Sovalon Royals: The Complete Series

by Leslie North

  But damn, those lips…

  3

  “What do you mean, ‘moved up’?” Edward asked into the phone. “Three months earlier? Listen, James, that’s imposs—” but before he could finish his sentence, Jonathan Stokes, president of the historical society met him with a clear threat.

  “If you can’t get it done, we’ll begin fighting for the old courthouse, the farm with the covered bridge, as well as the brownstones along the river. We have to please the people one way or another.”

  A dial tone buzzed at him from the other end of the line.

  He stared at the phone, fuming, his eyes wide and throwing angry embers.

  He could not afford to lose those other sites. They were integral to his metropolitan proposal. The courthouse site would serve as a park, surrounded by thriving businesses, artsy coffee shops and performance spaces. He was already in talks with an international corporation to build a retail chain at the farmhouse location, and the brownstones would be much-needed corporate space. He needed those sites.

  How dare the historical society expect him to move the deadline for restoring the castle up three months? Not only was the castle a shambles, but he was at the mercy of contractors who came and went as they pleased. If they didn’t feel like showing up for a project, they ghosted. He didn’t have the connections in the restoration industry to hire better candidates.

  But he knew someone who did.

  A pair of steely blue eyes filled up his thoughts.

  Clementine Wicke likely knew her way around a renovation project. She would know who to call for painting, reconstruction and woodwork. She had the expertise he needed.

  She also had very soft lips and curves that refused to vanish from his memory. He could certainly get used to working in the same vicinity as her.

  But would she agree to work with him?

  Edward stood from his desk and shoved his phone into his back pocket. Miss Sticky Fingers owed him one. He hadn’t turned her in for stealing from a construction site. She could repay him by helping him get the historical society off his back.

  He strode from his office and into the light of a promising Sovalon afternoon.

  Wicke Salvage was located on the East Side of the Fumay River, on a bumpy cobblestone side street in a commercial district that might as well have been a ghost town. But the business itself didn’t seem to realize its time had passed. The sign was clearly old but beautifully maintained over the brick-faced storefront. The contrast was stark with the businesses on either side that looked to have been closed down for quite some time. This street was the perfect example of why so much of Sovalon needed a major remodel. Edward could easily imagine razing the entire block and putting up gorgeous townhouses on either side of the street. One side would boast a view of the river, the other would overlook a quaint square where shops and eateries were still at least half-alive.

  He vowed to keep his ideas to himself as he pulled open the creaky door and stepped into a room filled with what looked to him to be mass amounts of junk. Sawdust filled the air, and he let out a hearty sneeze.

  “God bless you,” said a pudgy-looking man from behind a counter.

  Edward wrinkled his nose. “Apologies, sir.” He approached the counter where the man was refinishing what looked like a piece of a balustrade—the source of the sawdust.

  “I’m looking for a Clementine Wicke,” he told the old man, who raised his eyebrows.

  “And who should I tell her is hunting her down today?” The man stood up from a rickety stool and shuffled out from behind the counter.

  Edward held his hand out for a shake. “Edward Ashton,” he said.

  Instead of shaking his hand, the man broke into a coughing fit as if he had choked on his own saliva. On cue, Clementine tumbled clumsily through a door in the back of the shop and rushed toward the pudgy old man.

  “Dad, are you alright?”

  Edward’s breath caught as he took in the sight of her. Dressed again in baggy jeans and an oversized wool sweater, Clementine looked like a princess disguised as a pauper. Wisps of golden hair snuck out from a loose girlish braid that hung from the base of her neck. She was altogether refreshing with her unfinished, no-frills style. Edward wanted to breathe her in and keep her with him like a secret, one that made him feel alive just by being near her.

  “I’m fine, Clem,” the old man said and cleared his throat. “Just swallowed something down the wrong pipe is all.” When he regarded Edward, a surprised look on his face, Clem’s eyes followed her father’s. Until that moment, she hadn’t seemed to realize Edward was there.

  Clementine cocked her head and put one hand on her hip but said nothing. Edward almost chuckled at her defiant stance. He guessed she was less than happy to see him. His sell might be harder than he’d thought.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Prince Edward,” Mr. Wicke said.

  “Very nice to meet you too, and please just call me Edward.”

  The two men shook hands, and Edward glanced at Clementine, who was still looking indignant, her hip jutted out, her eyebrows raised.

  “Nice to see you again, Clementine.” It was now or never. “I’ve found myself in a bit of a situation with the castle you seem to find so charming.”

  “What kind of situation?” she asked and looked at her hands. She picked up a rag from the counter and began scrubbing at her fingernails. Her father looked from Edward to his daughter, a perplexed expression on his face.

  “I need a restoration expert.” Edward began pacing two steps one way and two steps back. Two could play at Clementine’s game of disinterest. “Someone to act as a consultant, so to speak, to oversee that every project is accomplished with utmost care and consideration to preserve the historical value of the castle.”

  Clementine’s eyes met his. He’d gotten her attention.

  “I don’t know anyone,” she said, her voice flat. Edward took notice of her father kicking her foot from beside her.

