When she looked up, he was smiling.
The Lump That Is Ms. Ward
GEN slept in Arthur’s bed that night with him curled around her. Every time she woke a little, one of his arms or legs was strewn across her.
To get away, she probably would have had to use a safe word.
They were still both nude in the sheets. He had washed her in the shower the night before like a passive little doll, toweled her dry, and carried her naked to bed.
She cuddled down in the sheets and comforters. When she thought about the bed—the massive pillars and looming canopy above her—she held onto Arthur until the shaking stopped. His arms tightened around her whenever she moved in the slightest, cradling her.
By morning, the bed didn’t seem so scary anymore. It felt like a very wide couch.
Later that morning, the bedroom doors blew open. Sunlight poured in from the hallway.
Gen started scrambling, gathering the sheets and comforter to cover her naked butt.
Casimir and Maxence strode in.
She flipped the comforter entirely over her head.
Through the covers, she heard Casimir bellow, “What the hell is wrong with you, Arthur?”
Maxence yelled, “Stand and deliver, Earl of Givesnofucks.”
Light filtered through the white cloth and feathers over Gen’s head. The fluffy white comforter muffled their voices somewhat, and warmth from Arthur’s body drifted around her.
Arthur struggled to sit up beside her, his bare legs flailing under the down comforter.
Gen burrowed farther under the covers, trying to make herself look like a lump of sheets.
Somewhere outside the comforter, Arthur said, “What the devil are you two doing here?”
Casimir said, “Evidently, you’re in a bit of a mess, worse than we had known.”
Some bustling and thumping, and Mr. Fothergill, the upright and starched butler, said, “I say, there! Lord Severn, I tried to tell them that you were not yet available, but they barged upstairs.”
Wait, Fothergill should be at the London penthouse. He shouldn’t be out in the country at Spencer House.
Arthur said, “That’s all right, Mr. Fothergill. I’d like to know what they’re doing in England at all.”
A pause.
Casimir’s voice said, “I do hope that lump beside you is Ms. Ward.”
Arthur poked Gen in the ribs, right where he knew she was ticklish.
She contorted, trying not to laugh.
It didn’t work, and she let out a peal of giggles.
She clapped her hand over her mouth.
Arthur tickled her again.
“Stop it!” she whispered through the giggles.
Above the comforter, Arthur said, “It appears to be Ms. Ward.”
“Smashing,” Casimir said, his tone as dry as old wood. “Perhaps she should tell you.”
“Tell me what?” Arthur asked and poked her again.
She wiggled away from him, giggling. “Stop it!”
Arthur asked, “Did you call them?”
Gen swam to the top of the bed and poked her face out from under the comforter. She asked Arthur, “Can I talk to you privately?”
“Of course. Mr. Fothergill, it doesn’t matter why they’re here. They’ll need rooms for tonight, possibly longer. Wait.” He rolled his eyes. “Tomorrow is Wednesday. We’ll need to return to London tonight.”
Casimir and Maxence exchanged glances.
Mr. Fothergill asked Arthur, “Shall I have breakfast sent up?” He glanced at Gen as she peered up at him through her bedraggled hair. “For all of you?”
“Would you, please?” Arthur asked.
“Right away, sir.” Mr. Fothergill turned on his heel and walked out.
Casimir and Maxence both stayed in the doorway and crossed their arms, staring at her.
“All right,” Arthur looked down at her, frowning. “Why are Caz and Max here?”
Under the comforter, she slid her arm over his bare abdomen, feeling the muscular ridges under his skin. “Because you sounded desperate yesterday.”
“So?”
“So I was worried you were going to hurt yourself.”
Arthur’s startled and astonished glance was the best thing Gen had ever seen. “I told you I wouldn’t.”
“Everything you say sounds like you have an expiration date. And it seemed like a good idea to have them here because we don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow.”
He shook his head. “They didn’t need to come back.”
Casimir and Maxence both rolled their eyes.
Gen didn’t answer. Arthur had a whole day ahead of him, and she had to go to the office all day to tweak the minutiae on the briefs because every word and comma had to be perfect.
Arthur said, “Guys, why don’t you let us freshen up for a few minutes before Mr. Fothergill brings up breakfast.”
“Nothing we haven’t seen before,” Casimir told him.
“All right, then.” Arthur scooted toward the edge of the bed, and his long, naked leg stuck out from under the comforter.
Maxence backpedaled to the door. “Come on, Caz. I’m sure they’ll want some privacy.”
Arthur said, “No, no. Stay, by all means. It’s nothing you two chaps haven’t seen before.” He grabbed the side of the comforter, ready to fling it back.
Casimir and Maxence fled, slamming the door behind them.
Arthur flipped the comforter back over his leg and flopped down in the bed. “Really? You thought I might commit suicide?”
“The way you were talking—” she said.
“Looking back, I can see where certain statements might have been alarming.” He adjusted the pillow under his head. “That said, I very well might be incommunicado after tomorrow.” He sighed and slid farther into the bed with her. “I’m glad they’re here. After you, they’re the only family I have in the world.”
Gen snuggled closer to him. “I’m here.”
