Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
HUGH
T he last echoes of the party have faded into silence.
It’s late—past midnight, the air is quiet.
Guests have either left or claimed some of the spare rooms; their laughter and clinking glasses are now just a memory.
I should be tired, but I feel wired. With my jacket slung over my shoulder, I climb the stairs.
The night was a success. Deals were struck, hands shaken, billions secured, but from the moment Lauren left, the night lost its allure.
My phone buzzes as I reach the landing, and the plumber’s number lights up the screen. A text:
All fixed. Left her place 5 mins ago. Heading home.
Leaning against the banister, I call him. “Harry,” I say when he picks up. “You didn’t let her pay, did you?”
“No, my Lord,” he says, a quickly hidden yawn in his voice. “She offered, but I told her you’d covered it.”
“What did she say to that?” I ask curiously.
He sounds puzzled, like he’s wondering why I care. “At first she looked shocked and insisted she wanted to pay herself, but I was firm, so she said she’ll take it up with you herself in the morning.”
I nod to myself, picturing her face, that stubborn set of her jaw. “But she was grateful?”
“Yeah, real grateful,” he says. “She kept thanking me.”
“Good.” I shift, staring out the hall window toward her cottage, invisible in the dark. “What caused the flood?”
“Old house, you know. Those pipes are from the ‘50s, corroded to hell. She’d started renovating, yeah? Pulled up tiles and banged around, and didn’t know what she was doing.
One of the joints was already weak, and she must’ve nudged it wrong.
Pressure built up, and a slow leak turned into a flood.
Could’ve been worse. It was spreading fast when I got there, but it’s okay… for now.”
“What’s needed to stop it happening again?”
“Whole system needs an overhaul,” he says. “New pipes, proper fittings. She’s got no business tackling that herself. Girl’s got grit, I’ll give her that, but no skill for it. I patched up the burst joint, but the rest’ll go eventually if it’s not fixed. That’s a big and expensive job, though.”
“Do it,” I say. “Call her tomorrow and tell her the patch is temporary and you have to come back to finish the job at no cost to her.”
Harry hesitates, his silence loud. “You want me to bill you for the job?”
“Yes.” I pause. “You know what, quote her a reduced cost. Immensely reduced. Like a tenth of the cost. Let her think it’s your usual rate, or else she’ll never agree. Again, don’t let her know I’m involved. Then send the full bill to me, whatever the amount. I’ll double it.
“Whatever you wish, Sir,” he says slowly, like he’s piecing together why I’m doing this. “I’ll call her in the morning.”
“Good. Let me know how it goes.”
I hang up, slip my phone into my pocket, and push open my bedroom door.
The room’s dark, moonlight slanting through the curtains.
I toss my jacket on a chair, my mind churning.
Why am I doing this? The question gnaws, but the answer’s there, warm and undeniable: helping her feels good.
Too fucking good. I strip off my shirt and head for the shower.
With a frown, I remind myself it’s a strategy—seduce her, win her trust, get the land.
Attraction’s normal, I reason, turning on the water. She’s stunning—of all the women tonight, in their glittering gowns, she stole my breath away. She was easily the most beautiful woman in the room, and she doesn’t even know it.
I step under the spray, letting the heat loosen my shoulders.
It’s just a physical attraction. Those things will rip at your insides, but they fade.
They always do. No need to overthink it.
Fixing her house, covering the plumber—it’s a move, a way to pull her closer, not some grand romantic gesture.
Steam rises around me.
Small things, thoughtful, and not flashy.
That’s how I’ll win her over, not with money or gifts, but with care, little acts of kindness that she can’t ignore. I wish I had her number. If I did, I would be able to text her now, check on her. I’m glad I don’t, though. It’d be too tempting, too fast. I’d scare her off.
The manor is a hive of activity—staff scrubbing floors, hauling away party debris, dirty glasses and napkins, everything vanishing as if they were never there. My breath clouds in the chill as I leave the house and head for the stables.
