Beware the Wicked Heir

by Mara McQueen

Wicked, wicked man. Olivia loved this side of him. Maybe the fleeting hopes of the two of them reuniting after the murky business of selling the house ended weren’t that off the mark.

  “Abbate!”

  Olivia whirled around. Milo ran down the lawn toward her, shirt sticking out of his pants and buttoned wrong. Heavy dark circles clung to his eyes. Olivia frowned. She had never seen the man less than magazine-cover ready.

  “I have to talk to you about something extremely important,” he said once he reached her. He placed a hand on her shoulder. Kieran clenched his jaw. “Hi, Mr. Bolton.”

  “Hello.” The greeting came out as a rumble.

  Olivia grinned. “They lost your Jag, didn’t they?”

  “Not funny.” Milo pointed a finger at her. “Now, important things, now.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes and handed Kieran the binoculars, which he took with robot-like movements. “See you at nine.”

  “Indeed,” was his only reply, before he turned away.

  Olivia watched him leave with a sigh. Leave it to Milo to ruin a perfectly good conversation.

  “What?” she asked. Fine, barked.

  “Not here.” He inclined his head in the direction of the forest.

  He didn’t wait for her reply. He walked briskly toward the contorted trees closest to the lake. Olivia followed, hoping his foolishness wouldn’t take long. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and she didn’t want to ruin her borrowed clothes, no matter how garish.

  “Underwood, I hope what you’re going to tell me involves the safety of the nation.”

  Milo stopped in a muddy clearing. He began pacing, hands on his hips, testing Olivia’s patience further.

  “We have a problem,” he said finally. “Huge. And if we don’t solve it, Maria’s gonna sack us both. And you try finding another decent-paying job before Christmas. Not to mention everyone in Leeds will know about it. Chatty assholes.”

  Now he had Olivia’s attention. “Context, Underwood.”

  He stopped pacing and raised his arms, clenching his fists rhythmically. “Mrs. Bolton can’t sell the house.”

  Olivia’s heart stopped. “Why the hell not?”

  Milo took a deep breath and bit his lip. “Because Bolton Manor isn't hers.”

  Quirks, Loose Bolts, And Secrets

  Olivia's heart dropped somewhere around her ankles. If Bolton Manor wasn't Mrs. Bolton's, things would get very, very complicated.

  “Explain.”

  Milo opened his mouth, then closed it, taking a dramatic pause. “I found some papers. Mrs. Bolton hasn’t been the owner of this estate in twenty years.”

  Olivia kept blinking because if she stopped and really thought about this predicament, she’d start yelling loud enough to scare all the Nuthatches on a three-mile radius. That wasn’t a good look on a real estate agent.

  “Then who owns it?” she whispered. “Dear Lord, tell me it’s not Addie.”

  “Please.” Milo scoffed, flicking some non-existent lint off his shoulder. “It’s Kieran’s. He’s the heir.”

  Olivia openly gawked at her idiot coworker. She was at a loss for words. Out of all the things to get worked up over...

  “Bloody hell, Underwood.” Olivia briefly looked for a fallen log to fling into the wilderness to at least attempt to ease her anger. “You almost gave me an aneurism.”

  The news was a bit odd, though. She couldn’t exactly remember when—or if—someone told them Mrs. Bolton was the owner, apart from the papers sent to their firm.

  They’d just assumed—and Kieran hadn’t been in a hurry to correct their assumptions.

  “Haven’t you been listening? She can’t sell something that’s not hers!”

  “Her grandson has been bending over backward to make her happy. Haven’t seen him complain about selling.”

  “Haven’t seen him that excited at the idea, either,” Milo said.

  Damn him for being right. Why hadn’t Kieran told them he owned the estate?

  It might've been a way of testing her and Milo.

  It might've seemed unimportant to him.

  It might've been part of an elaborate plot.

  She'd have to test those theories next time she saw him—in just a few hours, the sudden knot in her stomach reminded her.

  “He’s a bastard, you know?” Milo interrupted her thoughts, puffing up his chest.

  “What'd he ever do to you?”

