Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Damien
When I step into Lord Porter’s study the afternoon following Alba and James’ engagement party, I find the man reading a news article on his tablet. He’s frowning, and when he glances up to find me in the doorway, the deep, worried lines in his forehead don’t ease.
If what Mac told me is accurate, the stress of the man’s choices seems to be taking its toll.
“Ah, Mallory. You requested a meeting?” The Lord’s words of welcome are edged with exasperation, as if he can’t quite believe I—the man he hired to ensure the security of his family’s ancestral home and supervise his adult daughter—might have something to discuss with him.
“Yes,” I confirm, and sit down in one of the high-backed armchairs stationed in front of his desk, not waiting for his invitation. “This won’t take long. I wanted to touch base about some of the police reports I requested from your team. Regarding the break-in.”
Lord Porter sets down his tablet, flipping the case closed. “What about them?”
It’s an effort to conceal my irritation.
“I have reached out to your office multiple times to get them and the files on the threats directed toward Blair, but have been met with a lot of… resistance.” I pause, studying him.
“It’s vital I have access to all the information regarding any ongoing security concerns, in order for me to do my job correctly. ”
Before he can respond, there’s a quiet knock on the door behind me, and Lord Porter looks up.
“Oh, I’m so sorry to interrupt, sir,” comes a woman’s bright, professional voice. “You have a conference call with Cunningham and Howard in five minutes.”
The man across from me inclines his head in acknowledgement.
“I’ll be on, this won’t take long.” The door closes again, and he lowers his gaze to me.
“Regarding the break-in reports, my team evaluated and determined there was nothing of significance to be found in them. Likely a local, looking to make some quick cash.”
Christ, I hate this man. The scenario he’s just presented doesn’t strike me as even remotely plausible, and it’s an insult to my intelligence that he thinks I’d believe it.
Criminals hoping for some quick cash would have taken the silver candlestick holders off the dining table or the jewelry that was sitting out in Blair’s bedroom–not old account records from His Lordship’s office.
After the break-in, I’d double and triple-checked the valuables in the house, and to this day, I can’t find evidence of the intruders taking anything other than some paperwork.
Swallowing the sour taste which has flooded my tongue as this conversation progresses, I push forward. “And the threats against Blair?”
Porter heaves a heavy sigh. “They’ve faded away, just as we expected.
While I appreciate your thoroughness, unless you have reason to believe my daughter is in any imminent danger, I don’t see how it would do any good to go poking around and stir it all back up.
Now, if there isn’t anything else.” He gestures to the phone on his desk. “You’ll have to excuse me.”
I don’t move.
“It’s difficult to determine whether or not your daughter is in any imminent danger when I haven’t been given the luxury of seeing the entire picture.”
There’s a steely glint in Porter’s eyes as he leans forward in his seat, tapping his pen against the posh leather desk mat.
“I’ll say it again, Mallory. My team has investigated.
While I appreciate there may be an element of professional pride at play here, I think it is a good time to remind you of why you were hired.
It was not to conduct investigations, but to secure the estate, and make sure my daughter doesn’t irreparably damage her reputation for a second time. ”
Chest burning, I force myself to nod.
Whatever suspicions I had about this man’s priorities before this conversation took place have only been confirmed, and the blackmail Mac alluded to the other night is looking more like fact than fiction.
Someone has something on this asshole, and he isn’t going to risk telling me a damn thing. Even if the price is compromised security.
As I get to my feet, preparing to leave, however, Porter speaks again.
“You know, after we had our meeting at the club, it occurred to me that we’d met before. Years ago.”
I swallow, trying to banish the sudden sound of ringing in my ears, which deafens all but the voice of the man before me. “Did we?”
Porter’s answering smile is dangerous. “Yes. You probably wouldn’t remember it, you couldn’t have been older than twelve or thirteen at the time.”
It takes everything I have not to react, as his words raise a cold sweat over my palms and up the back of my neck. “Maybe a picture of you back then would help jog my memory.”
The lord lets out a cold laugh. “Perhaps. Lydia and I had only just gotten engaged, and we were visiting with her godmother, Princess Araminta. I took a wrong turn on the way to the restroom and happened to spot three boys sitting together in the garden.” His head tilts slightly to the side, studying me.
“At first glance, I thought it was Prince Arthur. I remember thinking to myself how nice it was to see three brothers so close. It certainly wasn’t the sort of relationship I shared with my own siblings. ”
Fuck. Fuck.
My resemblance to Ben and Leo is, and has always been, problematic. For years, I’d managed to hide behind the anonymity brought by my uniform. Now that I’ve taken it off, however, my shared likeness with two members of the most famous family in the country is much more dangerous than ever before.
Porter seems to sense my discomfort. The man is a shark, and even the hint of blood in the water has him zeroing in on my largest vulnerability. He leans forward, lacing his fingers together atop the leather desk mat. “It wasn’t Prince Arthur, though, was it?”
