Vote Then Read: Volume II

by Lauren Blakely

  “Indeed,” Margery said to the cat. “Else your mother will see that you’re punished.”

  They’d taken in the family of three—a mama and her two kittens—because really, three cats were better than one.

  Aunt Eugenie walked into the hall and looked up as Margery descended the last few steps. “Oh, Margery, there you are. Tea is ready. Or coffee if you’re Aggie.” She made a moue of distaste.

  Margery smiled, thrilled to have everyone she loved within arm’s reach. “I’ll fetch Rhys.”

  Aunt Eugenie nodded and strode back toward the drawing room.

  Margery crossed the hall and went into Rhys’s library, where he was bent over the Anarawd manuscripts laid across his table. He’d translated them and was in the process of making several copies, including one in Latin, so that he’d have the text, if not the original.

  Margery came up behind him and massaged his neck. “Your handwriting is so lovely.”

  “A necessary skill in my occupation. My father made certain I wrote legibly and with an attractive slant.”

  Of course he had. She’d come to learn just how exacting the elder Bowen had been. “Tea is ready.”

  He reached back and laid his hand over hers, then brought it around to press a kiss to her palm. “I was thinking that we might take Penn with us when we return Nash’s book.”

  “That’s a splendid idea.”

  “Then we can swing through Caerwent to show him the ruins.” Penn had been so upset about not being able to accompany them that they’d promised to take him as soon as possible. Plus, they would deliver the Anarawd poems to Septon. “Are you ready to give them up?” She nodded toward the papers on the table.

  He exhaled. “No. And I’m especially reluctant to turn them over to the Order, even if I do agree that keeping their existence quiet is for the best.”

  They’d discussed this question many times—how the revelation of these works that were contemporary to Arthur and his knights might fuel interest in finding the thirteen treasures. “I thought we agreed that the thirteen treasures were likely lost, if they ever even existed.”

  “As magical items you mean. I think they’re likely extant, but no, I don’t believe they can feed an army or tame any beast.”

  She didn’t believe that either. But she was still intrigued by them. It was a shame Anarawd’s tales didn’t shed any light on where they might be.

  Rhys turned his chair and brought her to stand between his legs. His arms encircled her waist and he nuzzled her chest, pressing a kiss to the flesh exposed above her bodice. “I was thinking that the poems might be lost or stolen en route to Septon.”

  She looked down at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “What if Nash held on to them? We once discussed the treasure perhaps belonging to him, since his family commissioned the manuscripts from de Valery in the first place.” He looked past her and shook his head. “That’s one mystery I’d like to solve, but don’t think we ever will.”

  “Why they commissioned them, you mean?”

  He nodded. “I trust Nash to not only keep them safe, but to appreciate the privilege of holding them . . . for his grandson.”

  “Kersey?” Rhys had told her about Penn’s true parentage and she understood the necessity to keep it secret, for now. She also understood how deeply the truth would affect Kersey some day and was sorry for it. Ensuring that his family’s legacy, of preserving the work of Anarawd, was passed on to him was the least, and perhaps best, they could do for him. Margery touched her husband’s jaw. “Nash will be thrilled . . . and honored.”

  “But the Order must never know,” Rhys said solemnly.

  “Know what?” Penn skipped into the room. He flung himself in a chair, having become a comfortable member of the household.

  Margery stepped out from between Rhys’s legs and stood beside his chair.

  “You’re still working on this?” Penn picked up one of the sheets Rhys had been copying into Latin. Penn’s brow furrowed as he tried to form the words, but he stumbled over the pronunciation.

  “Would you like to learn Latin?” Rhys asked, eyeing him with interest, and perhaps hope.

  Penn lifted a shoulder. “I s’pose.” He turned and looked at Margery, who frowned at his posture and gestured for him to sit up. He complied. “Yes, I’d like to learn Latin.”

  “And I’d be delighted to teach you.”

