This time he turned to look at her properly, his grin stretching from ear to ear. “Are you saying you want to go out for dinner with me?”
Mia groaned and looked over at Alex, exasperated. “Help me out here, Alex. Your friend is being crazy.”
“Do I have five thousand?” the auctioneer called.
Elias raised his hand.
“Don’t get me involved,” Alex said, shaking his head. “Elias is one stubborn bastard. Now he’s got the idea in his head, there’s no removing it. Just let him get on with it. He can’t force you to drive the damn car, after all. Though,” he twisted his lips and gave a shrug, “seems a shame to waste such an amazing opportunity if he’s forking out for it regardless. No point cutting your nose off to spite your face.”
“Whose side are you on?” She furrowed her brow.
“Nobody’s. I just know Elias, that’s all. He’ll win the auction, whatever it takes. And if you refuse to go in the car, he’ll just go himself. Either way, the charity wins, but there’s only one way you get anything out of it. He can afford it, Mia, so just go with the flow.”
She shot him a glare, then focused on the screen and sighed. It was a beautiful car. She’d always quite fancied taking a top-of-the-range sports car for a spin around a track, but the release of that particular vehicle had ramped her fancy up to fever pitch. And now the possibility was within reach, but certainly not in the way she’d ever expected—a treat to herself in a few years for her thirtieth birthday, perhaps, but not a practical stranger buying it for her.
Mia turned to look at Elias, who’d clearly gotten into the zone and was keeping his bids coming, not batting an eyelid as the price rose up and up. She blinked, shook her head in disbelief, and decided to take Alex’s advice. It was none of her business what Elias spent his money on, and like Alex said, he couldn’t force her to drive the damn car.
After a few more minutes, it was down to Elias and another bidder, and the amount was getting up towards £10,000. It was a hell of a lot of money, but only a tiny proportion of what the car was actually worth, so unless a person could afford to buy a Lamborghini for themselves, it was a prize that was pretty much a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
The question was, if Elias won—and with each stab of his hand into the air, she grew increasingly confident he would—and she accepted the gift, what would he want in return?
She looked back at Alex, feeling helpless.
“You want to do it, don’t you?” he asked, offering her a gentle smile.
Biting her lip, she nodded. “Yes, I do. I really, really do. But it just feels weird having someone I barely know spend a stupid amount of money so I can do it.”
“I get it, Mia. You’re a smart, independent woman. But driving that car won’t make you any less smart or independent. And it won’t make you beholden to Elias, either. He’s not that kind of bloke.”
“Yes, I’m beginning to see that. Your relationship is pretty unique, isn’t it?”
A tiny crease appeared between Alex’s eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you’ve both been flirting with me, but it doesn’t feel like a competition, or like you’re trying to outdo each other. Right now, you could be telling me to run a mile from Elias, and not to accept the gift he’s currently bidding on, but instead you’re encouraging me.”
Alex shook his head. “Not my style, Mia. Not his, either. We’ve totally both been flirting with you, but we never cut each other down in order to big ourselves up. Besides, you’re the one holding all the cards. You get to go out with whichever one of us you prefer. Or neither, of course.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Or, even better, don’t choose at all. Have us both.”
Once again, Mia’s mouth dropped open. The thing he’d said earlier about the two of them sharing suddenly pinged back into the forefront of her mind. She hadn’t thought too much of it then, but now, as Alex held her pinned in his gaze, his expression wicked and earnest all at once, she realised it hadn’t been a throwaway comment. He’d been deadly serious.
Elias Pym and Alex Cartwright liked to share women.
Mia gulped down some champagne and tried to arrange her thoughts into some kind of order, but she didn’t have much luck. Questions came, thick and fast. Was it just a sexual thing, or did they actually have romantic relationships with the same women? Did they share at the same time, as in three in a bed, or was it a one-on-one thing?
Just then, she became aware of the auctioneer’s voice growing louder and more excitable. She blinked, swallowed some more bubbly, and tried to focus.
