Page 65 of Accidental Groom
The hair on the back of my neck rises. That’s not Harry.
I turn toward the kitchen, my hand reaching out to the counter to find something decent for a weapon, but before I can even reach for a knife, the footstepssurge. I spin around, looking to the stairs just in time to see a thin, lanky man with pale skin and red hair, in a black hoodie and joggers, jump the last three steps and bolt past me before I can even react.
What thefuck?
“Hey!” I shout, my adrenaline catching up to me, pushing me just as he crosses the threshold of the front door. I move, sprinting in a pair of boots definitely not made for that, chasing him down the flagship stones — but he’s faster than me, lighter than me, glancing back with wide eyes before disappearing into the tree line that I know better than to enter without a gun, now.
“What the?—”
“Looking for someone?”
The voice hits me like a bucket of ice water.
George leans against the back door of the east wing, arms crossed like he’s stepped out of a catalogue. Aviators pushed up to the top of his head, made-to-measure slacks, a sweater that screamsI spent too much on this. His new signature scowl is plastered to his face, his eyes locked on me.
“You—” My throat tightens, my attention caught between the man who has definitely gotten away and the one standing twenty feet from me. “What are you doing here? I thought you were staying in the west wing.”
He shrugs. “Observing.”
Harry had promised me George wouldn’t come near the cottage, said he’d handle it, said he’d get him off the property as soon as possible. And maybe I’d been foolish enough to believe that meant I had space andpeace. But clearly, George doesn’t want to play by his father’s rules.
He peels himself off the glass door like he’s got all the time in the world and none of the guilt, his hands shoving into his pockets. The faint scrape of his boots on the flagstone as he takes a step toward me has my body locking on instinct.
“Did you…?” I start, glancing back at the tree line and then back at the cottage. “Did you send someone into my?—”
“It’s notyours,” he hisses, so quick, so quiet that I almost miss it. “But if you want to be technical, we can call it an informal background check.”
My eyes go wide as they snap back to him. “Jesus. You’re stalking me now?”
He scoffs, his gaze hardening. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re married to my father, carrying what you both claim is an heir to half of the Highcourt estate. You didn’t think I’d want to vet that situation?”
I choke as a laugh threatens to come up, half of it coming out sharp. “Are you serious? You ghost me at the altar, and now you want to play security?”
He takes a step closer, and then another, forcing my spine to straighten. The breeze picks up, wafting his cologne toward me, cloying and citrusy in a way that irritates my nostrils. “You seem really comfortable settling into the role of hiswife,” he says simply. “Too comfortable.”
“I didn’t want this, George.”
“No, but you sure as hell made it happen anyway.”
I steel my jaw, jutting it toward him. “What exactly do youwant?”
He studies me, lets the silence stretch between us until it’s thin and taut and awkward. “If you’re so determined to play the dutiful wife and pump out a fucking heir, I need to make sure you’re actually worthy of it.”
I blink, dumbfounded — the sheeraudacityof this man. “Worthy?” I laugh. “You were supposed to marry me. I was fine for you, wasn't I? How is this different now?”
His face tightens, twisting, like it physically hurts him to be called out on his own bullshit. But he waves a hand like he’s brushing it off. “That’s not the point. The point is that I have people looking into your history, your finances, previous relationships, anything that can come up.”
My stomach drops.
Fuck.
A chill goes down my spine, but I force myself to stay calm. “You’re going to try to blackmail me?”
He shrugs, his head tilting. “If that’s what you want to call it. But I’ll find something, Elena. I always do.”
I stare at him, studying him, and it’s like I’m seeing whoever he’s been the last twelve years for the first time — not just a selfish, immature man, but cruel, calculating, dangerous. “You’re insane,” I whisper.
He leans forward, entering my space, his face just inches from mine. “Maybe,” he offers. “But you’re not untouchable, Elena. And don’t think for a second that I’m buying all the baby nonsense.”
