugly, and he rested his chin on top of my head. “What do you think? Is the light suitable?”

  I stared without words once again, stunned by the wonderful little art studio he’d created with such obvious thought and care. The tears I swallowed burned my throat.

  “We can change anything that doesn’t suit you. A lot of traffic moves through this house. I need to know you’re comfortable.”

  I whirled around to find his eyes. “Will,” I squeaked. It took a moment for me to find my voice. “Everything is perfect. More than perfect. It’s fabulous enough for the duke and his queen. Thank you. I would love to live here at Eastridge in this suite with you.” I kissed him and hugged his neck.

  “For an earl and his countess,” he corrected with a whisper close to my ear.

  I pulled back. “You were meant to protect me, defensor mea, not give me the world.”

  A warm smile played at his lips as he swept a flaxen strand of hair from my face. “I plan to do both.” His smiling, indulgent lips touched my forehead. I shivered. He drew deeper from his reserve of tenderness. The back of his fingers brushed my cheek. “You did say you’ll marry me.”

  I’d meant it when I had said the words, though I was unprepared for the conversation outside of bed. He hadn’t mentioned it since, and it had never occurred to me that he might want to get married so soon. I hit him with what had to have been a stupid expression. “It’s too soon. Isn’t this too fast?”

  “No.” His lips grazed mine.

  “But—”

  “I’ve loved you for a decade, Elle. You know that. I need this. Need you.”

  “You have me. I’m already yours.”

  “I need marriage vows, need to know you’re not going anywhere.”

  “Will, it’s just that—” I could hardly breathe.

  He wasn’t interested in my opposition. Before I said another word, he gripped the back of my head and kissed me hard. “You and me . . . there’s nothing else to it. My life, all that I have, is worth nothing without you.”

  He took my mouth again but with tenderness and devotion this time. His lips were intoxicating, like velvet, and when he kissed me that way, when he spoke in that soft tone, it was easy to forget my senses and forgive his offenses. I lost myself, moaning against his mouth as he growled into mine.

  Then he shoved his hand into a pocket and pulled out the most beautiful ring I’d ever seen and held it to his chest between us.

  43

  The ring was sophisticated, timeless. It had graduating pavé-set diamonds on the face and the sides of a platinum band that led to a diamond halo of fourteen brilliant solitaires that surrounded the center stone: a grand, fiery ruby. The ruby was a large cushion-cut gemstone, and the light that flashed from its crown reminded me of Will’s passion when he made love to me.

  William Hastings didn’t get down on his knee or recite a practiced speech. Instead, he remained true to form—one of the many things I loved about him—and exhaled a sharp command. “Marry me.”

  My pulse raced. Fear driven by the unknown is the worst fear of all, and in my twenty-seven years, a marriage never existed in my home—it was my unknown. I opened and then closed my suddenly dry mouth.

  For me, there had never been any husband-and-wife role models, no leading examples. I lost my parents when I was two years old, and my grandfather passed before that. Isobel’s husband, David, left town after three short months. I’d held my sister night after night when she could no longer bear the pain on her own. She had cursed the institution and blamed it for his abandonment. She and David, her long-time boyfriend, married soon after they learned she was pregnant, but they never moved into the same home. The marriage had been annulled.

  He must have learned or suspected that Lissie wasn’t his child.

  What if marriage changed us? What if it ruined what we had? I couldn’t lose Will to a piece of paper. There was no way I could live without him.

  I lowered my eyes.

  From the moment we’d come together, Will had excelled at recognizing my internal battles. This time was no different, yet it was. It was the first time one of my emotional struggles hurt him. We both wiped at the tears streaking down my face.

  I wanted to tell him I was scared. I wanted to tell him how I loved him and how I couldn’t live without him. That there would never be anyone for me but him. There was never anyone before him. But my head wouldn’t allow me to say the words.

  I should have looked at him, let him see into my heart, but something inside kept me from meeting his eyes, and I hurt him more.

  “You’ll wear this when you’re ready,” he said, making sure I watched as he placed the ring on the mantle. Then he headed for the gym without another word.

  I leaned against the door and listened to his footsteps as they moved farther away. When I could no longer hear them, my gut wrenched, and the emotion hurled itself from my soul. I fell to my knees and found myself recalling the pain I’d felt when I found Gran and Isobel lying on the foyer floor. This pain was different. It was worse.

  According to my heart, hurting Will was a mortal sin. It writhed in my chest and ripped itself to pieces to punish me. I wound my arms around myself in a foolish attempt to minimize the damage. I couldn’t pull myself up from the floor, not even when Lissie’s voice called out to me from the other side of the door.

  “Aunt Ellie, you there? Thomas sent me. Can I come in?”

  I couldn’t let her in. I reasoned that since she now had the love and support of a strong family, it was okay if I pretended not to hear her. Thomas or Mary would comfort her and keep her away from Will.

  “Uncle Will looks really mad. Is he mad at you?”

  Too late, damn it. When I opened the door, Lissie rushed in and hugged my waist.

  “He’s fine,” I lied. “Everything is fine. You know how hard the men train. Will has a lot on his mind right now, that’s all.”

  She regarded me with perceptive Hastings eyes. “Then why you crying?”

  Caught in my own web, I wiped my face on my sleeve and pulled her out the door. “Come on, girlie. Let’s go find something to do in this castle of yours.” We walked hand in hand down the corridor as one more ragged breath stung inside my chest. I released it. “Let’s stop by the kitchen and ask Mrs. Bates if we can have pizza for dinner tonight.”

  “Yay!” she squealed, skipping along beside me.

  * * *

  Mrs. Bates created a clever table in the dining room for the kids that was cramm
ed with handmade pizzas and iced wine chillers filled with bottles of different flavored sodas. Housekeeper or not, the overbearing Irish woman was part of the family, and she loved to make everyone happy.

  Mary and I watched Lissie and John teach Chelsea how to eat pizza à la American. Their laughter floated through the air like a beautiful melody. It was impossible not to laugh with them.

  Will was huddled in serious conversation with Thomas and Ben when I noticed him outside the dining room. It was obvious by the severe expressions on their faces that they were headed for the war room.

  Assassins were getting closer, coming for me. We were running out of time.

  “Hold up a minute,” Thomas said. He popped in and grabbed one of the warm pizzas from the buffet, playfully reproaching his mother with a kiss on the cheek. “Where was all this when I was growing up, Mum?”

  Her twinkling eyes gave her away. She was charmed by her son’s attention. “Things have changed, yes, but I love you no less, Thomas.”

  Will’s hot stare burned into me from the hall. I uncrossed one leg and crossed the other, and drew circles on my plate with a fork. I was afraid to look at him, afraid to see what I’d done to him.

  Thomas sat down at the table across from me and made a low whistling sound to catch my attention. With his mouth full of pizza, he encouraged me to go to Will with a tilt of his head. After he swallowed and smiled, he whispered, “Go on.”

  I slid my chair from the table and went to Will.

  Will stepped away from the dining room and offered his hand. The capacious tattoo lurched forward and caused my heart to twist and punish me again. Even after what I’d done, he reached out for me; he still wanted me. The dagger bearing my name continued to call out until I placed my hand there and stepped into his space. My eyes remained on the floor. I felt like an ungrateful child who deserved a spanking.

  Will lifted my chin and studied my eyes. “Christ. You’ve been crying.”

  I closed them. I couldn’t bear the contact.

  He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead and then moved it to my lips. “Don’t do that, baby. I can’t take it when you cry.”