Page 70 of Reveal Me
Killian’s security detail have been keeping Ben updated with progress reports from Ardmore. They surround the property from a respectable distance at all times, accompany her when she goes riding. They’re discreet but deadly. I take comfort in knowing thatsomeoneis guarding her properly.
I know she’s under pressure from her family to settle down, but she promised to warn me about things like this. What is she doing entertaining that blond pretentious prick in her home? Himandhis fucking title. The public date withAshworth was bad enough, but Lord Finegan Montgomery’s arrival at the castle is an abomination.
I stride into the drawing room, forcing a neutral expression onto my face. Thank god it’s my superpower. No one has any idea of the jealous beast I am beneath the polite, polished façade. No one but her. And yet somehow–she still loves me.
‘Good afternoon, Your Highness.’ I bow my head at Layla, and she quirks an eyebrow at the formal address.
In a fitted grey dress, she looks conservative, yet utterly stunning. From the minute I left her this morning, I’ve been counting down the seconds until I can hold her again. These past few weeks have been the best of my life. There’s no way I’m letting this pretentious prick take her from me. Him or anyone else.
‘Mr Beckett.’ She raises a dainty, manicured hand, pressing it at the base of her throat. ‘What a surprise.’
Finegan Fuck Face rises from his position on the couch. He glowers at my interruption. ‘Beckett, I wasn’t expecting to meet you here.’
‘I could say the same about you.’ I manage to keep my voice level, despite my disdain for him.
‘I’m here by invitation,’ he says smugly, adjusting his baby pink tie. I’m tempted to string him up by the fucking thing.
‘Really?’ I turn my attention back to the princess. She shrugs and raises her eyebrows and I gather it wasn’t her who invited him, but her meddling mother.
‘Our families go way back.’ Finegan may as well have taken his entitled cock out of his suit pants and slapped it down on the thick plush carpets. If he wants to get into a dick measuring competition, there’s only one of us who’s had our dick inside the princess.
Isn’t there?
A sliver of doubt curls in my core.
No. Layla isn’t Hannah. She wouldn’t do that to me. Laylalives to rebel, to test boundaries. The only boundaries this cunt would test is her patience. ‘How charming,’ I snort. Translation: How boringly aristocratic.
I stride across the room to Layla, and drop a kiss on her cheek, letting my lips linger a little longer than appropriate. Her familiar perfume engulfs me along with a flashback of her curled across my chest in bed this morning.
I step back, and our eyes lock. That familiar intensity pulses between us.
‘Mind if I join your little tea party? I’m between meetings. Thought I’d drop by and check my neighbour is okay.’ I shoot Layla a wink as I drop into the chair opposite her. ‘I’ve been keeping her company while she’s on house arrest.’
‘How very neighbourly of you.’ Finegan’s jaw ticks as he reaches for the teacup on the table in front of him. ‘I didn’t realise you two were acquainted.’
‘We areverywell acquainted.’ I hold his gaze unwaveringly.
The nosy old bat of a housekeeper chooses this precise moment to bustle in with a fresh tray of tea. She places it down on the table in front of us. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got anything stronger?’ I have a feeling I’m going to need it.
‘Yes, certainly, Mr Beckett. Wine? Brandy? Whiskey?’
‘Whiskey, please.’
‘I’ll have the same.’ Layla’s eyes twinkle, which makes me think she’s grateful for the interruption. Coming here was reckless, but that’s the effect she has on me. ‘Would you like one, Finegan?’
‘I’m driving, unfortunately.’ His eyes dart between the princess and me like he’s trying to work out exactly how well acquainted we are while the housekeeper shuffles over to the drinks cabinet at the far side of the room.
I thrum my fingers over the arm of the antique chair. It wouldn’t look out of place in my grandmother’s house. Infact, the whole room looks like it hasn’t been updated since the eighteen hundreds. Like her bedroom, it’s fucking freezing—despite the roaring open fire. There are creepy portraits staring down from every wall in the house. I don’t know where Layla got her looks from, but it certainly wasn’t these miserable, judgy bastards. If I thought for a second, I could get away with it, I’d move her into Blackstone House this second. Now there’s an idea.
Imagine not having to sneak out every single morning. Imagine having a leisurely breakfast together, then crawling back to bed again. Date nights. Sunday lunches with my family. A normal life never looked so appealing.
I force that thought away because it’s futile.
Isn’t it?
Every night we talk until one of us inevitably falls asleep, but this is the one subject we’ve both avoided. The clock is ticking, and I’m still nowhere near ready to give her up. Quite the opposite, in fact. I’m prepared to fight for her—dirty—if I have to.
‘Carry on,’ I sweep a hand languidly in front of my face. ‘I’d hate to interrupt what must be a riveting conversation,’ I accept the heavy crystal tumbler from the housekeeper and swirl the amber liquid in the glass before bringing it to my lips.
