The Lawyer by Charlotte E Hart
Chapter Twenty
WILLOW
Idon’t know what’s gotten into Landon, but I’m pissed off when I reach the car waiting for me downstairs. He missed our usual meeting, and he had several unanswered calls. No message, no explanation.
“Where are we going?” I ask the driver as I slam the door shut behind me. There's no response. We simply pull out into London traffic, moving as quickly as mid-morning traffic allows. I grab my phone and fire off a text to Landon telling him he has to give me some idea what he’s doing, but that goes unanswered as well, so I resign myself to the mystery tour and get comfortable.
Thirty minutes later, we’re heading out of town, and a small jolt of excitement runs through my blood. This is the way to Tallington Hall. Of course, this is also the way to a million other destinations, but I remember taking the turn leading through the country. Where else would Landon be summoning me to?
As we wind deeper into the country and the journey continues, I’m sure that is our goal, but then the questions start. Why would he invite me here? Back to where we started. Started? I scold myself for the silly slip. We haven’t started anything, at least not from Landon’s view. No matter how I feel, it doesn’t matter unless he feels the same towards me. And we’re right back to the start of the problem. Neither identities are suitable for a Broderick, so what future can we have?
The midday summer sun is shining at full force by the time we arrive. Landon is waiting on the drive as the car approaches. At least I think it’s Landon. I’ve never seen him in jeans before. His usual white shirt is missing the tie, and he’s rolled the sleeves up, displaying his very fine forearms. It’s a casual look that is devastating on him. My smile is desperate to explode over my face, but I’m meant to be cross with him. That pretence will be hard to keep up, considering he’s whisked me off to his family home. Not the current residence of the Broderick’s, rather, the estate.
He opens my door, and I step out. The small pebbles are a killer on my heels as they crunch down into the surface, but Landon’s troubled expression pulls my attention.
“Is everything alright?” I ask.
“Maybe.” His cryptic answer is infuriating, and my eyes roll skyward.
“Can you do this? Just blow off work?”
He turns away and looks around the grounds. “I’m the boss. I can do anything I want.” His eyes land back on mine, but this time, there’s a spark behind them.
At least he’s not cross with me.
“Well, clearly, but ordering me to get in a car and just leave? You could have given me some warning. Or told me to pack. I’ve got nothing with me, Landon. Are we staying?”
The last part of my question is out of my mouth before I know it, and I inwardly kick myself for my presumptuous behaviour. The question hangs between us, and I’m not sure if I’ve screwed up again or cut to the chase. “What are we doing here?”
He turns towards the house and walks away. "I'm not entirely sure, but we’re having lunch in the dining hall," he says, waving me to follow.
Leading me through to the hall, I watch his hesitancy, but I'm distracted by all the splendour of Tallington. I've only seen these rooms filled with flowers and lights for the party. Now it resembles one of the National Trust homes I visited as a child. Everything is in its place, and all looking a little stuffy, no matter how grand.
I stand a little straighter and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, feeling at odds with the place. Thankfully, the eventual sight of a mahogany table dominating the dining room, with settings laid out for two at the far end, makes me smile. It's a simple arrangement, one that makes me wonder if he's planned any of this or if this is normal procedure at places like this.
He takes his seat at the head of the table, and I slip my bag off and place it on the chair next to my seat. An assortment of bowls and dishes are before us, and I can’t mistake the smell of fresh bread—warm and comforting.
“Here we are, Mr Broderick.” An older lady walks through to the room and places a roast chicken in the middle. “If you need anything, just call.”
“This looks great, Betty. Thank you for pulling it together so quickly.”
“It’s my pleasure. Nice to have guests again.”
I smile at the woman who, if I’m not mistaken, gives me a quick grin before retreating. Landon slices through the chicken and serves it to my plate. Green salads, fresh beans and new potatoes fill the bowls, and I help myself with the silver servers. Surprisingly, given his idea of lunch, his plate remains fairly empty as usual, but at least he does enjoy a large glass of the red wine that’s open for us.
