Beating the System

by E V Darcy

  Hattie frowned at the thought. Maybe it wasn’t what he wanted, but what someone else wanted him to get? Maybe his father wanted access to her father’s company? Or perhaps it was…

  No, Hattie mentally shook herself of the thought that he could be working with Conner O’Malley. He’d said he wasn’t, and Marcus had told them all that he hadn’t been able to find any links between them… Yet she was now certain she had spied the man at Seymour Medical today.

  But Roman wouldn’t lie—

  Except he’d come up with the plan to marry her and claim her child very quickly. He’d certainly lied to her about Fiona and manipulated her easily into agreeing to his plan. And apparently, he wanted to use her name and fortune to get even further ahead than he was now—although Hattie wasn’t sure how much further ahead he could get save taking over his father’s company.

  God, she wanted to scream as her mind whirled with a thousand thoughts at once, and even as clever as she supposedly was, she couldn’t cope with the torrent of questions her brain was raining down on her.

  But the biggest one that stood out was simply; could she trust him?

  In one way she had to. He’d told as many lies to the King as she had. Hell, he’d told them first. If he tattled on her, he’d be facing time at the Broken Hill just for that alone, never mind if he’d had anything to do with O’Malley.

  Then really, the question was how much could she trust him?

  With everything he’d said in the car earlier, probably not so much. Just enough to get by.

  Almost as if he knew she was thinking about him, Roman’s attention was on her, his amber eyes searching hers. She cursed the way her body reacted, her skin burning again where he’d caressed her earlier; her lips tingling as they recalled the taste of his.

  She swallowed, curling her hands into fists to hide the tremble within them, before she managed to spit out, loud enough for everyone to hear, ‘Well, we best be off, we’ve still got to get Roman’s things.’

  And just like that he was at her side, his arm around her again, pulling her close as he gave his goodbyes to her sister. Her heart fluttered at his touch and her arms ached to wrap themselves around him, to keep him close and never let him go. A flurry of ideas of what they could do the moment they were concealed inside the privacy of the car assaulted her, sending her knees weak for different reasons than earlier.

  No, no, no! The more logical part of her brain pushed through the fog, urging her to push him away, to keep him at arm’s length, reminding her that he was a master at manipulation, and he was only just getting started with her.

  He hurt you once already, her brain reminded her. He destroyed you and ruined your chances with other men; are you going to let him do it again?

  She wished she could give her brain the answer it wanted, a firm no, have an iron clad will to banish him from her heart and ensure that their relationship was based on paper only. But the warm line of his body against hers, the caress of his thumb over her hip, the warmth in his voice, and the intense promise in his eyes only filled her with dread and despair that she was already lost to him.

  She climbed into the back of the car, her mouth a grim line, as if she were a prisoner condemned to their fate. She just hoped she’d go down fighting a good fight…

  The door clicked closed behind them and instantly Hattie pressed the button to turn on the privacy settings in the car again. Only then did she try and secure her seatbelt.

  Roman watched her carefully as he clicked his own in place, noticing the slight tremor in her hands and wondered, not for the first time, if perhaps she needed to be checked over again. He was sure, as Royal Physician, that Doctor Evans was a good doctor, but there hadn’t been a royal birth in decades. Perhaps his own doctor would be a better choice? He was sure he could get Hattie in with her this evening if he made a call and explained the situation. And if Doctor Seabridge didn’t think she was suitable, he was sure she could recommend someone who was. Someone who had actual experience with pregnancies.

  Frowning when Hattie missed the seatbelt slot for the second time, he reached out to help her.

  ‘I can do it!’ she snapped at him, and Roman held up his hands. She swore, bold as brass when she missed it a third time.

  ‘I could just help—’

  ‘I don’t need your help,’ she told him through gritted teeth as she finally clicked it in place and turned to face the front of the vehicle. Her eyes firmly fixed on the walnut dash in front of them.

  ‘Do you think that—’

  ‘I don’t want to talk. I just… I just need some time to think.’

