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“Who’s the old guy?” I ask as Josh joins us.
Gage shrugs. “I don’t know, but I’m going to get a drink and introduce myself to Julie.”
Gage heads toward the marquee, leaving me and Josh smiling awkwardly at one another. Part of me wishes Lucian hadn’t confided in Josh about our arrangement, because when I am alone with him, I feel naked.
“That’s Simon Matthews,” Josh says.
So that is Samantha’s uncle. I draw my brows together. “What’s he doing here?”
Josh shrugs. “They were here when I arrived.”
“They?”
Josh nods. “Yes, Samantha is inside looking around. Simon said he was in the area and was interested in purchasing the property for his niece. Duncan said something about Lucian giving her a private tour.”
My gaze shoots to Lucian, who smiles at Simon and his father, but it’s forced. Without a backward glance he heads into the house. The door opens and I get a flash of Samantha standing inside. Her mousy hair has been pinned back, a small strand coming loose when she straightens the skirt of her floral dress. Her gaze connects with mine and she smiles sweetly. Instinctively I step forward. If she’s inside with Lucian, I want to be there.
Josh stands in front of me and blocks my way. “Please, don’t get lost in fiction. What you and Lucian have, it isn’t real.”
Yes, it is!I want to yell in his face.
“You didn’t see how happy Lucian was when he and Samantha were together. He was a different person when he was with her. Now, please, come with me, we’ll mingle.” Josh shoots a glance toward the house. “I would hate for us to step in the way of fate.”
Lucian
Chelsea insisted I join my brothers in Scotland for our monthly boys’ night. I’m not sure if she truly wanted me to go, or if she was just growing tired of Gage’s constant begging. Either way, I am here, and plan on returning to my Surrey estate first thing in the morning.
My brothers, along with Josh, arrived at Dunmorrow Castle a little after five pm and were shown straight to the games room. The games room is an oxymoron if ever I’ve seen one, rustic yet contemporary, dark yet light. Antique carved wood panelling lines three of the four walls, and a full-sized domed aquarium has been built into the fourth. The ocean-blue light that is emitted reflects onto the wood panelling. That along with the movement in the tank gives the illusion of being submerged underwater.
Malachi, being Malachi, has the mammoth tank filled with only the rarest fish, from the pink and blue striped candy basslet to the masked angelfish and Neptune grouper. Amongst his prized beauties are less attractive yet still rare fish that swim in a synchronised shoal.
“Bloody hell, this is embarrassing,” Gage complains, pulling my attention from the aquarium and back to the poker table. “Not only is Malachi winning, but he’s wiping the floor with my arse.” Gage’s eyes widen as he takes in Malachi’s hand.
A royal flush.
Malachi claims his winnings. “Good game,” he says, clapping Gage on the shoulder.
Rather than watch my brother stack his chips, I turn my attention to Kevin, Malachi’s very tall, very greying butler. He busies himself filling drinks and handing out cigars. He’s doing a fine job seeing as no one’s glass is empty and there isn’t a single person in the room who isn’t puffing on one of Malachi’s imported Gurkha Black Dragons.
“Take the shot already. I have money to win back,” Josh says, pulling my attention to the table.
Gage raises his hands in mock surrender before taking the shot of whiskey positioned in front of him. With unsteady hands he knocks it back. No sooner has the glass been placed down on the green felt than it is taken away and refilled.
The stakes are high, and as well as the many thousands of pounds we gamble away, at the end of each game the losers take a shot. We play into the early hours, only forfeiting when we’re out of chips or we’re too inebriated to form a coherent sentence.
“Bets in, ladies,” Malachi says, referring to the blinds that two of the players make before any cards have been dealt. On cue, Gage and I push a handful of multicoloured chips into the centre of the table.
Straight-faced and the most sober of the group, Malachi begins to shuffle. He sighs heavily, as though he is somehow inconvenienced, before dealing two cards face down to each of us.
“How’s the estate agency going?” Gage asks, lifting his cards to peer at what lies beneath.
“It’s going great,” Josh answers for me, his attention, like Gage’s, trained on his cards. From his stoic expression it is impossible to tell what he is thinking. My cousin has one hell of a poker face, and without so much as a word he pushes his cards into the middle of the table. “Fold,” he says, and takes another shot.
Leaning forward, I lift the corners of my cards. Two of clubs, seven of hearts. The hearts begin to float around on their pristine white background and it’s now that I decide to call it a night. I have an early morning and I can’t afford to spend it nursing a hangover. It’s time to gracefully bow out. I grab my shot and knock it back. “Fold.”
With Malachi and Gage’s focus on the game I decide now is as good a time as any to answer my brother’s previous question. “Everything at the estate agency is going swimmingly. It may just be the advantage I need to secure the housebuilding company.”
Although I speak to Gage, my snarky comment is aimed at Malachi. My hope is that it’ll annoy him just enough to throw him off his game and put an end to his winning streak. Malachi’s brows draw together, and there is a flash of anger in his gaze. Our eye contact lasts seconds before he cracks his neck and returns his attention to the game.
