Chapter One

Mia Harrington thanked James, her father’s butler—her butler now, she supposed—as she stood from behind her father’s desk in the estate office—now also hers, to welcome her visitor.

“Mr Lenton. Thank you so much for coming, and on such short notice. Please, come in, and take a seat. Would you like something to drink? Tea, coffee, water?”

The grey-haired, bespectacled man gave a tight smile and bustled over to the chair Mia had indicated. “Thank you, Miss Harrington. A glass of water would be fine.” He took a seat, then began removing files and papers from his briefcase and placing them on the desk.

Once Mia had delivered two glasses of water to the desk and taken her own seat, the solicitor fixed her with what was undoubtedly an often-practised solemn expression. “Thank you. May I firstly offer my sincere condolences on the loss of your father? He was a wonderful man, and he will be greatly missed.”

Mia barely resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. She’d received so many condolences and expressions of sympathy in the last thirty hours that she was in danger of drowning in them. In many ways, of course, she deeply appreciated them—it was heart-warming and offered the merest sliver of comfort to know that she wasn’t the only one who’d loved Edward Harrington and genuinely mourned his loss.

It was the sound-bite condolences that drove her crazy, from people that had barely known him, and those she’d never even heard of, let alone met. How could it possibly help Mia to know that Mrs Pipes from the post office in the village was terribly sorry for her loss? And it would only get worse once the death announcement went into the newspaper.

She mentally shook herself. While Mrs Pipes might not matter, Mr Lenton most definitely did. He had been her father’s solicitor for many years now, and was here to discuss her father’s will with her. And, although she’d much rather not be dealing with the fallout, would much rather Edward Harrington was the one in the office with her right now, poring over paperwork; in the absence of a time machine or a magic wand, she had no choice. She had to hear what her father’s wishes were, and carry them out to the very best of her ability.

Her remaining family members—distant as they were—thought it odd that Mia didn’t already know her father’s wishes. It wasn’t as if his death had been a surprise, after all. The man had been valiantly fighting cancer for two years, and finally it had won, leaving Mia devastated. Just because she’d known it was inevitable didn’t make bearing his loss any easier. In fact, the only thing that made it remotely tolerable was knowing he was no longer suffering from what, especially towards the end, had been horrific side-effects and discomfort.

It was that overwhelming love and admiration, as well as simply not wanting to contemplate the “after”, that resulted in Mia’s refusing to talk to her father about what he wanted to happen once he was gone. Years ago, when he’d re-done his will following his wife—Mia’s mother’s—death, he’d basically told her she was the main beneficiary, as well as the executor, and that his funeral wishes were all there in black and white. With that knowledge in the back of her mind, Mia saw no need to further distress her father, or herself, by discussing something she wished with a fervent—albeit pointless—hope that she would never have to deal with. But here it was.

“Thank you, Mr Lenton. I appreciate that,” she lied.

The solicitor gave a tight nod, then indicated a bound document in front of him. “I have here your father’s last will and testament. I’m here to go through it with you, answer any questions you might have, and give advice on your next steps. Is that all right?”

Mia nodded, then slid a notepad in front of her and retrieved a pen from the holder so she could make notes if she needed to. No doubt there would be a great deal of legalese in the document, so if anything didn’t make sense, she needed to be able to remember it, so she could get the man to explain it.

“All right.” Mr Lenton cast his eyes down at the document. “This is the last will and testament of Mr Edward Harrington, born first of April, 1947. Last amended fifteenth of September, 2017.”

Mia flicked her gaze to the man’s face, frowning. “Excuse me? Amended? My father didn’t mention any changes.” She paused. “So… he had the amendment made while he was severely ill?”

With a nod, the man replied, “Yes. I visited him here myself.” He shuffled in the chair and seemed to be having some difficulty maintaining eye contact with her. “I’m sorry, your father told me he would discuss this with you before… the time came.”

“Well, he didn’t,” she snapped, then held her hands up. “I apologise, Mr Lenton, I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I’m just surprised, that’s all. So what is to discuss? What amendments did my father make? I’m not being thrown out of here, am I?” she joked, though as the words passed her lips, a splinter of panic worked its way into her mind. There was no way in hell he’d disinherited her. There was simply no reason to—she’d been the loving, dutiful daughter until his dying breath, and now beyond. So what had changed?

Oh God—was there a secret child? Did she have a brother or a sister out there somewhere? Or had he decided he wanted to be buried somewhere completely bonkers, like the summit of Everest or something?

Mr Lenton took a sip of his water, then put the glass down with a slightly trembling hand. Either the man had developed a condition since the last time she’d seen him, or he was nervous. And his being nervous made her nervous. What the bloody hell was going on? “No, Miss Harrington, of course you are not being thrown out. Please, let me continue, and all will become clear. After that, if you still have questions I will answer them as best I can.”

“All right. Please, go ahead. I’m sorry, I won’t interrupt again.”

The first part of the reading concerned her father’s wishes for his funeral and final resting place. She’d had an inkling, so it was no surprise at all to learn that Edward Harrington wanted a small service, held in the church on the estate’s grounds, and to be buried alongside his beloved wife in the small churchyard adjacent. Drinks and a buffet would be held at the house afterwards. Much to Mia’s relief, he’d even detailed what hymns and prayers he wanted. She wasn’t religious herself and wouldn’t have had a clue where to start in that regard.

So far, so predictable. No wacky burial site—that was that theory off the table. The solicitor moved on to the distribution of her father’s assets. Mia hadn’t known the precise details, but again, wasn’t surprised to learn considerable amounts of money were to be bequeathed to various charities—including smaller, local ones he had helped out for years, as well as larger, nationwide organisations. She smiled. That was her father—even in his death he’d managed to do some good in the world.

“Now,” Mr Lenton said, looking up at her with an uneasy smile, “this is the part of the document that your father had amended a couple of months ago. This… might come as a shock to you, Miss Harrington, I’m afraid, since it seems your father didn’t, in fact, discuss it with you. As the messenger, I can only apologise.”

Mia gripped her pen tightly and fixed a smile in place, even as her heart fluttered unpleasantly. With her other hand, she picked up her glass of water and downed half of it before saying, “Please, Mr Lenton, do continue.”

The solicitor cleared his throat. “As I’m sure you do already know, Miss Harrington, the remainder of your father’s assets go to you, as his beneficiary. That includes his money, his investment portfolio and, of course, his property and land. You are named as sole executor of the will—which is actually somewhat unusual, but your father remained convinced you could handle the organisation of his affairs on his passing.”

Bobbing her head, Mia said, “And he was correct. I have been working for my father, helping with his various business interests for many years already, and as his illness progressed I actually ended up dealing with it all by myself. Just before he died, he told me he was proud of how I’d dealt with all the responsibility. Proud of me.” She blinked. Why had she divulged that? It was like she was trying to justify her inheritance, for God’s sake!

“He was proud of you, Miss Harrington. Very much so. He told me that himself—and it was quite apparent in the way he spoke of you. Anyway,” he cleared his throat again, seemingly eager to get on with it, “the amendment is less of a change, and more of an added caveat.”

“A caveat?” she squeaked, now gripping the pen so hard that, had it been a cheap plastic thing, rather than a heavy, metal-barrelled Mont Blanc, it would have snapped or cracked. As it was, the hard metal resisted and made her hand ache. Why on earth had her father put a condition on her inheritance? And, more importantly, what the hell was it?

Suddenly, the prospect of a secret sibling was preferable.

Flicking an anxious glance at her, then turning back to the document, he continued, “All of the aforementioned concerning the transfer of assets to Miss Mia Harrington is subject to her marriage. Miss Mia Harrington has one year following the burial of Mr Edward Harrington to wed a suitable partner, one befitting of her status and social class. Only then will she officially inherit. The marriage partner in question must also agree to take the Harrington name, so that any children born from their union will carry the name and continue the Harrington line.

“Should Miss Mia Harrington fail to secure a marriage contract within the stated period, then the eldest male child of Mr Archibald Harrington may inherit. Should this scenario come to pass, Miss Mia Harrington will be required to move out of the family home, resign her role as estate manager, and be awarded a small allowance on which to live.” Mr Lenton stopped then, and Mia wasn’t sure if it was because he was finished, or because he was giving her a moment to allow his words to sink in.

For a moment, she was silent. She relaxed her hold on the Mont Blanc, and it fell from her hand and onto the desk, where it rolled sluggishly along the surface and clinked against the side of her water glass. The sound barely registered as she turned the solicitor’s words—her father’s wishes—over and over in her mind.

The first part had been fine and dandy—she had absolutely no qualms about a good portion of her father’s money going to charity. They were incredibly worthy causes, and besides, even the remainder of what she stood to inherit was more than she knew what to do with. She’d probably end up donating even more of it to charity.

In truth, it wasn’t really about the money. If the will reading had been about discovering her father had actually been penniless, it wouldn’t have mattered. She was no helpless damsel in distress, or simpering heiress in need of her daddy to fund her lifestyle. She was well-educated, ambitious, and smart—she’d figure something out. No—it was the principle of the matter. Her father’s considerable assets were as such because he’d worked for them. Yes, he’d inherited the estate, the main property of which she currently sat inside, and enough money to keep it ticking over, but he’d done more than just keep it ticking over. So much more.

