Joker in the Pack (Blackwood UK #1)

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

“ARE WE GOING to the Italian place again?” I asked Tate as I settled into the passenger seat of his Mercedes.

“I thought we’d head to my house, actually.”

“Your house?” My pulse ratcheted up a notch.

The two of us, alone?

“My housekeeper’s prepared us something for supper. Although if you prefer, I can take you to a restaurant. I suspect we’d get interrupted a lot with questions about the burglary, though.”

He did make a good point, and I had to admit I was curious to see where he lived.

“No, your place is fine.”

It was almost dark as we drove through an imposing pair of iron gates that hid a winding driveway from view. In the fading light, swathes of grass stretched out on either side, dotted with trees and the occasional statue. This wasn’t so much a garden as a park.

Ahead, the outline of the manor house came into view, silhouetted against a full moon. The whole setup made me think of werewolves for some reason, and I gave an involuntary shiver.

“Cold?” Tate asked, and without waiting for my answer, he reached over and turned up the heater.

“Just a little.” Better to feign a chill than admit to my wild imagination.

Tate drove past the main house and pulled up in front of a sweet little cottage around the back. Thanks to some artfully placed spotlights, I could see it was everything I’d hoped Lilac Cottage would be. Wisteria wound its way over the front door, wooden beams added to the period look, and a cherub balanced over a fountain in the middle of the lawn.

Tate hopped out and opened my door, then took my elbow to lead me inside.

“It’s a touch on the basic side, but it suits my needs until I inherit the manor.”

“Wow,” I breathed as I stepped over the threshold.

He thought this was basic? It made Aunt Ellie’s home look like a shack.

The interior was traditional with a modern twist, obviously decorated without care for the budget. In the hallway, a velvet sofa and cast-iron boot stand glowed under recessed lighting, and in the kitchen, heat radiated out from a proper Aga. Sad though it sounded, I dreamed of owning a range like that. They were the heart of a home. I could just imagine my children rushing in after school and pulling off their wellington boots before they stopped to warm their hands in front of it.

Stop! What was I thinking? What happened to not rushing into anything after Edward?

Tate pulled out one of six padded leather chairs surrounding the long oak table and gestured for me to sit.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“Just a glass of water for the moment, thank you.”

As I took in every wonderful detail, from the old-fashioned copper saucepans hanging from their rack to the matching silver kettle and toaster, Tate set about getting dinner ready.

“I hope you like lasagne,” he said.

My mouth watered from the delicious smell that escaped as soon as he opened the oven door.

“I love it. Can I do anything to help?”

“No, I’m doing all the work tonight. You need to relax after the last few days.”

So, relax I did. Tate opened a good bottle of red, and seeing as he had to drive me back, I drank most of it.

“I feel guilty drinking three glasses full,” I told him as we curled up on the sofa later. “Especially when you haven’t touched a drop.”

“We’ve got plenty more in the wine cellar.” He paused for a long moment, reaching over to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “Or you could just stay the night,” he added softly.

Even through my alcohol-induced haze, I could tell from his heated eyes that he didn’t mean in the spare room. And I was tempted. The rush of heat between my legs as the words left his mouth told me that.

But it was too soon. After Edward, I was determined not to fall for the wrong man again.

“I’d rather take things slowly.”

“Anything you want, darling.”

He nuzzled my neck, his lips fluttering along my jawline until they met mine. His sweet kiss left me craving more. I pulled him towards me, and he gently parted the seam of my lips with his tongue, exploring. The sizzle in my veins tempted me to reverse my earlier decision, but the part of my heart that still ached after Edward’s betrayal stopped me.

Tate held my hand the whole way back to Lilac Cottage, and at every junction, I bit back the words on the tip of my tongue: turn around and take me back. Good Olivia battled with my inner harlot over how desperately I needed an orgasm.

In the driveway, Tate left me breathless with another kiss before hopping out to open my door.

“I’ll walk you inside.”

Such a gentleman. If I’d had a decent bed, I might well have invited him into it, except as he dipped his head to press his lips against mine once more, something registered in my peripheral vision.

“What the…”

I pushed away from Tate, my mouth dropping open in horror as I took in the jagged hole where my front window had been.

Tate followed my gaze. “Good heavens. How did that happen?”

“I don’t know. But it sure as hell wasn’t like that when I left earlier.”

No, ladies shouldn’t swear, but under the circumstances, I forgave myself for being a potty mouth. My hands were shaking too much to fit the key in the lock, so Tate opened the door for me. It didn’t take long to spot the muddy brick sitting in the middle of my living room carpet.

Tate drew me close and wrapped me up in his arms. “Shh, it’s okay.”

“Why me? What have I done?” I mumbled into his chest.

