Mia's Men: A Reverse Harem Romance Novel (The Heiress's Harem Book 1) Page 3

  Meeting his gaze, she replied, “This will probably sound cheesy, but it, er, feels different with you. You’ve been where I am, and you seem to know the right thing to say, or not to say. I know you’re not going to waffle a load of nonsense at me in the hopes of making me feel better.”

  He regarded her seriously. “I’m glad you feel that way, Mia. Because this will probably sound cheesy too, but I’m here for you. If you want to talk about what happened, or you want to talk about anything but that, that’s fine with me. Just say the word—I’ll do or be whatever you need, okay?”

  Spontaneously, she jumped forward and gave him a hug. “Thank you,” she said into his ear, “so much.” Then, realising how awkward she’d suddenly made the situation, she jerked back and said brightly, “Right, well, I’d better get changed, too. These heels aren’t exactly made for walking in gardens, no matter how pretty.”

  “The shoes, or the gardens?”

  “Both,” she grinned. “Meet you at the entrance to the rose gardens in ten?”

  “Better make it fifteen. I’ve got further to walk there and back than you.”

  “True. See you in fifteen.”

  Then he left. She watched him for a moment, cutting a mighty fine figure in his smart suit as he wandered down her garden path. She shook her head, wondering again at how he’d managed to avoid her notice in that way for so long. She smiled. Now she had noticed, she intended to make the most of it—it’d be nice to have him around to feast her eyes on when he wasn’t looking, especially when the summer came and he worked without a shirt on. Oh yes, Thomas Walker would be a very pleasant distraction indeed as she completed the dull and unpleasant tasks of her more immediate future, then turned her attentions to her next whopper of a project—finding herself a husband.

  She suspected Thomas was going to be a great person to have around as she adjusted to life without her father. They’d been friendly for a while—not friends exactly, but they had nice chats whenever they bumped into each other in the grounds, and she felt comfortable around him. Trusted him. So if she did feel the need to talk to someone about her father, why not him? He understood precisely what she was going through, after all.

  With that slightly cheering thought in mind, she closed the kitchen door—didn’t lock it, since she’d be using it again in a few minutes—then, remembering James wasn’t there to do it, checked all of the other doors and windows on the ground floor. Her relatively isolated home, with its CCTV, and high walls and gates, was unlikely to burgled any time soon, but one couldn’t be too careful. Especially as she was rattling around in here by herself much of the time—no sense making herself as physically vulnerable as she currently was emotionally.

  Then she headed up to the first floor and went into her bedroom. There, she quickly located a pair of jeans, T-shirt, hoodie, and flat boots, and changed into them. In front of the mirror, she pulled all the pins from her chignon and let her hair tumble free, then dragged a brush through it, marvelling at the same time that her makeup had actually gotten through the day relatively unscathed. A quick wipe beneath her eyes with a tissue to remove a little bit of smudged mascara and she was done. It wasn’t windy outside, so she left her hair down, then made her way back downstairs and outside to meet Thomas.

  Despite him asking for fifteen minutes instead of ten, he’d beaten her to it.

  “Hey,” she said as she approached. “Sorry, you haven’t been waiting long, have you? I was making sure everywhere was locked up. James does it most of the time, so I’ve got to get into the habit of remembering when he’s not around.”

  “It’s fine, I’ve only been here a minute.” He nodded down at her clothes. “Feeling better?”

  She bobbed her head. “Yes, you? Now you’re rid of your monkey suit.”

  “God, yeah,” he replied, grinning widely. “This is much more me, don’t you think?”

  Mia took in his attire. It wasn’t his usual gardening gear. He, like her, wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a hoodie, as well as a pair of trainers. She nodded approvingly. “Not quite as smart as the suit, but certainly a step up from the grass-stained trousers and tops I usually see you in. Looking good, Tom!”

  He indicated the path, and they began walking side by side. “Thanks. So, you like a man in a suit, do you?”