  “Uh… Prince… I mean Edward,” he began. “What types of tasks do you need help with?”

  Edward sighed, considering the vast amount of work the castle required to even get it up to code let alone fully restored. “Everything from acquiring the exact type of slate shingles for the roof—they have to be period and…” He scratched his head, annoyed that he couldn’t think of the shingle type. “I can’t remember the name of the style the historian used.”

  “Romanesque revivalist.” The words fell easily from Clementine’s lips.

  She really did know her stuff. And he really needed her.

  But, he realized, from the deathly quiet of Wicke Salvage with not a single customer in sight, she might just need him more.

  “The job pays very well,” he said and looked from Clementine to her father and back. “I’d like to hire you, Clementine.”

  She opened her mouth, but before any words could come out, her father spoke for her.

  “Clementine would be glad to take the position,” he said, smiling. Another old man who strongly resembled Mr. Wicke emerged from the back room.

  “What position?” he asked, scratching his mostly bald head and releasing a quiet burp. Edward noticed a white stain of what looked like pudding on the collar of his red and black plaid flannel.

  “Clementine’s been offered a position to aid restoration at the old Kawell, Castle, Stoddard!” Clem’s father said, his face beaming.

  Stoddard removed his glasses and wiped them with a yellowed handkerchief. “Clem, that’s fantastic!”

  Clementine stood between the two men, lips pursed. Her eyes dug into Edward, as if she knew that he had her in a sticky spot. She turned to her father. “I’m not sure I’m really the right person for the job, Dad,”

  The man called Stoddard placed a fat hand on Clementine’s shoulder. “Well, of course you’re the right person for the job, Clem! Tell her, Dirk. Tell her she’s the right person,” he said.

  “Your uncle Stoddard and I think you’re the perfect person, Clem.” C
lementine’s father gave her a look that Edward could read as if it were written in bold ink.

  We need this job, it said.

  Clem’s father stepped forward and placed his hand on his chest. He gave a little bow, which made Edward slightly uncomfortable.

  “I’m Dirk Wicke,” he said and gestured to the other old man. “This is my brother, Stoddard. We’re co-owners of this lovely establishment.” He laughed, and Stoddard released a little snort. “On behalf of Wicke Salvage, we’d like to express our gratitude for the faith you’ve put in our Clementine here. You won’t regret hiring her.”

  Clementine let out a long sigh and rolled her eyes.

  “When should she start?” Dirk asked.

  Edward set his eyes on Clementine’s and his lips tilted into a devilish grin. “When can you move into the castle?” he asked.

  “Move in?” Clem’s eyes went wide and her mouth hung open. It was bad enough she was getting suckered into working for him but to move into the castle? What in God’s name was this man thinking? Her father inched closer to her, protectively, as if he too was less than thrilled about this idea. Even though the opportunity to restore the castle would be a fantastic chance for her personally, and a life preserver for their failing business, she knew neither Dad nor Uncle Stoddard would allow her to move forward if they sensed any impropriety.

  “Please don’t get the wrong idea,” Edward said. “Clementine would have an entire wing to herself, and I can promise you there would be no… funny business.” Clem stifled a laugh at the tall, chiseled prince, usually so poised, now tongue-tied and tripping over words.

  Dirk raised one eyebrow at Edward and crossed his arms over his thick chest. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t see why you need our Clem to live there.”

  Edward clasped his hands together, his eyes imploring. “The deadline for the restoration completion has been moved up, and I’m certain that if I don’t have people working 24/7 on the project and someone, namely Clementine, to oversee, it will never be properly finished.” He swallowed. “I’ll pay extra. You can name your price.”

  The last thing Clem wanted to do was accept his offer, but Edward’s desperation could work out for her. She could make good money and elevate the reputation of her family business in the process. This could be the shot she’d been waiting for if it worked out.

  If she could control her attraction to Edward and focus on the project. A big if.

  She stared at Edward’s hands, the fingers that had tangled themselves in her loose hair the night they’d met when she hadn’t even known his true identity. A warmth wove itself into her core, as the memory of his lips took over her thoughts.

  She blew all the air out of her lungs. Maintaining self-control around him was not going to be easy.

  “Let’s go outside,” she told Edward and let him follow her through the shop. She glanced back at Uncle Stoddard and Dad and winked before leading Edward into the deserted street. She didn’t want them to hear what she had to say to Edward, because if they did, they’d know exactly how she’d acquired some of the treasures she brought to their shop. Even though it wasn’t technically stealing, she preferred to keep her stealth operations under wraps.

  Once outside, she faced Edward squarely.

  “I appreciate your consideration of my offer, Clementine,” he began. “If you—”

  “I have one stipulation,” she said, interrupting him. If this arrangement was going to work out, they had to have as little conversation as possible, starting now. “I want access to every other historical site you have flagged for demolition so I can gather materials before they’re destroyed. If you agree, I’ll move into the castle today.” She stood firmly, hands on her hips and looked up at him, trying hard not to notice how his dark eyes grabbed her and held on.

  “Fine,” he said.

  That was easy.

  “You can take whatever you want from the demolition sites, but I need to accompany you when you go.”

