Page 12 of Cross My Heart
“Have you been talking to my parents?” I say lightly. “And I’m not loitering. I’m a sought-after guest lecturer. Published. Awarded. The Master of the college himself asked—no,beggedme to come teach a class.”
She gives me a look. Imogen doesn’t buy my ‘enigmatic professor’ act for a second. She knows the real reason I’m just wasting time with idle amusement, fine wines, and the occasional seminar. Delaying the inevitable as long as I can.
“What about you?” I change the subject as we arrive at the courtyard café, and head for our regular table. “What brings you up to Oxford? Tea parties and tipple?”
“Now who’s giving the family lecture?” Imogen scowls. She runs a successful party-planning business down in London, but in our world, the fact she’s still single at twenty-seven is the only thing that matters. “Mum sent me a list the other day: ten of the most eligible bachelors in Europe. Apparently, I’m supposed to pick one and get to work, before it’s too late.”
“She’s right,” I tease. “Are those new frown lines I see? Better get those taken care of soon before those minor European princes get snatched off the market.”
“Says the perpetual bachelor rotting his liver with Chateau Lafite wine,” Imogen grins.
“Not at all. I’m more of a Domain Leroy man myself,” I joke, naming another vintage red wine. “Speaking of…” I beckon the waiter, and order wine and food.
Imogen’s smile fades, and she sighs. “They’re serious, you know. Never mind that the business is doing great, the only thing they care about is me marrying a man with the right name and breeding.”
“I’m sorry.” I give her a sympathetic smile. For all our joking around, we both know the pressure that comes from our family legacies. “And I know you do more than host tea parties. What’s the event today?”
Imogen gives a wry laugh. “A tea party. Floral wonderland. Ten thousand pounds worth of designer roses and fine tableware.”
I whistle.
“And the guests are all five years old!” Imogen exclaims, shaking her blonde hair. “Sometimes I wonder…”
She doesn’t finish. She doesn’t have to. We both have harbored those ‘what if’ fantasies—what our lives would be like if we didn’t occupy this particular place in society, with all the expectations and legacy that comes along with it.
Now, Imogen regards me thoughtfully. “You can’t avoid them forever, you know. London is only two hours away. Less, the way you drive like a bat out of hell.”
I give a casual shrug, as if the St. Clair name isn’t hanging around my neck like a deadweight. The gravity of my birthright I won’t ever be able to escape.
Not now, anyway.
“I’ve been summoned,” I admit. “The right honorable Duke of Ashford requests my presence at the company HQ, as soon as fucking possible.”
“Which is why you’re out chasing freshers and drinking yourself into an early grave,” Imogen rolls her eyes. “You may as well get it over with, you know. Short of divorcing your family, there’s no way around it.”
“Or dying,” I say bleakly. “But Edward got in there before me. Typical big brother,” I add darkly. “Always stealing the glory, one step ahead.”
Imogen knows to ignore my black humor, especially where family is concerned. “Look at it this way,” she says brightly. “The sooner you go get lectured about your wayward libertine lifestyle, the sooner you can ignore every word of it, drink yourself senseless in one of those clubs of yours, and be in bed with one of your adoring freshers by dawn.”
“Well, when you put it like that…” I take a gulp of wine and brace myself for battle. “Wish me luck.”
“I think your new student might need it more,” Imogen smirks.
After lunch,Imogen goes to set up her lavish tea party, and I collect my classic Aston Martin for the drive.
“Let me guess, you drive a classic sports car, too? Red, or silver. Anyone would think you’re insecure about your manhood.”
I have to smile, remembering Tessa’s pointed insult – and the smirk on her face as she delivered it. So, I’m predictable when it comes to my motor. But I’m guessing she doesn’t know howunpredictableI can be in other departments…
I hit the road. There’s a longer route that winds through the pretty countryside, but I reckon there’s no point delaying the inevitable, so I take the motorway instead, speeding fast to chase away the tension already settling in my limbs as the open fields and woodlands turn into the city sprawl – taking me closer to the destiny I’ve been fighting for years now.
My family. My father. My future.
It was never supposed to be me.
Heir to the dukedom, future CEO of the family business… Nobody expected me to be next in line to inherit it all. After all, I was the second son.
The spare, as they so eloquently put it.