“And I’m closing this auction at twelve thousand pounds. Any advance?” A brief pause. “Going once, going twice… sold!”
Elias turned to her, eyes gleaming and cheeks flushed. “Congratulations, Mia, looks like you’re crossing something off your bucket list this year!” He frowned. “Or next.”
“Fucking hell,” she said dazedly, not sure if she was talking about the sharing bombshell or the Lamborghini Aventador. Probably both. “Fuck.”
Alex chuckled. “So much for not swearing in public.”
Chapter Ten
“You’re absolutely sure?” Mia said into the phone. She sat in the estate office at the back of the house, facing the window and looking out over the gardens. Despite the fact that December was beckoning, it was a sunny day with beautiful blue skies. But Mia wasn’t really in the mood to appreciate that right now. She sighed as the answer from the other end of the telephone came in the affirmative. “All right, Mr Lenton. You understand why I had to check. Thank you for your assistance. I’m sure we’ll be in touch again soon. Goodbye.”
She barely gave the man time to respond before she furiously spun the swivel chair around to face the desk and slammed the phone receiver down in its cradle. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuckety-fuck!”
She shoved to her feet, then stepped out from between the chair and desk and walked over to the window. Glaring out at the blameless gardens, she clenched her fists, digging her fingernails into her palms as her blood boiled.
Leaning her forehead against the glass, she tried to calm herself, but the cold surface failed miserably to dampen the fire of anger burning through her. She’d put such hopes into the potential theory that her father might not have been of sound mind when he’d made the amendment to his will. And now those hopes had been dashed—no, obliterated—and it looked like she’d have to return her attentions to the detestable and ridiculous task of finding herself a husband. Because, no matter how archaic she found the idea, how unfair it was for everyone involved, it was still better than the alternative.
“Fucking hell, this seriously can’t be happening!” She turned and strode from the room, only the deep-seated love and respect she had for the house stopping her from slamming the door behind her. Her heels clicked forcefully on the floorboards—occasionally muffled by rugs and carpets—as she made her way to the nearest exit into the garden. Maybe actually being out in the cold air would help to calm her, allowing her to think straight. Right now, she could barely think wonky.
The gravel paths took some of the impact out of her stomping footsteps, but none of the ire from her. She muttered and cursed as she walked, taking so little notice of her surroundings that she was surprised when she found herself at the gate leading into the small churchyard in the grounds.
Suddenly realising what she needed to do, and deep down thinking perhaps her subconscious had brought her there, Mia opened the gate and entered the graveyard. It held only her ancestors, and a few of the vicars of the church that had requested to be buried there.
She followed the path along to her parents’ grave, currently headstone-less since the memorial had been sent away to be cleaned up and to have her father’s inscription added. She made a mental note to chase the company up in a few days if she hadn’t heard from them. The space looked weird without any kind of commemoration of who rested there.
Mia glanced around to make sure she was alone, then, to make absolutely su
re, went over and opened the church door before popping her head in. “Anybody here?” she called.
She waited quietly for a response, then repeated herself. The building was tiny, and there were few places to hide—especially if you were as advanced in years as the vicar and the people that helped out with the church—so she figured she was definitely by herself. She closed the door again and went back to her parents’ grave.
Standing in front of it, she first of all let out a heavy sigh. “Well, that’s that bright idea gone out the window. Looks like you’re going to get your way—the will stands, and there’s not a bloody thing I can do about it. I just don’t get it, Dad. Why did you do it? First you go and leave me, an orphan at my age, and now you’re making me get married! Because you know, of course, that there’s no way in hell I’ll ever let Quinn get his grabby hands on this place. That’s why you did it.” She paused, shook her head. “You knew that if it was him, I would do what you wanted. If you’d demanded the lot be sold and the proceeds given to charity or something, there was always a chance I’d rebel and let it happen. But no, threatening to hand over the estate to that pompous arsehole was the one sure-fire way you had of ensuring I got married.”