She’d seen and heard of others in her father’s position who had allowed things on their estates to remain the same, spent the family money willy-nilly, then realised that the estate needed repairs, maintenance… and with no way of paying for it, homes and land fell into disrepair and had to be sold. She knew of some which had been made into luxury apartments, others which were being leased or given to the National Trust to restore and allow the public in to gawp, and others still which had been purchased by nouveau riche individuals who saw the properties and estates as nothing more than something to brag about.

Her father, on the other hand, had viewed the house and estate as his responsibility. Not the type of responsibility which becomes a millstone around a person’s neck, however. Edward Harrington had genuinely adored running the estate. It might have brought him and his small family a considerable income which kept them more than comfortable, but it was also a big provider and supporter of the local community. Many families in the surrounding area benefited from the estate in one way or another, either by working directly for the Harringtons and earning a highly-competitive salary, or by partnerships which were lucrative for everyone involved. Her father had been firm, but fair, and smart. He’d maximised the earning potential of the estate, and as such it had flourished. He’d made wise investments, supported fundraisers and charities, and given generously of both his time and his money—leaving behind an impressive legacy.

And now, if she didn’t marry a suitable partner within twelve months, all of that would be taken from her, and, more importantly, from the local community. For there wasn’t the slightest shadow of doubt in her mind that her cousin, Quinn, would not carry on with her father’s good work. He would greedily take what was bequeathed to him, then proceed to fritter the cash away and let the house and estate become yet another decaying pile, which he would then offload to the highest bidder.

“Over my dead body!” she said, slamming her hands down on the desk. The water glasses wobbled dangerously, but didn’t upset.

Mr Lenton, on the other hand, looked as though he was on the verge of bolting. He eyed Mia nervously, but remained silent.

Taking a couple of deep breaths, Mia recalled the solicitor’s earlier comment about him being the messenger. She reminded herself of the old adage don’t shoot the messenger. None of this was his fault, and besides, she’d been brought up much better than that—she didn’t treat people poorly, and wasn’t about to start now, even if they had given her information she disliked.

She gave another tight smile, had a drink of water, then said, “I apologise again, Mr Lenton. I blame it on the grief of losing my beloved father. And shock. Is there anything to add to that? Any… further specificity on what kind of partner would be suitable for me?” She couldn’t help the sarcasm that had seeped into her tone. Her brain was whirling with questions, but with one overriding all the others:

Why the hell is he doing this to me?

𓆩♡𓆪

Chapter Two

Mia saw off another of the mourners, still wearing the polite smile she’d had pasted on to her face for most of the day. She was actually beginning to worry it had stuck. Allowing herself a heartfelt sigh in the relative privacy of the empty hallway, she then headed back into the reception room which was hosting her father’s wake.

As requested, the day had been a small affair—or small for a man that knew so many people, anyway. The remaining family members had been in attendance, of course, but had mercifully headed off straight after taking advantage of the free food and drink on offer, citing a long journey home as their excuse. Mia hadn’t argued—they were family in name only, and although he and everyone else were currently ignorant of the contents of Edward’s will, Quinn’s presence made her blood boil. The very thought of that vacant, idiotic womaniser getting his greedy paws on her father’s legacy and then pissing it away… well, it was just intolerable. And it was never going to happen.

Those still hanging around the house included a few of her father’s closest friends and their wives, who were currently sequestered in the corner, reminiscing about past times. Mia smiled indulgently in their direction. They’d been more like family to her than those that shared her DNA. They’d actually been around throughout her father’s illness, visiting him at the house often, telephoning even more often to check on Edward and also on Mia. They’d constantly offered support, both physical and moral and, although she hadn’t needed any physical help with anything, the moral and emotional support, and just knowing they were there had been a great comfort. It had given her much-needed strength, especially as it became painfully obvious that her father’s remaining time was dwindling into weeks, then days.

She shifted her gaze to take in the stragglers. A couple of villagers who helped the vicar look after the church, the vicar himself, and three members of her staff—the butler, James, the housekeeper-cum-cook, Betty, and the gardener, Thomas. It still felt weird to think of them as her staff, rather than her father’s, but that’s what they were now. Thanks to the insane curveball her father had thrown, she hadn’t officially inherited anything, but she was the estate custodian and manager and, as far as everyone else was concerned—the solicitors notwithstanding—she was now in charge.

As she loitered in the doorway, she felt suddenly adrift. Alone. She stood in her own house, on her own land, and yet had the terrible sense she didn’t belong. There were people right in front of her, people she knew—and some of them she even liked—and yet she had no wish to talk to them. No idea what to even talk to them about.

Her friends had been wonderful, naturally. However, since they were spread around the country—some even around the world—it had been more difficult for them to be physically present during her father’s illness and death. They had jobs of their own, families of their own, responsibilities of their own. But she’d known perfectly well that they’d have dropped everything and come if she’d asked. Like with her father’s friends, that knowledge of their having her back had bolstered her. She’d insisted they not come to the funeral, suggesting instead that they have a meet up in London when the dust had settled a little, so they could celebrate her father’s life, rather than mourning the loss of it. He’d have liked that.

At least the apartment in London was officially hers. Yes, her father had gifted her some money to put down an incredibly hefty deposit, but the mortgage payments came from the salary she earned from her role running the estate, so no matter what happened, she had that. Providing, if the worst came to the worst, she could find a job quickly in order to keep up the mortgage payments and the bills, that was. If not, she supposed she’d have to sell up and find somewhere cheaper.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. Then another. It was the grief, she reminded herself. She’d lost the person that meant the most to her in the world, and it would take time—a considerable amount, she suspected—to find her new normal. But she’d get there. In the meantime, she’d keep busy—something that was easy at the moment as she dealt with her father’s affairs, on top of the usual day-to-day running of the estate.

A hand gently touched her arm, startling her out of her melancholy thoughts. She jumped, and her eyes shot open.

“Sorry,” Thomas said with a wry smile, “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just glanced over and saw you standing here and you looked… lost, I suppose. I just wanted to come and make sure you were all right. Well,” he shrugged, “as all right as you can be in the circumstances, anyway.”

Mia returned his smile, then put her hand on top of his and squeezed it. His skin was warm against her chilly fingers. “It’s all right, Tom. I was just thinking, that’s all. I’m all right. Or, to use your words, as all right as I can be in the circumstances. I’ll just be,” she lowered her voice, “glad when this is all over. I know some people find wakes comforting or whatever, but to me it’s a get-together with a crowd of people which would normally contain my father. But he’s not here. And that hurts.”

Thomas’s mouth turned down at the corners and his blue eyes regarded her seriously. “I get it. Trust me, I get it.” He took her hand and held it between both of his, and at his words she was reminded that she and Thomas, as well as being the same age, now had something else in common. They were both orphans. Christ, she was a fucking orphan! Twenty-seven years old, and an orphan.

She didn’t realise she’d said the last sentence aloud until she met Thomas’s eyes and saw her own pain reflected right back at her. He blinked, then cleared his throat. “Do you want me to get rid of everyone? Under the circumstances, Mia, nobody is going to think you rude. You’ve carried out your father’s wishes. He’s at rest now, with your mother. Now the funeral is over, you should be allowed to grieve in private.”

Her first instinct was to disagree. People might think she was rude—kicking them out of the house before they were ready to go. After all, they were grieving for her father, too. But then she looked around again at the assembled figures and came to the conclusion that they would understand. And if they didn’t, well then they were no friends to her, were they?

Mia nodded and whispered, “Yes, please. I’d really appreciate that.”

“Consider it done.” He squeezed her hand again, then stepped away, letting it fall from his grasp.

The sudden loss of his body heat made her clutch her hand to her chest protectively. Was it her hand she was protecting, though, or her broken heart? Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, but she forced herself not to let them fall. She’d allowed them during the church service, and again at the burial, but had remained dry-eyed—barely—since returning to the house. She wasn’t kidding herself, though—she knew she’d cry again, and had no problem with that. She just didn’t particularly want an audience when it happened. As soon as the doors were closed and she was alone, then they would come, she was sure of it.

“Everyone, can I have your attention, please?” came Thomas’s raised voice.

She looked over at where he stood in front of the buffet table and, to her surprise, noted just how well he scrubbed up. During the five years Thomas Walker had worked for her father, she’d only ever seen him in his gardening gear, usually decorated with globs of mud and smears of green from plants, trees, and grass. Now, in his well-cut suit, spotless shirt, black tie, and shiny shoes, he looked incredibly smart. And hot, actually.

Since everyone else’s attention was on him, she could safely get a good look at him, for what felt like the first time. He was an incredibly attractive man, with blue eyes, light brown hair, and the naturally fit figure of someone with a physical job. She pressed her lips together. How the hell had she never noticed before? Was there a works-for-my-father zone, similar to the friend zone, meaning she could easily be very fond of the man without it even occurring to her how gorgeous he was? Apparently so.

“Thank you,” Thomas continued. “I’m, er, speaking on behalf of Mia. She would like to thank you all very much for coming, but hopes you will understand her need for privacy after what has been a very difficult and tiring day.”

