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Chapter Six

I t wasn’t even half-seven yet and Jed had already had a crappy day.

He’d destroyed a pot that he probably wouldn’t be able to replace, and even if he found one, he probably wouldn’t be able to afford it.

He might’ve also pulled a muscle in his back when he inelegantly fumbled his exit from the Scorpion pose, something he’d only recently mastered.

And he’d scraped the side of his foot on a shard of the broken pot when he stood.

And before all that, he’d spent another hour cyber-stalking– no other word for it– Eden Ennis.

It worried the hell out of him that a woman in her late twenties had no social media footprint. It made him wonder what she was hiding, who she was and, most of all, why she was at Elmsleigh House. He didn’t trust her. He didn’t trust anyone new who made a concerted effort to get close to Troyden.

But worst of all Eden unsettled him. Even looking at her made him feel itchy and restless; he was just too damn aware of her. And that was a problem. Because no matter how much he wanted her, protecting Troyden came first.

And nothing– especially not a woman with secrets in her eyes– was going to get in the way of that.

After checking on the ponies, making sure that the grooms were doing their job– they may be the best in the business but the ponies were valuable so he felt justified checking in– Jed walked back up to the house, wondering how many times he’d made this walk before.

A thousand? Five thousand? Ten? He could do it in his sleep, backwards, and blind drunk.

He might live in, and love, his cottage, but Elmsleigh House was home.

With its big beds and huge wardrobes, pantries and attics, it had been the best place to grow up.

He and his sibs had enjoyed their version of bowling in the long gallery, playing hide and seek, and those hot summer nights when he, Kael and Mick would drop a rope made from bedsheets out of his window to run off to the stables for a midnight bareback ride, followed by a swim in the pond.

He’d lost his virginity in the first stall in the stable on the right, had his first blow job in the tack room. He’d recovered from chicken pox, pneumonia, a broken leg, a broken elbow and a dislocated shoulder in the library and media room, fussed over by Diana.

He’d bonded with his stepsiblings over the kitchen table, as they’d watched Troyden’s bizarre search for love and the woman of his dreams. Troyden’s love life was a real-life version of a soapie.

Two more wives followed his mum out the door, and after divorce number five, Troyden stopped proposing. Thank God.

When it came to love, Troyden could be idealistic and a little na?ve. It was a terrible combination and one that allowed predatory women to take advantage of him. Now he had to add Eden to the list.

He could see why she’d caught Troyden’s eye.

She had an air of vulnerability, an attractive, innate grace.

With her reddish-gold hair and changeable eyes, she wasn’t blow-your-head-off stunning, but she was someone you looked at twice, and then a few more times.

With copper-coloured freckles on her nose and cheeks, the deep dent in her lower lip, and those thick dark eyelashes, hers was a face that a man could look into for a very long time and still find interesting…

Despite spending the last week running through a list of ‘what ifs’– what if he’d got her number, what if he’d taken her to dinner, what if she wasn’t allergic to horses– Jed had to remember she was just another pretty package queuing up to become the next Mrs Castle.

God, he was so tired of doing this, of giving warnings and playing the bad cop. But he was the family protector, and he wouldn’t stop now. He couldn’t. It was what he did.

Jed turned the corner of the house and saw movement in the back entertainment area overlooking the stables.

Eden sat on the edge of a wooden Adirondack chair, her hands between her thighs, looking young, lost and a little desolate.

His heart flung itself against his ribcage.

He didn’t want to do this, not today and definitely not with her.

He leaned back against the stone wall, warmed by the morning sun, and took a moment to take her in.

The sunlight picked up the hints of copper in her hair, and he finally understood the allusion to old pennies.

Lycra leggings clung to her slim legs, and her once expensive trainer had a tiny hole in the left big toe.

Her t-shirt fell over her gorgeous breasts and round hips.

But her shoulders were hunched, and he couldn’t stop thinking she looked ready to bolt.

Just rip the plaster off, Harris. Make it quick, make it as painless as possible.

‘Having second thoughts about hooking up with an older guy?’ he asked, noticing his tone was more wary than scary.

Her head shot up and her eyes slammed into his. ‘What?’

‘He’s wealthy, very fit and looks twenty years younger than he is.