She stamped her foot, but it did nothing to stem her anger. “I hate this, Dad! I hate that you did it, I hate that you didn’t talk to me about it, I hate that you thought I couldn’t cope by myself, without some bloody man to hold my hand! But why? What the hell gave you the impression that I’m some weak, useless woman that can’t continue to run the estate I’ve been managing singlehandedly for months? I’ve done nothing but work my arse off for this place—and not because you wanted me to, or because I felt I had to, but because I wanted to. I love this place. It’s my home, and I want it to stay that way. Why wasn’t that enough for you? Why wasn’t I enough?”
It was then she realised hot tears were streaming down her face, but she didn’t wipe them away, or try to stop them from falling. This was what she needed to do—let it all out; her grief, her anger, her disappointment and a hundred other emotions besides. So she did.
She didn’t know how long she’d been there when Thomas came across her. He found her on her knees, sobbing, and not giving a shit about ruining her clothes or shoes on the ground. His hand on her shoulder startled her and made her hiccup violently. “What?” she snapped without looking around. “Leave me alone!”
“Mia, it’s me. Tom. Come on, let’s get you inside. It’s bloody freezing out here. We don’t want you getting ill, do we?”
“You’re out here,” she sniffed, allowing him to help her to her feet, keeping her head down so he couldn’t see the full damage her meltdown had probably done to her face. She was sure she looked an absolute wreck.
“Ye-es,” he said slowly, leading her along the path towards the gate, “but I’m in much more suitable clothes than you, and I’m working, which burns energy and keeps me warm. I’m sure I’d be freezing if I was crouched on the ground, crying and using every swear word under the sun, too. Anger alone can’t keep you warm, sweetheart.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “Are you feeling better now you’ve got it all off your chest? Or do you need to talk about it, too?”
She peered up at him through her lashes. Much to his credit, he didn’t flinch, so he was either very brave or she didn’t look as bad as she thought she did. “I’m beginning to wish I’d stayed in London for a few more days,” she muttered. “The charity auction wasn’t nearly as boring as I thought it was going to be. I actually enjoyed myself, then I get home to… to…”
“To what, Mia?” he asked softly, opening the gate, then closing it behind them once they’d passed through. They carried on walking, leaving the quiet churchyard behind and moving back into the estate gardens.
She raked a hand through her hair and sighed. “To a phone call from Lenton—the solicitor. It’s a big fat no on the will front, unfortunately. The latest version stands. I’ve got to bloody well get married! For fuck’s sake!”
Thomas reached out and squeezed her again. “Shit, I’m so sorry, Mia. I feel kinda responsible for this.”
Frowning, Mia replied, “What do you mean? How can you be responsible? Unless you gave my father the crazy idea in the first place, then it’s nothing to do with you.”
“Of course I didn’t give him the idea. No, what I mean is, I gave you the idea that it could be possible to get the latest version of your dad’s will thrown out. I gave you false hope, and now it hasn’t worked out and you’re disappointed.”
Mia snorted. “Disappointed is an understatement. Gutted, devastated, pissed off, furious… all things I don’t really want to be dealing with on top of grieving for my dead dad, who I just so happen to be furious with. Christ, no wonder my head feels like it’s going to explode.”
“It’s hardly surprising, with everything you’ve got going on. Is there anything I can do to help?”
She bristled at the thought he believed she needed help. He was just as bad as her father! Then she shook herself. No, this was Tom. He’d been where she was, to an extent, anyway, and he’d been an incredibly good friend to her—amongst other things—when she’d needed someone the most. His intentions were pure, she reminded herself. He genuinely wanted to help, if he could, but not because he thought she couldn’t cope.
“Mia?” he prompted.