  “No, a real one,” he continued smugly. “Born out of wedlock. Ghastly business. He spent the first few years of his life moving constantly between his mother's relatives. Then Mrs. Bolton legally recognized him when he was seven, and signed the estate to him a few months later. Haven’t seen one single paper about his own father, Thomas Bolton, claiming him, though.”

  Jesus. Did the Bolton family’s quirks, loose bolts, and secrets have no end?

  Kieran's love for his grandmother was even more endearing now. Is that what he'd meant when he said she took in strays?

  “Milo,” Olivia began slowly, half-fearing his answer. “How did you find out about this?”

  The dolt waved his hand dismissively. “I looked over the papers in the attic.”

  Olivia looked for a stick to whack him with. “That was you? Kept me up the whole night!”

  “Sorry I disturbed your princess sleep. Who the hell did you think it was? The damn Butcher?”

  “How did you get into the attic?”

  Milo rolled his eyes and dug into his pants pocket, fishing out a set of keys. Olivia recognized the clinking noise instantly. “Mrs. Bolton dozes off and Emma has to go to the bathroom sometime.”

  “You—you stole those?” Olivia asked in a low voice.

  Milo tsked. “Borrowed. I borrowed them. I’m gonna give them back once I’m done.”

  Olivia stared at him, wide-eyed. On some level, she had always known Milo had sleazeball tendencies, but taking advantage of an old woman and breaking into a part of her house—that was low.

  “You stole something. Are you insane?” She gave the keys a horrified look. “They can throw you in jail. My God, they can sue! The firm too.”

  “I had to be sure,” Milo continued. “You gotta admit, what’s happening here isn’t normal. Plus, what if Addie suddenly decides she wants a share of the estate?”

  “She’s so far down the family tree, the best she can hope for is an armoire. She and Darryl are here to steal some shit before we sell the place.”

  “So that's why he's been lugging around stuff. Huh. And you know that how?”

  “Kieran.”

  Milo stared at the lawn, and then at Olivia. “You and...?”

  Olivia rolled her eyes.

  “You vixen.” Milo grinned. “Shagging the lord of the manor. Classy, Abbate.”

  “And what if I was?” Olivia tilted her chin up; she wouldn’t be shamed for her personal choices, even the hypothetical ones. “It’s not quite being an old lady’s lapdog, but it’ll do.”

  “Hey, not judging.” Milo shrugged. “But leaving your sex life aside, we have a serious issue here.”

  “No, we don’t. Kieran would’ve sent us home is he’d had other plans for Bolton Manor.”

  That night playing chess, he'd told her not to worry about Mrs. Bolton signing the contract. But he hadn't been in a hurry to tell her he'd have to sign it, had he?

  Milo turned his head, looking past the lake. He sighed wistfully. “If only we’d been contacted by the Henderson family. I poked around.”

  “Shocker.”

  “Their estate is twice as large. Recently renovated, too. Apparently, they've added a new wing, completely modern, exactly how I like it. And in much, much, much better shape than this joke of a house. Think the Boltons would be able to sell this place? Ever?”

  Olivia quirked her brows. “I can. And I will.”

  “But think how difficult it’ll be.” Milo licked his lips, coming closer to Olivia. There was panic in his eyes. “How hard it’s gonna be to deal with all this mess.
Do you really want that?”

  Olivia shook her head. No, she didn’t. But she didn’t foresee the same chaos that petrified Milo. This could be easily solved with a conversation. Olivia had faced worse contracts.

  And, come to think of it, so had Milo.

  Olivia stared at him, mouth gaping. No...he couldn’t have. “Are you trying to scare me away from the sale?”

  Milo’s eyes widened and he took a step back, shaking his head. The redness in his cheeks told a different story.

  “You little…” Before Olivia lashed out, a rustling sound startled them.

  Milo jumped. But there was nothing but fallen branches, contorted trees, and decaying leaves behind them. It had probably been the Nuthatch Mrs. Bolton had been gushing about.

  “Think it’s a wolf?” Milo’s voice trembled.

  “Yes, Underwood, wolves were reintroduced in Britain with the sole purpose of mauling you.” Olivia straightened her back. “Now answer the question.”

