Page 15 of A Royally Fake French Menage (Rippton U Creatives #3)

BARCLAY

I stared at the collection of shoes that overpopulated the doorstep of Bracksley Castle like it was any other uninhabited home.

The flight across France in my own jet was faster than even I expected, and a single phone call was all it took to access Barrogenet’s office.

Apparently the man didn't have a home, and slept and worked in his office, even on a Sunday.

Now all we had to do was get Genie to her gala in London, and our weekend away would be complete.

Though part of me wanted to stall in England for a while longer and figure out what on earth was going on with this place. Apparently I'd abandoned it as much as I had my French obligations. While the stepmonster looked after La Borde, this place was completely abandoned.

Apart from the excess of cheap flip flops.

“At least Killman is doing his job.” I poked at a flip flop with the toe of my loafers gingerly.

Jacques kicked the footwear away like it had personally offended him by touching me. “I don’t think this qualifies as ‘doing his job ’,” he snarked, his French accent thick in the pervasive English air, already cool for the season.

I hoped Genie had brought winter evening wear with her, though there was sure to be something vintage in the upstairs rooms, as long as the moths hadn’t gotten to the wardrobes.

His curled upper lip hadn’t touched his teeth since we landed. Genie was right. Jacques was a snob. But I valued my life too much to be the one to tell him that. Besides, I found his sense of entitlement rather… Charming.

“You have a caretaker called Killman?” Genie pressed tight to my side, glancing around the overgrown acres of gardens, the statues poking out like so many fairytalesque features. “Is he… Safe?”

“Imagining a wild man, my love?” I stroked her hair with light fingers, suppressing the need to strip off my clothes and run naked through the overgrown gardens of Bracksley.

Mind, not that there was any but the two lovers at my side to see me frolic. Even then it wouldn’t be that far outside my usual occupation. Still…I pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“Killman is our groundskeeper."

“He’s doing a fabulous job.” Jacques managed to keep his voice free of all accent, and put on that horrible Americanism.

“Are you jealous of his freedom?” Genie murmured, poking her head around my arm at him.

I didn't need to look at her to know she had that glint in her eye that spoke of trouble between them. But I also knew she’d pegged him.

Speaking of, I owed the man a damned good fucking after the way he turned the tables on me the night before.

Not that I'd be able to perform any time soon. Not after the way he’d had my balls in a literal vice grip for nearly an hour, or so it seemed while we watched Genie dance for us on my cock at sunrise before we left the chateau.

And every second of my pain had been worth it to be close to them both.

“Why don’t we go inside?” I suggested, gesturing to the door. “Perhaps Killman set the fire inside.”

Jacques snorted, and Genie shivered on command.

And as expected, they were right, and I was wrong.

The interior of Bracksley Castle was as warm as the weather outside.

“Okay, so maybe Killman needs a little help,” I said slowly, looking around at the pile of multimillion dollar stones that comprised my English seat. Marquess of Bracksley. There were other parts to it, but that was the important bit. My lips rolled inward. “Perhaps a lot of help?” I hedged.

It didn’t look like anyone had been inside the castle since my father passed. I had not returned to England then, bypassing the trip in my haste to escape everything and head to the US and my freedom. My future.

Right now, that selfishness looked like a truly horrendous idea.

At least Monique hadn't gotten her fangs into this place. Barrogenet and his British counterpart, Lansdowne, had Bracksley wrapped up so tightly that I didn’t think it was even on her radar.

But that left the rest of my copious questions begging and unanswered.

Had Killman let the staff go? Or just scared them out of their wits, perhaps. I rolled my neck, relieved when Jacques’s hands pressed against my pressure points in a sensual massage.

“You know it was your stepmother,” he murmured, his words lacing intrinsically with his actions.

“Somehow she found out about this place, and linked it to La Borde. And somehow, she’s managed to cut off their income.

It won’t take me more than a morning’s work to head into the village and find out when it happened, fix the contracts and get the staff back, or hire new workers.

Give me a number, and I’ll see it’s done. ”

His skills were legendary, already running dual duties at La Borde. But this….

“Did you upskill while I was away?”

“I foresaw a need.” He didn’t look at me, walking further into the room before he turned on his heel to face me. “And I hoped you would return.”