  Well, so much for assuming they could use the ride back to Wessex to discuss what had happened this afternoon or what was going to happen next. But if she needed time to think, to adjust to everything going on around them, then he could give her that. He could use the time himself really…

  ‘No, you stay out there! ‘ Hattie told the two officers on the threshold of Roman’s apartment. ‘There’s no reason for you to come inside.’

  ‘But, my lady—’

  ‘Now, don’t you my lady me. This is Mr Tyrrell’s private residence. You have no jurisdiction here without a warrant. And I’ll bet Marcus—Captain Walker—didn’t give you that, did he?’ The two men stared at her blankly, and Roman had to bite back a smirk at seeing the burly men being taken to task by his tiny fiancé.

  ‘Bet he thought I’d just let you in, that I was too tired from today to argue, and that Roman would be so intimidated by the whole Royal Guard thing that he’d just let you waltz right in and start poking around. Well no. Now,’ she said, her voice firm again. ‘Move your foot before I put my stiletto through it.’

  ‘Ma’am, you should know we wear steel toed—’

  ‘I wasn’t talking about putting it through your foot.’

  Roman beamed with pride as the officer slid said appendage out of the doorway and Hattie closed the door in his face. Resting her head against the smooth wood as she took in several deep breaths before she muttered, ‘You best be quick, Dumb and Dumber won’t wait all night.’

  Frowning he reached out to her, just his arm resting on hers, to gently turn her to him, but she shrugged it off, holding it closer to her body as if trying to protect herself from something… From him.

  He rubbed his hand over his mouth as his eyes took her in; stooped over, her shoulders slumped, and her eyes closed tight, she looked like she expected him to attack her. She breathed in deeply through her nose as she clamped her lower lip between her teeth he wondered if she somehow mentally preparing herself to fight him off or call out for the guards. Maybe she’d do neither, just let him take whatever he wanted—

  The thought knocked him sick. Did she really think him capable of such a thing?

  ‘You can come through,’ he said, uncertainly as he stepped back, giving her space. ‘The living room is just through here.’ He turned and headed towards it, glancing back over his shoulder to see if she was following. She hadn’t moved. ‘Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be upstairs getting my things.’

  He was halfway up the stairs to his mezzanine bedroom when he finally heard her shuffling along. He didn’t look, he didn’t want her to freeze or retreat, instead he marched into his suite and grabbed what he thought he’d need immediately.

  ‘Do you know when I might be able to get back here?’ he called down to her after a few moments of shoving things haphazardly into a case, for the first time uncaring what state they’d come out in.

  ‘Probably next week,’ she shouted up. Pausing in his rush he stepped up to the railing and peered over the edge. He thought she might have followed him or maybe had a snoop around his place, rifled through is office or at least browsed in his kitchen cupboards, but she had taken a seat on the edge of the couch, her hands neatly tucked in her lap, her bag at her feet, staring out of the floor to ceiling windows that gave a rather grand view of the Wessex skyline.

  ‘What’s Renfrew Hall like?’ he asked, tryin
g to remember some of the few details of what she’d told him when they first met. However, her family had moved out of the place just after Christmas, as soon as their mourning period had ended. That was what he really recalled; her rage at the fact that she had no home to go to. That whatever place they’d moved to in her absence, would be their home not hers.

  ‘It’s part of the Crown Estate,’ was her reply. He had no idea what that meant.

  He groaned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as he bit back the frustration bubbling away inside him; why was she acting like this? She’d been his fiery Henrietta all throughout the day; she’d fought her way to his office, she’d given him hell in the back of the royal car, she’d made him so damn proud standing up to the King… Where had she suddenly gone?

  His stomach rolled with nerves as he pictured the rest of his life with this version of Hattie. The cold, detached woman he’d seen at a number of charity events over the years…

  ‘I won’t be too long,’ he shouted, popping his head back over the railing to see if she’d moved at all. She hadn’t.

