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So why don’t I know about her? Why was there no mention of her in any of the articles I read about his family?
Hell, why didn’t his mother ever mention her during our visit to the country?
“How do you take your tea?”
I blink. Scarlett is fixing the drinks for us in her warm, comfortable kitchen, while I sit at the big farmhouse table, trying to put the whole story together. “Umm, however you like it is fine.” I say, watching her curiously. Now I know what to look for, I can see the resemblance to Sebastian in their jawline, and the way her dark hair frames her face.
“Are you sure about that?” she asks, teasing. “Seb always says I take it with enough sugar to start a sweet shop. He, of course, sticks to coffee. Black, like his heart,” she adds with a wink.
I manage a nervous laugh. “He took cream once, when he thought I wasn’t looking,” I find myself saying. “Then swore he was fixing it for me.”
Scarlett brightens. “So, you’re dating him, then?”
I cough. Dating is hardly the word I’d use to describe our twisted arrangement, but I’m not about to go into that with her now. I’m the one with questions, and I want answers.
“We’re seeing each other, yes,” I finally reply. “And I’m sorry to drop by like this. He… doesn’t really mention you,” I add. “And I was… Curious.”
Understatement of the year.
Scarlett gives me a casual shrug, bringing our tea over to the table. “Well, there’s really no big mystery. I prefer a quieter life, so I keep to myself out here, with the horses. All those society events, all the attention Sebastian gets in the city… It’s not my thing,” she finishes. “Give me a muddy paddock over a VIP list any day.”
I smile along with her, but something’s still not adding up. Wanting a quiet life is one thing, but your entire family acting like you’re dead?
There’s more to the story here.
I decide to do some more gentle digging. “I can see why you like it here,” I say, sitting back, and looking around. “It’s so pretty, the open fields. You can really breathe.”
“Exactly.” Scarlett smiles. “Plus, the horses wouldn’t be happy in the city. They like a good hack in the hills.”
“So you’ve been here a while?” I ask casually, taking a sip of my tea.
Scarlett nods. “How about some biscuits?” she says getting to her feet again.
“Sure.” I watch her bustle in the kitchen cupboards. She seems a little nervous under the surface, even if she’s trying to play it cool. “It must get a little lonely, being so far from everyone.”
“I like it that way.”
“Still, at your age, you must want to meet people. Did you go to college at Oxford, like your brother?”
“No.”
“That’s right, my mistake,” I watch her carefully. “That’s when you would have been at Larkspur.”
I’m taking a wild guess here, dropping the name of the psychiatric hospital I found in the file, but I know I’ve hit the bullseye when all the color drains from her face.
Scarlett’s mug falls to the floor, shattering on the tile.
Shit.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt, quickly rushing to help her. Scarlett recoils from me, her eyes wide and panicked. “It’s OK,” I tell her, already feeling bad for scaring her.
Whatever happened with this Larkspur place, it clearly wasn’t sunshine and roses if just the mention of the name makes her react like this.
“I’ve got it, don’t cut yourself,” I tell her, clearing up the broken pieces. I find a cloth and wipe up the spilled tea. “There, good as new.”
But Scarlett doesn’t look good. She sinks into a chair, clearly trying to regulate her breathing.
“Are you OK?” I ask, concerned.
