Chapter 25
Chapter
Twenty-Five
LAUREN
I feel like I’m in the spotlight, and I’m suddenly fiercely glad I didn’t half-ass my outfit.
That skirt I fretted over? It hugs my hips just right, and it’s short, but there’s enough there to hold its own.
The crop top, the jacket—they’re not diamonds and designer silk, but they’re me, a scrappy echo of the confident old me.
I know I don’t blend in, more like the thrift-store cousin of this glittering crowd, but I don’t care.
Not much, anyway. What I do care about, and too much, is Hugh being so close his cedar-and-whisky scent curls around me like an invisible trap.
His hand rests very lightly on the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd, and it’s not that I want it gone.
God, no. It’s that I hate how much I like it, how it sends a shiver up my spine, warm and treacherous, like standing too close to a fire.
He’s too near, so near, his presence is almost overwhelming, and I can’t ignore how he looks.
In these dazzling surroundings and in superbly cut white tie, he has morphed into a proper Lord of the Manor.
He seems taller, sharper, prouder, like he’s stepped out of a dream.
His hair is swept back, not a wave out of place, and his skin appears golden, making those gorgeous gray eyes that, as ever, seem to see right through me, even more stunning.
He towers over me, his broad shoulders cutting a silhouette.
It all makes my knees feel like they’re made of jelly.
I know it’s not hunger or the effects of champagne, because the flute in my hand is still full as I haven’t dared drink it yet.
It’s him. Every glance, every move, chips away at my resolve, and I wish I’d downed something, anything, to blame for this weakness, this unsteady pulse.
But it’s just him making me feel raw and exposed.
We reach the buffet, a vast spread of gleaming silver trays filled with every kind of food. I turn to Hugh to tell him he doesn’t need to babysit me. “I’m sorry—I’m keeping you from your guests.”
He turns, his eyes locking onto mine as a small smile tugs at his lips. “Don’t be. The talk was getting stale. I’m happy for a break.”
His words are easy, but his eyes stare at me as if they hide a deeper meaning.
Before I can dwell, he hands me a plate, his fingers brushing mine for a split second, electric.
I take it, and suddenly shy, turn away and pretend to scan the table full of delicacies.
Caviar, a whole salmon cooked and sliced into thin portions, glistening prawns in aspic, cheeses dusted with herbs.
Nothing messy, nothing that’ll make me look like a disaster.
I pick three safe bets: a cucumber round heaped with a creamy concoction, a skewer of shrimp and courgette flowers fried in batter, a piece of puff pastry that looks like it won’t crumble. I glance at him.
“Don’t you want anything?”
He nods and reaches past me, his arm grazing mine as he grabs a few appetizers.
I watch a mini steak on a cracker, a stuffed mushroom, and a couple of bite-size tarts with lobster meat arrive on my plate.
I inhale deeply. We’re sharing the plate now, standing close, the crowd a distant hum.
I nibble at the pastry, trying to focus on the buttery flake, but he’s watching me, his gaze steady, unyielding.
I feel it like a touch, and my cheeks burn.
We don’t talk, just eat, the silence thick with something I can’t name. Then he breaks it, voice low.
“You should always wear your hair like that. Suits you.”
I wasn’t ready for compliments from him and nearly choke to death.
I want to groan or bolt, because he’s making this so freaking hard.
He’s saving my ass like a goddamn hero, but the pull I feel, this ache to lean closer, it’s a bad thing.
A bad, bad thing because I could strip him bare right here, white tie be damned.
The intensity of longing shocks me, and makes my breath catch.
I’m in danger. Teetering on a ledge.
This version of Hugh—helpful, gorgeous, urbane, not the arrogant bastard I fought—is someone I could easily fall for, and that scares me more than the flood. The plumber needs to hurry, needs to save me before I lose my mind even further.
I swallow the lump in my throat and get ready to flee. But he speaks, casual, like he’s not unraveling me. “Where were you tonight? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“No, it’s fine,” I say quickly. “Annabel from the grocery store invited me to hang out at The Fox and Hare. Just a few locals, you know, drinks and stuff.” I’m rambling, giving too much away, but his intense eyes are on me, and I can’t stop.
His brow lifts, a flicker of something—amusement?—crossing his face.
“What?” I ask, defensively.
