Page 2 of Indecent Villain

I come to a stop at the end of the stairs and hesitate. My father’s office will be used for the reading of the will, and the thought of being locked behind closed doors with Tiberius and the attorney makes me want to run. Of course, I do nothing of the sort. I am an Elliot. I can do anything.

At that moment, Mr. Fielding appears.

“My dear, Kinsley,” he says as he moves, taking my cold hands into his much larger and warmer ones. “I am sorry for your loss. Come and take a seat.” He leads me into the office and sits me in a Queen Anne chair in front of the large window. The choice of seating arrangement surprises me, as the meeting table would have sufficed. Nevertheless, I accept the small cup of coffee he places in my hands.

“Thank you for your condolences. It is a very difficult time,” I acknowledge, trying to act the way my mother would want me to—like a lady instead of a rebel. I lean forward and place the cup on the coffee table.

“Mr. Beckett,” Mr. Fielding calls, “please take a seat beside your ward.”

I cringe. I do not want to be his ward, nor do I want him sitting beside me.From his hesitation, I gather he doesn’t want to sit beside me either. He takes the seat opposite, which is even worse. He won’t miss anything now.

Mr. Fielding clears his throat and shoots an impatient glance toward the evil man. “Let’s get started, then.” He unbuttons his blazer and sits, a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Kinsley, you are aware that you are now the ward of Tiberius Beckett, at your father’s request.”

“For two weeks. Yes, I am aware.”

My gaze lifts to the man in question. His hard face shows nothing of what he is thinking. Those dark eyes of his rove over me in a way that causes my heart to pound. The sneer on his cruel lips sets me on edge. As we are, it is the first time I have been close to the man. He looks younger than I first thought. Early thirties to what I previously labeled as early forties. His thick black hair curls over his ears. High cheekbones are marked by a scar across one of them. His rugged features give him a dangerous air, but there is a fleeting hint of vulnerability in his eyes. Have I misread them? The way they narrow on me, I think not. He hates that I’ve seen it. Despite his intimidating presence, I feel a flicker of curiosity about the man who now holds power over me.

A throat clears, which forces my gaze away from Tiberius. Mr. Fielding clears his throat once more. "The last will and testament is rather brief, I am afraid." He looks at me over the rim of his glasses perched on the end of his thin nose. "Your father wasn't one for time-wasting."

"Get on with it," Tiberius growls as his tattooed hands clench his thighs.

"It is a joint will with your mother." Mr. Fielding clears his throat again, which is becoming annoying. "We hereby leave all our assets to our daughter, Kinsley Elliott. The house we also leave to our daughter?—"

"What?" Tiberius questions in a quiet but deep voice as his attention snaps to the attorney. His eyes narrow. "He left the house to"—he turns and glares my way with hatred—“her?”

The papers shake in Mr. Fielding's trembling hands. "That is what he wrote."

"What is going on?" I ask, annoyed. Why would Tiberius be upset that my parents left our family home to me? It makes no sense. But then it makes no sense that I would be left as Tiberius’s ward when the man had made my father nervous.

"You want to know the truth, little girl?" he sneers and stands. He shoves the coffee table out of the way and leans over me, his hands tightly gripping the arms of my chair. When he is so close that I can see silver mixed in with his dark-gray eyes, he says, "The house was supposed to be left to me. I had an agreement with your father." His eyes blaze with emotion. "I have your father's signature on the agreement between us."

I’m trying to concentrate as Tiberius is making a point, but all I can think about is the heady scent of his cologne. It seeps into my senses and gives me ideas I should not be having.

“You smell nice,” I blurt.

His brows shoot up to his hairline as he tightens his jaw and takes his seat, his face on the lawyer. "The house is rightfully mine. I won't sit back and accept this,” he scoffs. "Even in death, he's doing his upmost to fuck with me."

I place a trembling hand on my stomach while I fight to get my equilibrium back. His reaction confuses me. I don't want to draw attention to myself, but I must ask, "Why would you think you’re entitled to this house?”

"Because," he grinds out, "the house belongs to the oldest living male relative. With Jude gone, that is now me. It's the way it has always been done."

"Why didn't I know about that?" I ask softly, feeling like my family betrayed me. “I don’t understand my father. I have only ever seen you from a distance, but now I am your ward. Why?”

Tiberius frowns when his eyes land on me. “None of that matters now."

I force my gaze to the lawyer. “If Tiberius thought he was getting the house, then am I correct to assume my father made a previous will? What was in it?”

"That doesn't?—"

"Tell her," Tiberius snaps.

Mr. Fielding takes a sip of the glass of water in front of him, and says, "In your father’s previous will, he left the house to Tiberius Beckett and explained why. As Tiberius said, the eldest male descendant was to inherit the house."

"My father was Jude Elliott. How are you a Beckett?"

"That piece of paper in your hand will not stand up in court when I have my lawyer file an objection." The man totally ignores me and speaks to Mr. Fielding.

A headache brews behind my temples, and I want to leave the room. I feel sorry for Mr. Fielding, who has done nothing but read my parents’ wishes. Tiberius reminds me of a bull ready to charge. His nostrils flare, and his large body tightens with suppressed anger. He is a tall man who obviously takes good care of himself. The muscle he possesses is unable to hide behind the clothes he wears.

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