  She shrugged. “Not especially. And I’ve had to deal with way too many of them over the past couple of weeks—I’m fed up of looking at them. It was just a big change to see you in one, that’s all. I like a man to wear whatever he’s comfortable in. As long as he’s clean and he smells nice, that’s good enough for me.”

  “You’re easily pleased, aren’t you?” he shot back with a grin, peering over at her.

  She gave him a playful nudge in the ribs. “Piss off, you! I’m just saying that a man doesn’t have to be dressed up in designer gear or anything to impress me.”

  “So what does he have to do? Or wear?”

  They were halfway along the edge of the rose garden by now—which was far from at its best at this time of year, but just being outside in the fresh air was having a soothing effect on Mia—and she stopped suddenly as she gave the question some consideration. “I don’t know, really. Just be a good person, genuine, hard working… anyway, why the hell are we talking about this? Are you trying to play matchmaker or something? Did my dad put you up to this?” she said, fixing him in a narrow-eyed gaze.

  Thomas held his hands up in surrender, his eyes as wide as hers were narrow. “No! Bloody hell. I was just making conversation, that’s all. Trying to distract you.” He shrugged. “But we can talk about whatever you want. Roses,” he wafted a hand around them, “the weather—we are British, after all—stocks and shares, Tom Cruise, your dad… whatever you like.”

  Mia spluttered out a laugh, then continued walking. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bite your head off there. I was just a little suspicious of your motives, that’s all. Dad had been on at me to ‘find myself a nice man’ and all that rubbish, so I thought perhaps he’d got you on the case, too.”

  “Nope. Definitely not. It was just whatever popped into my head—probably because of what I overheard Betty saying earlier, before I interrupted.”

  “Fair enough. So… stocks and shares? Tom Cruise? Where the hell did that come from?”

  Thomas snickered. “No idea about the first. The second is no mystery—I watched one of his movies last night.”

  “Any good?”

  “Yeah, if you like that kind of thing. A kind-of good guy, bad guys, punch ups, car chases… you get the jist. Do you like movies?”

  “I do. I don’t get the time to watch as many as I’d like, especially not at the cinema. But yes, I like them.” She paused, looking up at the sky. “Seems wrong to hold a funeral on such a beautiful day, doesn’t it?”

  To his credit, Thomas appeared only slightly taken aback by the sudden change of subject. “Er, yeah. Yes, it does. Bit of an affront to all concerned, actually. But on the plus side, at least we didn’t get soaked in the churchyard.”

  “Very true. You know, even at this time of year, the gardens look amazing. It may not be a riot of colour or anything, but it’s beautiful. You do an amazing job here, Tom.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, a slight blush staining his cheeks. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it. But you must, er, let me know if you want to discuss anything about the gardens. You know, if there’s anything you’d like to change or whatever. As for the riot of colour part, as long as nature cooperates with me, you’ll have that for sure during the spring and summer. I’ve planned ahead.”

  She smiled. “I look forward to it. I’m glad I’ll be here to see it.” And hopefully not for the last time, either.

  With a frown, Thomas asked, “And why wouldn’t you be?”

  “Huh?” Then, realising what she’d said, she sighed. “Oh, it’s nothing. Nothing for you to worry about.” Not yet, anyway.

  The look on Thomas’s face told her he clearly wasn’t buying it. He
stopped and turned to her, then gently took her hand. That now-familiar warmth seeped into her skin, leaving tingles in its wake. “Mia, what is it? You can talk to me, I’ve told you that. About anything. I can keep secrets.”

  They’d passed out of the rose gardens and onto the woodland path, which, if they kept on it, would lead them to Thomas’s cottage in the estate grounds. As she looked up again, a beam of winter sunlight fell on her face; weak, but still with enough strength for her to feel its warmth. Why shouldn’t I tell him? There’s nothing in Dad’s will to say I have to keep his ludicrous caveat a secret. And if it all goes pear shaped, Tom will have to know anyway. So will all the staff. And if I succeed… well, no harm done anyway, is there?

  Bringing her head back down so she could look Thomas in the eye, she said, “Oh, Tom, are you sure you really want to know? Want to be burdened with my woes?”