Sympathetic eyes turned in her direction, and Mia froze her face into a neutral expression, when what she really wanted to do was smile at Thomas’s impeccably polite way of telling everyone to bugger off and leave her alone. Bloody hell, with language skills like that, he should be a politician, not a gardener.

Thankfully, everyone took the hint. James, despite being off-duty, hurried ahead to see people out. The vicar and his cronies left first, followed by her father’s friends and their wives. Superficial pleasantries were exchanged with the former, and warm, genuine hugs and words with the latter. That left James, Thomas, and Betty.

Mia walked over to the table of food, her heels clacking on the wooden floor—sounding loud in the sudden quiet of the room. Stepping up next to the housekeeper, she said, “You did brilliantly here, Betty, especially on your own. I told you I would have happily hired caterers.”

“Nonsense,” she replied, waving a pudgy hand. The sweet, middle-aged woman had been working for Mia’s family for a very long time—a couple of decades, if Mia remembered correctly—and had always been very good to Mia, especially following her mother’s death, when she’d become a bit of a mother figure. “I wouldn’t hear of it—especially not for such a small gathering. Throwing a few plates of food together is nothing—and it was nice to be busy. You’ve not exactly been running me off my feet of late, have you, missy?” She gave Mia a mock-stern look.

Mia wrinkled her nose and shrugged. “I’m sorry, Betty, but I just haven’t been feeling particularly hungry. I’m sure now the funeral is done with and I start getting back into the swing of things, re-establishing a routine, I’ll have more of an appetite.”

Betty swiped a lonely mini-quiche from a plate. “I’ll tell you what you need,” she waved the snack in front of Mia’s face, “you need to get yourself a nice young man. Someone to take you out, have some fun with, make you laugh. That will help get your appetite back. Well, that and a nice bit of—”

“Need me to help you clear everything away?” Thomas interrupted. A glance at his face told Mia it had been a deliberate interruption, too, just when Betty had no doubt been about to suggest “a nice bit of rumpy pumpy”.

Mia suppressed a smile—both at Betty’s antics, and Thomas’s trying to protect her from them. But Thomas needn’t have worried—Betty had been lamenting Mia’s single status for years. This conversation was nothing new—it was just the circumstances that had brought them about which were different.

Maybe now her father wasn’t around to overhear, she could shock Betty by telling her the truth—she wasn’t exactly the Virgin Mary. Yes, it had been a very long time since Mia had deigned to bring a boyfriend—or even just a male friend—home, but the last time had been when her mother had been alive, and she and Mia’s father had made such a fuss that the boyfriend in question had never called her again after that. She’d decided then only to introduce a man to her parents much, much further into their relationship. Only she hadn’t gotten that far. She’d had flings, one-nighters, short-lived relationships with no real substance, and so on, but no one she was even remotely serious enough about to bring home to her parents.

And now she had no parents to bring anyone home to. No mother to comment on his extraordinary good looks, ask how many children he wanted, and so on. And no father to poke into his finances and family history, ask probing and sometimes embarrassing questions, and threaten him if he didn’t look after Mia.

At that incredibly depressing thought, something occurred to her. Something that might go some way to answering the question that could never be truly answered, only guessed at. Perhaps that was why her father had put the ridiculous caveat in his will. He’d often made mutterings about her finding herself a nice husband, and those mutterings had increased in frequency and intensity as his illness had progressed.

Then, just a few days before his death, he’d taken her hand—a fairly unusual action for a man who undoubtedly loved her, but didn’t often express it with physical contact—and said on a sigh, “Mia, all I want for you, my darling, is to be happy. For someone to look after you, support you. Love you.”

She’d rolled her eyes good-naturedly and squeezed his hand. “Dad, this is the twenty-first century, remember. I can look after myself. And I can look after the house, and the estate, and everything. I’ve been doing a good job while you’ve been poorly, haven’t I? I haven’t let you down?”

An intensity had burned in Edward Harrington’s eyes then, and he’d said, “Mia, you couldn’t let me down if you tried. You are an incredibly capable young woman. You’ve helped me ever since your mother died, and you’ve stepped up to the plate admirably now. I just wish that you didn’t have to bear so much responsibility by yourself. Your mother and I never intended for you to remain an only child, you know. We desperately wanted more children, but it just never happened for us. But we never really felt sad about it, because we loved you so much.”

“And I loved you. I love you. Besides,” she patted her father’s hand, “look on the bright side. Being an only child meant no one to bicker with; I didn’t have to compete for yours or Mum’s attention; I didn’t have to share my toys; and, even better, it means I won’t have to share my inheritance!”

For most people, that would have been an utterly insensitive thing to say in the circumstances, but her father had retained his quirky, often wildly inappropriate sense of humour until the very end, and he let out a peal of laughter. “Oh, Mia, my girl, you are a tonic!” He sobered then, but kept a hold of her hand. “Speaking of inheritance, darling, there is something I must tell you.”

But before he’d had chance to elaborate, the butler, James, had knocked on the bedroom door and announced a visitor.

In the chaos that was her life at that time, Mia had forgotten all about the conversation, so they’d never revisited it, and now it was too late.

But now the memory had occurred to her, the more she believed she was right. Her father had been eager for her to find someone to look after her, support her, and love her. So eager, apparently, that he was willing to force her hand to ensure it happened.

It was misguided, sure. Draconian, even. But Mia had decided to take it in the spirit in which it was intended—one of concern for his daughter, love for his only child.

James had now reappeared at the buffet table, and with the presence of him and Thomas, there was no way Mia was going to open up to Betty about her relationship status—or lack of it. Maybe some other time.

“Thank you, Tom,” she said, before Betty could be her usual martyr-like self and insist on carrying out the task alone, “that would be great. James, would you mind? If we all muck in, it’ll be done in no time, and we can get out of these dreary black clothes.” She aimed a look at James, who was in his early sixties and had also worked for the family for many years. The only difference from his day-to-day uniform was the style of the suit and the presence of a regular tie, rather than a bow tie. She smiled. “Well, us three can. Black seems to be your colour of choice, James. But you are far from dreary.”

“I’m jolly glad to hear it,” he shot back, mirroring her smile. “And yes, I’d be happy to help. It’s been a hard day for all of us. I’ll be glad of a nice cup of tea and a sit down.”

“Quite right. I think we’ve all earned it.”

𓆩♡𓆪

Chapter Three

“Right then!” Betty said with a clap of her hands. “That’s all cleared away and ship-shape. Is there anything else you’d like me to do, Mia?”

Just then, James re-entered the kitchen via the back door, having sorted out the rubbish and taken it to the outside bin.

“No,” Mia replied, “you’ve already done more than enough—you all have. Thank you so much. Now go on home and put your feet up. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She glanced over her shoulder towards the door leading from the kitchen to the hallway. “Where has Tom got to, anyway? Has he gone home already?” Surely he wouldn’t just leave without saying anything?

James shrugged. “Not sure. He was here a few minutes ago.”

“Yes, he was. Hmm… that’s odd. Oh well, he must have gone home. No problem. Right, so I’ll see you two tomorrow—usual time?” She ushered them towards the back door, knowing if she didn’t, they’d find some kind of excuse to hang around. The fact they cared so much was lovely, but she was well overdue for some alone time.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to come and fix you some breakfast tomorrow, Mia? You must eat properly. Your dear father will haunt me from beyond the grave if he thinks I’m not feeding you properly,” Betty put in.

Mia chuckled. “Betty,” she said firmly, “I promise you I can, and will, fix my own breakfast. There is absolutely no need for you to come in early. You know perfectly well I only have toast or cereal and a cup of tea in the morning, anyway. There will be plenty for you to be getting on with when you arrive for your regular shift, I assure you.”

The woman tutted. “Well, all right then. See you tomorrow. And if you get hungry today, the leftover sandwiches and things are in the fridge. Or—”

James shoved her gently. “Come on, woman,” he said gruffly. “Can’t you see the girl wants to be alone? Let’s respect her wishes, all right?”

Mia flashed James a grateful smile. “Goodbye, both of you. And if you see Tom out there anywhere, can you let him know to head on home—if he hasn’t already? And pass on my thanks for today.”

“Of course,” James replied. “Goodbye.”

Mia closed and locked the door behind them, then turned and slumped against it with a sigh of relief. Alone at last!

“Hey—have you locked me in?” Thomas’s voice came from the doorway, and Mia jumped and let out a little squeal.

“Tom! Shit, you made me jump. That’s twice in one day. I thought you’d gone.”

He frowned and shook his head. “Of course not. I wouldn’t have just left without saying anything. I was checking all the cut flowers had plenty of water. I thought you had enough on your plate without worrying about such trivial things. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Again.”

“It’s all right. None of us knew where you were, which was why I thought perhaps you’d left. But I did think it was weird you hadn’t said anything. Now I know why—you’re still here.” She smiled. “Thank you for checking on the flowers. You’re right, I probably wouldn’t have given them a second thought, and people spent such a lot of money on them, too. A waste, if you ask me. Flowers belong in the garden, living and growing.”

Thomas returned her smile. “Preaching to the converted here. But you know what people are like—they don’t really know what to do or what to say when someone dies, so they send cards and flowers. Probably does more to make them feel better than you.”