  Penn stood. “You’re supposed to come for tea. We can’t start without you, and Mrs. Thomas made Shrewsbury cakes.” His favorite. And Margery’s. She’d fallen in love with this boy as surely as she’d fallen in love with his foster father.

  Rhys got up. “All right, we’re coming.”

  Penn darted from the room, and Margery realized a kitten was dogging his heels. She smiled, amazed at how quickly and wonderfully her life had changed.

  “He’s settled in quite nicely, hasn’t he?” Rhys asked, offering her his arm.

  She curled her hand around his sleeve and let him lead her from the library. “Better than we could have hoped. You’ve never heard from his mother?” They’d both wondered whether she had passed.

  Rhys shook his head. “And I suspect we never will. It’s all right. He has a mother.” He stopped and looked at her with love and joy.

  She laid her hand on his chest, adoring this man who filled her life better than she could have dreamed. “And a father.”

  He kissed her forehead. “And we all have a family.”

  Read the next exciting story in the Legendary Rogues series, Romancing the Earl, featuring Margery and Rhys’s daughter Cate! Then catch up with Penn Bowen when he’s all grown up in book three, Lord of Fortune.

  Author’s Note

  I chose to set this story in and near Wales both because of the subject matter and because my grandmother, Selma Rita King Finney was born in Cardiff in 1916. I still have family there and was fortunate enough to visit several years ago. It’s a beautiful land with charming people, and while the Welsh language is difficult to pronounce, I find it lovely—probably because I can still hear my great-uncle Alec singing it.

  The thirteen treasures of Britain are mythical objects that appear in various legends. They have been used in countless stories and in many ways (Harry Potter’s Deathly Hallows are somewhat based on them). I adapted them for this series and added the Heart of Llanllwch for purely narrative purposes. The Silurum Stone is real and I plan to visit the Caerwent Church to see it some day.

  The Order of the Round Table is a completely fictional group, but is based on the myriad secret societies that have existed for centuries. Edmund de Valery and Anarawd are fictional characters as are the documents they produced.

  Of course there is no proof that King Arthur, his knights, the Round Table or any of Arthurian legend is real. I’d like to think it’s a little bit history with a dash of embellishment and a lot of great storytelling.

  Acknowledgments

  This book was so much fun to write, especially during the epic writing week I spent with Joan Swan/Skye Jordan and Elisabeth Naughton. There was so much good writing mojo that it transformed this book from a novella to a novel! Researching Arthurian legend and creating aspects to enhance the story was great fun and I want to thank Joan, Elisabeth, and Rachel Grant for helping me plotstorm.

  I also want to thank Rachel, Elisabeth, and Janice Goodfellow for reading drafts. Your feedback is always spot-on and helpful. And thank you to Joan for her help with the cover typography—could NOT have done that without you! Special thanks to Janice and Emma Locke for their help with blurb-writing. Always a fun task, NOT.

  Thanks go to my amazing production team, which includes Martha Trachtenberg’s indispensible copyediting, Trish Schmitt’s gorgeous cover design, and Vickie Taylor’s stress-free formatting. I also have to send a shout-out to Kati Rodriguez who’s wrangling skills are better than any ranch hand.

  Sending hugs and thanks to Erica Ridley, Lila DiPasqua, and Erica Monroe just becaus
e they’re awesome and they make life fun.

  Most of all, thank you to my family who inspire me to come up with happily ever afters—it’s easy to do when you’re living one.

  The Billionaire’s Secret Love

  Copyright © 2016 by Ivy Layne

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at www.ivylayne.com

  1

  Tate

  Go out to dinner with me.

  No, thank you.

  The conversation echoed in my head. No, thank you? Had she really turned me down? I couldn’t remember the last time a woman had turned me down. For anything. My first reaction was to ignore her and pretend I didn’t care.

  I couldn't do it.

