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He knew what was bugging him– Henry, the Bancrofts and his addiction to her– but he had no idea why worry dulled her normally bright eyes.

He wished he was better at expressing himself, communicating, at cajoling people to talk.

Maybe then he could get Eden to talk to him, but throttling his emotions and words was an old habit– he sorted out other people’s issues and kept fears and worries to himself– and it was the one habit he didn’t know how to break.

What he’d realised recently about Eden was that she didn’t take. From the moment she’d arrived at Elmsleigh House, she’d never asked for anything– not from Troyden, not from Mick, not from him .

In fact, she was the one doing the giving.

Yes, Troyden had provided her with a room, but Eden often came home from the village with bags loaded with fresh produce, wine and chocolates to put into Di’s overflowing pantry.

She often turned down invitations from him and his siblings– she was currently Al and Justin’s favourite person– to eat with Troyden, to keep him company in the big house.

She was the reason none of them had to deal with any Sugar Babies lately.

Troyden hooking up with younger women wasn’t, he now knew, about his ego or sex, but about keeping loneliness at bay.

They were so much alike in strange ways.

Like him, Eden was fiercely independent, and determined to never be demanding or a burden.

Unlike him, she was happy and preferred to let others shine.

Eden’s feet swung back and forth, and her hands held the edges of the bench in a tight grip.

She looked around, taking in his lathes, tools and enormous stack of wood piled in the corner.

She stroked the curved wood next to her, with the same reverence she touched him, taking in the angles and curves, feeling her way, enjoying the process. It was sinuous and sexy and… yeah .

He was now sporting a woody in his workshop.

‘Your work is incredible, Jed. When did you start making stuff?’

That, at least, was easy enough to answer. ‘Shortly after I came to live with Troyden.’ She lifted an eyebrow, silently asking for more.

‘A couple of months after my mum died, I was bored and wandered into a workshop where Troyden’s now-retired farm manager was making a bench.

He handed me a piece of sandpaper, showed me how to work with the grain, and in the quiet, in the repetitive motion of stroking that paper across the wood, I found… a measure of peace.’

‘So it was a form of meditation?’

‘I suppose it was,’ he admitted. ‘I always left his shed feeling better. Over the years, I started learning more, doing more, and trying different things.’

‘You’re damn talented,’ Eden murmured. Then she tipped her head and pointed her finger at him. ‘And when you feel out of sorts, you hide out in here.’

Hide was a strong word. But, yeah… whenever he felt overwhelmed or upset, he slipped into this cool building and eased his tension by transforming raw wood into something usable and beautiful.

Her smile was as soft as a chambray cloth. ‘Just so you know, I’m a huge fan of anything that helps a person get through the day, or situation, or conversation.’

It was deeply reassuring to know that, in Eden’s eyes, it was fine to admit that not everything was okay all the time.

And as that thought faded, desire rolled through him.

He wanted her exactly in that position, sitting right there, but naked.

She could lean back on her elbows, and he’d drop to his knees to tongue her.

He didn’t think he’d take the time to undress properly; he’d just shove his pants down and slide into her, but her being naked was something he wouldn’t compromise on.

Long after her departure, he wanted to remember taking this amazing woman while she sat on the table where he expressed himself through his creations.

It wasn’t sex; it was making a memory.

‘So what’s the beef between you and Henry?’ she asked, running her finger through a layer of sawdust on the table.

Her question obliterated his thoughts as irritation strolled in and parked its arse down. He wanted to snap at her, to tell her that it wasn’t any of her business, but couldn’t. He wanted, for some reason, to confide in her, and that scared him shitless.

But could he trust her? Nobody but Troyden– and Henry, obviously– not even his siblings, knew he and Henry were half-brothers.

Henry pulled all his deepest insecurities to the surface, and he hated him for that. Why can you accept them and not me? He still didn’t know what was behind Henry’s push to acknowledge him as his brother. What was he getting out of it? What did he want from him? What price would Jed have to pay?

And how would his siblings feel when they heard that he’d been keeping his connection to the Duke and Henry a secret?

Would they look at him differently when they found out his father couldn’t acknowledge him?

Would they see him differently and question whether their love was misplaced?

How much damage control would he need to do?

Would they still want him? Would they trust him enough to continue to let him be Troyden’s, and their, protector and shield?

And if they took that away, where would he go? What would he do?

‘Jed?’

He fought his way back to the present, his eyes slowly focusing on her lovely face. ‘Mm?’

‘You’re miles away. Are you okay?’

Yes. No. Shit, he didn’t know. What he did know was that he was tired of being in his head, sick of running scenarios, and second-guessing himself. He needed to lose himself, to step out of his head and feel rather than think. And he knew of a perfect way to do just that.

Eden jumped off the bench and dusted the sawdust off her very nice arse. The arse he wanted to hold as he slid inside her…

‘Sorry, I was miles away. I was thinking about my family and then taking you here, in my workshop.’ He winced as his words landed. ‘Jesus, the two thoughts weren’t linked. I mean… fuck, that came out wrong. You’re Troyden’s niece. You’re not related to me or anything like that.’

He didn’t recognise the stuttering fool talking right now. Generally, he was a lot smoother than this. Her eyes lightened with amusement. ‘Thank God, because some of the things you’ve done would be illegal in certain countries,’ she told him, her eyes made bluer by laughter.

Okay, he enjoyed a little bondage, nothing that would even rate on the Shades of Grey scale, and was a fan of different positions, but geez, they’d done nothing extreme.

