Chapter One
PAYTON
I’ve never been a fan of formal English gardens. Their structured beds, surrounded by short stone or brick walls, filled with topiaries and meticulously shaped shrubs, always felt too controlling to me. Not to mention the rows of flowers lined up like soldiers, as if they were trying to tell you what to do or how to behave in their presence.
Not something I share in mixed company, I assure you. And by mixed company, I mean royals and those who flock to surround them. Much like those stone walls, I never imagined I could wind up hemmed in like one of them.
But today, none of that seems to matter.
Funerals tend to have that effect on a person, I suppose. After the services for my cousin concluded, we returned to his estate for the reception—can you call something dour a reception when everyone would rather be received anywhere else but here?
Upon arrival, I made a mad dash for the gardens to escape the sea of sad faces—both genuine and fake, for the record. Yet, looking out over the perfectly manicured garden and various flowers giving their last hurrah with the imminentarrival of fall, I’m reminded of idyllic days as a child, playing with Sebastian in these very places.
One time, in particular, comes to mind—me chasing after my cousin and taking a turn too fast, which resulted in a nasty tear in my trousers from the aforementioned stone walls. My left knee still sports the scar from that fiasco. Maybe that’s why I much prefer pursuing a puck in an open ice rink. The only obstacles are other players, and part of the challenge is to either maneuver around them or bodycheck them aside. The terrain is always changing, and I prefer it that way.
“Longing to be back on the ice, chasing that puck of yours?” My sister Emalia brushes by me, then perches on the short wall, edging a bed of roses ablaze in reds and yellows that remind me of my team colors.
I hum in the back of my throat in reply—my usual response when she annoyingly reads my mind. Practice starts in a matter of weeks, and I’d much rather be swinging a hockey stick than bracing for whatever curveball—sorry, wrong sport—slapshot life’s about to send my way.
She crosses her ankles and folds her hands in her lap, already the picture of royalty. Losing Sebastian left a gap to be filled—an heir to the baronetcy of Tillendale. He never married and was the sole heir to his parents, who died much too young because of various health issues. Perhaps that’s why our dear cousin lived life on the edge. He told me once he didn’t expect to outlive the age his mother and father reached, and now he’s proven himself right, much to my chagrin. And my sister’s.
After slipping my hands into my trouser pockets, I meander closer to where she’s sitting. “When will you move onto the estate?”
“Later today.”
“That’s bloody fast.”
She waves her hand in a casual gesture toward the small mansion behind me. “We waited most of the summer, hopingthey’d find Sebastian lost at sea somewhere. There’s a lot of work to catch up on.”
I clear my throat. “I’m sure you’ll have things back in order in no time.”
She shoots a finely shaped brow in my direction like a bow ready to shoot an arrow, and the gleam in her eye forewarns me of its arrival. “Faster if my baby brother would stay and help his older sister out.”
I knew she’d make one last-ditch attempt to sway me. Hearing that my cousin’s yacht had gone missing was what brought me back to Tillendale, a relatively small and unknown town in the southern tip of England, of which my deceased cousin is—was—the Baronet.
A title now passed to my sister, making me heir apparent.
The sooner I’m on a plane back to the States, the better. Even as a youth, I never enjoyed the occasional formal functions that required my family’s attendance. “The new season is about to start, and I have a contract to honor. The lads are counting on me.”
“I know. But I had to try one more time. This won’t be fun without you.”
I scoff. “What are you talking about? Your favorite game as a child was to play queen. Unlike me, you are well-built for your new role, Em.”
“Maybe, but I’d feel better having you close. Especially since we’re not sure Sebastian’s accident was really an…” She mouths the word ‘accident’ as if doing so would negate the possible threat.
“Don’t buy into those rumors so quickly.”
She blinks, pursing her lips for a moment before speaking. “You heard what Mum and Dad said.”
“Yes, I was in the room, but again, it could just be the ponderings and hearsay of their old cronies.”
“Those old cronies, as you call them,have ties to MI5.”
I lean toward her and lower my voice to a whisper. “So they say.”
With a deep inhale, she turns her head to stare over her shoulder. “Still makes me nervous. I’d feel better if you were here.”
Hearing the hint of fear in her words softens me. I sit down next to her and take her hand between mine. “I’m a hockey player, Em. Not a bodyguard. Your security detail will do a far superior job than I could with a hockey stick.”