I take a bread roll from the basket and can’t help but take a deep breath of that yeasty smell as I tear it open. “Fresh bread and butter, and a glass of wine, that’s all you need for a good picnic.”
His face looks up to stare at me. “You hardly strike me as the picnic kind of woman.”
“True, but a girl can dream. My garden in London doesn’t offer the same vista as Tallington's grounds.”
He frowns and goes back to eating. The scrapes of our cutlery on the china plates sounds deafening, and the room's acoustics amplify each noise. A silence stretches between us, and by the time I’ve finished, the tension in the air seems to press down on me, and I want to scream a hundred questions at him. Instead of doing that, I save them for … another time.
“I can’t get over how empty the place looks with all the flowers and people gone from the party. It seemed almost magical that night.”
“And now you get to see it’s nothing more than a house. Empty and daunting if you’re here on your own.”
“Then, why did you come?” I ask.
He's not making a lot of sense at the moment. In fact, none of this is, and yet he still busies himself with clearing his plate rather than answer.
“There are a few things that Betty has found for you," he says. "Tennis shoes, a change of clothes. They belong to one of my sisters, but you might be more comfortable in them.”
“Comfortable for what?”
“I want to show you the lake. It’s a beautiful day, and as you said, the vista is somewhat improved from London.” He stands and offers his hand. “Shall we?” I smile at his formality, enjoying getting lost in this fantasy. “The clothes are waiting in the room you stayed in for the ball.”
“Not …” I stop myself from asking why they aren’t in his room and just add it to the list of questions I’m chalking up.
“I’ll see you on the terrace.”
He leaves me in the entrance hall and disappears. He seems distant, distracted even, and I wonder if it’s bad memories or our situation that’s causing him more trouble.
Sure enough, a handful of items are spread out on the bed I slept in just a few weeks ago. I make quick work of choosing a pair of high-waisted, wide-legged trousers and a vest top. I usually need a good excuse to leave my heels behind, but, he's right, trainers will be best suited for walking the grounds. A quick check in the mirror and I decide to unpin my hair and tie it in a loose braid down one shoulder—a compromise between Willow and Juniper.
“Ready?” I ask, finding him staring out onto the lush green landscape from the terrace.
“Bread, butter, and wine. I believe that was the instruction?” An old-fashioned wicker basket sits at his feet.
I smile. “Sounds perfect. However, we might need to wait a while. I’m still full from lunch.”
“We have all the time in the world today. I told you, I’m the boss.”
Taking a winding path past trimmed garden borders and more structured rose gardens, I follow until we cut through another formal space. The eventual sight of the lake catches my breath, and I hover in awe of its beauty as he shakes out a small blanket. The basket is placed to the side, and he lies back on the bank, his eyes closed.
The hot, summer sun beats down on my back as I join him, closing my eyes and enjoying the moment. The smell of grass and flowers saturates the air. Everything is peaceful, only the background buzzing from crickets and insects disturbing the quiet. Titles and jobs don’t matter here. We're hidden away from the world, being whomever we chose to be.
The thought makes me smile again, perhaps hoping that he's feeling the same way, and some conversation about our problematic situation might arise soon.
“This is amazing. I can’t believe you don’t come here more,” I muse.
“I’m too busy. Not many opportunities to do nothing.”
“I suppose. It feels so disjointed from real life. Like we’re in a bubble all on our own here. We can do anything, be anyone we want, and there’s nobody to say no.”
My eyes squint open to watch him, hoping those words spur something, but he doesn’t move. He just lies there, basking in the sun. Maybe being quiet is the better way to go. I mean, I'm here. It's got to mean something, right?
All of a sudden, he sits up and pulls his shirt over his head, exposing his muscular back, before standing and shoving his jeans to the ground.
I turn and prop myself up on my elbow, watching his almost naked body move. “What are you doing?”