“Spoken like someone who’s been there, done that.”

“’Fraid so,” he replied with a wry twist of his lips. “Anyway, unless there’s anything else you need me to do or help you with, I’ll leave you in peace.” He tugged at his tie and pulled a silly face. “Time to get out of this bloody monkey suit.”

She turned and unlocked the door again, then opened it to let him out. “You might not feel comfortable, but you look incredibly smart. Dad would be very impressed.”

Thomas chuckled. “I hope so. Not many people I’d wear a suit for, but your dad was one of them.” He walked to the door and stepped over the threshold, before turning back. “By the way, I hope it’s all right, but once I’ve got changed, I’m going to take a walk through the gardens. Not often I get to enjoy them without working on them, if you see what I mean.”

“Of course it’s all right! That’s what they’re there for, and God knows you work hard enough to keep them looking amazing—you should be able to enjoy the fruits of your labour.” A thought occurred to her. “Actually, Tom, please feel free to say no if you’d rather I didn’t, but would you mind if I came with you?”

He stepped back into the kitchen, his eyebrows raised. “Of course I don’t mind. But I thought you wanted to be alone—that’s the only reason I didn’t ask you to join me in the first place.”

Meeting his gaze, she replied, “This will probably sound cheesy, but it, er, feels different with you. You’ve been where I am, and you seem to know the right thing to say, or not to say. I know you’re not going to waffle a load of nonsense at me in the hopes of making me feel better.”

He regarded her seriously. “I’m glad you feel that way, Mia. Because this will probably sound cheesy too, but I’m here for you. If you want to talk about what happened, or you want to talk about anything but that, that’s fine with me. Just say the word—I’ll do or be whatever you need, okay?”

Spontaneously, she jumped forward and gave him a hug. “Thank you,” she said into his ear, “so much.” Then, realising how awkward she’d suddenly made the situation, she jerked back and said brightly, “Right, well, I’d better get changed, too. These heels aren’t exactly made for walking in gardens, no matter how pretty.”

“The shoes, or the gardens?”

“Both,” she grinned. “Meet you at the entrance to the rose gardens in ten?”

“Better make it fifteen. I’ve got further to walk there and back than you.”

“True. See you in fifteen.”

Then he left. She watched him for a moment, cutting a mighty fine figure in his smart suit as he wandered down her garden path. She shook her head, wondering again at how he’d managed to avoid her notice in that way for so long. She smiled. Now she had noticed, she intended to make the most of it—it’d be nice to have him around to feast her eyes on when he wasn’t looking, especially when the summer came and he worked without a shirt on. Oh yes, Thomas Walker would be a very pleasant distraction indeed as she completed the dull and unpleasant tasks of her more immediate future, then turned her attentions to her next whopper of a project—finding herself a husband.

She suspected Thomas was going to be a great person to have around as she adjusted to life without her father. They’d been friendly for a while—not friends exactly, but they had nice chats whenever they bumped into each other in the grounds, and she felt comfortable around him. Trusted him. So if she did feel the need to talk to someone about her father, why not him? He understood precisely what she was going through, after all.

With that slightly cheering thought in mind, she closed the kitchen door—didn’t lock it, since she’d be using it again in a few minutes—then, remembering James wasn’t there to do it, checked all of the other doors and windows on the ground floor. Her relatively isolated home, with its CCTV, and high walls and gates, was unlikely to burgled any time soon, but one couldn’t be too careful. Especially as she was rattling around in here by herself much of the time—no sense making herself as physically vulnerable as she currently was emotionally.

Then she headed up to the first floor and went into her bedroom. There, she quickly located a pair of jeans, T-shirt, hoodie, and flat boots, and changed into them. In front of the mirror, she pulled all the pins from her chignon and let her hair tumble free, then dragged a brush through it, marvelling at the same time that her makeup had actually gotten through the day relatively unscathed. A quick wipe beneath her eyes with a tissue to remove a little bit of smudged mascara and she was done. It wasn’t windy outside, so she left her hair down, then made her way back downstairs and outside to meet Thomas.

Despite him asking for fifteen minutes instead of ten, he’d beaten her to it.

“Hey,” she said as she approached. “Sorry, you haven’t been waiting long, have you? I was making sure everywhere was locked up. James does it most of the time, so I’ve got to get into the habit of remembering when he’s not around.”

“It’s fine, I’ve only been here a minute.” He nodded down at her clothes. “Feeling better?”

She bobbed her head. “Yes, you? Now you’re rid of your monkey suit.”

“God, yeah,” he replied, grinning widely. “This is much more me, don’t you think?”

Mia took in his attire. It wasn’t his usual gardening gear. He, like her, wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a hoodie, as well as a pair of trainers. She nodded approvingly. “Not quite as smart as the suit, but certainly a step up from the grass-stained trousers and tops I usually see you in. Looking good, Tom!”

He indicated the path, and they began walking side by side. “Thanks. So, you like a man in a suit, do you?”

She shrugged. “Not especially. And I’ve had to deal with way too many of them over the past couple of weeks—I’m fed up of looking at them. It was just a big change to see you in one, that’s all. I like a man to wear whatever he’s comfortable in. As long as he’s clean and he smells nice, that’s good enough for me.”

“You’re easily pleased, aren’t you?” he shot back with a grin, peering over at her.

She gave him a playful nudge in the ribs. “Piss off, you! I’m just saying that a man doesn’t have to be dressed up in designer gear or anything to impress me.”

“So what does he have to do? Or wear?”

They were halfway along the edge of the rose garden by now—which was far from at its best at this time of year, but just being outside in the fresh air was having a soothing effect on Mia—and she stopped suddenly as she gave the question some consideration. “I don’t know, really. Just be a good person, genuine, hard working… anyway, why the hell are we talking about this? Are you trying to play matchmaker or something? Did my dad put you up to this?” she said, fixing him in a narrow-eyed gaze.

Thomas held his hands up in surrender, his eyes as wide as hers were narrow. “No! Bloody hell. I was just making conversation, that’s all. Trying to distract you.” He shrugged. “But we can talk about whatever you want. Roses,” he wafted a hand around them, “the weather—we are British, after all—stocks and shares, Tom Cruise, your dad… whatever you like.”

Mia spluttered out a laugh, then continued walking. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bite your head off there. I was just a little suspicious of your motives, that’s all. Dad had been on at me to ‘find myself a nice man’ and all that rubbish, so I thought perhaps he’d got you on the case, too.”

“Nope. Definitely not. It was just whatever popped into my head—probably because of what I overheard Betty saying earlier, before I interrupted.”

“Fair enough. So… stocks and shares? Tom Cruise? Where the hell did that come from?”

Thomas snickered. “No idea about the first. The second is no mystery—I watched one of his movies last night.”

“Any good?”

“Yeah, if you like that kind of thing. A kind-of good guy, bad guys, punch ups, car chases… you get the jist. Do you like movies?”

“I do. I don’t get the time to watch as many as I’d like, especially not at the cinema. But yes, I like them.” She paused, looking up at the sky. “Seems wrong to hold a funeral on such a beautiful day, doesn’t it?”

To his credit, Thomas appeared only slightly taken aback by the sudden change of subject. “Er, yeah. Yes, it does. Bit of an affront to all concerned, actually. But on the plus side, at least we didn’t get soaked in the churchyard.”

“Very true. You know, even at this time of year, the gardens look amazing. It may not be a riot of colour or anything, but it’s beautiful. You do an amazing job here, Tom.”

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, a slight blush staining his cheeks. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it. But you must, er, let me know if you want to discuss anything about the gardens. You know, if there’s anything you’d like to change or whatever. As for the riot of colour part, as long as nature cooperates with me, you’ll have that for sure during the spring and summer. I’ve planned ahead.”

She smiled. “I look forward to it. I’m glad I’ll be here to see it.” And hopefully not for the last time, either.

With a frown, Thomas asked, “And why wouldn’t you be?”

“Huh?” Then, realising what she’d said, she sighed. “Oh, it’s nothing. Nothing for you to worry about.” Not yet, anyway.

The look on Thomas’s face told her he clearly wasn’t buying it. He stopped and turned to her, then gently took her hand. That now-familiar warmth seeped into her skin, leaving tingles in its wake. “Mia, what is it? You can talk to me, I’ve told you that. About anything. I can keep secrets.”

They’d passed out of the rose gardens and onto the woodland path, which, if they kept on it, would lead them to Thomas’s cottage in the estate grounds. As she looked up again, a beam of winter sunlight fell on her face; weak, but still with enough strength for her to feel its warmth. Why shouldn’t I tell him? There’s nothing in Dad’s will to say I have to keep his ludicrous caveat a secret. And if it all goes pear shaped, Tom will have to know anyway. So will all the staff. And if I succeed… well, no harm done anyway, is there?

Bringing her head back down so she could look Thomas in the eye, she said, “Oh, Tom, are you sure you really want to know? Want to be burdened with my woes?”

“Woes?” He frowned again. “What woes? Other than the obvious.” He looked so confused, yet earnest, that Mia didn’t feel she could cut him out now. And besides, two heads were better than one, as the saying went. Perhaps if she confided in Thomas, he’d come up with some bright idea—or even just a regular idea—to help her out of her predicament.