“The Fox and Hare,” he says, lips twitching. “I wouldn’t have thought that was your kind of place.”
I laugh and the tension eases for a second. “I’m used to dives like that. But of course, you go to fancier places, don’t you?”
Before he can answer, a woman sweeps up. I tense. It’s Cecilia, the horse-faced gossip who showed up at my cottage days ago, sniffing around like she was looking for news to literally report back to the village. She is smiling brightly and appears filled with preppy energy.
“Lauren!” she chirps, like we’re lifelong friends. Her eyes rake over my outfit, lingering. “I didn’t realize you had been invited.”
“No,” I say, clipped, not liking her tone. “Just stopped by.”
“Oh, okay,” Not missing a beat, she turns to Hugh, her grin syrupy. “Thanks for inviting us to the party.”
Hugh’s expression is as direct as a blade. “I didn’t. This isn’t my event. It’s Victor’s. So I’m not sure why you’re here.”
My eyes widen, and a laugh threatens to spill out.
I glance down, hiding my amusement. Hugh’s not cruel, just blunt, and I’m starting to get it.
Maybe I misjudged him, took his edge for malice.
Cecilia’s smile falters, but she recovers, laughing it off, and I see why I don’t trust her.
She’s all pretense; she masks her sting.
“Oh, I know the caterers,” she says, breezily. “The venue was given to them at the last minute so they pulled in the town’s baking committee. That’s how I got here.”
“Good,” Hugh says, flat. “Enjoy yourself.”
She nods, undeterred. “It’s stunning. I always wanted to see the inside of the manor. It’s gorgeous, especially since your dad passed. You’ve kept it perfect.”
He doesn’t bite; his face is a stony mask of polite indifference. She pivots to me, her eyes glinting. “Didn’t know you two were so friendly. I thought you’d met, but were not this close.”
I bristle, sensing a trap. “Again, I just stopped by,” I repeat firmly.
“Oh, sure,” she says, then leans in, voice sly. “So, are you selling to him? Your land, I mean.”
The question is like a slap, here of all places.
I turn to Hugh, stunned, as Cecilia rolls on, looking at him innocently.
“You always get what you want, and I have no doubt Lauren’s land will be yours soon.
And I’m sure she’ll be fine with it. Your family’s always so generous. She’s got nothing to worry about.”
My jaw tightens, anger flaring. We were getting along fine until she arrived, but now the air is poisoned. “Thank you for the party,” she says to Hugh, all sweetness, then glides off, leaving a wake of awkward silence.
I meet Hugh’s eyes. “She’s… nosy,” I say, forcing a smile.
“For the record, I’m not pushing you to sell.”
“I know,” I say, and I mean it. “I’ve said no, and I’m sticking to it.”
He tilts his head, unfazed. “Want more to eat?”
I shake my head. “Could you please check on the plumber?”
He pulls out his phone, scrolling, and nods. “He’s here—three minutes out.”
Relief floods me. “Good. I’m going to head back to meet him.”
“Stay,” he cajoles, voice low, tempting. “Have fun. I’ll handle the plumber.”
I hesitate, wanting to, but my cottage—my mess—calls louder. “No, I need to be there. I’m renovating alone, and it’s… pure chaos. Paint cans, tools, my grandma’s old stuff everywhere. I have to see what went wrong.”
He nods, understanding, but adds, “Fine. I’ll have staff send food over. It’ll be temporary whatever he does. So you shouldn’t cook tonight or tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you,” I say, and the words feel small for how much I mean them.
He’s been… kind, and it’s disarming. Then his hand grazes my arm lightly and sparks flare.
It’s as if my skin becomes alive under his touch.
Our eyes lock, and his gaze is deep, pulling me in.
Just like that, I’m back in that kiss, drowning. His hand lingers, my breath catches?—
“Hugh!” someone calls across the room.
And it shatters the spell. I blink and step back.
Embarrassment burns my cheeks, but I don’t look at him.
“I should go,” I say, voice shaky, and turn away.
I can feel his eyes boring into my back, penetrating and inescapable.
The ballroom’s cool air does nothing for the heat in my body, and I hurry out, desperate for distance.
A van is pulling up outside my cottage. The plumber, a man in his late thirties or forties, is climbing out, tools in hand. Relief crashes over me as I rush to the door.
“Thank God you’re here,” I say with heartfelt sincerity and lead him inside.