The Heir and the Spare (20 page)

Edmund motioned for me to scoot over. We ended up squished together, but I didn't mind.

“Are you ready to go back tomorrow?” he asked.

“Well, I'm packed, but I don't want to leave. It's amazing here. You're lucky, you can come here whenever you want.”

“I'm a very lucky man, but this château isn't why.” He reached over and brushed my hair off my forehead.

“Why do you consider yourself lucky, hmm?”

He thought a moment. “I'd have to say my family and friends.” His face moved a smidgen closer. “There's also that I'm in a position to effect change. But the reason at the very top of my list would be that I get to do this.” He slipped a hand behind my neck and guided my mouth to his.

I shivered; his lips were warm and soft. Three days of very little alone time with Edmund made this kiss that much sweeter.

My arms went about his neck as his free hand slid down my back to the waistband of my jeans. I nibbled on his lower lip, which elicited a low moan from him.

Pulling me so I leaned on top of him, his fingers twined through my hair, pinning my lips against his. The tip of his tongue played with mine, driving me crazy.

Heat welled low in my stomach; the more he touched me, the hotter I got. I wanted more. We couldn't get close enough. I wanted all of him. Now. His breaths were coming in ragged pants as he held me tightly against his chest.

“Well, well, well,” a voice rang out behind us, startling us apart—not that we could get very far apart sharing an overstuffed chair.

We turned in unison to see Philip and Lauren watching us.

“We had the same idea, but it appears you got here first. Come on, Laur, let's leave these lovebirds alone.” Philip patted Lauren's hand as they sauntered off, snickering quietly to themselves.

“Night, Philip, and thanks a bunch," Edmund called after his brother, shaking his head with a chuckle.

Philip gave Edmund a thumbs-up as he and Lauren retreated from the room. I closed my eyes, slightly mortified.
Of course we'd get caught.

“That's certainly one way to ruin the mood.” He didn't look angry, more amused. “Do you want me to walk you up?” His breathing still was not quite back to normal, but neither was mine.

“I probably
should
head up, but I'd much rather stay here with you. I'm not quite ready to say good night.”

“Is that so? There's a chance you might be able to persuade me to stay.” The low embers of firelight flickered in his eyes. I couldn't imagine a time when I wouldn't want him.

Quietly, I laid my hand on his chest and leaned against him. Laying my head in his nook, I breathed in the scent of him, sighing contentedly.

“Oh, you're very good at persuasion.” He chuckled and smoothed my hair back, wrapping his arms around me. “We're probably lucky they came in when they did.”

“Oh?”

“If we'd gone much further I'd never have been able to stop.”

The spark that'd been ignited low in my belly earlier now burst into an inferno. I smiled, the mental images flashing through my head making me blush.

We sat there snuggled, watching the low flames of the fire fade.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” I whispered.

“Me too.” He kissed my forehead and I closed my eyes, never wanting the night to end.

I really should tell him about Clarice. Later, I'll do it later.

We'd been back on campus almost a week, and still I daydreamed about the château. Remembering our kisses in front of the hearth put a smile on my face and a bounce in my step.

A crack sounded in the gray sky as I scampered across campus to class. Rain splattered down on my loose braid before I could grab my umbrella.

“You look far too happy.”

I froze.
Shit.

Rubber grip tight in my hand, I turned. Chloe Saunders, Jax's bestie, Miss BitchyBoobsInYourFace herself, stood smirking at me. This was going to be painful, she'd make sure of that.

“Afternoon, Chloe. How was your break?” I asked, monotone. We saw each other around campus numerous times a day. Up until now we'd ignored each other.

“Absolutely splendid.” She twirled her bright yellow umbrella, spraying water around her and all over me. “I spent it off the coast of Spain with Jax and her family on their yacht. She wanted to pay me back for Halloween."

There they were
. I knew it wouldn't take her long to whip out the talons.

“What exactly can I do for you, Chloe?” I stopped walking near a newsstand, hoping she'd walk on, but she didn't.

