Chloe snorts.
He glances at her. “What, you disagree? You’ve made so many visits to rehab, I’m pretty sure your next OD is free.” His eyes flicker to Carter. “And your brother has bedded half the damn country!”
The warning growl that rattles in Carter’s throat is scary enough to send a chill down my spine.
“That’senough,Owen!” I hiss, totally mortified. “I don’t even recognize you right now!”
“Right back at you,” he snaps. “God, Ems, I know you’re looking for a family, but I think you deserve better than a cokehead and a walking STD.”
Carter takes a threatening stride forward, hands fisted at his sides. “Care to say that again, pretty boy?”
Owen turns to him and the dark expression on his face is like nothing I’ve ever seen. “You don’t scare me, little lordling.”
“Then you’re either very brave or very stupid.” Cerulean eyes glitter. “I’m guessing I know which one.”
“Seeing as I’m not the husband of a desperate housewife eager for an affair with some half-royal prick… I think I’m safe from you.” Owen leans in, voice dropping. “Isn’t that your usual MO — bang the wife, humiliate the husband, ruin the marriage? See, unlike Emilia, Idoread the papers.”
Chloe sucks in a sharp breath.
Carter’s face goes totally dark — clearly, Owen has struck a nerve. When he steps toward us, I feel my pulse stutter inside my chest.
“You know, you seem a bit preoccupied with my sexual conquests.” Carter smiles without even the slightest trace of humor. “Don’t worry. There are no women in my bedroom here — which, as it happens, is right across the hall from Emilia’s.” He pauses meaningfully. “I’ll be sure to keep acloseeye on her for you, mate.”
Owen actually flinches. “If you touch so much as a hair on her head…”
“Oh, I won’t,” Carter goads. “Not unless she asks me to, of course.”
“Please, stop,” I beg, voice cracking under the strain. “Both of you! This is absurd.”
I grab Owen’s arm, trying to shake some sense into him, but he’s beyond my reach — lost in a dark, consuming fury. Staring at his face, at those deep brown eyes, that floppy blond hair I’ve always loved so much… for the first time in my life, I feel like I’m looking at a stranger.
When Carter advances another step, Chloe throws out an arm to halt him. I do the same with Owen, pressing him back with all the strength I possess. I can feel his chest rising and falling rapidly, even through the thick sleeve of the jacket. Both men look like they’re one inch away from beating each other senseless on the idyllic garden path. There’s so much testosterone in the air, I’m surprised a five o’clock shadow doesn’t break out on my jaw, just from breathing it in.
Chloe’s wild eyes meet mine. “Maybe you two should go.”
I couldn’t agree more.
With a grimace, I step fully in front of Owen and start pushing him backward, trying to force him out of the line of fire. He resists, legs locked firmly in place.
“Let’s go, Harding,” I snap, shoving his chest. “Don’t make me call your mother. You know I will. And we both know Belinda will bepissed.”
His eyes flicker to mine and for just a second, I see a trace of the boy I used to know beneath this posturing, unrecognizable alpha male.
“Please,” I whisper.
With a sigh, he clenches his jaw, spins, and starts walking down the path — head bowed, hands fisted, shoulders tense beneath the fabric of his long-sleeve shirt. I cast a quick glance back at Chloe and Carter before I follow, totally at a loss for words. I’m stunned by Owen’s behavior. Totally mortified by the things he said about them.
“Oh, don’t you dare apologize,” Chloe cuts me off before I can, her lips twisting up in a small smile. “Thanks to you, things are finally getting interesting around here.”
With a grateful nod in her direction, I turn and dart after Owen. I never spare so much as a glance at Carter. But the whole way down the path, I feel the weight of those too-blue eyes burning into my back like a fire I cannot extinguish, no matter how hard I try.
Chapter Eleven
After the Owen incident,I thought life at The Lockwood Estate couldn’t possibly get worse.
I was so very wrong.
“Remember: chin up, shoulders back, gripdelicate.” Lady Morrell stares down her long, hooked nose with disapproval. “It is a spoon, not a hand grenade. Your index finger should rest on the silver, light as a winged hummingbird taking pollen from a flower.”