Still holding his hand, she continued walking. “You got any booze back at your place?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Nothing exciting—just a few cans of cider, oh, and some whiskey I hardly touch—but you’re welcome to it.”

“Great. Come on, then. Let’s have a drink, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

𓆩♡𓆪

Chapter Four

Mia watched, impressed, as Thomas effortlessly lit the fire in the grate. His cottage had originally been a gamekeeper’s cottage, but there hadn’t been a gamekeeper on the estate for decades, so it was now part of the salary package for the resident gardener. The sturdy, grey-stone building was like something out of a fairytale, especially when viewing it from the woods, where one couldn’t see the track leading off to the nearest minor road, or Thomas’s car parked beside it.

“You’ve done that a few times,” she remarked as he carefully loaded sticks and logs onto the growing flames.

Getting to his feet and turning to her with a smile, he said, “At this time of year, it’s either that or freeze my arse off. No central heating in here.”

She gave an involuntary shiver. “I see your point.”

“Please, sit down. So, what are you having to drink? Cider? Or are you braving the whiskey?”

Settling into the nearest armchair, she replied, “I just buried my father. I think I’ve earned a spot of whiskey, don’t you?”

“Absolutely. Coming right up. Ice?”

She looked at him incredulously. “In this weather? You’re kidding.”

Thomas shrugged and strode through the doorway into the kitchen, raising his voice as he went. “I’m not much of a whiskey drinker myself, and in films they seem to have it with ice a lot, so I just thought I’d ask.”

“Neat is fine, thanks,” she called back. She’d never had cause to enter the building before, despite the fact it was at the end of her garden—albeit a very large garden—so she took the opportunity to look around while he was out of the room. The living room she sat in, which was entered directly via the cottage’s front door was as rustic as one would expect, given the exterior. From what she could tell, the dark grey slate floor tiles continued right into the kitchen. In this room, they were covered here and there by rugs that had seen better days, as well as the hefty, old-fashioned three-piece suite. The ceiling had beams, and the walls were exposed stone, interrupted only by the doors, window, and fireplace. It was lovely, actually, and its small size meant that the fire now blazing merrily heated the place very effectively.

In a way, she envied Thomas for living here—she could certainly see the charm of living alone in a compact space like this, rather than rattling around in the mansion at the other end of the garden. In cold weather, heavy curtains, central heating and blazing fires barely kept the chill from the large, high-ceilinged rooms. It was little wonder that, before her father’s illness, she’d often escaped to her London apartment during the chillier months for some respite from the draughts, tightly-drawn drapes, and gloomy lighting. At least there she had double glazing, fully-insulated walls, floor and ceiling, and rooms of a much more modest size which were easier to heat. She dearly loved her childhood home and all the memories it held, but she was grateful that she had the means and opportunity to escape from time to time.

Now, she realised, she was torn between wanting to escape to the city, and wanting to hole up in the huge house and wallow in her grief in the very place where its memories were so recent and so raw.

At the moment, though, she was perfectly happy in her armchair in Thomas’s cottage. Perhaps it was exactly the in-between place she needed right now. And she was happier still when the man in question returned with a tumbler of whiskey in one hand, and a glass of what she assumed was cider in the other. She took the proffered whiskey with a murmur of thanks.

“So,” he said, settling into the matching armchair on the opposite side of the fireplace to hers, “what’s going on? What woes don’t I want to be burdened with?”

Instead of replying, Mia lifted the glass and took a sip of the whiskey, closing her eyes as it burned its way over her tongue and down her throat before finally warming her stomach. She blew out a heavy breath, then opened her eyes and focussed on Thomas. “It all started when the solicitor came to go through Dad’s will with me.”

“Yeah?” His tone was casual as he prompted her to continue, but Mia didn’t miss the flicker of concern on his features before he arranged his face into a questioning expression.

She nodded. “Most of it was exactly as I had expected. Quite a lot of Dad’s money was allocated to charity, and the house, estate, and the rest of his assets were to go to me, as his only child and next of kin. Unfortunately, though, there was a… condition.”

Thomas had been nodding through most of her speech, but now he stopped and frowned. “A condition?”

“Mmm-hmm. This is pretty out there, so if I were you, I’d have a drink.” She took her own advice, feeling the burn once more, and also the tiniest bit of fuzziness in her head as the alcohol began to do its job. She wasn’t much of a drinker, and when she did partake she was more of a wine or vodka-with-a-mixer girl, so she was unused to neat spirits, much less a strong whiskey.

When he’d downed some of his booze and made eye contact with her again, Mia continued. “My inheritance isn’t straightforward. At this moment in time, nothing has really changed. I’m in charge of the house, the estate, dealing with the staff, the tenants. However, I can only access funds—with the exception of my salary, which will continue to be paid directly into my personal account as it always has been—if it’s to be spent directly on the estate. You know, if some new fencing is needed somewhere, or the roof needs fixing—you get the idea. So basically I can’t dip into bank accounts or cash in Dad’s investments and blow the money, which is fine, since I had no intention of doing that anyway.”

“So, er, what’s the problem? I’m assuming your salary gives you enough to live on.”

“It does, fortunately, including the mortgage and bills on my place in London. But that’s not the problem. The problem is, if I don’t marry a suitable man within twelve months, I will lose everything. The house, the estate, my job… all I’d have is a monthly allowance to help me keep my head above water. Worse still—”

“It gets worse?” Thomas said, his eyes wide as he downed some more of his drink, clearly struggling to process what she was saying.

“I’m afraid it does. If I don’t find a suitable husband, not only will I not be able to inherit… my fucking cousin will be entitled to the bloody lot!”

“Your cousin Quinn? The stuck up, smarmy-looking bugger that scarpered as soon as he possibly could this afternoon?”

“That’s the one. He’s got no idea about any of this—nobody has, except for the solicitors. Thank God. But you saw him—he’s a total prick. If he got his hands on this place, he’d blow the cash, ruin the business, then sell up and pocket what was left without a second thought. He’s got no interest in running an estate. And there’s no way in hell I’m going to allow him to get his wretched hands on everything my father, and his father before him, worked for, and piss it away. People rely on this estate, rely on me now, for employment, for their livelihoods, and there’s no way I’m going to let them down.”

She swallowed the rest of the whiskey, then fixed her gaze on Thomas, waiting for his response. Amazingly, despite the fact she’d just rehashed her living nightmare, she felt better having confided in someone.

Thomas stared right back at her in silence, apparently dumbfounded. After a few moments, colour rushed into his cheeks and he burst out, “But that’s ridiculous. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, Mia, but what on earth was Edward thinking? Forcing you to marry someone, just so you can inherit what you’re entitled to—what you bloody well deserve, given how hard you work for this estate. I don’t get it. I just don’t get it at all. What difference is you having a husband going to make to anything? This isn’t the eighteen hundreds.”

“Tell me about it,” she said wryly. “I didn’t get it at first, either. I’m still not one hundred percent sure I get it now, but I do have a theory.”

“Go on…”

“Like I said to you earlier, Dad was always on at me to ‘find myself a nice man’. He was worried about me being by myself after he was gone, especially since I’m an only child. You know, doing all the work, shouldering all the responsibility by myself. Perhaps he thought if I got myself a husband, he could help with all that. I know, I know, it still sounds pretty stupid, but I think Dad’s heart was in the right place. Only so was his bloody signature, so it’s legally binding, not just the wishes of a concerned father. Basically, it’s an ultimatum—get married, or get out and that arsehole Quinn gets everything. Oh, and I forgot!”

“There’s more?” Thomas’s eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline.

“Yes. My husband, who must be someone worthy of my social status and class—Dad’s words, not mine—also has to agree to take my name when we marry, so any children we have will carry the Harrington name, and therefore continue the line of Harringtons. And last, but certainly not least, he will be required to sign a pre-nuptial agreement to state that should we divorce, he will not be entitled to anything.”

“Fuck.” Thomas ran a hand through his hair, then got up and strode into the kitchen, returning a moment later with the bottle of whiskey and a clean tumbler. He refilled Mia’s glass, then dropped back into his seat and poured himself a healthy measure. “Fucking hell.”

“That about sums it up,” she replied, noting that her bombshell had driven Thomas to the whiskey. “And thanks.” She lifted the glass.

He nodded acknowledgement. “So what are you going to do?”

“Well, I’ve got no choice, have I? It’s legally binding.” After gulping down half the contents of her glass, she continued, “It’s fucking blackmail from the afterlife, that’s what it is. I loved that man to pieces, but he must have been out of his bloody mind when he changed his will to add this ridiculous caveat. I’ve got nothing against having a husband, but I’m in no particular rush, either. And I certainly don’t need one to help me run the estate. I can manage perfectly well on my own, and if I couldn’t, I’d employ someone to help out. Why the hell didn’t that occur to him?”

“Maybe he was out of his mind when he changed the will—I mean literally,” Thomas said quietly.

“What are you on about?”

