Marrying Mr. English: The English Brothers #7 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 11) (11 page)

He tightened his arms around her and closed his eyes.

***

Eleanora’s eyes blinked against the bright light of morning streaming in through Tom’s bedroom windows. She rolled onto her side to face him, surprised to find his side of the bed empty, though still warm.

“Tom?” she called, sitting up gingerly, the tenderness between her legs making her grin like a hussy.

Pulling the sheet around her shoulders, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded out of his room, her bare feet soft on his hardwood floors. She could hear him speaking to someone from his office, across the hall from the guest room, and she followed his voice, stopping just outside the door.

“No, sir,” he growled. “That request is unacceptable.”

She furrowed her brows at his cold, angry tone.

“Because I’ve already made my decision, and I’m staying married.”

Ah
, she thought with a wince.
His grandfather, trying to make him reconsider.

“I don’t owe you an explanation. I’m a grown man.”

There was a long pause, and Eleanora was just about to make her presence known by clearing her throat when she heard him exclaim, “He can’t do that!”

She froze in place.

“Blackball his own
grandson
?” The disgust in his voice made her shiver, and she pulled the sheet more securely around herself, huddled unnoticed in the doorway. “In Boston and New York too? Well. He’s really outdone himself.”

Eleanora wasn’t totally certain what
blackball
meant, but she felt it had to do with business matters, and she could tell from Tom’s voice that it wasn’t good. And he wasn’t speaking to his grandfather, obviously, so she had to assume he was talking to his father. She couldn’t bear hearing him struggle alone anymore, so she stepped inside his office, fixing a bright grin on her face when he looked up at her.

“Morning,” she said softly, trembling inside as his bedsheets trailed behind her like a train.

His eyes, which were cold and annoyed when they looked up, softened immediately, his pursed lips loosened, tilting up in the smallest smile. She gestured to his lap, and he spun around in his desk chair so she could climb into his arms and rest her cheek against his chest. His heart thundered under her ear as he wrapped his arms around her.

Covering the mouthpiece of the telephone, he whispered, “I’ll be done in a second.”

“Take your time,” she sighed.

“I fully comprehend the state of affairs, sir,” he said, his voice cold again, but much sadder now. “Be that as it may, my decision still stands.”

Eleanora pressed her lips to his neck, lingering there for a moment, breathing in the fresh, clean, showered, morning scent of her husband.

“I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out. Yes, we’ll be out by tomorrow.” He paused, his forehead falling onto her shoulder like a little boy who’d run too far from things too terrible to guess, and just wanted to rest in a safe and quiet place. “Thank you, sir. Merry Christmas to you, as well. Good-bye.”

Taking a deep and ragged breath, Tom sighed heavily before reaching forward to place the phone back in the receiver, then he adjusted his arms around Eleanora, holding her tighter as he leaned back into his chair.

She let several seconds pass before kissing his neck again.

“Merry Christmas, husband,” she said gently.

“Yeah,” he said in a miserable voice. “Merry Christmas.”

“You’ll feel better if you tell me about it.”

“I highly doubt that,” he answered.

“Try me,” she coaxed.

She felt him clench his jaw against the crown of her head, and the way his chest pushed against her body told her he was holding his breath. Finally, he exhaled.

“We need to move out of here by tomorrow.”

“Fine. I’d prefer something smaller,” she said, leaning back to look into his eyes. They were angry and sad and defeated, and she hated that so much, she could taste it. “Is that all?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, dropping her eyes, and furrowing his brows as if he’d received unbelievable or shocking news. “If I don’t start the process to annul our marriage tomorrow, he’s blackballing me.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” she said, keeping her voice even.

“It’s not. It means it’ll be just about impossible for me to find a job with a bank or insurance agency on the East Coast. It means—”

“That we’ll have to figure out something else.”

“I’m a banker, Eleanora,” he said softly. “That’s who I am.”

“Hmm,” she said lightly. “I think you’re more than that. You didn’t study finance at Princeton. You studied English.”

“Great. We’ll both starve while I write poetry.”

“
Did
you write poetry?” she asked, tilting her head to the side and grinning at him, despite this news that was clearly crushing him.

“Once upon a time,” he said, dropping her eyes. “I’m sorry, baby. You married me for a million, and you’re getting nothing.”

Whip fast, she reached for his face, forcing him to meet her fierce, wide eyes. “Don’t you
dare
say that! Don’t you
ever
say that to me.” Her voice trembled from the power of her feelings for him, of the hate she bore his grandfather, and of the contempt she felt for his father. “I got
you
, Tom. I got
you
, and that’s all I want. We’ll figure this out.”