  He packed the rest of his things as quickly as he could, literally scooping the entire contents of his bathroom cabinet directly into one bag, lifting his shirts and trousers—coat hangers still attached—directly from the railing and shoving them into another case. The less time he spent here, the less time she had to sit on her own and think. He needed to engage her, to keep her speaking, keep her on her toes. That’s what had caused the spark of fire in her eyes earlier; he’d pushed her to react, to speak up, to defend herself. Maybe he could do that again, get the smoldering embers of her ire stoked and billowing again.

  He paused as his eye caught sight of his top of his safe, tucked neatly away behind a row of jumpers. He paused, his mind whirling with ideas, possibilities…

  He grabbed the jumpers, throwing them over his shoulder and typed in the pin code to disengage the lock.

  As the Rolls Royce crept along the winding driveway that led to what was to become his new home of the foreseeable future, Roman cursed. Two other cars were already parked in front of the country manor that was Renfrew Hall. What more did they have to deal with today before they could finally leave it all behind?

  As they slowed to a stop, he pressed the button that opened the mic, allowing him to speak with the driver.

  ‘Can you just give us a couple of minutes?’ he asked the driver, causing Hattie to finally turn his way. She stared at him as if he’d grown a second head, but he needed to speak to her, to figure out whatever the hell had made her become this silent meek little thing that sat next to him.

  ‘Henrietta, I wanted to—’

  ‘No,’ she said, cutting him off. ‘I don’t want to hear it.’

  ‘Henrietta, please can we just talk? I just want to—’

  ‘I told you, leave me alone!’ She popped open the car door and climbed out before he even realised what she’d done. He hurried after her, quickly unfolding himself from the car, much to the dismay of the driver who was scrambling out of his own seat, trying to catch up to them both.

  ‘Henrietta!’ he shouted after her, but she was already trotting up the stone steps and was through the opening door before he was halfway across the drive. By the time he arrived inside, he just managed to catch her feet disappearing up the stairs.

  He ran his hands through his hair, pulling at his dark locks as he spat out a string of expletives in his anger and frustration.

  ‘Oh, he’s perfect for Hattie,’ a new voice interrupted his tantrum. ‘They’ve got the same vocabulary; they’ll have no problem communicating.’

  He spun on his heel to face the only open doorway in the entrance hall. Lady Victoria Blake stood within it next to another woman he’d never met but whose face he knew well from the plethora of photographs he’d seen of her over the years in glossy magazines and across the internet, Lady Alexandra Snape.

  He really was meeting the whole family tonight.

  ‘Don’t offer him another drink,’ Cormac’s warm voice, filled with mild amusement, called from inside whatever the room beyond the doors was. ‘He’s had enough.’

  Roman wanted to protest, to say he felt like he needed another ten drinks to see him through the shitshow that today had become, but he also knew the other man was right. He’d had four scotches and a glass of very fine champagne to toast the new Lord Blake and he’d not eaten a thing since breakfast. How he’d managed to get through everything he had and still be standing—maybe not unscathed, but still he counted it as an achievement—he didn’t know.

  ‘Give her a little time,’ Alexandra told him, a hint of sympathy in her voice. ‘She’ll come around. Hattie always needs a little space to get her head around things.’

  He looked to Victoria for a hint of confirmation, but she merely stared at him, her caramel eyes assessing him, trying to figure something out about him. It was clearly a family trait; Hattie had looked at him many times in the same way.

  ‘Why don’t you come join us?’ Alexandra asked, glancing between him and Victoria. He knew Cormac would welcome him, he’d been most amusing to speak to, the man would probably lift his spirits, but he had a feeling that Victoria would not be of a similar mind with the way she was watching him.

  ‘Thank you, my lady,’ he said with a dip of his head to the youngest member of the Snape family. ‘But I think Henrietta has the right idea. It’s been a long day; I should retire too.’

  ‘Merryweather will show you to your room,’ Victoria told him, her voice tight. Again, he dipped his head and turned to see an older gentleman appear from another door.

