Page 23 of Duke It Out
“Finn’s an enigma,” Jamie says, chewing. He points at Rory. “He’s the control freak, and I’m the easy-going one.”
“You remember Edie’s a writer, and she’s probably taking notes under the table, yes?”
I waggle both hands in the air. “I’m not, I promise.”
“You might have a recording device tucked in your dress.” Rory’s gaze rakes over me for a long moment and I feel the hairs at the back of my neck rising. I flatten my hands on the table for a moment, steadying myself.
“No devices,” I say, brightly, taking a gulp of wine and trying not to choke. I can’t help remembering the last time he looked at me like that. “So, you said your brother is rescuing seals?”
Jamie helps himself to some more potatoes. “Yeah, he’s a marine mammal medic. It’s a lot of Ms for someone who scoops up baby seals and saves them when they get washed ashore or abandoned by their parents. It’s probably highly symbolic,” he adds, earning another glare from Rory.
I try my best to answer Jamie’s well-bred attempts to keep the conversation going, and his brother snaps tersely, his eyesnever leaving me as if I’m an unexploded bomb about to go off at the table opposite him.
“So did Janey give you the guided tour?”
I tip my head sideways. “Ish. She showed me downstairs and gave me a map of the castle, but she said there was lots more to see.”
“Did you see the stables?”
“Stables?” I shake my head. “We didn’t go outside.”
“Do you ride? I could take you out tomorrow if you like, show you the place from horseback. It’s a good way to get the lie of the land.”
“I haven’t ridden since I was a teenager,” I admit, and a flutter of nerves gathers in my stomach. “I think it’s probably like riding a bike though, isn’t it?”
“Not if we put you on Ras, the stallion,” says Jamie with a grin. “He’s more like a formula one car than a bike.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” says Rory flatly. He reaches across the table and slowly pours himself a glass of water before speaking. “I’ll take you out,” he continues, surprising me. “After breakfast.”
“I’ll tell Kate on the way back to the house,” Jamie says equably. “She’ll probably be glad of some female company. I suspect I bore her to death, hanging round the yard every day.”
I carry on eating, stuck for something to say. Rory tops up my wine.
“Or would you rather champagne?” He fixes me with a look and his brows lift for the briefest of moments. I can’t work out if I’m imagining the implication.
“Red is fine, thank you very much.”
“You’ll like Kate,” Jamie says a moment later. “She’s pretty fucking amazing. Don’t make the mistake of thinking she’sjust a stable girl. She’s responsible for the whole stud, deals with horses worth hundreds of thousands of pounds, sells them over the world.” He sits back in his chair and takes a swig from his wine glass. “She knows their bloodlines inside out. It’s pretty cool.”
“Edie can see for herself tomorrow,” says Rory. “Have you got everything you need? Janey’s generally on top of everything.”
I nod. “Even notebooks.”
“She’s a gem. She basically holds this place together.”
“She is,” Rory agrees. “Every estate needs someone like Janey. She’s worth her weight in gold.”
“She has to be,” he adds. “Half the time I think she’s the only one who knows what a shitshow this place really is.”
He sounds genuinely affectionate and it’s the first crack in his armour I’ve seen. Maybe he’s not a complete monster, after all.
“She keeps us in line,” Jamie says, offering the wine around then helping himself to more when both Rory, and I shake our heads. “Not to mention the rest of the workers. Basically, if you want anything, Janey’s your first stop. I don’t know how she does it, but she’s got her eye on the ball 24/7.”
“She has no choice with you,” Rory says, pinning him with a narrow-eyed look.
Jamie raises his glass in a mocking toast. “Someone has to keep the family traditions up. That wine cellar isn’t going to empty itself.”
Rory sits back and folds his arms, looking across the table with cool contempt. The sleeves of his expensive-looking white shirt are rolled up again, showing off the dusting of dark hairs and the lines of the thistle tattoo. I’ve traced those lines with my finger. My stomach contracts at the memory.
