Page 98 of Filthy Lovin Heroes

Suddenly, the heavy green velvet bed curtains snapped open. The light was dim in the room, but there was no missing the figure standing next to the bed.

“Aha!” My mother was dressed in a navy twin sweater set with our family tartan in a tailored skirt. It was daybreak, and she was already in pearls and pumps. If the apocalypse ever came, she would greet it clutching them.

Holly let out a squeak of surprise underneath me.

“Get the fuck out.” I roared, turning my head as I hunched my body over Holly to shield her.

Now, my mother released the bed curtains to peer at my bed.

“Mother, get out. Now.” The fury in my voice would have frightened anyone else.

“Finally! I thought I would never get grandbabies.” My mother clapped her hands together and smiled, as foreign to the woman as respecting privacy.

“What?” My fury was replaced with confusion. I glanced at Holly. She had slid away from me and pulled the covers up to her chin.

“I’ve been setting you up with Lord McAdam’s drippy daughter, Rosalie, because she has a girlfriend, because, you know, there’s still the matter of heirs. A mother’s work is never done.”

“Mother.” I didn’t know what horrified me more. That my mother barged in here, thought I was making babies, or had planned to marry me off as a beard. This was a lot to process before sunrise. “Wait for me in my study.”

“You can’t blame a mother for having her son’s best interests at heart.” She didn’t seem inclined to move in the least. She craned her neck to get a better view of Holly. “She’s rather small. Is she legal?”

“I’m right here. I can hear everything you say,” Holly said tartly from her blankets. “Perhaps you’d like to inspect my teeth.”

“There’s no need to be vulgar, Dear. Your dentist can send a report to my secretary.” My mother turned to me. “Does she have to be American?”

“Mother, you are American.” I ground out through clenched teeth.

My mother ignored my comment, as she often did. She thought she was more Scottish than my father was, and he was born in this castle.

“Really?” Holly’s voice was full of surprise. “I’m from the Bronx.”

My mother shuddered. “We’ll say she’s from Connecticut.”

“No one is saying anything, Mother.”

“Of course, she will be presented to the press. It’s hard to get a good look at her in this light, but an excellent stylist can fix anything.”

“Mother,” I ground my teeth. “You have three seconds to leave, or I will get up and personally show you the door.

She snapped the curtains closed. “Carry on, you two. We can catch up at tea time. Out you go, Philips. His Grace does not wish to be disturbed this morning.” My bedroom door closed firmly behind her.

I fell back on the bed, pulling Holly to me.

“That was the former Duchess of Lachlan. I don’t think she’s ever been in this room before.”

“It wasn’t the introduction I expected to your family. In fact, I wasn’t expecting to meet them all that.”

I hadn’t been planning on introducing Holly to my mother with her in my bed. Jamie or Fergus had cracked under her interrogation. And the fact that she thought I was going to let her plan my wedding to some unknown was beyond ludicrous. I’d been working my ass off for the past half-year staving off creditors and saving the ancestral home. I didn’t have the luxury of hunting for a bride even if I wanted to.

Though, to be honest, the only one I craved was snuggled up against me.

“Sorry about that.” I hadn’t decided how much to tell Holly. I’d been planning on keeping her and my life here separate somehow. Clearly, that was not happening now.

“You never told me your mother was American.”

“Had I told you anything about my family life?” Her skin smelled fantastic. It wasn’t perfume because she’d only arrived with a backpack.

“No, but somehow that makes more sense how you were so at home in New York and can be so at home in a completely different life here.”

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