  ‘This way, sir,’ the man said, gesturing towards the staircase Hattie’s feet had vanished up just minutes before.

  If anyone had asked him earlier that day how he had thought his hare-brained scheme was going to pan out, this would not have been his answer.

  Chapter Twelve

  Roman stared down at his grandmother’s red-brown diamond ring in the elegant, velvet box. She’d left it to him when he was just twelve years old and for years, it had been tucked away and locked deep in his safe, much to Fiona’s annoyance and confusion as to why it wasn’t on her bony finger. But he’d sworn it would grace no one’s hand, save the one woman he’d ever pictured wearing it; his Henrietta.

  All those years ago, when he was still an ideological young man, he’d formed this grand proposal plan, dreaming of asking Hattie the question on the day they’d graduated. They’d have suffered through the big university ceremony before heading down to his family’s summer home at the lake for a much-needed celebration.

  Then, when the day was fading, and they were surrounded by friends and family, Roman would have dropped to one knee and held up his grandmother’s priceless ring and said those four magical words to her.

  He smirked as he vividly recalled how he’d pictured her reaction. Hattie would have gasped, their friends and family would have waited with bated breath as she fought back happy tears before telling him yes, absolutely and unequivocally yes!

  In her excitement, she’d have tackled him for a kiss before he’d have managed to climb to his feet, but they’d have laughed and kissed on the sandy shores of the lake while everyone cheered them, sighing happily as they watched the young couple beginning their journey of love and adoration.

  Of course, they’d have to have waited for two years until Hattie was of age before they’d have been able to have married or at least that’s what he’d thought—he’d had no idea that Victoria would have needed to marry first!—but his young self had reasoned that it would have just given them more time to plan the most perfect and beautiful of all weddings the nation had ever held.

  There would have been tasting cakes to find the most delicious one, picking the perfect menu together, Hattie finding her perfect dress with her sisters, and he and Jensen—who would have been his best man—trying to find some form of attire that would have stood up to the scrutiny of the King.

  Roman
snorted in derision of his younger self. He’d been so inexperienced and naïve to the world, so head over heels in love with her that he hadn’t considered the cold, hard realities facing them.

  But that was also what had been so beautiful about his feelings for his Henrietta. They had been so innocent, so pure…

  He closed his fingers around the box, biting back his anger and frustration at himself. He’d been an idiot, an arrogant fool to think he could have got away with lying to Hattie. He shouldn’t have told her he was single, he should have been straight with her from the start, told her he was still engaged but he was happy, so happy, to break it off. But he’d seen his chance to be with her and had grabbed it with both greedy hands and damned the consequences.

  Rubbing his other hand down his tired face, he took a long look at himself in the mirror above the old bureau. He looked like he’d aged five years in just a day; there were bags under his eyes, his usually warm, olive skin was pale, and his lips were thin and chapped. He really wanted his bed.

  He glanced at the giant four-poster bed in the reflection behind him; it did not look comfortable. There was no way it was memory foam. He really wanted his bed. Wanted Henrietta in their bed. Somewhere they could burrow away and hide from the world for a while as they sorted out the chasm between them.

  Sighing, he turned and took in the large room; it was decorated with antique pieces that he knew were probably as old as the house, handed down through royal generations, and had to be worth a small fortune. All the furniture looked uncomfortable and far too delicate for the likes of him; if he touched anything, it would probably break under his fingers.

  He hated everything about it. It was far from warm and cosy; it was something Fiona would have picked for a country home if they’d bought one. He definitely understood why Hattie hadn’t wanted to come here.

  He stared at the black box in his hand again. He could—should—wait until the morning, he knew Hattie was tired, but he also knew she was furious with him and he needed to somehow bridge the canyon between them. He’d thought after facing the King together, the way she’d clung to him, depended on him, they’d have somehow magically bonded, that she’d have opened up to him the moment they were alone, actually talked to him, listened to his apology for his lie, but that, of course, hadn’t been the case.