“I know.” He grabbed her and held her tightly against him, his skin slipping on hers. “Let’s not get up quite yet.”
“Okay.” She snuggled closer, and she ducked her head under his chin. “When will breakfast get here?”
“I don’t know,” he muttered, his eyes closing. “I don’t care.”
The silence stretched.
Gen asked, “So what do you do with the panties you take off of me?”
My God. What was she even thinking?
He raised one eyebrow, even though his eyes were still closed. “I throw them in the laundry. They’re not supposed to be dry cleaned, are they?”
“No,” she said. “Regular laundry is fine.”
Leaving Spencer House
AFTER breakfast, Gen and Arthur prepared to decamp and return to the London penthouse.
Gen packed a rollie bag with the few things she had at Spencer House, but she was careful to pick up all her stuff, every hairpin, every pair of underwear, every stick of makeup. Most likely, there would be no coming back next weekend, and probably no one would even have time to fetch anything. She took a few pictures on her phone of her bedroom and the Great Hall, including a selfie or two.
By the time Gen reached the top of the grand staircase that overlooked the entryway, a crowd had gathered near the front doors.
She blinked because everyone in the crowd was wearing black. It looked like a funeral down there, amid the bright white marble on the floor and the white flowers in the enormous vases in the entryway.
That, or else Gen had lost her ability to see colors.
Their somber faces and hushed voices felt like a funeral.
She glanced up. The people depicted in oil paintings above her head, Arthur’s ancestors, were still dressed in vibrant colors of red, blue, and green, so Gen could still see colors. You have to check these things out, though.
Down below, the black-clad crowd milled and muttered.
Gen blinked and examined them, separating them out.
&
nbsp; Spencer House housekeepers and staff wore their typical black dresses or suits. That accounted for well over half the crowd.
Big, burly people stood on the perimeter, however, wearing black fatigues.
One man so dressed was standing at the bottom of the staircase. He looked up the stairs at Gen, his hand hovering near the holster on his belt. His ice-blue eyes looked her up and down, evaluating, and then he looked away and continued to survey for the room for actual threats.
Oh, that was the same guy who had dismissed her as a threat on the plane, so he was Maxence’s private mercenary.
Gen picked up her bag and descended the stairs toward the crowd.
As she reached the bottom, Arthur slid out of the crowd, handed her down, and then stood on the bottom step.
He cleared his throat. “May I have your attention, please?”
Farewell
ARTHUR stood on the bottom riser of the grand staircase. Above him, the portraits of his ancestors painted in dark, jewel tones stared down at him, and his black-clad staff looked up to him from below.
He had failed them all, every one of his foremothers and forefathers and certainly every one of the people who had protected him and Spencer House now and for centuries.
Arthur began, “I have sad news to convey and my apologies to make.”
He paused, swallowing, before he continued, “As many of you know, I have been embroiled in a lawsuit with my brother for control of the earldom and for Spencer House. At this time, it appears that his application may be successful, and I will be leaving Spencer House and relinquishing the earldom to him.”
Gasps, echoing his horror at the thought.
“I thank you for your exemplary service during my tenure as earl. Every one of you is part of the history of this manor house and of England. I hope that you will continue your employment and service at Spencer House, for I fear the new earl will be in desperate need of your help. It has been my absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance, and it has been an honor and a privilege to serve the earldom and Spencer House at your sides.”
Somehow, he managed to keep it British. His voice didn’t seize, nor did his eyes burn too much.
Backstabbing James Knightly
BLACK SUVs packed the roundabout in front of Spencer House like rush hour on a Houston freeway, but at least the British early-April sunlight was cool on Gen’s shoulders. The Texan sun broiled anything outdoors.
Pippa was waiting by the gray Mercedes, leaning against the car and holding a paperback. She grinned and waved at Gen. The spring breeze fluffed her gray hair.
Gen strolled over, dragging her bag.
Maxence grabbed Arthur’s arm. “Arthur, why don’t you get a lift with me?”
A man in black fatigues shook his head and muttered something to Maxence.
Maxence said, “I know what our standard operating procedures are, and Arthur will ride with me.”
Arthur looked between them. “I should stay with Genevieve.”
Gen was raising her hand to tell Arthur to ride with his buddy. It very well might be the last time he saw them, too.
Maxence told him, “She’ll be safer if you’re not riding with her.”
Arthur looked up at her, his silver eyes wide, horror-struck. “But, if something were to happen, I would be right there.”
“We’ll stay together,” Maxence said. “You’ll be better off in an SUV. Tinted windows.”
She glanced over at the SUV fleet. Yep, all the windows were tinted so darkly that the vehicles looked like hulking, black tanks. No one would be able to see in those windows.
Gen stopped herself from thinking about what kind of people might want to look in the windows to see Arthur.
Terrorists. Snipers. Spies.
Damn it. She’d told herself not to think about that.
Now her hands were shaking.
Beside Gen, Pippa called out, “Ruckus and Gen can ride with me. We’ll be fine.”
Arthur waved to her. “Gen, I think I’ll ride with Maxence.”