“Being whomever I like. I choose my twelve-year-old self.”
His grin splits his face, as he takes a few steps towards the edge of the lake and dives right in. He surfaces several meters out, and I sit and watch as he swims leisurely towards the other bank. It's mesmerising. He’s mesmerising.
He swims back and forth, his toned body relaxed and carefree, but after twenty minutes I give up watching and lie back down. He can do that if he wants, but I'm happy to enjoy the afternoon for everything it appears to be—indulgent relaxation with an incredible man.
After a while, raindrops of water splash down over my face and body, waking me from my drowsy state. “Stop it.” I bat him away while giggling, feeling a genuine sense of contentment. With the sunlight silhouetting his frame, I squint to see him, but he stops me with his cool, damp limbs pressed against mine. It stills all thoughts as the sensation fills up every part of me.
He deepens the kiss, drugging me with each slide of his lips over mine. It’s the first time he’s shown affection since arriving here, and it lifts my heart at the possibilities that this visit may hold.
“You taste good,” he murmurs. “Always have.” He takes his lips from me, and I miss them already.
“Come back, come back.” I lift my arms to capture him and keep his lips to mine, but he doesn’t oblige.
“Demanding little thing, aren’t you.”
He pulls away and sits on the blanket looking out over the lake he just swam in, a sigh coming from his lips as he pulls his jeans on. It makes me watch the beads of water dry on his skin in the sunlight, my mind wondering what he’s thinking about.
“Will you tell me what it was like?” I ask quietly, wanting to understand more about his life. “Living here. You shared some at the party. I’m curious.”
He lies back down and rolls to the side, so we’re facing each other, his hair still damp from the water. I keep my focus just off of his eyes, waiting to see if he’ll answer, but silence grows between us again, and I almost give up that he’ll indulge my question.
“Why are you curious?”
“Because you make me curious. I'd like to see behind that façade again.” Because it gives me hope.
But I keep that to myself.
“Mmm. It's not that pleasant, and it’s also difficult to explain. I've been extremely privileged in some ways, not so much in others. No real choice in anything. I didn't even want to be a lawyer at first. I wanted to play rugby. It wasn't a good enough career option, apparently. A waste of time.” My eyes pop out of my skull. A sportsman? “I suppose stifling is a good word for it. The full weight of the Broderick name was placed squarely on my shoulders from the day I could walk, when all I wanted was to live my own life. A few rebellions later, most of which involved a very angry father, and I was offered something to get me away from here. I took it.”
“The States? Keeping criminals out of jail?”
He nods. “Being Landon Broderick over there gave me room to make my life my own without the name suffocating me.”
“But you came back.”
“It was only ever going to be a temporary escape. I knew that. I built a career, made my mark and some important friends, but despite my irritation with them most of the time, my family does mean everything to me. The company needed a new head. Here I am.”
“And what about The Priory? I’ve seen the places you frequent. The Priory isn’t the place for any Broderick.”
“True. However, when your suitors are chosen for you, when your father vets and approves suitable content, one tends to get a little ... off course. And then there's the unenviable task of small talk and dates with those acceptable suitors. That's infuriating enough, let alone the thought that my name makes it hard to identify true intentions.” His eyes look me over as if I’m his next meal. I wish it didn’t turn my stomach and force my breath to catch, but I can’t help my reaction when he looks at me. “Also, there's those proclivities of mine. The Priory served a beneficial purpose. Until recently.”
He rolls away and grabs his shirt, the moment dead, and we’re back to the here and now. Not willing to let this period of openness end, or put it to waste while unanswered questions are dancing in my mind, I ask another.
“Did you book many others? Dancers or girls from The Priory?” I hold my breath for his answer. He was my first private dance; if he believes me or not, I’ll never know, but a part of me wants us to have some firsts together. Maybe this was meant to happen, regardless of the circumstances.
He pulls his shoes on, not looking at me. “Why should that matter?” Because I want to mean more to you.