“I don’t know how to say this without it coming across as insensitive, so I apologise in advance, but Edward was in pain, wasn’t he? He was having treatment for the cancer; I assume he was on all kinds of drugs, pain relief and whatnot. Maybe all those chemicals whizzing around his system affected his brain, his capacity for thinking and logic. Perhaps, in his mind, this crazy idea of his made perfect sense. You know he would have never done anything to deliberately hurt you, Mia, so I can only think that, like you say, whatever his reasoning, his heart was in the right place. He had to have thought he was doing his best for you, to make sure you would be all right after he was gone. Had to.”

Silence reigned as Mia turned Thomas’s words over in her head. There was something in them, some thread of significance, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was just yet. She took a healthy swallow of whiskey, willing her synapses to fire faster, to come up with the solution she knew was eluding her.

Then, suddenly, it hit her. She jumped up, almost spilling her drink in her excitement. “Tom—you’re a fucking genius! Oh my God, I knew talking to you about this would be a good idea!”

Thomas got to his feet, his confused expression showing that he hadn’t yet come to the same conclusion Mia had reached. He moved in front of her and looked into her eyes. “Not that I don’t enjoy being called a ‘fucking genius’, but I’m feeling far from clever right now. What the hell are you talking about?”

Barely able to contain her enthusiasm, she bobbed up and down on the balls of her socked feet. “What you said, about the drugs and chemicals—it’s the only thing that makes sense. He can’t have been himself when he made the change to the will. What do they call it, diminished mental capacity or something? Hopefully it means I can contest the will and insist it’s reverted back to the previous version on file, which will get rid of this stupid clause about me having to get married. Then I can get on with running things here and not worry about finding a husband I don’t bloody want.”

“Wow, erm… I’m not sure what to say.” He shook his head. “I’m not trying to be devil’s advocate here, but how could you possibly prove what his mental capacity was at the time? Didn’t you say it was months ago? And now, obviously, it’s, erm, too late to do any tests…”

Mia shrugged, the alcohol making her bold and blasé. “Way I see it, it’s not up to me to prove his mental capacity was diminished. It’s up to the solicitors to prove it wasn’t. And if nobody can prove anything either way… who knows? Just having the question raised, the doubt, might be enough to allow me to contest. Don’t you see how exciting this is? I can stop that greedy bastard Quinn getting his hands on this place! I told Lenton it would only happen over my dead body, and I bloody well meant it.” She threw her arms around Thomas’s neck, this time sloshing whiskey over her hand and onto the rug beneath their feet, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you so much, Tom. You’re a total genius. If you weren’t the only gardener, I’d give you a promotion!”

“A pay rise wouldn’t go amiss,” he quipped, putting his free hand on her shoulder and gently guiding her back so he could look her in the eye. “But in all seriousness—”

His words were cut off as Mia planted another kiss on him—this time on his mouth.

𓆩♡𓆪

Chapter Five

Mia tasted whiskey on Thomas’s lips, as he no doubt did on hers, and she found that she didn’t want to stop kissing him. She’d only planned it to be a friendly peck of gratitude, but for some unknown reason she’d remained in position, her lips fastened to his, and he hadn’t pulled away or protested.

She shifted her body closer to his, so their torsos were flush. He still didn’t pull away or protest, so she deepened the kiss, peeking her tongue out to seek entry to his mouth. Thomas let out a groan and opened to her, and now she tasted the whiskey on his tongue, too. They both still held their glasses, so their movements were limited, but Mia slid her free hand around the back of Thomas’s neck, while he wound his around her waist, pinning her in place as their kiss moved from surprising and tentative to needy and sensual.

This is probably a terrible idea. The worst idea you’ve ever had. And that’s saying something.

But despite her internal doubts, she continued to kiss Thomas, and he kissed her right back. It grew increasingly hot and heavy as their tongues twisted and thrust and danced together, and her arousal started to crowd out everything that wasn’t the here and now. Soon, Mia was entirely consumed by Thomas; by his strong arm wrapped around her, by his hot lips moulded to hers, by his heaving chest as he fought for each breath, and by the feel of his soft, thick hair clenched in her fingers.

Her body having taken over her mind, she used her grip on his hair to tilt his head back, breaking their kiss. Then, her olfactory sense full of his fresh, spicy cologne, she peppered butterfly kisses and gentle nibbles over his neck and jaw line, before shifting to his left ear and pulling the lobe into her mouth to suck on it.

Thomas’s moan, now no longer muffled by her mouth, rang out into the room and sent thrills racing through her. She released his earlobe, then licked a line down and under his chin, up to the other ear, where she repeated the gesture.

“Oh, fuck,” he said, his words a little slurred, but Mia was confident it was arousal causing that, rather than drunkenness. He’d had even less alcohol to drink than her, and all she felt was a pleasant buzz, mixed with just enough brazenness to continue what she’d started. “Oh God, that feels good.” He crept his hand down to her arse and gripped one buttock, hauling her against him. She felt the hardness of his cock through their clothes and suddenly wanted nothing more than to see it, touch it, taste it, have it inside her. Deep inside.

When she stepped back, he released her without hesitation, his eyes wide with panic. But his concern soon evaporated when she took his glass from him and put it, along with hers, down on a side table, then advanced on him once more. He grinned and held his arms wide, then wrapped them around her as soon as she stepped into them.

She tilted her head back and looked up at him. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

He let out a splutter of a laugh, his lovely eyes crinkling at the corners. “Are you joking? I’m a man, and you’re as sexy as hell. Besides, shouldn’t I really be the one asking you that, given the circumstances?”

She smirked. “Maybe. But although my inhibitions might be the tiniest bit relaxed, I’m still in full control of my faculties. And the fact I just said all those big words without tripping over them should reassure you that I’m plenty sober enough to know what I’m doing. We’re just two adults enjoying each other, right? Having a bit of fun.”

“Well, I’ve enjoyed what we’ve been doing so far, but I think we can improve on that…” Apparently done talking, he scooped her up against him and sealed his lips to hers once more.

She relaxed into his embrace and looped her arms around his neck, glad to have the use of both hands. They picked up where they’d left off—their kiss frantic and frenzied, their mouths and tongues working hard, and their lips crushed bruisingly together.

The level of Mia’s need spiralled out of control. She wanted to fuck Thomas, and she wanted it now. She began walking, pushing him backwards towards the three-seater sofa. He stumbled a little at first, but once he realised what she was doing, he went willingly, pulling her along with him. When they reached the sofa, Mia stepped back, then gave Thomas a shove so he fell back onto the cushions.

His resultant chuckle died in his throat as she unzipped her hoodie. He remained silent as she pulled it off and tossed it onto the armchair she’d recently vacated, then bent and removed her socks. Once she’d straightened, she jerked her chin towards him, her eagerness making her impatient. “Now you.”

Without taking his eyes from her, he toed off his own socks and ditched his hoodie. The black T-shirt he wore was just loose enough that she couldn’t make out his muscles beneath it. Figuring there was an easy solution to that, Mia pointed and said with a smirk, “That, too. In fact, why don’t you just get naked?”

With a lazy lift of his right shoulder, he shot back, “I will if you will.”

“You’re on.” Thankful for the warmth the fire was now pumping out, Mia undressed, her arousal making her clumsy. Once the remainder of her clothes rested in a haphazard pile on top of her hoodie, she turned her attention to Thomas, who had, by now, divested himself of his own garments and retaken his seat. And wow, was he worthy of that attention.

She drank him in greedily, from his already-mussed hair to his bare feet, with particular focus on the parts that lay in between. She’d seen his top half many times before, when he’d worked shirtless in the gardens, but this was different. This was sexual, and she wasn’t just going to look. He had the broad shoulders and well-muscled arms of a manual worker, as well as the softly-defined pectorals and six-pack of someone who worked out occasionally. A trail of dark hair led tantalisingly from his belly button to the top of his pubic bone, where it spread out into a neatly-trimmed mat, springing from which was his thick, uncut cock.

Mia briefly admired his meaty thighs, before returning her gaze to the appendage that thrust rudely up from their apex. She grinned widely before looking up to meet his eyes, seeing that his own had darkened with need as he mirrored her inspection of him. “Like what you see?” she asked, playfully jutting a hip and placing her hand on it.

“What do you think?” he replied, his tone incredulous as he gestured at his erection. “I told you you’re as sexy as hell.”

“Thank you. You’re pretty damn sexy, yourself.”

“So why don’t you do something about it?”

Closing the distance between them, she purred, “I intend to”, before straddling him and settling on his lap. She gasped at the heat of his skin as their bare bodies met, and couldn’t resist grinding against his cock, which poked up between them.

Thomas growled and shot his hands out, where they hovered for a moment as he struggled with indecision, then apparently decided on getting the best of both worlds—cupping a breast with one, and clutching at a naked buttock with the other.

With a smile, she let her own hands wander, sweeping them across his shoulders, then his firm pecs, before scraping her nails lightly over the ridges of his abdomen, stopping only when she reached the edge of his pubic hair. Her fingers rested on either side of his shaft, tantalisingly close, and after holding out for a few seconds while he squeezed and kneaded at her mounds of flesh, she could resist no longer. She curled the fingers of her right hand around his dick, and shifted her left down to cup and lightly tug at his balls.

His movements stilled, and he gave a throaty moan as his head lolled back against the cushions behind him. “Fuck, Mia, that’s so good. So good.”

“Yeah? What about this?” She tightened her grip on his shaft and began to pump it faster, revelling in the sensation of it swelling and heating beneath her touch.

