Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 120838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 604(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 604(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Dair was completely fine with that.
What he wasn’t fine with was watching his woman wander around listless.
The edification of Ned and Nora showing wore off after dinner and Dair was heading straight to alarmed at how little energy and life Blake had while going through the motions of getting ready for bed.
But now they were snuggled in bed. It was dark. Quiet. No city sounds could be heard as white noise.
Just them in this big room in this massive house.
“Ate well at dinner, hen,” he noted.
“I forgot what a great cook Christine was. Her garlic roasted chicken and Boursin mash is the best. And I can’t believe she pulled out the Eaton Mess. That’s my favorite.”
It had been a stick-to-your-ribs dinner, that was undeniable.
And fortunately, Blake had her fair share.
“I’m a bit worried about ye,” he admitted.
She lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him through the dark.
“I don’t want you to be worried, honey,” she said softly.
“Of course ye dinnae,” he replied. “I still am.”
“My mum just died.”
“I ken.”
“I haven’t really…” she trailed off, Dair said nothing, she picked up the thread, “I don’t know what I’m feeling.”
“Do ye need to define it?”
“I…well, I guess not.”
“It feels shite. It’s going to feel shite for a while. Ye dinnae have to make it harder on yourself by untwisting all you’ve got to have twisted in your head right now. Ye have time. Get through the funeral. Get a handle on the changes this has made to your life. Then ye can get a handle on what losing Helena makes ye feel.”
“The changes this has made on my life?” she asked.
Well…
Christ.
Had she not put it together?
“You’ve inherited a rather important title, lass,” he said carefully.
He heard a snort, and only Blake could make a snort sound ladylike.
“All my life I’ve wanted to be Marchioness of Norton,” she decreed. “I mean, how kickass is that?”
He felt a smile forming. “It’s pretty kickass.”
She pressed closer. “And anyway, I was gearing up to be in the UK a fuckuva lot more. Right?”
His tone was guttural when he replied, “Right.”
“So that’s not a thing,” she said.
“Good to know.”
More apt: great to know.
“I know it’s going to sound crazy to say this,” she began, “but it’s true. I just wish I had a mum who, when she died, suddenly and without warning, I was devastated.”
Fuck, his poor wee lass.
He turned into her and gathered her tight against him. “I wish that too.”
“As macabre as this is, and warning, it’s very macabre, I think she’d like that she went out the same way the most famous princess in the world did. She hated her. Said she was the death of the true monarchy. But she was obsessed with her. Even after she was gone, Mum watched every documentary and read books about her. Is it weird that I feel some solace in that?”
“Nothing is weird, lassie.”
She tucked her face in his throat.
He stroked her back.
“I’m going to be okay,” she assured. “I just need Alex here. With Dad here, Nora helping with the necessities, Alex here and you here, I’ll be okay. So don’t worry. All right?”
He’d worry until he knew she was all right.
But he said, “All right.”
“So go to sleep,” she ordered.
“That’s my line.”
If he wasn’t mistaken, he felt her smile against his throat.
And he was surprised when, not long later, she drifted to sleep.
Since she did, he followed her.
Chapter 15
Fellow Captives
Blake
* * *
“Babe, c’mere,” Dair called from the bedroom.
I stopped brushing on eye shadow and left the bathroom to see Dair in nothing but dark blue, drawstring pajama bottoms lounged in my bed.
I’d always loved my room at Treverton. The muted, light green walls. The ivory bedclothes with contrasting light green elements mingled with a subtle floral in ivory, green and pink. That floral also covering the padded headboard and draped as curtains that framed the head of the bed around a panel of ruched green silk. The glossy, dark wood bureaus and nightstands with brass accents.
It was very pretty.
And very English.
But Dair lazing in that big bed, one long leg straight, the other bent, his back to the flowered headboard, his broad, furred chest on display, his hair tousled with sleep.
He was hot.
He was handsome.
He was beautiful.
He was mine.
I was emotional, obviously, considering the circumstances, but the wave of emotion that overwhelmed me at seeing this man in my bed in this house didn’t have anything to do with that.
I knew I was falling for him before we heard the news about Mum.
But how many men—when they’ve just started something with a woman, her visit turns into a fuck-a-thon, but this gets interrupted by some of the worst news you’ll ever receive in your life—drops everything to be there for her?
I heard him on the phone yesterday telling the network he wasn’t going to be able to call an upcoming match. And I was a mess, and he took pains to be subtle about it, but I still didn’t miss how busy he was sending texts and emails, probably bowing out of meetings and rescheduling things. Though, I said “probably” because he didn’t mention a word to me about having to do any of that.