All that on a simple hope.

I stared at the empty fireplace and made my decision.

“The land is three quarters the size of La Borde. Stables double. I have no idea what’s still there.

Have a quick gander before you walk into town, please.

I’m sorry if there’s no car. Ride, if you want.

There might be bikes in the garage. Actually, there should be cars, unless someone filched them all.

My father has—or had—a collection of Aston Martins.

See what happened to those?” Desperation clung to me that fast became an anxiety attack.

I didn't give a shit about the money. My father fucking loved those cars. Almost as much as he loved my mother. I’d be devastated if they’d be stolen or sold out from under us, even after his death.

Genie wrapped her arms around my waist, snuggling deeper. I wrapped my arms around her in return, but when she looked up, it wasn’t at me. Her plea went out to the man who stood before us.

“I’ll see it’s done, my lord.” Jacques feathered a reassuring kiss behind my ear as he passed us, taking the scant information in his stride.

No doubt he’d look around before he took off for the village. I trusted him. I had to. Trust required giving and he had given me so much. My stomach revolted on my, and I grasped about and found?—

Genie.

“Will you show me upstairs?” she murmured, waving a hand toward a banister and circular staircase that led upward.

I missed the tip of her nose. “I think I love you,” I whispered as her eyes widened.

And I meant it.

Watching Genie flit from room to room in full discovery mode in the eastern wing was a singular joy I couldn't have foreseen. I’d managed to tow my armor in its case up the stairs with me. It marked the carpet somewhat, but it was finally where it belonged—in its proper home.

And now that I no longer had to follow the demands of my cold roast leftovers of a family dinner, I had the opportunity to take pure pleasure in just watching her and that was possibly the best part of my day.

“What time is this thing with your mother tonight?” I ran my fingers across the top of a white sheeted piece of furniture. I thought this was a sitting room, but I wasn't entirely sure. It had been years since I came into this wing. “And do you have clothes?”

“Clothes, yes. It starts at ten, so I can arrive at eleven and probably pull off a red carpet worthy entrance. Midnight would upset her beautifully. Can I borrow a car?” She looked over her shoulder at me and managed to toss her hair all in one flick.

“Are you drinking? Because I’ll get us a driver.” My lips twitched at the memory of the last time I had her in a car.

Or when I didn't have her, more to the point.

Genie frowned. “I know we just did non-battle with your family, Barclay, but really, I don't want you to have to deal with mine. Caustic is a sweet term if you want to look at it that way. She’ll shred you and… I don't want you to be hurt.” Her frown deepened.

I instantly hated the way her eyes saddened. Pushing away from my post at the doorway where I'd settled after attempting to catalogue the room in my memories and failing obnoxiously short of the required mark, I crossed the parquet floor and stood before her.

“Genie, you’ve battled my ex-lover, put up with my stepmonster and flown a quarter of the way around the world just to be my fake date.” I tucked a wayward strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

“Your not so fake date,” she corrected me. Her smile left me less anxious than I’d been a moment before, but still the fact that I’d be leaving her with a foe of her own tonight bothered me.

“Alright then, a not fake date,” I conceded, dropping a sweet kiss against her lips and pulled away before she could object.

“This morning I suffered pain just to watch you dance over my cock. And I’d do it again because that image of you is burned into my mind, mon petit chou.

She bit her lip when I held up my hand to forestall her further objections.

“Either way, I don’t want you heading out alone.

One of us should be with you at all times. ”

Genie stamped her foot. “You’re not my keeper, Barclay,’ she said, a dangerous glitter in her kitten eyes.

I leaned forward. “And you're far too tempting. Someone will snatch you away from me and I’ll raze this city to the fucking ground just to claim you back.

That little declaration against her independence stifled her remaining breath.

I stood back satisfied, until a cold pressure against the back of my head stilled me in a different way. A secondary sound, a muted snick told me I hadn't misread the situation.

Or rather, I had, and the danger I spoke of wasn't out there at all.

It was in here with the two of us.

“I’d listen to him, if I were you. In these large cities, you never know who is about and might take a liking to a, what was the term you used? Something tempting like you?” Beau Bennett shifted into the room.

I ground my teeth hard enough for the sound to be audible. “What the fuck are you doing in my house?”