“Uhh,” he ground out, dropping his hands onto her thighs and digging his fingertips into her flesh, “yesss, that’s fucking incredible. But Mia?”

“Yes, Tom?”

Rolling his head back to its natural position, he then fixed dopey eyes on her and said, “I might be a fucking genius, but I’m not superhuman.” He sucked in a sharp breath as she stroked him faster still and closed his eyes for a moment. His tone strangled, he continued, “Much more of… that, and I’ll come.”

“Isn’t that kind of the point?” She kept up the pace.

“I suppose so, but I want… uhh… to be inside you. Amongst other things. I don’t want to rush.”

“How’s your recovery time?”

“My… huh?” His brow creased.

“If you come now, how long before you can get hard again?”

He blinked a couple of times. “Not long, I don’t think. Maybe… twenty minutes.”

Slipping the index finger of her left hand beneath his balls and pressing at his perineum, she replied, “Well, there you go then. What’s the problem?”

She hadn’t intended to tease him this way, but once she’d seen what a quivering wreck her touch had turned him into, she’d become hooked on the power trip. Quickly, she scrambled off his lap and knelt beside him on the sofa at ninety degrees, then continued what she’d been doing, this time with her right hand further down so she could clamp her lips around his glans. She groaned as the taste of him swept over her taste buds, salty-sweet and deeply, deliciously masculine. His shaft was hot against her tongue and lips, and she got it good and wet with her saliva before sucking him in earnest, bobbing her head up and down while her hands got busy with the base of his dick and his balls.

Mia was vaguely aware of Thomas’s hand groping at her head, awkwardly gathering up her hair and pulling it into a ponytail, which he fisted tightly, tugging at her roots. She snatched in a breath through her nostrils as sparks of pain danced across her scalp. She wasn’t averse to a little bit of rough play, though. In fact, she enjoyed it.

With that thought in mind, she concentrated on finishing him off—sucking and stroking his rigid dick at an increasingly frenzied pace until his balls tightened in her hand and his shaft thickened and twitched in her mouth, before letting loose jet after jet of hot, creamy spunk. She swallowed it down eagerly and, as soon as he was done, she flipped over and sat on the sofa, still at ninety degrees to Thomas.

“Hey,” she said. Then, when he turned to her with an enquiring look, she grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him towards her. “Time to return the favour.”

She lay back, tugging him with her until he got the hint and positioned himself between her spread legs, his head just in the right spot to go down on her—which of course had been Mia’s intention all along. With a grin, she pushed both hands into his thick hair, closed her eyes, and held on tight as he lowered his head towards her pussy.

At the first touch of his mouth, she gasped. He gripped her inner thighs, parting her further, and began to feast. First, he teased her—and she couldn’t exactly blame him for that. She had told him to return the favour, after all. He huffed hot gusts of breath over her sensitive skin, then ran his tongue lightly up the seam of her, so lightly that it tickled and turned her on at the same time. A trickle of juice seeped from her core, and her clit ached for attention. It swelled some more as Thomas slipped his tongue between her folds, licking up her wetness from its very source.

He made an approving, yet unintelligible sound, muffled against her body, then licked his way to her clit, so maddeningly slowly that she growled with frustration and bucked her hips. Thomas chuckled, then fastened his mouth around her swollen bud and gave her what she wanted, what she demanded. He sucked and pulled at the sensitive nub of flesh, causing bolts of pure bliss to zigzag through her body, and a strangled moan to escape her lips as he pushed two thick fingers inside her slick channel.

Thomas began to fuck her with his fingers as he suckled her clit, and Mia soon felt her orgasm building. She tingled all over, and she pulled his head harder against her as the familiar tightness centred on her abdomen, silently begging him to tip her over the edge. With skill and enthusiasm, he continued pleasuring her, his fingers, lips, and tongue working in perfect harmony, propelling her rapidly towards her climax.

When it came, it hit her hard. Mia cried out as the tightness that had formed in her abdomen exploded out through every part of her, right to the very tips of her fingers and toes, even as her pussy spasmed around Thomas’s fingers. The bliss rolled over her again and again, leaving her dry-mouthed and gasping as the waves finally receded and she opened her eyes with some effort to look at Thomas.

He carefully removed his fingers, then lifted his head, and she was treated to a view of his grinning face, the bottom part of which was covered in her juices. He licked his lips and shot her a wicked grin. “That was… intense.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she replied lazily, then shifted her gaze further down his body. “How are we doing down there?”

Reaching a hand to his cock, he fisted it. “Fine and dandy, thank you. And you?”

Mimicking his movement, she pushed a finger inside her pussy, then removed it and put it in her mouth. With deliberate slowness, she pulled it back out, sucking off her juices along the way—the whole time maintaining eye contact. When her digit slipped free with a pop, she curved her lips into a wicked grin of her own. “Wet and willing. More than willing. You got a condom?”

He nodded. “One sec.” With that, he quickly retrieved one from his wallet, then opened it and rolled it on. Then he hurried back to his place on the sofa, picked her up and manoeuvred them until she was astride him. Then he took hold of his cock and positioned the head at her entrance, his other hand splayed on her arse cheek and urging her onto him.

She resisted for just a moment, but couldn’t last any longer than that. She wanted him inside her as much as he clearly wanted to be inside her. Resting her hands on his shoulders, she lifted herself up and onto him, then dropped down with a speed that left them both gasping.

Mia closed her eyes, letting the blissful sensation of being stretched and filled permeate her every cell. She clenched her internal muscles, smiling as Thomas grunted at the grip of her around him.

“God, Mia,” he said, moving his free hand to the back of her neck. She opened her eyes. “At the risk of sounding like a broken record, you feel amazing.”

Overwhelmed by an urge to be closer to him—if that was even physically possible—she leaned down and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her back, enveloping her. She’d never even considered the idea of feeling protected during sex before, but somehow that was precisely the effect Thomas was having. As though anything up to and including nuclear war could be taking place outside the walls of the cottage, and it wouldn’t matter because he would shield her from it. Either that, or he just felt so damn amazing inside her, against her, around her, that she simply wouldn’t care what was happening.

Cupping his face, she deepened the kiss, at the same time slowly rolling her hips, beginning to move on his shaft. The slick, intimate sounds of their lovemaking reached her ears and she groaned into Thomas’s mouth as his arms tightened around her.

They carried on this way for some time—gently fucking, slow and deep, clinging to each other as the movement of their lips and tongues echoed what was going on much lower down their bodies. Goosebumps erupted over Mia’s skin as each nerve ending within her sex was stimulated by the rhythmic rocking and thrusting of Thomas’s cock. A heat in her belly flickered to life, its flames fed by the growing pleasure between her legs, a pleasure that was exacerbated when she began to grind her clit against Thomas’s body with each thrust.

Soon, their lazy pace was no longer enough. With the promise of another orgasm bubbling away deep within her, Mia went after it. She rocked harder on Thomas’s lap, and he relaxed his grip so she had more freedom of movement, a situation she took full advantage of.

Thomas moved his hands to cup her backside, pulling her onto him more and more roughly with each thrust, as well as lifting his hips to meet her. Their gentle fuck a thing of the past, they now rutted like animals, their bodies slap, slap, slapping together, hands clutching, hissed expletives and guttural moans filling the air as they jerked and pistoned their way to climax.

Now tingling from head to foot, Mia concentrated hard on the white-hot sensation at her core, the raging heat in her belly. She pursued her orgasm frenziedly, almost out of her mind with need as she bounced on Thomas. His hands and mouth on her, his cock in her, felt amazing, and before long she was so close to coming that she could almost touch it.

“Tom,” she ground out, ignoring the growing fatigue in her muscles, “I’m almost there. Fuck me faster.”

His response was to flip them over until his big body covered hers, then proceed to fuck her with a ferocity that left her feeling like a ragdoll. She squeezed her eyes closed, taking every perfect inch of him, over and over as he pounded her into the sofa cushions, until she exploded with a feral scream and was entirely overwhelmed by bliss.

Thomas came only moments later, letting out a long, low moan as his cock twitched and swelled inside her.

𓆩♡𓆪

Chapter Six

Mia thanked the driver as he helped her out of the car. He gave a respectful nod. “You’re welcome, Miss Harrington. Let me know when you’re ready to leave and I’ll come and collect you.”

“Will do. I’ll see you later.”

As he returned to the vehicle, Mia turned to face the grand building she was about to enter and drew her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, as though it would give her some sort of protection. Not that she particularly needed protection at a charity function, held in central London for society’s richest and most famous—which were often the same thing—perhaps it was more like comfort. A security blanket.

It was the first event she’d attended since her father’s death just over two weeks previously, and she wasn’t particularly looking forward to it. Edward Harrington had been very well known in these circles and she just knew she’d spend some of the evening fielding questions and sympathy. Since her mother’s death, she’d often accompanied her father to charity balls and fundraisers, and even attended some on his behalf when he couldn’t make it. But she’d always either been a plus one, or had a plus one. The pitying looks she’d receive as a result of turning up alone would only be exacerbated when people recognised her.

