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“No, but I did almost do that to him yesterday. Except it was the door frame, and I almost broke my toe trying to chase after my bastard cat.”
He stared at me for a moment before he dropped his head. His shoulders shook with his laugh, and he rubbed his mouth when he looked back over at me. “Forgive me, but if Max stays his bloody stubborn self, I might just take you home with me. My father would love you, my mother wouldn’t know what to do with you, and my grandmother would go along with whatever will cause the most drama. Just to let you know.”
I fought a laugh, but I failed dismally. “I’ll keep that offer in mind,” I said with a soft giggle. “As long as you have a place like this.” I nodded towards the lodge.
He pushed off the step, his lips quirking up at one side, and winked at me. “Something like that. I’ll see you later, Ellie.”
I raised my hand in goodbye and watched him go. He broke into a light jog and rounded the corner, and I frowned as he disappeared from view.
Fred Coventry.
Why did I know that name? I’d never met the man before—and I would certainly remember meetinghim—but something about his name was eerily familiar to me.
Iknewhim, but I didn’t know him.
Why the hell was his name niggling at me?
I set down my mug and picked up my phone to Google him. The hits came right away, and I sighed when Hawthorne House was one of the first images.
Of course.
Coventry.
His father was The Earl of Coventry, and I’d used Hawthorne House as inspiration for my ninth book. I’d come across his name more than once while I’d been doing my research on the house, although I hadn’t been able to visit when I was writing as I was on a book tour in America.
In the past twenty-four hours, I’d been kissed by a duke and had a future earl flirt with me.
Wow.
My life really was turning into a bad romcom, wasn’t it?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MAX
I Want A Do-Over
Kissing Ellie hadn’t been part of the plan.
Not like that.
Not in a moment where I lacked control over my actions and let my heart dictate my moves.
My heart didn’t dictate my moves. It wasn’t allowed.
My head did.
That was for good reason.
But something about that bloody woman drove me crazy.
I was apologising. Bringing her flowers. Reading romance novels. I didn’t even care that her cat—who was Houdini reincarnated—was currently snoozing on top of a stack of hay bales in my goat barn.
Or that I’d caught him using Leonardo DiCaprigoat’s pool noodle horns as a scratch post this morning.
Mind you, Leonardo hadn’t complained either, so I think the goats were quite happy with his presence. Given that I’d also seen Winston chase down a mouse this morning, I, too, found myself not minding.
An extra mouser was always welcome here, but I wasn’t going to tell my grandmother that she’d been right about that.