“I bet you like seeing your face on the cover of all these magazines, don't you?”

Does her bitch mode have an off switch?

“Such a little fame whore. You don't have any class and yet you think you belong with those that do. You're pathetic.” She moved closer and got into my face. “Your fifteen minutes of fame are just . . . about . . . over.”

I cocked my head to the side and matched her saccharine smile. “That's precious. You
actually
think you'd recognize class if you saw it? I bet it could run up to you decked out in a tiara and a fabulous pair of Manolo Blahniks and you'd still be completely clueless.”

Her mouth opened and closed as she huffed, at a loss for words. It wouldn't last long. She'd stew over this and blast me with an insult the next time our paths crossed.

Blocking her face with my umbrella, I turned my attention to the newsstand. A cover caught my eye. There was a recent photo of me, side by side one of Clarice. Her silver hair was pulled back into a tight twist, just like in the paintings at Welsington. The headline above our photos read: The Duchess of Westminster's Heir Found.

What?

This is bad.

I haven't told Edmund.

Snatching the paper up, I paid and walked off.

When I looked back, Chloe glared at me, clutching a copy in her purple-polished fingernails.

Fabulous
.

The headline swirled through my mind as I rushed across campus, splashing through puddles, heedless of the rain pelting down.
How had they figured it out? What did this mean?

A few photographers approached me, clicking away.
I need Edmund.
If he were here, they'd have to keep their distance.

“How's the duchess?” a photographer asked, a camera held up to his face.

“When's the last time you spoke with the duchess?”

“When is Prince Edmund going to officially announce your relationship?”

“Does Edmund know you're related to the Duchess of Westminster?” They fired off more questions as their cameras clicked away.

I crammed the paper in my bag. Their growing numbers made me uneasy; I had to get out of here. Picking up the pace, I sprinted to class.

Professor Littleton began his lecture just as I settled into my seat. My brain was scrambled and unfocused. Has Edmund seen this? What does he think?

Dammit, I should have told him. Abby was right.

Class dragged on incessantly. My eyes kept darting to the clock.
Why isn't it moving?
My fingers itched to grab the newspaper in my bag.

What felt like eons later, Littleton wrapped things up. The second he was finished, zippers zipped and papers rustled as students filed out of the hall.

Okay, let's check the damage.

I whipped the newspaper from my bag and flipped it open. The article explained how Clarice had cut my mother off after she'd married an unknown American. The reporter couldn't locate any documents that formally disowned her, but it certainly appeared that way.

Felt that way, too.

Reading further in the abandoned hall, I learned the duchess was quite ill. Apparently, when she died, there was a good chance the title would pass to me. The end of the piece delved into my relationship with Edmund, not surprisingly.

Several pictures dotted the pages, including a picture of my mother and grandmother. It was from Mom's Oxford graduation day. I knew because it looked like Mom had been cut out of the picture of her and Dad on my desk and placed next to Clarice.

I felt violated. I closed the paper, not wanting to read more.

Me, a duchess?
It wouldn't come to that.
Would it?

Bag on my shoulder, I peeked around the doorjamb, hoping my unwanted posse from earlier wouldn't be there. No such luck. Photographers flanked the entrance like vultures waiting for dinner.

I wrapped my jacket tight around my middle and kept my eyes focused straight ahead. When I got outside, I walked mutely toward the dining hall in St. John's, praying they'd back off once they'd gotten whatever they wanted.

They didn't.

“Evie,” Preston called as he and a grumpy-looking Edmund walked down the tree-lined path toward me.

“Hey.” I ran toward them.

“Are you okay?” Edmund asked, scowling behind me at my now retreating press crew. When I nodded he added, “Why didn't you just tell me?”

I flinched; the angry accusation in his eyes stung. There was no doubt in my mind what he was referring to.

“I . . . I meant to, I did.” I glanced about, noticing all the people around us along with the paparazzi lurking nearby. “Can we go inside?”

