Everly

“Piss off!” a stranger cursed as my bag rolled over the toe of his brown boot.

I groaned and apologized repeatedly before grunting and heaving my luggage on the train. I’d been warned about the London transit system—not a single porter around to help a girl—and all those warnings seemed to be true. But none of them could have changed my mind. I was desperate for a change of scenery. I had outgrown my Midwestern town, so here I was, twenty-two and ready to tackle on the world.

Just as soon as I got off this crazy train.

I slumped into a worn blue seat and let my eyes fall closed for the next forty minutes as we headed west of London and into the English countryside.

I’d never been to England—or anywhere outside of my state really. I was a pretty sheltered only child who had gone to college straight out of high school because that’s what my parents had expected of me.

But with one doctor’s appointment, the air had been stolen from my lungs with a few simple words, along with my future. The future I hadn’t even known I wanted. I hadn’t even had the courage to tell my mom and dad. Their hearts didn’t need to break along with mine. But then I started thinking obsessively about what I wanted in life.

Sure, a college degree was important to me, but so was meeting new people and having experiences. How could I ever accomplish all of the things I wanted to accomplish if I was just sitting in my dorm room, burning over a college chemistry workbook? So I hit the internet late one night, looking for work abroad opportunities.

Museum tour guide in Milan? Maybe for a history major. Milking goats in Greece? Not for me.

My smile had brightened instantly when I found Au Pair Abroad. I filled out the form in a fever pitch, only pausing to think about the countries I’d be interested in going to. Speaking anything other than English would probably prove too hard of a challenge. Besides, most of the people in the fancy cities wanted multilingual au pairs, so that narrowed my choices. A lot.

England, Australia, New Zealand, Canada.

My hope was for a placement a little farther away than Canada, as I was desperate to stretch my legs.

Within twenty-four hours, I had an offer. Ninety days in the English countryside.

My parents weren’t happy that I’d decided to take the semester off from school, but the life experience would be priceless I’d promised them. I think my enthusiasm had been so contagious, and after they’d done their own research to make sure it was a reputable program, they’d let me go with their well wishes.

I smiled as the train chugged through the fading city landscape into suburban London neighborhoods. Tiny backyards housed even tinier barking dogs, clothes hung on laundry lines, and mums pushed kids in their elegant prams.

I couldn’t believe I was here. In a foreign country and arriving at a new job with the potential for more.

Schoolgirl fantasies ran away with my mind as the train carried me through the heart of England. Maybe I’d get picked up by a charming, handsome British man who would sweep me off my feet like Jude Law in The Holiday. I loved that movie. The idea of a handsome British gentleman sweeping me off my feet sounded like a dream come true—and just as far away from reality as Prince Harry coming along and offering me a ring.

I chuckled, pushing my sunglasses over my eyes and curling my fingers together. I became nervous as the countryside grew more sparse—less homes, more nature. Maybe being all the way out here wouldn’t be for me after all.

Suddenly the small glimpse of London I’d seen from my express train from the airport to the rail station didn’t seem so bad. Pubs, culture, universities, and young people, maybe that would be for me, and living in whatever romantic version of the English countryside I’d conjured for myself would really just mean days of splashing in endless mud puddles because there wasn’t another damn thing to do.

Either way, I decided I didn’t care.

London would be too expensive for me anyhow. I needed this job and the free room and board that came with it. I would be living full-time in an English manor, eating every meal with the family and getting only one day off a week, if I so wished it.

I sighed, stretching my legs as my back screamed about yet another uncomfortable seat. I’d been scrunched up in coach for ten hours already, and I was desperate for a warm shower, real food, and a change of clothes. Then maybe I could settle in and think about tomorrow, and next year, and the rest of my life. In the meantime, I would have it pretty good. I would get to spend the next three months playing with a five-year-old girl all day. It was sad that her parents weren’t around enough to take care of her—I’d always thought the phenomenon of a full-time nanny was weird—but I didn't know anything about the family, her parents, or anything about what their life looked like.

The email had only said I’d be staying in a historic manor house in the English countryside.

Visions of Downton Abbey swirled in my head when the train finally pulled to a slow, shuddering stop at a small train station plopped in the middle of a field. I waited for the car to clear before I pulled my bag off the luggage carrier and nearly tripped down the narrow stairs with it. It landed with a thud on the concrete before I hopped down next to it, a slight mist of rain already dampening my Converse as chilly wind swirled my hair.

“Ms. Everly Grayson?” a thick voice called across the platform.

“That’s me.” I looked up, startled to see vibrant ocean-blue eyes peering back at me.

Rimmed in dark lashes, those gorgeous eyes were accompanied by high chiseled cheekbones and an angled jawline with a distinct smattering of five o' clock whiskers. His shoulders were impossibly wide, and he towered over me by a foot at least. He was devastating.

His blue eyes darkened to almost navy as he glanced up my body, pausing when he reached my eyes. We stood for long beats, a thousand ants crawling up my skin as my body prickled under his gaze. What was he doing? And why wasn’t I saying something?