“Right,” Gen said.
“I’ll see you at the flat.”
“I need to show my face at the office,” Gen said. “We have quite a case scheduled for tomorrow, you know.”
Arthur nodded, his eyes still haunted. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Tonight.” She stepped into the car.
The dog bounded in beside her and leapt upon her, a wiggling mass of licking.
Gen said, “No. Down.”
Ruckus’s wiggly butt dropped to the seat, and he sat, staring at her.
She said, “Good boy.”
But she wrapped her arms around him and held him, warm against her chest. His white fur smelled like lemons and clean doggie as he panted, his ribs heaving in her arms.
The convoy of black SUVs rolled out, and Pippa pulled the sedan into the middle of the cluster.
About halfway back, Pippa asked, her hand swirling in the air as if this were a sudden thought, “So, this treason business that’s in the newspapers. Is there anything to that?”
Ah, Gen was getting pimped for info. No wonder Pippa had been so intent on driving her back to the city, especially after Arthur had decided to ride with Maxence.
Gen set the papers she had been reading aside on the back seat. “Listen to me carefully. Listen to what I’m not saying because I can’t say it. No matter what you see in the papers, Arthur would never, ever betray Britain. Britain is in his DNA. He’s absolutely loyal.”
“He’s always been loyal to his staff. He kept everyone on after his grandfather died, and most people stay with him for years. I’ve been with him for eleven years.”
Gen continued, “Don’t listen to what the newspapers say. Think about what you know about him. He was pictured with all those people, world leaders and terrorists, because he has access to them. Very few people have access like he does, because of how he grew up. That access is very valuable to certain people, especially in someone who is ultimately loyal to Britain.”
Pippa glanced back at her through the rear view mirror, her eyes wide.
“He has a room in his apartment where the staff can’t go,” Gen said, “He has a government identification badge that he has left lying around sometimes. When he flies on his private plane, he gets clearance from the government a lot faster than he should be able to. He talks to people on the phone privately, asking you to step out of the car. He asks you to drop him off in Vauxhall, near a certain government building, and he flies to Benhall in Gloucestershire often. Even with all that, he is absolutely loyal to the UK. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” Pippa said.
Gen sat back in her seat. “Then I think you do understand.”
Pippa settled into her seat. “That’s not what I thought, but I didn’t think he was a traitor. Royston was concerned.”
Royston Fothergill. “Is he going to ask Arthur about it?”
“Oh, no. Royston would never be so gauche as to ask. I’ll just text him discreetly that he needn’t pry when I drop you off at Serle’s Court.”
“Don’t text,” Gen said. “Texting isn’t secure.”
Pippa’s wide eyes flashed in the rear view mirror.
Gen worked for the rest of the drive, balancing her laptop on her knees. She packed it all up to walk into chambers. Pippa said that she would take Ruckus back to Arthur’s flat.
Describing that expansive penthouse as a “flat” was patently ridiculous, but Gen kept her expression British and said good-bye to Pippa until the evening.
Once inside, Gen managed to dodge everyone who would have wanted to talk to her. Octavia was in court, thank the stars.
She walked by the office bulletin board.
Amid the usual car-for-sale ads, lunch delivery menus, and a pathetic plea for people to take home their disgusting rubbish from the lunchroom fridge, a new sheet of paper was tacked to the very center of the notice board.
The paper c
aught her eye because it was oversized and had Cherwell written across the top. The Cherwell was the campus newspaper at Oxford, where Gen had gone to school, so the memory of it piqued her.
The headline was James Knightly Snitches on Mates, Not Sent Down for Stealing Exams.
Oh, Good Lord. James’s college mistake had come back to haunt him.
Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.
Gen was just reaching for the paper to tear it down because she would do that for any of her friends, when her hand stopped in mid-air.
How obligated was she to tear it down, really?
James Knightly wasn’t anyone’s friend. He wasn’t Gen’s friend—not after trying to sabotage her by posting that video of her at lunch on the internet—and he certainly had not been a loyal friend to his Oxford guys. He had sold them out so that he wouldn’t be expelled, but they all were.
His choice had not been a teenage indiscretion. James had made the deal to rat out his friends in exchange for escaping punishment only a few years before.
His crime hadn’t been a noble one like hiding political refugees. The group of them had stolen exam answers. They were cheating, they got caught, and James had narced on his friends to avoid the penalty they got slammed with.
Ethics were important within law chambers.
Loyalty, doubly so.
The senior barristers should know about James Knightly’s past poor judgment when they were making their decision about who should be offered tenancy, and she certainly hadn’t tacked it up there.
Blindsiding him with it seemed over the line.
Gen grasped the paper, wadded it up, and dropped it in the wastepaper basket near the board.
Gen went to her office and called Arthur. “Did you tack a copy of the Cherwell article about James Knightly on the bulletin board?”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Arthur said. “How would I get back into a law chambers and tack up a newspaper?”
Every bell and whistle for deception went off in her head. “Arthur!”
“I sent the link to Octavia. She must have done it.”
Hard Liquor: Runaway Billionaires: Arthur Duet #2 Page 19