  She started to shake her head, annoyed. The last thing she needed was a chaperone.

  “I can’t allow you to traipse around alone in buildings that have been condemned, Clementine,” he said. “It’s dangerous. You could get hurt, and I would be liable.”

  She couldn’t really argue with him.

  Reluctantly, she nodded. “Fine,” she said, and he smiled. Suddenly, a thousand rays of sunshine lit up Edward’s face, bouncing from him to her. She’d never really seen him smile before. Not like this.

  “You won’t regret this,” he said, and took her hand to shake it.

  A shiver ran down her spine as his warm fingers closed around hers.

  This was going to be bad.

  4

  Edward wrung his hands together at the bay window as he watched Lance drive up the winding hill to the castle, knowing Clementine was in the backseat. He didn’t understand his own nervousness. He’d worked with thousands of women. This one wasn’t any different.

  Or was she?

  He made his way through the foyer and to the front door of the castle to be greeted by the image of Clementine emerging from the car. God, she was beautiful, and the fact that she seemed to have no idea just how attractive she was made him drawn to her all the more.

  Her hair was still twisted into a messy braid, and she hadn’t changed from the unassuming and baggy clothes of an artist. He knew a little about the soft curves that were hidden beneath the oversized sweater and jeans. He remembered well what it felt like to be pressed against them.

  “Welcome to your home away from home,” he called out to her and watched her blue eyes widen.

  She made her way up the recently repaired stone steps, Lance trailing behind her with her suitcases. “I can’t believe I’m going to be living here,” she said, staring at the castle.

  “Well, believe it,” he said. “Come on. I’ll show you around, and you can give me some ideas about how to give this place the makeover it needs in the time that we have.”

  Edward told Lance to take Clementine’s bags to her suite, and he gestured for her to follow him. They walked from room to room, and Edward had to squelch the urge to take her hand in his.

  “The library is the room in need of the most work,” he told Clementine as they entered the room through fifteen-foot mahogany double doors, etched with leafy artistry on the outside. “There was a fire here a few decades ago,” he said, unable to remember exactly when it had happened. “It was contained, but the flames destroyed the woodwork in here. The bookcases will have to be removed and replaced with something else. I was thinking about making this into an entertainment room, with a slate bar and maybe a movie theatre set-up with a large screen on one wall. We could host special screenings to the public.”

  Clementine grimaced. Her eyebrows furrowed.

  “What?” he asked.

  “A movie theatre and slate bar in an eighteenth century castle?” Clementine’s blue eyes seemed to throw darts at him. “That’s the worst idea I’ve heard in a while.”

  He snorted, unable to hold back a chuckle. “Tell me what you really think, Clementine Wicke.”

  She sighed and leaned against a papered wall that was shadowed with smoke and ash stain. “Call me Clem,” she said and turned her attention to the bookcases. “Nobody calls me Clementine.”

  “Okay, Clem,” he agreed and noticed the care she took in scrutinizing each detail of the library. What a mystery this beautiful woman was. She seemed to perceive the world through a lens no one else could interpret. What was it that she saw in the ordinary? He could watch her all day.

  “This woodwork is salvageable, Edward,” Clem said. “It just needs to be sanded and stained. The bookshelves need some love.”

  He watched, mesmerized as she canvassed a hand over the damaged mahogany, her eyes soft as if she were making a promise to take care of it.

  “You want to stay true to the authenticity of the period and artistry,” Clementine said, still focused on the woodwork. “We can make thi
s room look as spectacular as it did in the 1700s.”

  Edward thought it might be better if the room looked more modern. He’d rather sit in a theatre-style room with cushy seats and a bar than an old library, but he could see that Clementine valued the importance of the past. Antiquity had meaning to her. He didn’t understand her philosophy but found himself completely enraptured in her passion, so much so that he didn’t hear the words she was speaking.

  “Do you agree?” she asked.

  Shit. He was stuck in the sea of her eyes again.

  “Uh… yes, I do. Absolutely,” he said. “But the process you described sounds time-consuming. We’re on a tight schedule.”

  “It takes time to do things right,” she argued.

  He bit his lip, wondering if hiring Clementine had been the right decision. He had to get his wits about him or he’d end up sailing into last century on the tide of this intoxicating woman. She had a way of enrapturing him and beckoning him into the riptide of her dedication to the past. He was a man of the future, and he wanted to stay that way.

  “Would you like to see your rooms?” he asked and pushed the double doors open for her. He found himself unable to keep from watching the way she moved. His mouth watered, and his fingers burned to touch her.

  Throwing caution out the window, he reached for her hand.

  “I’ll lead the way.”

  As Clementine stepped into her bedroom, she was blown away by the beauty of it. Despite Edward’s cautionary tales about the castle being rundown and in need of repair, she found it to be in fairly good condition, its characteristics well preserved. Maybe because he didn’t value history, he just didn’t see it.

  “Look at the crown molding.” She marveled at the work of what must have been a master artist. Bunches of what looked like lily of the valley were etched into the wood that bordered the room. “And these casement windows.” She ran her fingers along the chipped paint on the window frames. “Are these original?”