But you should know that he falls asleep while watching the news, has to take Viagra, and loathes clubs and big parties.

He’s a Star Wars and Second World War history buff and will bore you rigid with deep-dive descriptions of the campaigns in Africa and descriptions of Tatooine.

He’s crazy about horses and you are allergic to them?—’

As if to highlight his point, she sneezed. He sighed. ‘You’re going to be sneezing a lot more if you hang around him, because trying to keep Troyden away from the stables is like trying to keep a meth addict off the pipe. You’d better up those antihistamines, sweetheart.’

‘What are you talking about?’ she asked, sitting up, a scowl pulling her eyebrows together.

‘I’m talking about you. And Troyden.’ He linked hands. ‘Together.’ He folded his arms across his chest. He was getting too old for this shit.

He nailed her with a hard look. ‘Let me tell you how this is going to go: you and Troyden will hook up, and, in a week or two, you’ll tell him your bank card isn’t working, or that your ex scammed you out of your savings.

You’ll bat your eyes, maybe cry a little, and he’ll offer to help you out of your jam.

The week after that, you’ll be in London and you’ll suggest a walk down Bond Street.

When you walk past Gucci or Jimmy Choo, you’ll stop to admire a pair of shoes in the window and you’ll tell him it’s your longest dream to own a pair of shoes like that, or a bag, or a bracelet. He’ll buy it for you.’

Those copper-tinged eyebrows lifted and her eyes turned bluer. ‘Generous of him.’

He sighed. That was the problem. ‘Very. But you’ll push for too much, too quickly, and he’ll dig in his heels. Or you won’t dig at all, and he’ll be suspicious. Either way, he’ll be bored of you in six to eight weeks, maybe in two to three months.’

‘Wow, you’re cynical,’ she breathed.

The hand on her heart was a nice touch but he wasn’t fooled. ‘Sweetheart, I’ve seen this scenario play out a few times. I’m telling you; he’s not worth your time or energy.’

‘Your concern for me is touching,’ she muttered, her sarcasm as sharp as a scalpel blade. The look she gave him made his balls shrivel up, just a little.

‘Mm, I’ve never owned a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes or a Gucci bag, or any diamonds, at all. So if I play my cards right, I can get him to pay for them?’

Her lack of self-respect was a sharp, acid-tipped knife.

Why did he feel more disappointed than usual?

He’d spent thirty minutes, even less, with her.

Nothing about her made sense. He gripped the bridge of his nose, pushing down hard.

He needed to get this done and leave. ‘Just know that if you steal from him, we will press charges. And don’t bother trying to sell any pictures of the house or Troyden, he has an arrangement with the tabloids that he will buy the photos for double what they offer you. It’s a waste of your time.’

She tipped her head to the side. ‘Good to know,’ she murmured. ‘I’m learning so much this morning.’

Despite the yoga session, the headache he’d woken up with had yet to dissipate, and he needed a handful of paracetamols.

He’d delivered the warning speech, what she did now was up to her.

And Troyden, he supposed. But God, he hoped she was a flash in the pan rather than a long-term fascination.

He couldn’t cope with seeing her across the breakfast table, fresh from his stepfather’s bed. Ugh , was that bile on his tongue?

Eden stood and handed him a flat smile. She held her index finger in the air.

‘Would you give me one moment? I’ll be back in a minute…

’ She looked behind her and scrunched up her nose, a completely adorable gesture.

No, fuck , nothing about this, or her, was adorable.

‘It might take a few more minutes because the house is big. But stay right here, okay?’

He frowned at her, sensing heat behind her too-chirpy tone.

Something was off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Before he could tell her to stop wasting his time, to assure her that she had nothing to say that he wanted to hear, she slipped through the French doors into the summer sunroom.

He lost sight of her when she walked into the hallway.

He glanced at his watch. He had stuff to do, for God’s sake.

After breakfast, he planned to put a new pony through its paces.

Then he was joining Kit, Mateo and the rest of the team in the state-of-the-art gym in the basement of Elmsleigh House for their trainer to assess their fitness.

Later this afternoon, they’d do stick and ball training.

The season was fast approaching, and he fully intended his team to be the top-ranked British polo team. It was up to him to make that happen because anything less was unacceptable.