  Milo raised his palms, and spoke slowly, stretching his words. “Why would you think I’d do something like that?”

  “You little weasel.” Olivia’s nostrils flared as she took a menacing step forward. “You were planning on nixing me, weren’t you? Afraid I might win?”

  “I have absolutely—absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Milo stammered, retreating. He stepped over a rotting twig and stumbled.

  “I’m only going to say this once, so pay close attention.” Olivia bared her teeth, lips thinning. “I. Will. Not. Back. Down.”

  She stomped back to the lake, eager to put as much space between herself and the idiot.

  The sky had gotten greyer, bolts of lightning slashing in the distance.

  Milo rushed after her, but Olivia didn’t stop until she stood by Mrs. Bolton’s side. She avoided Kieran’s puzzled look.

  “Oh, good, you’re here,” Mrs. Bolton said excitedly. Olivia fixed her unwavering gaze on her. The last thing she needed was a monologue about how young women shouldn’t stomp. “Now, when Martin and Sarah arrive, I thought we’d play a little game of Red Rover. Haven’t done it in weeks and I’m quite good at keeping the lines.”

  Olivia’s anger evaporated. A lump grew in her throat as Mrs. Bolton patted her slender arms with joy, trying to show off her nonexistent muscles.

  “Maybe later, Nan.” Kieran exchanged a worried look with Emma. Addie stopped pulling on Darryl’s arm hairs and bit her lower lip.

  “Nonsense. Of course, one team will be at a disadvantage. We’ll start with me, Darryl and Martin. Then Sarah, Kieran, this woman, Addie and...Wait.” Mrs. Bolton's confused expression softened, turning into a childish stare that darted to every side. She started counting on her fingers, her lower lip quivering. “Who are you?”

  “Nan?” Kieran kneeled at her level and grasped her frail hands in his. “Why don’t we play another day?”

  Mrs. Bolton’s confused face contorted with fury as she wrenched her hands from her grandson’s. “No!”

  In the distance, another thunder broke.

  “No! No, no, no, no. What are these people doing here? Did you bring them here, Thomas?”

  Olivia covered her mouth. The woman fell apart before their watery eyes.

  “No, Nan, I didn’t,” he said in a quiet voice and rose, not correcting her on the name slip.

  Emma wheeled the mumbling Mrs. Bolton away, tears flowing freely down her face.

  One by one, they left the side of the lake, forming a line behind Mrs. Bolton’s wheelchair. Even Addie and Darryl stood a foot apart from each other, their heads bowed low.

  Nobody spoke. Nobody pointed out how much it looked like a procession, or how heartbreaking each step felt.

  By the time they reached the building, Mrs. Bolton was giggling again, and asking an obviously grief-stricken Emma if she was up for a game of darts. The girl readily agreed.

  Olivia chanced a glance at Kieran. He had a vacant look, all energy drained from his beautiful face. His eyes held unshed tears.

  Olivia gulped and raised her own watery eyes toward his. “Kieran, I—”

  “See you tonight,” he said and sped up, vanishing behind the double doors without a second look.

  Midnight Explorations

  Her carry-on—packed.

  Addie’s clothes—folded and stuffed into bags, exactly like she’d brought them.

  Olivia’s resolve—kind of crushed, to be honest.

  The only things she hadn't packed were the clothes she was wearing, her useless phone—still hoping she'd get some service—and the baton, neatly tucked against her belt.

  She'd even made the bed, leaving as little trace of herself as possible.

  After the whole mess by the lake, there was a real possibility she and Milo would be asked to leave. Olivia was convinced it would happen as soon as Kieran appeared.

  At nine, and not a second later, someone knocked on her door. Olivia straightened her back and whisked it open before she chickened out.

  Kieran leaned against the doorframe, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. The hopeless expression he had worn a few hours ago had disappeared, masked by one of assurance.

  “You’re right on time.” Olivia took a step back as he strutted into her room, leaving behind a faint trace of his woodsy cologne. She was going to miss it. That and watching his muscles move underneath his perfectly pressed shirts.

