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“Is it?” I knock back at her. “What, someone wants the title because they think it’s free, but don’t want to cough up for the houses, farm, oh, and debts.”
“Marcus,” she says faintly.
Giles decides to take the bull by the horns and blurts out, “You need to have an heir to have the title, and Marcus, as you don’t have one, they want the title to move across to your cousins in Ireland.”
I check the time on my watch. 12:55. Perfect timing.
Giles keeps flapping his gums. He thinks he has the upper hand. “They’ve mounted a legal challenge. We are expecting a call from the solicitors next week, Marcus. I am very worried.”
I fix him with a full smile and sit back in my chair. I put down my knife and fork with a flourish, wink at Xander and say, “Well Giles, Mother,” I nod towards her—I am in full period drama mode and going for the cliffhanger ending—“As of,” I look to my watch for dramatic effect, “er now, how fortuitous. I have just announced to the world, via a statement put out by my record company, that I,” I point to myself just so they are very clear, “Marcus Henry James Kellen Russell, The Earl of Stockton, do in fact actually have an heir. A son, to be exact. Who turned eighteen years old two weeks ago and is the most beautiful boy I have ever seen. So Giles, please tell the Irish contingent to kindly fuck all the way off.”
I stand and push my chair back, heading straight for the door to the dining room.
“Marcus, come back!” my mother shouts. She jumps up from her chair and runs after me. “Let’s go into the library,” she says, clutching at my elbow. “Please, Marcus!”
“Get rid of your lackeys,” I tell her bluntly, staring her down.
“Yes, yes, of course.” She turns back to the room and flaps around Chrissie and her daughter while Xander follows me into the library, grinning like a lunatic.
He punches me and says, “Do I tell you enough how much I love being your friend, Kellen.”
I see Isobel’s head swivel round at the name Xander just called me. Yeah, I think, you know! I stare them down as they go to leave. Isobel breaks into tears as she walks out the door, and I feel nothing, nada. Eighteen fucking years, I think. Eighteen years you cost me.
Anthony walks in the room, smiling ear to ear. “Is this anything to do with Kitten?” he asks.
I gape at him. “Wow, Ant. Where’s that come from?”
“Well, with him calling me Bug and you Kellen, the only time we did that was when Kitten was around. Is the boy hers and yours? You did say he was eighteen.”
Anthony never beat around the bush, he said he didn’t have time for it. I nod at him. If it’s possible, his smile gets bigger and he stands there, grinning at me.
“Wow, Marcus. Kitten. After all this time.” He shakes his head from side to side. “Is she the same?” I can see him getting a dazed look in his eyes, clearly recalling Evie.
She had loved him. And it was partly her love of Anthony, who she nicknamed Bug, that earned her the nickname Kitten. With him at four years younger, she’d looked after him, chivvied him around all summer, protected him at all cost. Was totally cute and cuddly with him, but anyone who dared to come at him was subjected to the wrath of the Greystone collective. Needless to say Ant/Bug adored her.
“I need to sort this lot out, and then we can have a quick meeting, Ant. Xan, I need to check in with how things are panning out. I don’t want James being bombarded. Will you be able to keep checking whilst I deal with Rowena and then Anthony?”
“Sure, I’ve got it covered, can…” He tails off as my mother and Giles come into the library.
“Whisky anyone?” Giles asks. We all just stare at him. The man’s an idiot. My mother uncharacteristically flops onto the sofa and looks up at me with red rimmed eyes. What the hell is wrong with her? It’s me who should be upset. I wait for her to start talking, but Giles beats her to the punch.
“So, Marcus, an illegitimate heir. Who’d have thought? But I suppose with your lifestyle it was to be expected.”
I stride over to smash his face in, but Ant—who may have been the smallest amongst us at one time and needed Evie to protect him, now stands six feet five inches and is a mountain of a man—stops me before I get there.
He puts a hand on my shoulder, quietly imparting more wisdom than my brain can manage at the moment. “Don't, cousin, it’s what he wants. You’re angry and not thinking.”
I don’t have to worry, because Xander gets in his face, causing him to step back in fright. Fucking coward.
“Say one more thing like that, Giles, and you’re out,” I tell him. My mother is pale and patting the seat next to her, begging Giles to come sit. “Are you sure you want him here?” I ask her.
“Yes, of course I want him here,” she touches his arm.
“Suit yourself,” I reply coldly. I can see she’s starting to panic. The period drama may well be in jeopardy, the series set to be cancelled mid-show, and she is terrified.
“I’d like to meet your son, Marcus. My grandson. What is his name? I…”
“You’ve already met him,” I cut her off. “Twice, in fact. You threw them out both times with a load of lies. Broke his mother’s arm the second time. He was four fucking years old. Did he look like me, mother, even then? You must have known she wasn’t lying. He looks like me now, so he must have then.”
