Page 3 of Reckless Kiss

“Fine, but if I walk in to see my aunt with a dog in my arms, it will not go in my favour.”

Archer pushed open the side gate and trudged along the pathway to the main house. The dog trotted next to him, sniffing at anything that took his interest. The Georgian Palladian building and the rest of the properties stood on flat land at the top of the cliff. The Turners had lived there for four hundred years. Not that he or his siblings saw a penny of the wealth. With the tradition of the head of thefamily holding the purse strings, everyone else needed to earn a living to survive.

His aunt was currently the matriarch living up to the premise. You were warm and fed if you stayed under a Turner roof, but no money was handed out. When Aunt Cynthia passed away, the purse would be handed to Archer. Something he didn’t want until recently.

He took a deep breath as he approached the shallow, broad steps leading up to the stone pillars in front of the entrance. The dog was in his arms, burrowed deep against his chest like he knew to brace for battle.

In true fashion, the door opened before knocking.

“Mr Archer, it is good to see you back, sir,” Bailey said, greeting him warmly.

“Thanks, Bailey. Do you think you can give this puppy water and something to eat? I have no idea what puppies eat.”

“You had a puppy on an oil rig, sir?”

“No. I found him trying to run from the sea. Somebody had dumped him in a sack.”

“That’s awful. I’ll take care of him,” Bailey said, taking the bundle of puppy from Archer. “Does he have a name?”

“No collar, Bailey. I’ll come down once I’ve seen the matriarch.”

“Very good, Sir. Miss Turner is in the morning room.”

Archer nodded to the footman and left his duffel bag with Bailey and the dog. He strode away through the grand foyer with its ornate marble and sweeping staircase and into the morning room. It still had the same red carpet and aged chairs and sofas. He was sure they were well over a hundred years old. Not that anyone was allowed to sit on them for very long.

He spotted his aunt sitting near the fireplace,wringing her hands as she leaned into the warmth. She wore a bottle-green jumper with a roll collar. Her hair was up in a low bun, her once all-black hair streaked with white. He couldn’t see what else she wore with the thick blanket over her knees. If she wanted to portray a frail little old lady, she had.

“Hello, Aunt,” Archer said once he was a few feet away.

“You’re late,” she answered in her clipped upper-class accent. It was cold, harsh, like a verbal whipping.

“I had to rescue a dog who was drowning.”

“Is that why you’re traipsing your sodden shoes through the house?”

“I didn’t think you’d appreciate bare feet on the ancient carpet.”

She gave him a critical glance from head to toe, taking in his suit. It fit him perfectly—dark blue with a matching tie and crisp white shirt.

“Shall I call down for tea?” Archer asked after a too-long stretch of silence.

“Will you be here that long?”

Sighing heavily, he unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat on the sofa opposite his aunt. She’d aged significantly since he’d last seen her at his grandfather’s funeral. His aunt hadn’t shed a tear at her father’s funeral and left the gravesite when the coffin was lowered. She refused to put on a wake afterwards.

“So you know why I’m here?”

“Not a clue. Your letter said you wanted to talk to me, but it lacked details.”

“I want us to have a piece of our inheritance early,” Archer said.

“Us?”

“Me, Jason, Luke, and Daisy. If dad were alive, he would hand it over.”

“Well, he’s not alive. I am.”

“I can’t imagine you enjoying running an exclusive hotel and cottages at seventy-nine.”

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