  “I keep my promises.” His eyes roamed over the room with disgust, which quickly turned to surprise when he spotted the luggage on the bed. “And you’re leaving. Planning to, at least.”

  Olivia cleared her throat and clasped her hands behind her back, keeping her eyes on the floor.

  “Under the circumstances regarding Mrs. Bolton’s condition,” she said mechanically. She didn't want to upset Mrs. Bolton with anything, even her presence. But that didn't mean she had to enjoy risking the opportunity of a lifetime. “I would completely understand if you decide Milo and myself are a liability—”

  “Miss Abbate,” he said, “I have absolutely no desire to discuss this matter. Despite my grandmother’s outburst, I assure you she wants you here—as do I. Your departure would upset her too much. And from the look of you, I doubt you want to go. I’m not the kind of man who enjoys wasting his time.”

  “Mrs. Bolton’s state—”

  “Is not your problem. I appreciate the concern, but it’s misplaced. She’ll be in the same shape, whether you’re here or not. She actually seems calmer with you two in the house. She always liked meeting new people.” He glanced out the window, watching a drop of rain trickle down.

  Thank God he was direct. And he did have a point. Olivia didn't want to leave and she didn't want to upset Mrs. Bolton. If staying at the manor solved both problems...“Very well, then. Shall we?”

  Without waiting for him, Olivia sauntered out of the room. Let him admire her back for once.

  The sound of his heavy steps following excited her more than she admitted even to herself.

  Kieran guided them to the ground floor, down a dimly lit corridor. Olivia admired the expanse of his back underneath the dark green shirt he had on. This man knew how to dress.

  “The kitchen’s through here.” Kieran pointed at a winding set of steps carved directly into the stone, with small indents from where the servants had braced themselves throughout the centuries. Olivia stopped and peered down, wishing the tour included that part of the house.

  “Are you offering to cook me something?” Hey, a girl could hope.

  His eyes shined in the dim light. “Maybe after the tour.”

  Bolton Manor was even more chilling at night. The dim lights made the walls look on the verge of caving in, and the paintings’ eyes followed.

  But she wasn’t facing them alone. Kieran was right by her side.

  They arrived in a secluded area. No windows and the light sconces were so high, they almost bumped into the wooden ceiling.

  Whoever ended up buying Bolton Manor had to do something
about the electrical wiring. One good storm and all the lights became practically unusable.

  They stopped in front of a gorgeous set of double doors. Scratches and nicks adorned the elaborate engravings. Olivia even thought she saw a bullet hole next to the antique handle, which Kieran grasped assertively, disappearing into the eerie darkness. “Wait here for a moment, please.”

  Olivia stood up on her toes, drumming her fingers against the door and peering inside the shadowy room. Kieran tinkered inside, clearly looking for something.

  She hoped he’d find it quick—before she bolted after him.

  She ran her hands down the punctured wood. The grooves were too symmetrical to be a result of time or decay.

  “Why do you have the pentagonal number series carved into your house?” Olivia touched the numbers with the tip of her fingers, a nervous thrill coursing through her.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Kieran said from beyond the darkness as if it was the most logical answer in the world. This man was going to drive her insane.

  When he finally turned on the light, a deep, bare room appeared before Olivia. She openly gaped.

  Sweet mythological gods, she wanted to buy the house for herself and preserve every absurd part of it.

  Kieran chuckled at the excited look on her face. “Do come in.”

  Apart from the huge bookshelf in the back, filled with dozens of old books expertly bound in leather, begging to be read, the walls were covered in oval paintings, depicting men and women from various centuries.

  Small golden plaques were embedded underneath each one, with names and dates etched in fine silver letters.

  Taking a hesitant step, Olivia gazed up at the dome-shaped ceiling. It was much higher than most of the rooms on the ground floor. This is what Bolton Manor had looked like before someone had stuffed its insides with too many useless beams.

  This room looked untouched and magnificent in its ancient simplicity, from the wooden floor panels that curved upright at the corners, to the flaking Chinoiserie wallpaper.

  It had an air of royalty, turned a bit sinister in the dimness. Olivia felt as if she was stepping into another world, full of mystifying history, and even more mystifying lives.