  “Woes?” He frowned again. “What woes? Other than the obvious.” He looked so confused, yet earnest, that Mia didn’t feel she could cut him out now. And besides, two heads were better than one, as the saying went. Perhaps if she confided in Thomas, he’d come up with some bright idea—or even just a regular idea—to help her out of her predicament.

  Still holding his hand, she continued walking. “You got any booze back at your place?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Nothing exciting—just a few cans of cider, oh, and some whiskey I hardly touch—but you’re welcome to it.”

  “Great. Come on, then. Let’s have a drink, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Chapter Four

  Mia watched, impressed, as Thomas effortlessly lit the fire in the grate. His cottage had originally been a gamekeeper’s cottage, but there hadn’t been a gamekeeper on the estate for decades, so it was now part of the salary package for the resident gardener. The sturdy, grey-stone building was like something out of a fairytale, especially when viewing it from the woods, where one couldn’t see the track leading off to the nearest minor road, or Thomas’s car parked beside it.

  “You’ve done that a few times,” she remarked as he carefully loaded sticks and logs onto the growing flames.

  Getting to his feet and turning to her with a smile, he said, “At this time of year, it’s either that or freeze my arse off. No central heating in here.”

  She gave an involuntary shiver. “I see your point.”

  “Please, sit down. So, what are you having to drink? Cider? Or are you braving the whiskey?”

  Settling into the nearest armchair, she replied, “I just buried my father. I think I’ve earned a spot of whiskey, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely. Coming right up. Ice?”

  She looked at him incredulously. “In this weather? You’re kidding.”

  Thomas shrugged and strode through the doorway into the kitchen, raising his voice as he went. “I’m not much of a whiskey drinker myself, and in films they seem to have it with ice a lot, so I just thought I’d ask.”

  “Neat is fine, thanks,” she called back. She’d never had cause to enter the building before, despite the fact it was at the end of her garden—albeit a very large garden—so she took the opportunity to look around while he was out of the room. The living room she sat in, which was entered directly via the cottage’s front door was as rustic as one would expect, given the exterior. From what she could tell, the dark grey slate floor tiles continued right into the kitchen. In this room, they were covered here and there by rugs that had seen better days, as well as the hefty, old-fashioned three-piece suite. The ceiling had beams, and the walls were exposed stone, interrupted only by the doors, window, and fireplace. It was lovely, actually, and its small size meant that the fire now blazing merrily heated the place very effectively.

  In a way, she envied Thomas for living here—she could certainly see the charm of living alone in a compact space like this, rather than rattling around in the mansion at the other end of the garden. In cold weather, heavy curtains, central heating and blazing fires barely kept the chill from the large, high-ceilinged rooms. It was little wonder that, before her father’s illness, she’d often escaped to her London apartment during the chillier months for some respite from the draughts, tightly-drawn drapes, and gloomy lighting. At least there she had double glazing, fully-insulated walls, floor and ceiling, and rooms of a much more modest size which were easier to heat. She dearly loved her childhood home and all the memories it held, but she was grateful that she had the means and opportunity to escape from time to time.

  Now, she realised, she was torn between wanting to escape to the city, and wanting to hole up in the huge house and wallow in her grief in the very place where its memories were so recent and so raw.

  At the moment, though, she was perfectly happy in her armchair in Thomas’s cottage. Perhaps it was exactly the in-between place she needed right now. And she was happier still when the man in question returned with a tumbler of whiskey in one hand, and a glass of what she assumed was cider in the other. She took the proffered whiskey with a murmur of thanks.

  “So,” he said, settling into the matching armchair on the opposite side of the fireplace to hers, “what’s going on? What woes don’t I want to be burdened with?”

  Instead of replying, Mia lifted the glass and took a sip of the whiskey, closing her eyes as it burned its way over her tongue and down her throat before finally warming her stomach. She blew out a heavy breath, then opened her eyes and focussed on Thomas. “It all started when the solicitor came to go through Dad’s will with me.”