I ride out to the aviary where my hawks are housed.
It would be good to take Ahriman hunting.
Hunting for rabbits with him requires all my wits.
It will be good to focus on something other than the throb of my dick.
I didn’t sleep last night, not really, and when I did, my restless dreams were filled with Lauren.
Ahriman’s yellow eyes alight on me, and he raises his royal head proudly in recognition.
I take him, attached to my thickly gloved hand, into the cool morning air, and he extends his broad wings and flaps them with the anticipation of the coming hunt.
He is in fine form, and we have an exhilarating few hours hunting together.
Once I return Ahriman to the aviary, I ride onto the estate’s far reaches, where the land stretches into farmland—acres leased to tenants, dotted with barns and grazing cows.
Farmers nod as I pass them. My eyes, hungry for a glimpse of Lauren, drift towards her cottage, a speck in the distance, and I catch her—overalls dusted with plaster, a mask over her face, hauling bags of debris.
She’s relentless, tearing that place apart, rebuilding it with her own hands.
I admire her grit, even as it frustrates me.
I have lunch at a quiet inn tucked away by a stream that my family owns, where I unexpectedly run into Hamish, an old friend I’ve not seen for a long time.
He is a legendary polo player of great skill, whom I respect a great deal, and we have a peasant chat over a couple of pints of hand drawn bitters, and roast beef sandwiches with thick-cut fries.
He invites me over to his farm to check out the new thoroughbred steed he’s acquired from Argentina.
Unable to resist the lure of a white stallion, I leave my horse in the meadow in front of the pub and get into his dusty Range Rover.
It is a good and relaxing afternoon with no thoughts of Lauren. He drops me off at the pub with the promise that I will join him in a friendly Polo game at the end of the month.
Riding back, the manor looms, its lights soft against the approaching night.
Lauren’s cottage comes into view, and I slow down, my horse’s hooves quiet on the path.
Her living room glows, the curtains are open, and there she is—curled up by the window, a book in her lap and bathed in the apricot light of that Tiffany lamp.
She looks like a golden angel, and my dick instantly stirs and hardens.
The lamp that she’d so fiercely demanded I take back but after the chaos of the burst pipe, she has become too rattled to chase me down.
Seeing it now, its stained-glass casting colors across her face, I’m struck by how beautiful she is.
She is breathtaking, soft in a way I have never seen her, her guard totally down.
I could watch her forever, framed like a painting, but I turn away resolutely, dismount and head toward the stables.
One of the stable hands takes my horse, and I begin to make my way towards the manor.
The aviary manager would have sent the rabbits Ahriman caught this morning back, and dinner tonight will probably be one of my favorite dishes, rabbit flambéed in cognac, but my steps are heavy.
Today… I would give anything to eat some dry crackers and water in her eyesore of a house.
This is madness, thinking of her like this, letting her consume me.
I need to act, to do something, or I’ll lose my grip.
I turn and stride determinedly toward her cottage, gravel crunching underfoot.
At the gate between our lands, I hesitate, doubt clawing at me.
Too much, too soon? I start back, then stop, and curse under my breath.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I grumble to myself.
The worst she can say is no.
And so I cross the line. I cannot believe how hard my heart is pounding, but it’s too late to go back now. I climb her porch and my knuckles hover over the door, nerves sparking—when did I last feel this?
I knock, sharp and sure, and wait, the night pressing close.
It takes a little while before she responds.
The door opens, and there she is, distracted and surprised.
She’s a vision—cheeks flushed, hair tumbling from a messy bun, strands framing her face like a halo.
This is by far my favorite look, I realize, raw and real.
Her tank top clings to her, pajama shorts baring long golden legs, and the swell of her chest under the fabric nearly undoes me.
Desire surges, a tidal wave, drowning every thought.
I’ve never wanted anyone like this, never felt my control slip so fast. I grip the doorframe, anchoring myself, overwhelmed, as her eyes meet mine.
Fuck, I’m lost.