Page 34 of From LA to London, With Love

Oh god. I swallowed. I wasn't prepared for this.

Chris appeared in full period costume—white pants with knee-high boots, a dark fitted tailcoat that went to his knees, with a waistcoat and white shirt that ruffled around his neck underneath.

It was the arrogant duke in the flesh.

And he was hot.

My heart started pounding in my ears. I’d always had a thing for period romance, and seeing Chris dressed like Mr. Darcy was just too much.

I stood there, my mouth open.

The world seemed to shift beneath my feet, my legs almost buckling under me. Holy crap. I wanted Chris to sweep me off my feet. I wanted him to carry me up the trailer stairs and throw me onto something—a couch, a bed, even a table would do. I wanted him.

“Hello! Welcome to nineteenth century England.” Chris smiled as he strode down the trailer steps and gave Elliot and Alfie both a pat on the head. Thankfully, he seemed completely oblivious to my reaction.

“The timing has worked perfectly. I just finished shooting my first scene and don’t have another one for a couple of hours, so we have plenty of time to hang out. Since we’re in between scenes at the moment, I can show you around.” He looked at Jenny. “Jenny, are you okay to mind Alfie while I give Sophie and Elliot the tour? I don’t want him to pee on a period lamppost or scratch anything in the manor after last week’s shenanigans.”

Jenny nodded happily.

“Great, thanks!” Chris turned to me. “Well, if you’re ready, let’s go to the London set first.”

He strode off, and I followed meekly—out of character for me—struggling with the pram as we walked over slightly muddy ground. Was I imagining things, or had his usual walk been replaced with a confident swagger befitting an arrogant duke?

But suddenly, he stopped and turned. “Sorry, here I am, racing ahead. I got caught up in the excitement of getting to show you two around. Why don’t I push the stroller? This mud isn’t great, and there’ll be some cobblestones to navigate soon.”

I relaxed slightly. That was the Chris I knew. I happily let him take over the pushing. Rose would probably bristle at what she called “benevolent sexism”—like guys holding doors open for women. But since Chris, with his Muscle Man muscles and height, could handle the pram a lot better than me over this terrain, I wasn’t going to object.

Chris led the way to two replica London streets in a field next to the manor. When we reached the first one, my jaw dropped. To my eyes at least, it seemed incredibly realistic. One cobblestone street was lined with an assortment of shops—Jones the Draper, the Fashionable Clothes Warehouse, Grose’s Milliner, Arpthorpe’s Furier, to name a few. There were also street carts piled with fruit, coaches waiting for their horses, and old lamp posts. The details were astonishing, from the black bowler hats, ladies’ bonnets and gloves displayed in the windows of Lillington’s Hat, Hosiery, and Glove Warehouse, to the aged sign for Bromstead’s Perfumery hanging over its entrance door.

“Wow! This is so realistic. It’s like I’ve been transported back two hundred years. But it also looks so strange, sitting out here in this muddy field, like it’s fallen from the sky.” I felt out of place walking around in nineteenth century London in jeans and a T-shirt, next to this handsome man decked out in Regency garb, even if he was pushing a very modern-looking pram.

“They’ve done a great job, haven’t they? They’ve made a huge effort to make sure everything is accurate for the period, down to the smallest detail, and it really shows.” Chris looked proudly around.

I kept sneaking glances at Chris, trying to not too obviously check him out. He’d taken off his tailcoat while we walked, and his butt looked incredible in his trousers…or were they called breeches? They appeared to have been perfectly tailored to his body. An image of him pushing me up against Jones the Draper’s facade and reenacting one of his steamier romance scenes, thrusting with that taut, firm butt, flashed into my mind, sending my heart racing. Trying to collect myself, I took a deep breath.

After I’d peered into all the shop windows, admiring the displays, Chris took us to the other “street,” which contained a row of grand townhouses. “This is where the duke lives when visiting London,” Chris said, pointing to a particularly large townhouse. While impressive, they weren’t as interesting as the street of shops.

“So, that’s London—now for my country house!” Chris led the way up a gravel driveway lined with manicured trees to the manor, an imposing three-story limestone building, with a gray lead roof and grand staircase leading up to a large wooden door. Twenty times the size of my parents’ house, it looked like it had come straight out of a Jane Austen novel.

We carried the pram up the front steps to the entrance, Elliot shrieking with glee as it bounced up and down.

“Please, come in. Welcome to my humble abode,” Chris said in his British accent, flinging the front door open.

“Humble?” I snorted as I stepped through the door and looked around the great hall, with marble floors, a grand staircase, chandeliers, and gloomy portraits of people long dead festooning the walls. A faint musty scent made my nostrils twitch. “Now this looks like it’d have a secret passage or two.”

“Ah, the magic portal inspector is back!” Chris said, his mouth twitching.

He paused beneath a drab painting of a dour old woman. “My beloved grandmother, may she rest in peace.” He clasped his hands and wiped a fake tear from his eye.

I laughed. “I’m so sorry for your loss, your grace.”

Chris ushered me into a large room, decorated with ornate green wallpaper, red curtains and drapes, a wooden sideboard and chairs, an uncomfortable-looking chaise lounge, a grand piano, and a harp.

“Please, make yourself at home in my drawing room,” he said, still in his pompous British accent, before switching back to his normal voice. “This is where most of the action takes place in the house. We even get up to a bit of hanky panky on that chaise lounge.” He grinned and gave me a wink.

“Ha! I was just thinking how uncomfortable and rickety it looked. Are you sure it’s strong enough to withstand your…hanky panky?” A flush of warmth spread across my cheeks.

“There’s only one way to find out!” Chris grabbed my hand, dragging me toward the chaise lounge.