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“If you say so.”
She shot across three lanes at full speed to take the exit she needed. Horns blasted and her car missed the barrier by an inch. Harvard was actually quite proud that her driving wasn’t making him sob like a baby and cling to the panic handle.
“Fine,” she said in a tone that mocked him. “We’ll tell everyone you were a CIA desk jockey. I’ll let you explain why you look like the black version of Thor.”
“Thor has more hair.” He ran a hand over his shaven head. “And I have more muscle.”
“My point is, you don’t look like you spent your life behind a desk,” she said slowly, as though he was incredibly thic
k. Only Rachel would look at the master’s degree he’d gotten from MIT and still think he was an idiot.
“Not pale enough?”
“You really aren’t funny.”
“Only you think that. But, seriously, don’t worry about the details of my cover. Plenty of office guys work out. I’ll tell everybody I spent years doing MMA training in my spare time.”
“Did you?”
“Yeah. We all did. Joe, Grunt, Beast, Noah, and me. That’s how we met. We started out as teens in a church-run boxing club and went into other martial arts disciplines from there. Beast was the only one who turned professional.”
And now, all of his best friends worked for the same UK-based security company. After years of working alone in high-stress situations, it was good to know he had them at his back again. Although Beast wasn’t often around. He was on permanent duty as head of security for his movie star wife.
“I would have said that you and Grunt were far too big and bulky for MMA.” She lifted her nose in the air. “But if you think you can sell the story, then you may tell it to my family.”
“Thank you, Rachel. As team leader, it’s important to me that I have your permission to share my life story.”
Her scowl made him want to laugh.
The car turned into a dark, tree-lined country road, at the end of which sat ornate ironwork gates. Rachel pulled her sun visor down, pressed a button, and the gates swung open.
In the distance, on a rise, sat Talbot House. One of Rachel’s ancestors had built the eighteenth-century stately home and passed it down through the generations. With the house came the title of Earl of Ponterley. Or, in Rachel’s mother’s case, the Countess of Ponterley. As one of the few families in England that had an exemption for the firstborn to inherit the title regardless of gender, it had passed to the earl’s only daughter. After Rachel’s mother, it would return once again to the male line through Rachel’s older brother, Jonathan.
Which made him wonder. “Do you ever wish you were the one who’d inherit the title?”
Rachel scoffed. “Hardly. Whoever has the title has to oversee the trust dealing with that monstrosity. I honestly don’t need the hassle.” She gestured to the house, with its many turrets, ornate chimneys, and carved detail.
Harvard had to agree. Even a cursory read through of their website had made him feel overwhelmed. With thirty bedrooms, countless social areas, and staff quarters, the vast limestone structure would definitely require a lot of upkeep. But he had to admit it was impressive. It glowed in the distance, lit by carefully placed lights and surrounded by two hundred acres of pristine gardens. Yeah, it was something out of a fairytale book.
“Did you grow up in there, or did you always live in the guesthouse?”
“We stayed in the manor until I was about eight, then we moved to the guesthouse, and the family seat became a fulltime tourist destination.”
“That’s a shame,” he muttered, trying to imagine what it must have been like to live in a house so vast you could have your own wing and not see each other for days.
“Not really.” She turned the car toward the private corner of the grounds where her parents’ home sat. Something Harvard knew from spending a little too much time on Google Earth. “It was cold and dusty. So. Much. Dust. Even the staff couldn’t keep on top of it, and Mother never wanted to hire on more people. She said there were enough strangers in her home as it was. Of course, when the trust took over the place, they upped the staff numbers and dealt with the dust. I hate dust.”
“Yeah, I’m getting that.”
“And we were forever shouting for each other. No matter who you needed, they were never in the same part of the building as you, and the intercom system wasn’t always reliable. It would have been easier if we’d been allowed cell phones, but Mother refused to let us have them until we turned twelve—something about developing brains and radiation.”
Harvard grinned at the thought of a house so big you had to phone your family to find them. “Was there anything good about living there?”
She thought hard for a second. “It was great for hide-and-seek. Although quite often, the games were unintentional.”
As he burst out laughing, the guesthouse came into view. If he hadn’t seen the other house first, he would have thought this one was the mansion. It was built out of the same pale limestone as the main house, but was less ornate in design. There were three rows of windows, the top row being much smaller—probably where they stashed their servants. Wide sweeping stairs led up to the double front doors—which currently stood open.
And standing in the doorway were Rachel’s parents.
