Page 29 of A Royally Fake French Menage
Istared at the collection of shoes that overpopulated the doorstep of Bracksley Castle like it was any other uninhabited home. The flight across France in my own jet was faster than even I expected, and a single phone call was all it took to access Barrogenet’s office. Apparently the man didn't have a home, and slept and worked in his office, even on a Sunday.
Now all we had to do was get Genie to her gala in London, and our weekend away would be complete.
Though part of me wanted to stall in England for a while longer and figure out what on earth was going on with this place. Apparently I'd abandoned it as much as I had my French obligations. While the stepmonster looked after La Borde, this place was completely abandoned.
Apart from the excess of cheap flip flops.
“At least Killman is doing his job.” I poked at a flip flop with the toe of my loafers gingerly.
Jacques kicked the footwear away like it had personally offended him by touching me. “I don’t think this qualifies as‘doing his job’,” he snarked, his French accent thick in the pervasive English air, already cool for the season.
I hoped Genie had brought winter evening wear with her, though there was sure to be something vintage in the upstairs rooms, as long as the moths hadn’t gotten to the wardrobes.
His curled upper lip hadn’t touched his teeth since we landed. Genie was right. Jacques was a snob. But I valued my life too much to be the one to tell him that. Besides, I found his sense of entitlement rather… Charming.
“You have a caretaker called Killman?” Genie pressed tight to my side, glancing around the overgrown acres of gardens, the statues poking out like so many fairytalesque features. “Is he… Safe?”
“Imagining a wild man, my love?” I stroked her hair with light fingers, suppressing the need to strip off my clothes and run naked through the overgrown gardens of Bracksley.
Mind, not that there was any but the two lovers at my side to see me frolic. Even then it wouldn’t be that far outside my usual occupation. Still…I pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
“Killman is our groundskeeper."
“He’s doing a fabulous job.” Jacques managed to keep his voice free of all accent, and put on that horrible Americanism.
“Are you jealous of his freedom?” Genie murmured, poking her head around my arm at him.
I didn't need to look at her to know she had that glint in her eye that spoke of trouble between them. But I also knew she’d pegged him.
Speaking of, I owed the man a damned good fucking after the way he turned the tables on me the night before. Not that I'd be able to perform any time soon. Not after the way he’d had my balls in a literal vice grip for nearly an hour, or so it seemed while we watched Genie dance for us on my cock at sunrise before we left the chateau.
And every second of my pain had been worth it to be close to them both.
“Why don’t we go inside?” I suggested, gesturing to the door. “Perhaps Killman set the fire inside.”
Jacques snorted, and Genie shivered on command.
And as expected, they were right, and I was wrong.
The interior of Bracksley Castle was as warm as the weather outside.
“Okay, so maybe Killman needs a little help,” I said slowly, looking around at the pile of multimillion dollar stones that comprised my English seat.Marquess of Bracksley.There were other parts to it, but that was the important bit. My lips rolled inward. “Perhaps a lot of help?” I hedged.
It didn’t look like anyone had been inside the castle since my father passed. I had not returned to England then, bypassing the trip in my haste to escape everything and head to the US and my freedom. My future.
Right now, that selfishness looked like a truly horrendous idea. At least Monique hadn't gotten her fangs into this place. Barrogenet and his British counterpart, Lansdowne, had Bracksley wrapped up so tightly that I didn’t think it was even on her radar. But that left the rest of my copious questions begging and unanswered.
Had Killman let the staff go? Or just scared them out of their wits, perhaps. I rolled my neck, relieved when Jacques’s hands pressed against my pressure points in a sensual massage.
“You know it was your stepmother,” he murmured, his words lacing intrinsically with his actions. “Somehow she found out about this place, and linked it to La Borde. And somehow, she’s managed to cut off their income. It won’t take me more than a morning’s work to head into the village and find out when it happened, fix the contracts and get the staff back, or hire new workers. Give me a number, and I’ll see it’s done.”
His skills were legendary, already running dual duties at La Borde. But this….
“Did you upskill while I was away?”
“I foresaw a need.” He didn’t look at me, walking further into the room before he turned on his heel to face me. “And I hoped you would return.”
All that on a simplehope.