I could almost hear his eyebrows soar for the floral motif decorated ceiling. This one had fleur de lys incorporated into the design to show the marriage to the French side of the family at some point several hundred years back.

“I’ve been trying very hard to find you, Barclay. First France, now here. You do get around, don’t you? Or rather, your armor does.” He clucked his tongue at me and the pressure at the base of my skull eased as Beau tucked the gun away.

I closed my eyes, willing blood to flow back to my brain as the answer hit me. “You air tagged my fucking luggage.”

Beau laughed. “I air tagged your family heirloom,” he corrected me. I suspected you’d need it, or that it would lead me to an answer I needed. In any case I was both right and wrong. And here we are.” He nodded jovially and reached out to Genie. “Darling. I haven’t seen you for an age.”

She weathered the kiss he placed on her cheek with pinked skin and closed eyes.

When those hazel eyes fluttered open, her gaze pierced my soul. “We used to date,” she whispered, staring at the floor.

“I get it,” I stage whispered back at her from behind my hand. “I used to have a crush on him until I realized that all the pretty faces in the world didn’t matter if there was nothing there in either the heart or the brain department.”

Beau growled and Genie giggled.

I didn’t give a fuck about his reaction, but I did damn well care about hers.

Holding out my arms I moved sideways, away from him.

If he was here to kill me about the damn armor, then he could get it over with.

I was too tired to fight today. But he wouldn’t do it without me being between him and her.

I knew Beau Bennett had plenty of dark tendencies. He simply didn’t need to display them in my house.

“I’d disagree—” Beau started, but his spine stiffened. Suddenly I wasn’t the only one in the room grinding their teeth.

“I was wondering when you’d get back. How did you go to the village?” I called over Beau’s shoulder.

“Fabulously. We have a three quarter contingent of staff on a promissory note bearing your father’s dual solicitor's name—is that what it’s called here?” Jacques leaned around Beau to catch my eye, his brow furrowed as he pressed the gun tighter to Beau’s flesh.

I shrugged. “It’s close enough for this conversation. What did you hear?”

“Enough. Is it just you?” Jacques addressed Beau. “Be clear, please.” His accent dropped and I wondered what other upskilling my lover had done in recent years.

Genie stumbled back into my arms. “What’s happening?”

I placed two fingers over her lips. Explanations could come in a moment.

“Just. Me,” Beau seethed.

I nodded to Jacques. “Truth. He’s angry because he didn’t know.”

Jacques smiled and nudged Beau further into the room. “As it should be.”

Genie turned in my arms. “What didn’t he know?”

I smiled down at her. “Jacques's first duty is as my bodyguard. He has been since I turned seventeen, though his duties as my valet began when I was eighteen. The year we became lovers.” Friendship blossomed.

Jacques, then nineteen and a few scant years older than me, took the time to teach me the skills to defend myself as his first ever client.

But that was where his duties stopped, geographically speaking. He never travelled with me to keep that cover in place. Because France was where the money lay. Here in England, there was less threat, or so my father assumed. It looked as though I had brought my own problems with me from the States.

My reminiscence could wait, however.

I stared at Beau, gathering Genie in my arms and motioned for Jacques to step back after our insurgent handed over his weapon and two blades that were found on him. “Why are you here? You didn’t track me across the globe for my silver collection.”

Beau snorted. “I’m here for her.”

Both Jacques and I stiffened.

“Never going to happen,” he murmured, raising the gun a second time.

Beau smiled faintly. “Interesting. I thought you only batted for Team Barclay.”

I swore Jacques actually growled.

“However,” Beau continued, as though he was never interrupted at all, “I’m here for one person, and it’s neither of you boys.”

My arms tightened around Genie. “What?”

“I said no, Beau,” Genie sighed, leaning her head on my chest like she’d been through this conversation before. “And don’t you have your own problem child at home?"

I snorted a laugh at that. I was sure Sylvie would be delighted at being called Beau's problem child.

Beau smiled. “She probably calls me hers,” he mused. “And I'm flattered, but no. That is… of the past.” he flicked a lint from his blazer. “This afternoon’s entertainment starts before the main event. Or did you not want to see your mother at the gala dinner, or ever again?”