  I had no idea what it was about this girl that had so captured my attention. I’d only met her an hour ago, but I wanted her. I’d gone over to her apartment, geared up to confront her roommate over dumping my cousin, when Emily had opened the door and I’d tumbled head over heels after one look. It was the oldest cliché and one I’d never believed. Until now.

  Taken part by part, she wasn't anything special. She shouldn't have been. Medium height, a little on the tall side but not quite tall. Long, straight, dark brown hair. Creamy skin. Gray eyes. And very, very curvy. Her faded jeans fit her sweet, full ass to perfection, and her sweater hung loose off one shoulder, clinging to her round tits. Her clothes hadn’t been chosen to show off her body, but they were too well cut to hide it.

  Still, it was her eyes that got me. A clear, pure gray, like a lake in winter. She'd swung the door open, and I’d fallen into those fathomless gray eyes. If I was being honest, I still hadn't pulled myself out.

  No, thank you.

  I couldn’t stop hearing her refusal, repeating on a loop in my brain. Why had she said no?

  I’d figure it out. First, I had to help my cousin, Holden, and Emily’s roommate, Josephine. Who would have guessed I’d be playing matchmaker? Or really, fairy godmother. Godfather. Whatever. I was the last guy to believe in relationships, but there was something about the way Holden talked about Josephine. She wasn’t just a hook-up to him, and when it had looked like she was blowing him off, I’d stepped in to save the day. Now, all I had to do was get Jo a bag of ice for her hand and get out of the lovebirds’ way. That was fine by me. I had my own potential hook-up to worry about.

  I left Emily standing outside the office door in Mana, the night club Holden and I owned, and ducked behind the bar for the ice. Jo had punched the guy who tried to break them up, and her knuckles were bleeding. As soon as I took care of her, I could focus on dealing with Emily, who was standing outside the office door, her back pressed to the wall, arms wrapped protectively around her middle.

  I was pretty sure she'd never been in Mana before. She didn't look like the type. Maybe that was why I found her so appealing. I was used to women in short skirts with perfectly styled hair and too much makeup. Emily didn't look like she’d done more than pull a brush through her thick, shiny hair all day. She definitely wasn’t wearing makeup. On her, it didn’t matter. Unadorned, Emily was more beautiful than any woman I’d seen in recent memory.

  Hoping I was interrupting something, I unlocked the door to the office to find Holden standing in front of Josephine, cradling her injured hand in his. Looked like they'd already figured things out. Just in case, I said to Jo,

  “You good?"

  She didn't get a chance to answer. Holden did it for her. “She's good. You can go."

  “Are you good?" Emily asked from behind me. Jo promised that she was, and Emily stepped back to leave the lovers in peace.

  I heard the lock click on the office door and grinned. Nothing like the feeling of a job well done. If I hadn’t gone to confront Josephine, they never would have realized the loser on her team was keeping them apart. I didn’t normally interfere in Holden’s love life, but I’d never seen him so messed up over a woman. If for no other reason, I’d wanted to get a closer look at the woman who’d broken Holden’s heart.

  She wasn’t my type, but I could see why Holden was crazy about her. Josephine was pretty, with a lush body and a sharp brain. A lot like Emily, except Emily was more. She was luminous, beautiful in a quiet way that seemed to have hooked my heart and mind along with my dick. And finally, we were alone.

  Turning to her, I said, “Do you want me to show you around?"

  She shook her head, eyes searching for the door. Damn. I’d been hoping the club would be a way in, but it looked like Emily was more interested in leaving. Mana was the hottest club in town, almost impossible to get into, and I was offering her free run of the place. I hadn’t expected her to say no.