His lips finally parted, his eyes darting away before he thrust a hand through his dark, mussed waves. His eyes landed on my bag, and without asking, he pulled it from my hands and spun on his heel. “I’m here to escort you to Kingsley Manor. Car is this way.”

I frowned, wondering what in the hell I could have done to piss this guy off already. I’d been told I would be picked up by someone at the train station, but now I realized I should have asked for a name. I knew nothing about my employer, since our business arrangements had been dealt with by the official estate. Even if I asked this guy his name, I wouldn’t know if he was lying or not.

“How far is the house?” I asked when he paused in front of an army-green Range Rover. Kingsley Estate was printed on the license plate. Relief eased my aching muscles.

“Manor. And only a few miles up the road.” He tossed my bag in the back without fanfare, then he came around the vehicle. My hand hovered over the back door handle when he shook his head, a wry smile pulling up one side of his sinfully full lips. “Couldn’t have seen you coming if I tried.”

The way his thick accent curled around the letters of each word was like warm honey flowing through my veins. I’d been warned that some English accents could be difficult to understand, but his carried just the right amount of charm and pure, cultured sexiness. I found myself swallowing a lump that had formed in my throat, my chest suddenly tight.

He opened the front passenger door and gestured me in. He let me slide onto the cool leather seat before he pulled the seatbelt across my chest, his heavy hand grazing the curve of my breast and sending bolts of lightning through my skin.

Not knowing what else to say, I uttered, “Thank you.”

His eyes caught mine, something dark and mysterious lingering there, before he nodded. The door slammed closed a minute later. I squirmed, wondering what in the hell I was thinking. Maybe Mom and Dad had been right all those times they’d said I was too reckless to make it in the big, bad world. What did I know, after all?

The driver slid behind the wheel beside me and fired up the car, tossing it into reverse and pulling out of the spot quickly.

“Sorry, what did you say your name was again?” I ventured.

His gaze darted from the front window to me. Darkening to almost navy again, his eyes flickered with some sort of awareness that sent my stomach into a twisting, frenzied fireball. Suddenly the space between us felt too small, as though he was eating up all the oxygen and I was a prisoner to his gaze.

“I didn’t say,” he answered finally. “I’m Mason.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Mason. I’m Everly.” I almost thrust out my hand like an idiot. Mason had me careening with every pothole in the road and every glance at his broad form eating up the space next to me. Spending three months with this guy would be a form of hedonistic torture.

The Rover slowed and turned into a cobblestone driveway, large gates propped open before we drove through a lane of trees.

“This is beautiful.”

Mason nodded, his eyes riveted out the windshield, his hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

What on earth could have him strung so tightly? I wondered if it was something I’d said, or maybe even some rogue odor coming from the clothes I’d been wearing all night on the flight. Red-faced, I wanted nothing more than to shrink into the seat and disappear from this man’s radar completely.

The tires crunched over the old driveway as we turned a corner and the landscape opened up into wide rolling hills and glades of trees. A stag running through the field couldn’t have made it more idyllic.

I sighed, eyes drinking in the sight before me.

A grand manor, three stories tall at least, with dozens of perfectly symmetrical windows and pillars dominated the view. It was beautiful, historic, and haunting in a way.

I discreetly slipped my hand into the crook of my elbow and gave myself a good pinch.

This was definitely real. I hadn’t stepped into some Jane Austen novel. This was my life, and this would be my home for the coming few months.

“Mrs. Potts will see you in,” Mason growled as the car came to a slow stop.

A portly woman hustled from the house and opened the passenger door. “Welcome to Kingsley Manor, Miss.”

I smiled, stepping out. “Thank you.”

“I’m Mrs. Potts, the housekeeper.”

“Everly Grayson. It’s so nice to meet you.” I wasn’t sure if I should hold out a hand or maybe lean in for a side kiss. What was the custom here, and why hadn’t I thought to look it up when I was researching?

Mason heaved my oversized bag from the back of the Rover. “I’ll take her things up.”

I instantly shrank away from his passing gaze, praying he was only the chauffeur and not someone I’d have to see regularly. He threw my bag over his broad shoulder and disappeared into the house. He was surly, moody, irritating, gorgeous, and just the kind of trouble I didn’t need.

“I feel like he doesn't like me,” I muttered.

“That’s just how he is.” A frown darted across Mrs. Potts’ face before her eyes turned up to meet mine. “It’s been a rough few years since Savannah lost her mummy.”

“Oh…” I breathed, the air vacating my lungs in one deft swoop. “I had no idea, I mean, that wasn’t in the information the service sent…” I struggled to find the right words. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.” Mrs. Potts patted my arm. “But you just might be the light this drafty old house needs.”

Mason burst through the front doors then, his eyes hovering on mine for a moment before he returned to the car.

“You could try a little harder to welcome our guest to Kingsley Manor,” she said to him.

Mason shot Mrs. Potts a disgruntled look and a low grunt before climbing back into the Rover and pulling off without another word.

“He’s a tough nut, isn’t he?”

“You’ll get used to him. Not every day a beautiful young woman comes to the house.” She smiled. “Let me show you up to your room.”