She could have brought a plus one, of course, but after some consideration hadn’t bothered. Following her newly-established friends-with-benefits arrangement with Thomas, her first instinct had been to invite him. But then she’d remembered just how much he detested wearing a “monkey suit” and decided against it. After further consideration, she figured she’d made the right decision—he’d have disliked the flagrant show of wealth on display, and would have no doubt felt very out of place. They’d both have probably been embarrassed by questions and assumptions about their relationship status, too, especially once people discovered he was her employee.

She’d contemplated asking another of her male friends who would be more comfortable with the situation, but having remembered her first choice was out of the country, and the second on the verge of getting engaged, figured it simply wasn’t meant to be. A paid escort was not her style at all, so alone it was.

As she walked carefully but quickly—eager to get out of the chilly, late-November air—up the steps of the stunning, historic venue, exchanging polite smiles and nods with others doing the same, she came to the conclusion that being dateless could actually be a good thing. Where better to find herself a “worthy” husband than at an event attended by people with lots of money—and some of them even there for philanthropy, rather than just to be “seen” at such a prestigious occasion?

Reaching the entrance, she gave her name at the door and was welcomed in, then invited to make her way into an antechamber off the main hall, where cocktails were being served before dinner.

She made a detour to the bathroom first—ostensibly to check her hair, makeup and aquamarine-blue off-the-shoulder Versace dress had survived the short drive across town—but in reality she was buying some time to build herself up to what could potentially be quite a difficult evening. The fact that the charity benefitting from tonight’s fundraising efforts was a cancer organisation—one which was due to receive funds following her father’s death—didn’t help matters.

But that made her attendance all the more important. It was a vital organisation which provided help and support to those suffering from cancer, as well as their families, and also funded research into treatments and, hopefully, eventual cures. Her father would want her to be here in his stead, and so she would be.

Blinking rapidly to force back the moisture that had developed in her eyes, she busied herself by rearranging her shawl so it looped around the middle of her back, with the ends resting over the crooks of her elbows. She hadn’t checked it into the cloakroom, in case her bare arms and shoulders got cold during the evening, but at least now her dress was more visible. Satisfied, she retrieved her lipstick from her clutch bag and applied a fresh coat. After blotting it, tidying the edges, and ensuring she hadn’t got any on her teeth, she took a deep breath and made her way towards the antechamber. A cocktail would take the edge off her discomfort, for sure.

Head held high, she entered the room and immediately found herself scanning the crowd for someone she knew. It was odd—when she was alone, she was perfectly comfortable, even happy, in her own company. But put her in a room full of people and being by herself was suddenly the last thing she wanted. A conundrum indeed, given if she did spot someone she knew, she’d end up with the sympathetic looks and words she so dreaded.

A waiter appeared with a tray of drinks. “Cosmopolitan or Mai Tai, madam?”

She smiled. “Ooh, what a choice to have to make!”

The corners of his lips flickering up, he replied with a glint in his eye, “You could always have one of each.”

“And look like an alcoholic? I don’t think so,” she quipped, still smiling to show him she was joking. “I think I’ll go with the Mai Tai.” She took the proffered drink. “Thank you.”

He gave a quick nod, then efficiently moved off to deliver drinks to more guests. The room was filling nicely, which reminded Mia that in this crowd, there had to be someone she knew. If it was someone she actually liked, all the better. Maybe once she’d gotten the sorry-for-your-loss stuff out of the way, they could talk about something else.

She jumped, almost spilling her drink, when a male voice came from beside her. “You look as though you want to be here about as much as I do.”

Mia turned to face the owner of the voice with a glare, and had to look up to compensate for their height difference, despite her heels. “You shouldn’t creep up on people like that. I almost got Mai Tai on my dress.”

The man—who looked to be around her age, maybe a couple of years older, and was very handsome with his neat, dark hair and expensive suit—took in her attire and said, “I’m sorry. It would have been a shame to ruin such a beautiful dress. And I apologise for startling you, also.” He held out a hand. “My name is Elias Pym.”

His impeccable manners and seemingly heartfelt apology softening the edge of her irritation, she reached out and shook his hand. “Mia Harrington. Lovely to meet you.”

“It’s a pleasure.” Elias glanced around, then met her gaze, his brown eyes questioning. “If I might ask, are you looking for someone? Your date, perhaps?”

She shook her head, suppressing a smile at his subtle way of attempting to find out if she was here with someone. His clever turn of phrase, and the fact he was easy on the eyes, encouraged her to throw him a bone. “I’m embarrassed to admit,” she lowered her voice and leaned towards him conspiratorially, “I don’t have a date. I’m here by myself.”

Elias raised his eyebrows. “That is an absolute travesty.” He paused. “So I was right… about you not wanting to be here.”

“How do you work that one out?”

“Your body language when I approached didn’t exactly scream ‘relaxed and happy’. And if you don’t have a date, this isn’t really a social thing for you. Which leads me to conclude that you’re here out of duty, or something akin to it.”

“You’re very astute,” she replied, impressed.

“And you’re very good at answering a question without actually answering a question.”

“Touché.” She allowed herself a smile. “So what’s your excuse, then?”

His dark eyebrows drew together. “Excuse?”

“For being here, not wanting to be here, whatever.”

He shrugged and took a sip of his drink—it looked as though he’d gone for the Cosmopolitan—then said, “Just not my thing, that’s all. Don’t get me wrong, I believe in the cause, and there’s no doubt that more money needs to be ploughed into research and helping people, but this just seems like a… frivolous way of doing it. You know, all these rich people enjoying themselves and throwing money around while those it’s intended for are suffering. It’s a bit of a slap in the face, if you ask me.”

“Wow,” she replied. “I, uh, don’t quite know what to say to that.”

Elias held a hand to his chest, looking contrite. “I’m sorry, Mia. I didn’t mean to blurt all that out. It was rude and inappropriate.”

“Actually, no,” she said, shaking her head, “I think you’re onto something. I hadn’t thought of it that way. Your honesty is very refreshing.”

“Thank you… I think,” he replied, dimples appearing in his cheeks as he flashed a perfect smile.

“You’re welcome.” She sampled her Mai Tai, humming low in her throat as the delicious flavours hit her taste buds. “So, where’s your date?”

“I don’t have one, either. I’ve been dragged along by my father—he’s one of the rich people who will be enjoying himself and throwing money around.”

A snort escaped before she could stop it. She clapped a hand over her mouth, her face flaming in mortification. After a couple of seconds, she lowered her hand. “I’m so sorry, that wasn’t very ladylike. You seem to be incredibly good at startling me, and surprising me.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” he shot back with a smile.

“The first isn’t great, but the second is just fine. I like surprises—as long as they’re nice ones.”

Just then, another dark-haired man walked up behind Elias, a few inches taller than him, but no less handsome. “Elias? Is that you?”

Turning, Elias said, “Hey, Alex! You’re here!” Bypassing more formal greetings, the two men did the whole masculine-back-slapping-hug thing. Then they both faced Mia, and Elias said, “Alex, I’d like to introduce you to Mia Harrington.” Then he jerked his thumb towards his friend. “Mia, this is a good friend of mine, Alex Cartwright.”

Mia held out her hand, only marginally surprised when Alex took it, then gently twisted it to place a brief kiss to her knuckles. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mia. You look beautiful, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“Pleased to meet you, Alex,” she replied, extracting her hand and hoping she hadn’t betrayed the effect he’d had on her. The effect they were both having on her. She and Elias had been on the verge of flirting, and she had been quite happy to go along with it and see where it led. But now Alex had swept in, all confident charm, the atmosphere had changed. The way he had looked at her hinted at his interest, and given he was clearly much less subtle than his friend, the stakes had been increased. No doubt there would be rivalry between them, but she hoped that, since they were obviously fond of each other, it would remain friendly. There was a certain flattery in being fought over, admittedly, but only if it didn’t go too far. She had no wish to make a scene or ruin a friendship.

Of course, it was entirely possible she’d gotten the whole situation wrong. Reading between the lines, Elias was single, but that didn’t mean Alex was. There was an easy way to find out. “What have you done with your date, Alex?”

His blue-green eyes narrowing, he said, “I don’t have one, I’m afraid.”

Mia frowned and shook her head. “How is it possible that two eligible bachelors such as yourselves don’t have dates? What is wrong with the women in this country?”

“Since you’ve been talking to my friend here,” Alex said, pointing his chin towards Elias, “I’m guessing you’re here by yourself, too. Which I find equally perplexing. We’re like a lonely hearts club.” He chuckled at his own joke, then gave Elias’s arm a gentle nudge.

“That’s a terrible turn of phrase,” Mia replied, wrinkling her nose.

“I’m sorry,” Alex said on a gasp, “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

She gave a small smile. “I’m not offended. But I’m not a lonely heart, either.” She indicated the two men. “I may not have a date this evening, but I’ve got the company of two sophisticated gentlemen—and that’s perfectly all right with me.”

“Fair enough,” Elias put in. “We sophisticated gentlemen will just have to share you, won’t we?”

Mia didn’t miss the glance he shot towards his friend. She couldn’t interpret it, but something told her that perhaps this evening wasn’t going to be as dull as she’d first thought.

𓆩♡𓆪

Mia's Men (Book One of The Heiress's Harem Series)