  I was proud of Mana. It had started as a hobby. A friend of mine had gotten in over his head and needed to sell out. Holden and I had the money to buy the club, and we thought it would be a good time. We’d tossed around the idea of opening a club for years, mostly for fun, never thinking we’d actually do it. We had our hands full with WGC, our gaming company, and neither of us needed another project. But we’d happened to have a chunk of liquid cash from an investment that had just paid off at the same time a good friend, who was also a club manager, had been looking for work. We hadn’t been able to turn down the opportunity. Between the three of us, Mana had become one of the places to be seen in Atlanta, and we were all making a ridiculous amount of money from it.

  Emily was edging her way back down the hall toward the door to the alley. I shook my head. The girl was a mystery. Most people would kill to get into Mana, and she was trying to escape. I should have been annoyed. I was not known for my interest in difficult women. Easy was my motto.

  I know what you're thinking, but cut me some slack. I'm not entirely an asshole. You have to understand, I'm a Winters. In Atlanta, that means power, wealth, and influence. It doesn't hurt that we’re all reasonably intelligent and good looking. The kind of women that pursue wealthy men because they’re wealthy generally don't care that much if they're not attractive, but it’s a bonus. Who wouldn’t rather catch a rich, hot, young guy than to have to marry some old geezer to get the good life? I was used to living with a target on my back.

  Both Holden and I had spent our lives fending off the women we didn't want and helping ourselves to those we did. I never led them on, never implied that I was interested in anything more than a good time. And, yeah, I wasn't used to women turning me down when I asked them out. It probably makes me a sick bastard that Emily’s refusal only made me want her more.

  I had the feeling if I didn't take charge, Emily was going to sneak through the door, into the alley, and out of my life. Fortunately for me, it looked like her best friend and roommate was now with my cousin, so even if she ran, I knew how to find her. But I wasn't letting her get away tonight without trying again. Reminding myself that I was charming and good with women, I followed her down the hall and caught her at the door, just as she was easing it open, checking furtively over her shoulder to see if I was following.

  Gotcha.

  "I can get home from here," she said.

  "I know. Do you want me to drive, or would you rather walk?" I asked, deliberately misunderstanding her. Her apartment wasn't far, maybe a fifteen-minute walk, but if she thought I was letting her go on her own, she was crazy. The neighborhood was fairly safe, and it wasn't late, but I’d see her home. I wasn't always a gentleman, but I like to believe that if my mother had lived past my fifth birthday, she would have raised me to have good manners. />
  “I’ll walk," Emily said, turning to the end of the alley. It was clear she intended to do so without me. Tough luck.

  "It's a nice night for a walk," I said agreeably, falling into step beside her.

  "Are you sure you don't want to go out to dinner with me?" I asked, keeping my tone light and unthreatening. I didn't want to browbeat her into a date, but I had to figure this girl out, and the only way to do that was to keep her talking. Since she didn't seem inclined to get the conversation rolling, it was up to me.

  "I'm sure," she said in the same prim tone she'd used when she turned me down the first time.

  I looked at her, asking myself why I was so determined to win her over. At the sight of her long, dark hair shining in the streetlights, and her determined stride that did nothing to hide the sexy sway of her ass, I remembered. I wanted her. I wanted to peel off that T-shirt and take her prim tone with it. I wanted those clear gray eyes to go dark with lust while I fucked her senseless. I needed her to want me back.

  Curious, I took her elbow in a loose grip as we crossed the street. Not wanting to scare her, I let go almost immediately, but not until I felt the shiver that went through her body at my touch. Her eyes flicked at me for a second, and I saw what I needed to know. She wasn't afraid of me, and she wasn't indifferent. She felt it too.

  "So, just out of curiosity, why won't you go out with me?" I asked.

  She risked a sidelong glance at me before her eyes skittered away. "I don't date."

  "You don't date? At all? Are you into women?"

  She raised a delicately arched eyebrow at me.

  "It's a viable question," I said.

  "Your assumption is that I must not like men if I don't like you?" she asked, her formerly prim in tone now frosty, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

  I shrugged. "I'm just trying to figure you out. If you're not into women, are you saying you don't date anyone? Ever?"