I let out a determinately steady breath, trying and failing to calm my racing pulse. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Wouldn’t you?” he hums. “King Fabian did quite a good job of covering up his indiscretions, but even so. There were rumors back then.”
Of course, I would be intimately acquainted with the rumors which must have been circulated back then.
Pieces of my life’s story, whispered back and forth amongst gleeful aristocrats, fodder for their social standing.
They ring in my ears as I stare at Porter, hardly able to believe I’ve found myself in this situation, trapped by my identity, yet again.
“Have you heard? People are saying the king has been very occupied with a cocktail waitress who works in his club.”
“I was told from the most reliable of sources that the king’s little mistress had a child. I do hope the man insisted on a test before getting her situated.”
“My brother’s butler started off as a footman at the palace. Did you know the king keeps his proper family for the cameras, but hides another in the North Country?”
“Rumor has it that the king’s mistress died. No clue how it happened. Apparently, he’s sent the boy to live with Araminta.”
My hands tighten reflexively on the back of the chair, my fingers aching with how hard they’re digging into the upholstery. “You don’t know anything about me.”
Porter, apparently satisfied he’s arranged things to his benefit, lifts a shoulder arrogantly.
“I know more about you than you believe you know about me, Mallory. Remember that the next time you think of questioning my judgement.” Atop his desk, his phone lights up.
He reaches for it, still looking at me. “Now, run along and do what I pay you for.”
Chest burning and reeling with furious disbelief, I have no choice but to comply.
There are people, staffers, and the Porter’s house staff—brought with them from Wyngate—milling around the downstairs as I move through the familiar halls, replaying the conversation I just had on a loop, feeling worse with each successive recollection.
After being cautious about my identity for years, all I’ve done to protect myself, and the most separate from my family that I have ever been, still, I’ve found myself backed into a corner.
Will I ever be free of this? Ever? Or am I doomed to have the choices of two people, now long dead, tear through my life like a slow-moving bullet?
It seems likely.
My very existence is a weapon to be used against me, to rob me of my privacy and keep me beholden to the same fucking people I wanted to escape from.
Porter knew who I was the first day we met.
Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted me for this job because of who I am. The man is a spider, spinning a web of blackmail, secrets, and lies around himself, and I’ve somehow become another fucking insect trapped and at his mercy.
My lungs burn from the shallow, insubstantial breaths I’ve been taking, and the edges of my vision swim as I burst through the kitchen door. The biting ocean wind hits me like a physical blow, and I double over, bracing my hands on my knees and sucking in big, greedy gulps of oxygen.
I want to leave.
I want to pack my shit, get in the car, and drive somewhere. Anywhere. The middle of the fucking Sahara sounds preferable to this godforsaken place. When I think of the reasons I can’t, though, it isn’t Araminta, or Lord Porter, or my paycheck that comes to mind.
“Damien?” I start, whipping around to face the woman stepping out of the kitchen door behind me, wrapped in a thick knit sweater, her features rapt with concern. “Is everything okay? You walked right past me...”
Christ, I hadn’t even noticed.
Raking my hand through my hair, I glance toward the kitchen window, which we’re in full view of. Anyone could see us talking out here, and at this point, I don’t trust myself to appear unaffected by her presence.
“I’m fine.” My tone is short, clipped, and the tiny flicker of hurt in Blair’s face has me shaking myself. “I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything. I—” I cast around, searching for a way to describe what I’m feeling, as if there is a word in existence which might come close to describing this.
Blair edges closer, but remains a respectable distance from me, her lips turned down. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I don’t respond right away, looking at her standing out here in the cold, her beautiful face pinched with worry for me. Care I’m not sure I deserve but still crave. Care that softens the storm of turmoil churning inside me, the paranoia, the anger… all of it.
I’ve battled with Blair Porter nearly every day of our relationship. From the very start, she has possessed the unique ability to make me do, say, and think things I didn’t believe myself capable of. She frustrates me, and exhausts me, and may send me to an early grave out of sheer exasperation.
Yet, before I’d even realized it was happening, she found her way under my skin, into my blood, and through my fucking heart.
Somehow, this woman I was so sure I hated has become the most immovable, grounding part of my life.
Warmth spreads through me as, lost for words, I step toward her. “Come here,” I mumble as I approach, reaching out to pull her into my chest the moment I’m close enough.
Blair comes willingly, wrapping her arms around my waist and hugging me back, right here in the back parking lot. Anyone could see, and a single word of it to the Porters could cost me my job.
I don’t care.
Closing my eyes, I kiss her temple, breathing in the familiar scent of apples, honey, and the wind which lingers in her hair. Blair’s arms tighten around me, and we stand there for a very long time, holding each other.
“They’re all leaving tomorrow,” she reminds me when we finally part, gazing up at me through those wide, moss-colored eyes. “We’ll be alone again.”
I brush my thumb over the apple of her cheek, unable to bring myself to let her go quite yet. “Good.”