For a moment, his face turned hopeful, but his eyes flattened almost immediately. “We have to leave tomorrow, and I have no plan, Eleanora. None. My business contacts are useless. I don’t . . . I just don’t know what to do.”

“I do,” she said, lifting her chin and forcing a lighthearted grin, despite her worries for them. “I’m going to make breakfast. A good one that you’re going to love and ask for every Christmas that we’re together. And after that, we’re going to climb back into your bed and make love all day. That’ll be our present to each other.”

“I have to say,” he said, licking his lips before dropping his gaze to hers, “this is a really solid plan so far.”

She grinned at him, momentum and hope gathering in her heart. “When we’re both completely satisfied—”

“We have to be out
tomorrow
, not next week.”

She chuckled. “We’ll get all your suitcases together and start packing.”

He nodded. “Right. Fine. Then what? We’re fed, oversexed, and packed. Now for the hard part . . .”

“I assume we can keep your car?” she asked, letting the sheet fall a little until the tips of her pink areolas were revealed.

Tom’s eyes dropped as fast as her skirt last night. “It’s, uh . . . wow . . . yeah, it’s paid off. It’s mine.”

Mine
. And somehow she knew he wasn’t talking about his car, and it made heat pool gloriously in her stomach. She let the sheet fall a little more until both of her breasts were exposed to the cool air of his office, her nipples puckering to dusky points as he reached up to cover one with his palm.

“Yours,” she murmured.

“Then what?” he asked, plumping her breast before dropping his head and licking a slow circle around one rigid nipple, then the other.

“Take me back to bed,” she demanded in a husky voice.

“Done,” he said, standing up with her in his arms and moving around the desk toward the hallway. “Tell me the rest of the plan.”

“We drive.”

“Where to? North or south?” he asked, running his lips along the column of her throat, his tongue occasionally darting out to lick her skin, making goose bumps spring up all over her body, which was sensitive and primed, slick and ready.

“It doesn’t matter . . .,” she moaned, threading her hands through his hair as he walked through his bedroom door. He placed her gently on the bed, unwrapping the rest of her body like a present before cutting his eyes to hers. The tenderness she found in his steady gaze was a living, growing thing of such beauty, her heart tripled in size, and all of it—every last inch of space—belonged to him. “. . . as long as I’m sitting beside you.”

In the end, they decided to drive north, and by the time they left the English family penthouse apartment, on December twenty-sixth, with four suitcases full of clothes and personal items, in addition to three boxes crammed with Tom’s books and papers, they were feeling more hopeful about their future . . . thanks, in large part, however inadvertently, to Van.

Curled up next to him in the passenger seat, covered with a blanket and snoring softly, Eleanora caught up on sleep as Tom sat in holiday traffic on the Garden State Parkway, headed north to Cornwall, Connecticut. After taking a nice long look at his gorgeous wife, he turned his eyes to the bumper-to-bumper traffic, and his thoughts to his conversation with Van last night.

In the late afternoon, Tom and Eleanora had grudgingly decided to take a break from sex in favor of refueling via breakfast casserole. Sitting on the couch—she in one of his light-blue dress shirts, which fell to her knees, and he in some drawstring pajama pants—with full plates on their laps, they were startled by the ringing phone.

Placing his food on the coffee table, which still bore his little cake, now partially eaten, he picked up the phone on the end table, wondering who was calling on Christmas Day when he was estranged from his family.

His mother? Surely not. She was living in West Palm Beach last he heard, on husband number five or six, but wed, for all intents and purposes, to a bottle of whatever gin was her current favorite.

His little brother? Unlikely. Skip would be at Grandfather’s house, and no doubt the favored grandson this holiday, Tom thought ruefully.

And his father had made it clear this morning that he wasn’t impressed with Tom’s current situation.

Genuinely curious, he put the receiver to his ear. “Hello?”

“Tom? Tom English?”

A giddy female voice on the edge of giggles blasted through the phone, and Tom looked askance at Eleanora, feeling uneasy. He didn’t recognize the voice. Was she someone with whom he’d been intimate recently?

He made sure his tone was uninterested. “Ahem. Yes, this is Tom English.”

“Don’t you know who this is?”

His heart sped up as Eleanora turned to him with curious eyes. “Uhhhh . . .”

“It’s Evie!”

“Evie?”

“Yes! Oh my God! Do you remember me?”

His shoulders relaxed, a relieved smile spreading over his face as Eleanora shoved her plate onto the coffee table and practically leaped across the couch for the phone.

Holding it just out of her reach, he answered, “Uh, yeah. I just met you last week.”