“It’s probably just kids.”

“People keep saying that, but where are they? I haven’t seen any teenagers hanging around since I got here.”

“They could have come over from one of the other villages. Stonystead had a problem with somebody keying cars a few months back.”

I knew he was trying to make me feel better, but as we cleared up yet more mess, I couldn’t shake the feeling of paranoia. First the burglary and now this.

What if it wasn’t kids? After the way Betty and Jean treated me today, I imagined the worst—a vendetta to make me leave the village.

“Are you sure you don’t want to spend the night at the manor?” Tate asked. “Even in one of the guest rooms?”

Tempting. So tempting. But you know that old saying about an Englishman’s home being his castle? Turned out it applied to Englishwomen as well. Lilac Cottage was my home now, and I needed to keep it safe.

Even if it meant I was drunk with exhaustion the next day.

After lying awake for most of the night, jumping at every creak and groan from the house, I didn’t even have the energy to make lunch. I stared at the kitchen counter for five minutes before giving up and traipsing out to the café instead. Putting one foot in front of the other seemed a safer option than operating a saucepan or a can opener.

Except when I sat down at my usual table, I knew straight away that something was wrong. Daisy’s normally easy smile seemed forced, and it didn’t reach her eyes.

“What can I get you?”

“Quiche Lorraine with salad, please.”

“Coming right up.”

She disappeared into the kitchen and didn’t return until she put my plate down in front of me. On past form, she’d have stayed with me for a while and chatted, but she practically sprinted back to the counter.

“Sorry, terribly busy today,” she muttered over her shoulder.

Really? There was only one other customer in there, and he was reading the newspaper. Was there something in the water? Why did everybody dislike me all of a sudden?

When the other patron left, I decided I’d had enough of being kept in the dark.

“Daisy, what’s wrong?”

She let out a peal of false laughter. “Nothing! Why on earth would you think something was wrong?”

“I’m not stupid. Since yesterday, everyone’s been treating me like a leper.”

She approached gingerly and perched on the edge of a nearby chair, ready to run at any moment. Her posture reminded me of an antelope watching a lion.

“There might be a few stories going around.”

Dread settled in my stomach like a dodgy curry. “What kind of stories?”

“About your life back in London.”

Oh hell, it was the stripper thing, wasn’t it? How many people had seen the pictures? Had the WI handed out copies at their latest meeting?

“I should have guessed. I suppose nothing on Facebook can ever remain a secret.”

A flicker of confusion crossed Daisy’s face. “Facebook? What’s on Facebook?”

She didn’t know about the photos? Then what stories had she heard?

“Never mind. What are people saying about my life back in London?”

“That you go after rich men and take them for everything you can.”

“Seriously?”

“You’ve only been here for five minutes, and you’ve already got your claws into Tate Palmer.”

They thought I was a gold-digger? I couldn’t deny Mother had encouraged me to marry well, but our ideas of what constituted “well” had certainly differed. For me, it wasn’t all about the money. There had to be love too. That was why it had hit me so hard when Edward cheated.

“But I didn’t go after Tate. He approached me.”

“People are also saying you faked your burglary to get sympathy.”

“That’s crazy.”

She shrugged. “It’s what they think.”

“Look, I can see how people might think I only date rich men, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Yes, my ex-boyfriend was a banker, but that wasn’t why I loved him.”

“And Tate? Women around here have been chasing him for years. You’ve been here five minutes, and you’re already going to the manor for dinner.”

How did she even know that? Barely half a day had passed since I left his cottage! I couldn’t even fart in this place without somebody sending out a news bulletin. Not that I would fart, obviously. That would be unladylike.

“He invited me, and since he’s been nothing but a gentleman, I accepted.”

“Tate deserves better than you.”

Oh, the green-eyed monster was out in full force now.

“Like you, you mean?”

“At least I’d be interested in more than the size of his wallet.”

“Well, unlike you, I know about the size of other things as well, so I’m one step ahead, aren’t I?”

I shouldn’t have stooped so low, but the words just popped out. And I wasn’t totally lying, either. I’d felt it digging into my hip last night.

“I think you should leave.”

Fine. I shoved my chair back from the table. “I’ve lost my appetite, anyway.”

I felt sick as I half ran back home, and it wasn’t just from Daisy’s cooking. Did everyone else share her views? Did they all think I saw Tate as an ATM?

If so, how could I convince them I wasn’t that girl? Yes, I could stop seeing Tate, but I liked him, and I didn’t want to throw away a possible future with what might be the perfect man.

I’d come to Upper Foxford hoping for a happy, peaceful life, and instead, I’d been cast as a vampire after Tate’s blood.

How could I fix this?