  “Yeah?” His tone was casual as he prompted her to continue, but Mia didn’t miss the flicker of concern on his features before he arranged his face into a questioning expression.

  She nodded. “Most of it was exactly as I had expected. Quite a lot of Dad’s money was allocated to charity, and the house, estate, and the rest of his assets were to go to me, as his only child and next of kin. Unfortunately, though, there was a… condition.”

  Thomas had been nodding through most of her speech, but now he stopped and frowned. “A condition?”

  “Mmm-hmm. This is pretty out there, so if I were you, I’d have a drink.” She took her own advice, feeling the burn once more, and also the tiniest bit of fuzziness in her head as the alcohol began to do its job. She wasn’t much of a drinker, and when she did partake she was more of a wine or vodka-with-a-mixer girl, so she was unused to neat spirits, much less a strong whiskey.

  When he’d downed some of his booze and made eye contact with her again, Mia continued. “My inheritance isn’t straightforward. At this moment in time, nothing has really changed. I’m in charge of the house, the estate, dealing with the staff, the tenants. However, I can only access funds—with the exception of my salary, which will continue to be paid directly into my personal account as it always has been—if it’s to be spent directly on the estate. You know, if some new fencing is needed somewhere, or the roof needs fixing—you get the idea. So basically I can’t dip into bank accounts or cash in Dad’s investments and blow the money, which is fine, since I had no intention of doing that anyway.”

  “So, er, what’s the problem? I’m assuming your salary gives you enough to live on.”

  “It does, fortunately, including the mortgage and bills on my place in London. But that’s not the problem. The problem is, if I don’t marry a suitable man within twelve months, I will lose everything. The house, the estate, my job… all I’d have is a monthly allowance to help me keep my head above water. Worse still—”

  “It gets worse?” Thomas said, his eyes wide as he downed some more of his drink, clearly struggling to process what she was saying.

  “I’m afraid it does. If I don’t find a suitable husband, not only will I not be able to inherit… my fucking cousin will be entitled to the bloody lot!”

  “Your cousin Quinn? The stuck up, smarmy-looking bugger that scarpered as soon as he possibly could this afternoon?”

  “That’s the one. He’s got no idea about any of this—nobody has, except for the
solicitors. Thank God. But you saw him—he’s a total prick. If he got his hands on this place, he’d blow the cash, ruin the business, then sell up and pocket what was left without a second thought. He’s got no interest in running an estate. And there’s no way in hell I’m going to allow him to get his wretched hands on everything my father, and his father before him, worked for, and piss it away. People rely on this estate, rely on me now, for employment, for their livelihoods, and there’s no way I’m going to let them down.”

  She swallowed the rest of the whiskey, then fixed her gaze on Thomas, waiting for his response. Amazingly, despite the fact she’d just rehashed her living nightmare, she felt better having confided in someone.

  Thomas stared right back at her in silence, apparently dumbfounded. After a few moments, colour rushed into his cheeks and he burst out, “But that’s ridiculous. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, Mia, but what on earth was Edward thinking? Forcing you to marry someone, just so you can inherit what you’re entitled to—what you bloody well deserve, given how hard you work for this estate. I don’t get it. I just don’t get it at all. What difference is you having a husband going to make to anything? This isn’t the eighteen hundreds.”

  “Tell me about it,” she said wryly. “I didn’t get it at first, either. I’m still not one hundred percent sure I get it now, but I do have a theory.”

  “Go on…”

  “Like I said to you earlier, Dad was always on at me to ‘find myself a nice man’. He was worried about me being by myself after he was gone, especially since I’m an only child. You know, doing all the work, shouldering all the responsibility by myself. Perhaps he thought if I got myself a husband, he could help with all that. I know, I know, it still sounds pretty stupid, but I think Dad’s heart was in the right place. Only so was his bloody signature, so it’s legally binding, not just the wishes of a concerned father. Basically, it’s an ultimatum—get married, or get out and that arsehole Quinn gets everything. Oh, and I forgot!”