“That’s right! Doesn’t it feel like longer? Merry Christmas! Oh my God! How are you? How is Ellie?”

Right now, “Ellie” was straddling his lap, practically wrestling him for the phone, which made his shirt ride up to her hips, giving him a peek at her white underwear. Loving this impromptu wrestling match, he leaned back as far as he could while fending off his wife with one hand.

“She’s in the bathroom. She’s been in there forever. She might be living there now. I don’t even—”

Eleanora gasped, her mouth dropping open, and he launched into silent laughter, weakening his hold on both her and the phone, which she used to her advantage. Straddling his hips and pressed intimately against his body, she reached for the phone and finally grabbed it, shoving it against her ear and scowling at him.

But she didn’t move.

She stayed where she was on his lap, and that was, hands down, Tom’s favorite thing of all.

“Evie?” she asked, her voice breathless. She gave him a very saucy look, her blue eyes leveling his world, per usual. Then, sticking out her tongue at him, she declared, “No, I’m not constipated, but yes, my husband is an ass.”

Tom put on a sad face, watching with delight as her lips twitched into a grin.

“No, I’m not divorcing him. I decided to keep him for a little while.”

Tom could hear Evie’s shrieks through the phone, and he smiled at his minx of a wife, trailing his hand up and down the smooth softness of her leg until she slapped his hand away.

“He’s growing on me.”

Suddenly, her expression sobered, and she bit her bottom lip before releasing it.

“Yeah,” she murmured, looking away from Tom. “I am.”

And it was that “Yeah, I am” that made Tom’s brain start racing in an attempt to catch up with his heart. What had Evie just asked her? And what had Eleanora grudgingly admitted to in such a soft and emotional voice? With lightning speed, his mind returned to last night—to the feelings he’d had as he held her, after making love. That was the moment he’d known that he was falling in love with her. And he wondered, Could that have been the question Evie asked:
Are you in love with Tom?
And—God, please—could the answer have been,
Yeah, I am
?

He gently stroked her blonde hair from her forehead, and she looked at him again, her eyes soft and searching as she listened to her cousin but scanned his face intently. Suddenly, it was clear that she was refocusing on the phone conversation, and she furrowed her brows.

“Wait. Wait. I missed that. What did you just say?”

She drew her bottom lip into her mouth.

“Evie, what are you talking about? You can’t just—”

Tom mouthed
What?
but Eleanora shook her head, her face troubled.

“Honey, let’s talk about this a little more. You’ve never been out of Colorado. Why don’t I fly back, and we can—”

Her face tightened as Eve Marie took over the conversation, and finally, Eleanora huffed softly. “I know I’m not your
mother
, but I’m the closest thing you have to a—”

Cupping her cheek, Tom made her look up at him, but she shrugged away, crawling off his lap to kneel on the couch beside him.

“Evie, listen to me. You’re
not
going.” A slight pause, and then, “No. I’m worried about you! There’s a difference!”

Tom reached for Eleanora, placing his palm on her back, but she leaned away from him, resting her elbow on the back of the couch and bowing her head.

“Fine,” she said in a broken voice. “Have fun.” A long moment passed before she added, “I love you too.”

Keeping her back to him, she reached her hand back with the phone and said, “Van wants to talk to you.” Then she got up without looking at Tom and padded out of the room, sniffling like she was crying.

Torn between running after Eleanora and talking to Van, Tom pressed the phone to his ear. “Van?”

“Tommy boy! How’s married life?”

“It’s good. Or, it
was
good until my wife just left the room in tears. What’s going on? What just happened?”

“She’s crying? Why’s she
crying
?”

“How about
you
tell me?” he said, clenching his jaw and curling his fist in his lap, hating like hell that something had upset her.

“Calm down, Tom. It’s not a bad thing. You remember my dad’s partner? Troy Holmes?”

“Sure.”

“Well, he’s married now. Has three little kids, in fact. And my dad’s sending him over to Hong Kong to open a new office in January. He’s leaving from Philly next week.”

Tom nodded, wondering what the hell Mr. Van Nostrand’s business partner had to do with Eleanora crying in his bathroom. He stood up, looking down the empty hallway, but bound to the living room by the phone’s curly cord. “Yeah. And . . .?”

“Well, father’s asked me to join Troy.”

“Okay.”

“And, well, Troy’s nanny got cold feet about moving to Hong Kong at the last minute, and he asked if I knew any nice girls who could be a nanny to the kids and a friend to Joan, and I suggested—”

“Christ! You didn’t!”

“She’s a nice person!”

“Eve Marie? She’s spread her legs for half of Vail. You’re going to pass her off as a nanny?”

Van’s voice was like ice. “She’s changed.”