“Evie, I've known about your grandmother for a long time. I've just been waiting for you to be ready to tell me. Instead, Chloe had the pleasure this morning.”

“Wait, what do you mean you knew?” I popped a hand on my hip.

“What's going on?” Preston interrupted, his face scrunched in confusion.

I handed him the paper. “This. And yes, it's true. Not that it makes any difference.”

Preston stared at the page. “Why didn't you tell any of us?”

“Because, it's . . . complicated, and I wasn't 100 percent sure until recently.”

“Come on, let's get to the dining hall. We don't need to give them any more photo ops.” Edmund spun and took off.

Preston hung back with me as we struggled to keep up with Edmund's power walk. I could tell by his speed that he was seriously pissed off.
How had he figured it out?

Once we reached the dining hall, Edmund rounded on me. “Were you really planning on telling me?”

“How long have you known?”

Preston took a few steps back, like he was trying to stay out of the middle of whatever this was turning into.

Edmund folded his arms across his chest. “After Welsington I figured something was up, so I did a little research on the daughter of the Duchess of Westminster. It wasn't hard to connect the dots. Bloody hell, my parents know. They did a background check after they met you. It's not like it's classified material. Why did you keep it a secret? From me of all people.”

Background check?
Guess I should've expected that.

Closing my eyes, I sighed. I couldn't admit that I'd wanted him to choose me before I told him. Even to me, it sounded childish. Not to mention I'd had plenty of time to come clean. “Ultimately it doesn't matter. Clarice is nothing to me. She may be my grandmother, but I've never met her, never talked to her, and she wants nothing to do with me. She cut my mother out of her life, which cuts me out, too. Why would I care who or what she is? This—” I grabbed the paper from Preston and waved it around like a mad person “—isn't going to change anything. To her I don't exist and that's just how it is.”

“But this
does
matter, Evie.” Edmund ran a hand through his damp, tousled hair, making bits stick up at odd angles. “This changes things. You should have told me. Trusted me.”

“What? How does my not telling you mean I don't trust you?”

“I thought . . .” He looked at Preston, then back at me, shaking his head. “I don't know what I thought. I should go.”

“Edmund, wait. I trust you. I do.” I grabbed his arm, my brows scrunched in confusion.

“Do you?” His blue eyes seared into mine. “Seems to me something this big would've come up in conversation a time or two, at least with someone you trusted.” Shaking his head, he added, “I'll see you around.”

My hand slipped from his arm and I watched him walk away, hating how angry he was. I felt stupid. This could've easily been avoided. I took a deep breath and tried to center myself. Unbuttoning my coat, I slid off my gloves, stuffing them in the pockets.
Don't cry. Give him space, some time to cool off. It'll be fine.

The dreadful what-ifs danced around the periphery of my mind. I didn't want to let them in, but they pushed and shoved.
What if he hates me now? What if he never forgives me? What if I've just destroyed everything we had?

“You okay?” Preston's face leaned toward mine.

I nodded, unsure what to say. Tears welled in my eyes and a lump formed in my throat.

“Don't worry, he'll calm down and come find you to talk. He usually does.”

“Thanks.” A weak smile crossed my lips as Preston put a sweatshirt-clad arm around my shoulder and gave me a reassuring hug.

“Duchess Evie, that's brilliant.”

I laughed. “Right. Like that'll ever happen.”

My craptastic day from hell was almost at an end.
I just have to survive dinner
. I looked across the table at the opposite end where Edmund sat, still ignoring me. A fact that the entire lecture hall of Professor Roth's class now knew. Miraculously, I'd managed not to die of humiliation.

Edmund scarfed his food and excused himself, eager to put distance between us. I picked at my meal and tried to eat, but nothing looked appealing.

“Guys, I'm not hungry. I'll see you tomorrow.” I picked up my tray and dumped it. As I walked away I heard Preston giving them the Cliff's Notes version of my day.

Inside my room, the blue message light on my desktop phone flickered through the darkness. I tossed my keycard on my desk and clicked on the lamp. Receiver in hand, I dialed my access code.