She’d either had a very tame, missionary-style sex life or was uncomfortable with him being dominant in bed.

‘Am I too bossy?’ he asked, wondering if he was now overthinking everything.

‘Yes,’ she promptly answered.

‘In bed , Eden,’ he said, trying to hold on to his patience. ‘Have I made you feel uncomfortable?’ Please say no. Just a quick, solid no.

She punched him on the bicep, her small fist holding all the power of a toddler’s. ‘I was joking, Jed! And if I didn’t like anything, I would sure as hell tell you.’

Of course she would, because she was an adult who didn’t play games.

He released the air he’d been hanging on to in a long whoosh.

‘Okay, good.’ He glanced at the bench and shrugged.

Since they were being honest… ‘So, as I was saying, I was thinking about you sitting on my bench, naked, legs spread wide while I went down on you.’

She stood on her tiptoes and brushed her sexy mouth across his. He went from a semi to hard-as-steel in a heartbeat. ‘I know. I saw it all play out in your eyes, Number Three.’

He fed her a deep, intense kiss while tugging her shirt up and over her head.

The next moment both her bra and shirt were draped over his bandsaw and his mouth was on her nipple.

He sucked her deep, then pulled back to look down at her jeans, reaching for the button and the zip.

His burnished gold eyes met hers and her mouth curved into a sexy grin as she ran her thumb along the length of his shaft. ‘Let me play with some wood, Harris.’

It was a terrible joke, but he couldn’t help his quick laughter. He pressed his hand against hers, heat from her palm branding him. ‘Go for it, sweetheart. I’m all yours.’

And for the first time in, well, forever, he didn’t follow up his statement with a silent ‘for now’.

* * *

In the kitchen, Eden, still reeling from one of the most intense orgasms in the history of the world– not hyperbole, her legs were still shaking, and her heart had yet to leave its temporary location between her legs– ran a hand over her messy hair and tried to make sense of where she was and what she was doing.

Right. Big house. Kitchen. Via group text, Diana had summoned for lunch everyone who was around, as she’d made her world-famous chicken pot pie.

Obviously, Diana’s chicken pie was the stuff of legend because the Castle clan were all seated around the big, battered kitchen table, and Alistair had yet to look away from the eye-level oven where two huge pies were slowly turning a golden brown.

Jed ruffled the kids’ hair and sniffed the garlic- and rosemary-scented air. ‘Smells amazing, Di. Where’s Dad?’

Di tossed a dishcloth over her shoulder. ‘He’s with the Bancrofts in the study.’

Eden was instantly rocketed back to the present, and she just managed to catch her shocked gasp.

Shit! They were here ? Tara and Vince? In the house?

What the hell ? Meeting them when her head was still reeling from good– no, fabulous sex– and feeling upside down and inside out, was not an option.

If, or when, she spoke to them again, hopefully never, she needed to be calm and collected, mentally alert.

‘Are they staying for lunch?’ Jed asked breezily.

‘I asked, but they said they have to get back to the city, but Troyden will persuade them,’ Diana said, sounding certain.

Jed smiled. ‘He always does.’

Shit. She had to avoid them. And that meant missing out on Diana’s famous chicken pie. A pity, because she was starving.

Eden edged away from Jed, her hand in his. She tugged, but he refused to let go. She tugged harder and finally got him to look at her, and she widened her eyes, silently asking him to release her.

‘Where are you going?’

His grip on her hand tightened. Dear God, the man had no idea how to take a hint.

Stepping closer to him, she stood on her toes so that her lips were an inch from his ear.

‘Jed, I need to go to the bathroom, and… clean up,’ she whispered.

It was, she thought, a decent excuse, and one he couldn’t argue with.

It worked as a hint of a blush appeared on the ridges of his ears. ‘Ah… right.’ He squeezed her hand and touched his lips to her temple.

‘Hurry back, Alistair might eat your portion if you’re not here.’

What excuse could she come up with if the Bancrofts joined them for lunch? Could she manufacture an emergency around the charity polo match? But Jed and Mick were on the committee and could easily fact-check her. Maybe she could say that a pipe in her flat had burst?

God, she hated lying, but what choice did she have?

She had to avoid the Bancrofts, and not only because she wanted to.

She’d been instructed to keep her involvement in the case quiet, to not discuss it with anyone and she did not want to get on the wrong side of the Metropolitan Police.

She could live without an obstruction of justice or impeding an investigation charge levied against her.

She would figure out an excuse later, crossing that bridge when she came to it.

Right now, she needed to slip up to her room, use the bathroom– she had the opportunity so she might as well clean up, brush her hair and splash water on her face– and then she’d tiptoe down the stairs, and wait in the corridor.

There was a massive, convenient suit of armour she could hide behind, just a few yards from the study door.

She’d hang out with the seventeenth-century equivalent of Iron Man until she could establish whether the Bancrofts would be joining the family for lunch or not.

How much longer could she keep juggling these emotional balls? She pushed her hands into her eye sockets, feeling the burn of tears. She was physically tired and emotionally whipped.

Hopefully, not for that much longer. But whether it was five days or five weeks, what choice did she have?

Walk away from Jed and the family now, or stay for as long as she could, banking a few more memories?

It was a simple choice to make. She’d been alone before and would be alone again, but not today. Not tonight.

Hopefully not tomorrow, or the next day.

The best scenario was to keep the situation under wraps until the charity polo match was over.

The Castle clan might hate her, but at least Hope Harbour would be saved.

And by helping to organise the event, she would’ve been a force for good, not destruction.

That had to count for something, right?