Theoretically Jago could do nothing outside the hall without Henry’s permission, not even pick a flower. Since he didn’t have the time, money, or expertise needed to tackle the grounds, let alone the energy, it was just as well his input wasn’t needed. But it irked him that he hadn’t been trusted to take care of that part of his inheritance, especially since he’d have entrusted it to Henry anyway.
Sometimes it seemed while the house slowly disintegrated, the gardens shone with increasing brilliance, which made him feel even more inadequate and resentful. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up as bitter and twisted as his father. That was one lesson Jago
had
learned from his old man. Don’t gamble anything you can’t afford to lose. A little bit of him was afraid that becoming bitter and twisted was somehow inevitable. No owner of Sharwood had a reputation for being kind and generous.
He turned onto the main Harrogate road and put his foot down again. The Land Rover begrudgingly increased speed. Since his parents had died fifteen months ago, his life had been on a downward spiral, though in some ways it hadn’t been good before that. Jago had more or less stopped speaking to his father once he was earning his own living, but the one thing his mother insisted he did from the moment he left home was bank the checks his father sent him, because if he didn’t, it would be frittered away on horses. She said if Jago didn’t want to use the money, that was fine, but one day he might, and if he loved her, he’d take it.
It had all gone now in one fell swoop on his father’s debts, his brother’s plane ticket, repurchasing treasures his father had sold, and some restoration work on the house. Without that money, he’d have been sunk, though he’d have still been working as a doctor. Strange how money could be both a good and bad thing.
The rain had stopped before he parked in Harrogate. He left his jacket in the Land Rover and headed for Bartlett’s wine bar near the exhibition center. As he passed the smart restaurants, he felt a pang of longing for the days when he could have eaten there without thinking about the cost. If he’d turned his back on the hall and continued with his medical career, his life would have been very different. Though he hadn’t forgotten how badly things had gone wrong when he’d tried to resume his career.
Am I really cursed?
Jago shook his head and walked faster. He was talking himself into more gloom.
But the moment he tried to think of something cheerful, his brain swept him back into deep water. His first big mistake after his parents died was leaving Denzel in charge while he worked out his notice in the north. Money he’d left for repairs was sucked up by his brother’s profligate entertaining. Jago’s salary was sucked up by the same whirlwind, though he hadn’t known the truth about how Denzel was spending his money. Thank God he hadn’t given his brother the key to the rooms where the repurchased items were stored. Although Denzel wouldn’t have touched them, some of the people staying with him had fewer scruples.
When Henry contacted Jago to tell him about the drugs, alcohol, and orgies, he’d taken time off work and arrived in the middle of one of Denzel’s parties. His brother was drunk, stoned, and in bed with a young, wide-eyed brunette. Jago dragged him out of the house and turned the hose on him. The state of Sharwood and his brother had horrified him. Denzel had always been wayward, but Jago had never thought his brother would take drugs.
Henry had helped him get rid of the hangers-on. They’d thrown them all out, put them on trains and buses, even paid their fare just to get rid of them. Two that night had been admitted to a local hospital, including the woman Denzel had been in bed with. Jago had walked away from his job and looked after Denzel himself at Sharwood, supervising his detox. He shuddered. He never wanted to do that again. Just four of Denzel’s so-called friends still remained, those who’d promised to pay rent and help with repairs.
Jago had known if he didn’t devote his time to Sharwood, there’d be nothing to pass on to the next generation. He’d asked for a delayed start for the job he’d been offered at a nearby hospital and knew he’d been lucky when they agreed, considering he’d left his previous hospital in the lurch. But he lost Marianne in the process.
In the early days, when he’d still thought he could raise Sharwood from the dead, she’d done everything she could to convince him to sell, and they’d argued so much. It was a simple choice, she’d said. Who did he love more? Her or the house. The day he was due to speak to the estate agent about putting Sharwood on the market, the day he’d planned to ask her to marry him, she’d told him she’d met someone else. Jago had packed Denzel off to South America, moved into Sharwood to put everything right, and immediately everything went wrong.