She shook her head. “Sorry, I was just thinking. And no… I don’t think there’s anything you can do, really, other than what you’re doing already, which is being an amazing friend. It’s not the workload that’s getting on top of me, it’s the thought of shacking up with some bloke just so I can keep my childhood home and the livelihood I enjoy. It’s not very romantic, is it? Not that I’m much of a romantic anyway, but still—it feels like we’ve stepped back in time a couple of centuries and I’m being forced to get married. I’m not against marriage—I had hoped it’d be on the cards one day, but way into the future. And because I loved the man in question, not because he was bloody well ‘suitable’. It just makes a farce of the whole idea, doesn’t it? It’s less of a marriage, a union, and more of a contract. He’ll be more like a business partner than a husband. I suppose I should be grateful that there’s no stipulation in the will that the marriage must be consummated before the condition is met.” She shuddered at the thought.
They’d reached a large shed at the edge of the kitchen gardens. Thomas jerked his thumb towards it. “Fancy a cup of tea?”
“That your solution to everything, is it? A cup of tea? How very British of you,” she said with a tiny smile.
He shrugged. “Best solution I can come up with to your particular problem, I’m afraid. I’d marry you myself, except I don’t think a poor commoner like me would meet the conditions Edward laid out.” He opened the shed door and ushered her inside, then pulled the door shut behind them, presumably to stop the cold getting in. There was still more than enough light, provided by the windows which were quite high up on the shed wall, meaning that anyone passing by would only be able to see the top of their heads. And that was only if they thought to look.
“Shame,” she quipped, taking a seat on one of the camping chairs, then brushing pointlessly at the mud on her trousers from the graveyard, “because if it were up to me, you’d be top of my list. You’re young, you’re good looking, you’re an excellent shag…” She shot him an amused glance, which he returned as he flicked on the kettle.
“You flatter me.” He pressed his hands to his cheeks theatrically and fluttered his eyelashes. “But please, do carry on.”
She swiped at him playfully, and the nearest part of his anatomy happened to be his backside. Her hand landed with a light slap on a firm buttock, and she gasped, then giggled. “Oops, sorry. I didn’t think I’d actually reach you then. This place must be smaller than it appears.”
“Like a TARDIS in reverse?” He grabbed two mugs, and added tea bags and sugar as he waited for the water to boil.
Her mood improvin
g by the second, she replied, “If you say so. Anyway, since we’re here, I have to ask… why do you have chairs and drink-making facilities in this shed? I didn’t even know it had mains electricity. Have you been bunking off in here all these years, when you were supposed to be working?”
Thomas gave her a dark look. “You think I’ve got time to sit in here supping tea all day when I’m the only gardener looking after that lot?” He jerked his head towards the door.
“No, of course I don’t think that!” Mia protested. “I was just teasing you. I know damn well how hard you work.” She cleared her throat. “Let me rephrase my original question. Why do you have chairs and drink-making facilities in here, when you could just go up to the house and get a drink whenever you want one?”
“Don’t you ever just want to be alone?” he replied with a languid lift of one shoulder. “I’m used to working by myself, and I enjoy it. Having this space here means I can have a quiet break without going all the way back to my cottage, or up to the house. I do go to the house sometimes, if I fancy some company. But then sometimes it can be hard to get away, so what I intended to be a ten-minute tea break turns out to be half an hour with Betty on the finer points of cake making, or James on the world’s best golf courses. Neither of which I’m interested in. I’m all for eating cake, obviously,” he patted his perfectly-flat stomach, “but beyond that, nothing. And the only sort of golf I like has the word ‘crazy’ in front of it.” Just then, the kettle clicked off and Thomas turned and set about making the drinks.
Mia giggled again, surprising herself with how she’d gone from a meltdown to feeling almost human again within a few minutes. Thomas obviously had a positive effect on her. “All right, I see your point.” She looked around, noting the photograph of his parents tucked on a shelf above the kettle, a battered paperback beside it. “It’s actually pretty cosy in here. I can see why you spend all your time here, instead of doing what you’re paid to do.” She smirked.