Another sentiment I keep to myself.
I sigh lightly and shake my head, not wanting to push. “It doesn't.”
Silence drifts between us, but I’m less concerned, so grab the bottle of wine from the hamper and pour two glasses. We both sip and lounge, letting the words spoken resonate and sink in.
When the wine is drunk, he stands, takes my hand, and leads me on another trail around the gardens. The heat still builds despite it being late afternoon, and I whimsically follow wherever he leads. I couldn’t care for time here. The thought of leaving to go back home is bleak and troublesome in comparison. However, I can’t ignore the questions that plague my heart. It might have been a magical day in some ways. He's shared and I've seen more of Tallington Hall, even some of him maybe, but there's still a distance in him. Each time he's opened up, he's seemed to drift further away. For all I know, this could just be an elaborate goodbye.
The silence stretches as we trail more gardens, and my thoughts drift to my own concerns apart from him. Namely Jackson Reed. I know that I'll shatter any sense of peace Landon’s found here if I mention my problems at The Priory, and I also don’t want to tell him anything if he’s going to dismiss us as nothing but work colleagues. Not that this afternoon is showing me that, but this distance is …
“As much fun as this is, what are we doing here?” I ask.
He stops and turns back to look at me. “I really don’t know, Willow. I hate that you lied to me. It’s unforgivable. When people try lying to me in a courtroom, I destroy them, yet you’re still here.”
“You lied, too, Landon. I know what I did was deceitful, but don’t think it’s all on me. You wanted both Willow and Juniper. And I think you still do. You want both parts of me but wrapped up in a different package.”
“I never promised Willow fidelity. Your argument is flawed.”
“Juniper never touched you. My argument, if you want to call it that regarding fidelity, is sound.”
He smirks. God knows what at. We are not in a courtroom. “So, what do you propose, counsellor?”
“I can't give you a proposition unless I know what we are. You said this wouldn’t be more than sex. It feels more than that to me. Being here, talking with you. I want to think there could be something. But what about you?”
No answer. He just stands there looking at me as if weighing his options. It isn't until I begin turning away, almost accepting that the directness is too much for him, that I feel him grasp my arm. “I can’t have you dancing. If you want to keep doing that, then all of this stops here. I will not accept it.”
“Oh, an ultimatum. Jealous?”
“Yes. Extremely. And don’t play coy about it.”
“And what if I don’t want to dance at The Priory any more, but I still want to dance for you?” I hold my breath for him to respond. Everything is on the line in this conversation. I won’t hide or pretend. There’s been enough of that.
He pulls me closer to him until both his hands are on my arms, gentle fingers running softly against my skin. “I think that might be perfect.” Relief washes through me. At least with this, we might have a chance, but before I let myself fully indulge in the moment, I need one last thing answered.
“Can I ask if my job is safe? If I’m not dancing …”
“It’s safe, and will remain so regardless of your next answer, but I need to discuss something with you first.” I look up at him and wait, knowing there's nothing left in my closet that needs talking about. “I can't offer you any more than what we currently are, Willow. Being behind closed doors is where we'll stay. You need to acknowledge that and agree if you want anything between us past today.”
“You want to keep this as a secret affair only?”
“Not entirely the proposition I'm making, but yes, I won't share anything about us with the outside world unless I'm certain there's something worth sharing.” His fingers go under my chin, tipping it up to him. “This is your call, Willow, but those are my terms. There isn't any negotiation on them as yet.” His cool, blue eyes study me, perhaps looking for disappointment or anger. “So, counsellor, is that a deal we can make?”
I’ve never felt more alive than when I’m with him, and while some may describe my actions as settling for less, that’s not what’s in my heart. I've seen him letting me in today, sharing and having all the same reactions as a man who’s more involved than a casual fling. So, I can answer with confidence that I’ll take whatever he can offer me and hope that what I think is here grows between us both.
“Yes. But we have one other problem to deal with.”
And I don't know how to manage it alone.