He walked into the bar, pleased to find it as busy as he’d hoped, and made his way around the room checking for deserted drinks. When he found a half-full glass of red wine, he spirited it away and positioned himself at the far end of the bar. He didn’t intend to consume what he held in his hand, but he couldn’t afford to buy himself a drink as well as one for a woman, assuming he found someone he liked the look of. One drink equaled a third of tin of paint. He groaned.
Do I have to think of everything in those terms?
How could he not? Every penny he’d saved had gone on the house. It was like crying into the sea. He’d sold his car and used his father’s old motorbike instead until he’d crashed it and couldn’t afford to fix it. He’d been on his way to meet an estate valuer. Not hard to read more into his disasters than he should. He’d auctioned off a few items and now lived day to day, spending every minute of every hour rubbing down mullions, sanding floors, and filling in cracks in the walls, most of the work done in a raging temper. It was only a matter of time before he had to admit defeat.
Yet defeat was unacceptable. He couldn’t fail. Even if he sold, he wanted it to be on his terms.
He snapped himself away from worry about the house and concentrated on the reason he was here. Sex might not be the answer to his problems, but it would help. The reaction he’d had to Ellie reminded him what he was missing. As someone who hadn’t had sex with anyone other than himself since he’d split with Marianne, he was suffering from withdrawal symptoms. His cock had probably forgotten what to do.
Oh no I haven’t.
Jago winced.
I’m talking to my cock?
Having a relationship was impossible. He couldn’t afford one. How could he explain that any spare cash went on sandpaper, paint, and rollers, and that he had limited credit on his basic pay-as-you-go mobile? He couldn’t afford flowers, a meal, cinema tickets. And now that Denzel had dropped his bombshell, he’d have to think of a way of catering for sixty people dressed as faeries and where he could find a bloody llama.
He half listened to the conversations taking place around him. There was some sort of medical conference on at the exhibition center, and the fact that he stood in a bar full of doctors made it hard to breathe. He had no idea if he’d ever practice again. He missed it, missed the feeling of doing good, of making people better, of making himself feel better.
For all the years he was away at medical school in London, and once he’d started his first job, his mother had lied to him and told him everything was fine. Henry had done the same. He’d discovered too late that Denzel had been wasting his and his tutors’ time at university. Jago never came home to see the state of Sharwood for himself. Instead he met his mother clandestinely in London. Sometimes Henry drove her and stayed for a coffee and a chat before going to Kew Gardens for the day. Jago understood they’d tried to protect him, but he wished he’d known the extent of his father’s foolishness.
When he returned to arrange his parents’ funeral and took in the state of the building, the way they’d resorted to living in just a few rooms, the belongings they’d been forced to sell, he’d been shocked, though the worst feeling was that of the albatross of duty settling more heavily around his neck. It was partly his fault. If he’d known how things had deteriorated, he’d have done something sooner.
Though he had no idea what. Since he was eighteen, he and his father hadn’t been able to have a civil discussion without it degenerating into an argument. At the time he’d died, it had been three years since they’d even spoken, piling on more guilt and adding to the pressure to succeed in saving the hall.
In his naïveté, after his parents’ death, he’d thought he could have it all. Be the heir, live at Sharwood, and still be a doctor. He’d planned to work out his contract in Newcastle and then move to the local hospital. He’d earn enough to do work on the place as needed.
Ha.
“Excuse me,” said a woman.
She pushed past him to the bar and tried unsuccessfully to get the barman’s attention. Jago ran his gaze down her back. Tight black dress, high heels, short hair. She was short and curvy with a big bottom. Not his type, but he didn’t care. He just needed to hold someone soft, to fuck them and forget for a while.
“Are you with someone?” Jago said at her ear.
“Why?”
“If you’re not, I’ll buy you a drink.” Not a very seductive pickup line, but he couldn’t waste money buying a drink for her if she was with someone.
She turned and smiled. “Vodka and orange. Thanks.”
He didn’t get much change from the fiver he offered.
“You not going to get another?” She nodded toward the glass he held.
“Driving. Want to find somewhere to sit?”
He followed her out of the crush of bodies, but there were no seats.
“Attending the conference?” she asked.
“No. You?”
She sniggered. “Me? No. What’s your name?”
“Jack.”
“I’m Jill.” She laughed again and took a large swallow of her drink.