“In six days?” scoffed Tom. “People don’t change that fast.”

“Right,” said Van, sarcasm heavy in his tone. “Like that would be impossible. Um, you weren’t fucking
married
a week ago, hypocrite.”

Tom was silent. Van had a point.

“People
can
change that fast,” continued Van. “In fact, believe it or not, she and I still haven’t . . . haven’t actually . . . Tom, if you ever share this with anyone, I will call you a fucking liar.”

“Just spit it out, Van.”

“We haven’t sealed the deal yet.”

Tom’s mouth dropped open.

“
What?”

“Don’t give me shit, huh? She’s . . . I don’t know what she is. She’s under my goddamned skin is what she is. When Troy told me he needed a nanny, I practically fell to my knees in thanks because I had a reason to invite her along. And yes, I spent the afternoon explaining that Hong Kong wasn’t the fictional place where Godzilla was born, but I didn’t mind. I don’t know what it is about this girl, but she makes me laugh, she makes me feel good. She’s just . . .”

“You love her,” Tom whispered.

“I don’t know about
that
,” cried Van. “I just . . . I just don’t want to . . . I don’t know. I like her a lot. I like her a lot more than a lot. I’m not ready to end this weird thing with her. Not yet.”

“So you’re going to Hong Kong together.”

Van chuckled. “Yep. That’s the plan. We leave a week from today. In fact, we’re flying back to Philly tomorrow. We were hoping to see you and Ellie while we’re in town.”

Eleanora walked back into the room with a red nose and bloodshot eyes, and Tom reached for her, relieved when she sank into his lap and curled up in his arms with her cheek on his shoulder and her sweet breath blessing the skin of his throat.

While she leaned on him, Tom told Van about everything that had happened with his grandfather—how he’d soundly rejected Tom’s marriage, how Tom had told him to go to hell, how Tom had refused to divorce Eleanora, how they were being kicked out of the penthouse, and how he was about to be blackballed at every financial company on the East Coast.

“So where are you going to go?” asked Van.

“No clue. I have to find work somewhere.”

“Let me loan you some—”

“No way, Van,” said Tom, using his free hand to stroke Eleanora’s back. “I have some savings. We’ll be okay.”

“Hey!” said Van. “Wait a second! I have an idea!”

Tom heard papers rustling in the background and used the free moment to whisper in Eleanora’s ear. “Van cares about her, baby. He’ll look after her in Hong Kong.”

He felt her clench her jaw against his collarbone and decided to leave it alone for now.

Van came back on the line. “Listen, my folks had Juanita forward my mail to Vail, and . . . yeah, here it is. The alumni bulletin from Kinsey Hall. Do you remember Professor Wiggins?”

“Wacky Wigs?” asked Tom, a brief smile stretching his lips as he recalled the elderly teacher at the Connecticut boarding school where he and Van had first met each other. “Sure. Freshman and sophomore English, right?”

“Right. He was eighty-two. He passed away last month.”

“Aw,” said Tom, feeling a genuine sense of sadness. “That’s too bad.”

“Yeah. It’s sad,” said Van. “But they still haven’t found a replacement.”

“For . . .”

“Freshman and sophomore English,” said Van. “The parents are starting to complain because they’ve gone through three subs since Thanksgiving break. Why don’t you—”

“What? Teach?”

“Sure, teach. Teach at Kinsey. You’re an alum, Tom. You went to Princeton. They’d be crazy to turn you away.”

“Van, I know
nothing
about teaching kids.”

“That might be true, dummy, and
I
know that, and
you
know that, but you know who doesn’t know that? The dean of Kinsey Hall.”

Tom talked to Van for a few more minutes, then urged Eleanora to patch things up with her cousin before hanging up. By the time she got off the phone, she was still weepy, but she managed to smile for him as they said good-bye.

“Lots of postcards,” said Eleanora. “And letters! I mean it, Evie! A letter a week.” A pause. “I don’t care. I’ll buy you a dictionary, and you can look up the ones you don’t know.” Another pause. “I wouldn’t have . . . I might not have left Romero without you. I know. I love you too. Be safe.”

Tom hung up the phone and let Eleanora cry on his shoulder for a good twenty minutes before he finally calmed her down and convinced her that her cousin would be fine.

“It’s just so far away.”

It was on the tip of Tom’s tongue to tell her that they’d go visit Eve Marie whenever she wanted to, and it stung to realize he couldn’t make her that sort of promise anymore. He could no longer afford that sort of luxury.

“My whole life has just changed so fast,” she sobbed. “Meeting you. Getting married. Leaving Colorado. Now leaving Philadelphia. It’s a lot.”