Her dress was cut tight across her generous bust, and Jago found himself staring at her chest until he dragged his gaze up. Her face didn’t appeal any more than her butt, but he didn’t care. He still wanted to fuck her. He wanted her to take him back to her place. He’d listen to her gasp and groan, and she’d hold him tight while he emptied himself inside her, and for a few blissful minutes he’d forget who he was.
Then what? Going to tell her you’ll call when you know you won’t?
All at once, this seemed like the worst idea in the world. He had no right to assume she was even interested in him. Her glass was empty. He ought to offer another, forget the can of paint, or he could just go home.
“Got somewhere we can go?” she asked.
What?
“No.”
“You can come back to my place. You don’t look like a serial killer, so don’t let me down. Going to finish your drink?”
He looked at it.
“Is that lipstick on the rim?” she asked. “Ooh, they gave you a dirty glass.”
Jago set it down and followed her out. He talked himself back into a fuck as quickly as he’d talked himself out of it. She wanted it, so what was the problem? Actually, there might be one.
Christ, I hope I don’t come as soon as she touches me.
He didn’t make small talk as they walked, and neither did Jill. He hoped that meant she was after the same as him—a quick stringless fuck, though he knew it unlikely. She was a woman. They wanted emotion, to chatter, to know everything: his favorite color, his star sign, what he did for a living.
Stop talking yourself out of it
, his cock snapped at him.
Jill muttered into her mobile too low for him to hear while Jago fought a battle with his conscience. It stood no chance against his cock.
I ought not to do this.
She’s asked you to her place. What’s your problem?
I don’t fancy her. I’d rather have the woman who knocked on my door earlier.
She’s not here. This one is. I’m not picky.
She stopped at the end of a line of shops and unlocked a door. He followed her up a narrow flight of stairs and through another door into a dingy hall and on into a stark bedroom with just a chair and a bed.
“Want me to take off my dress, or do you want to do it?”
“Go ahead.” This seemed fast. He thought she might at least offer him a drink.
“What do you want? Handjob, blowjob? Straight sex? I don’t usually do anal, but you’re kind of cute.”
Jago swallowed hard. Had he actually met a woman who wanted nothing more than the physical act?
“So long as you’re not hung like a donkey, I’d do anal for…two fifty. Hand job’s forty, blowjob’s fifty.”
Oh fucking hell
. How had he failed to realize? Her eagerness, the room… “I’ve made a mistake. I’m sorry.” He backed toward the door.
She glared and took her hand from her zipper. “What do you mean you’ve made a mistake? You don’t fancy me anymore?”
“I didn’t know… I didn’t think you were… I’ll leave.”
She stomped over and yanked at his arm. “You can pay me for the time I’ve wasted.”
“I don’t have any money.”
She growled.
Shit. Wrong thing to say
. As he fumbled with the door, she spoke on her mobile. Jago yanked open the next door, ran down the stairs, and struggled with the lock on the outer door before he lurched onto the street. He’d taken no more than ten steps before a guy grabbed his shoulder and pulled him round. The blow to the stomach doubled him over.
“Arrgh.” Jago gasped and staggered backward.
“Get your fucking wallet out,” a bald guy snapped. “You change your mind. That’s not our fault.”
Jago’s rage surged like a geyser. “Look—”
A fist grazed his cheek, another hit his eye, and Jago lashed out.
I am not going to get fucking beaten up
. He had no skill at fighting, but a couple of well-placed blows made the guy reel back. He understood the expression “seeing red” now. A red veil had descended in front of his eyes. They traded blows until Jago hit the guy on the jaw, and he went down. Hard. Common sense roared back.
Oh fuck.
He leaned over. “You okay?”
Damn medical training.
“I’m going to…fucking kill you.”
As he started to get to his feet, Jago ran. Footsteps sounded behind him.
Of course the bastard’s following me. Shit
. Jago didn’t dare run straight back to the Land Rover. He didn’t want the man tracing him through Henry. He sprinted up the hill toward the main part of the town, his breathing labored, and when he risked a glance back, the guy had given up. He wasn’t following, but staring after him. Jago dodged into a side street, didn’t slow down, and took a convoluted route back to the vehicle.