Asher (The Casanova Club Book 10) Read online

  Walking Piper through Westminster Abbey was, without a shadow of a doubt, one of my favorite things I’d ever done. Each and every corner of the church had her grabbing my arm and asking questions. Lucky for her, I was an avid history buff, and I knew more about this place than I let on.

  She marveled at the sheer size of it as we climbed to the balconies to peer down into the church where, on Sundays, the congregation would gather for worship.

  “It all looks so small from up here,” Piper said. She shook her head in disbelief. “I’ve seen pictures of places like this. Like Notre Dame and the Cologne Cathedral in Germany. And the Vatican. But seeing it in person, smelling it, feeling it?” She ran her hand along the stone railing, and the cool surface whispered beneath her palm. “I never could have fathomed this.”

  We spent four hours in the building exploring everything there was to see. Well, everything we were permitted to see. As always, certain parts of the church were closed; crypts, galleries, that kind of thing. But we saw what we could, and that was more than enough for Piper, who was vibrating with excitement when we stepped out into the crisp fall air around noon.

  “This has been the highlight of my year,” she said, looping her arm through mine and looking back over her shoulder at the abbey as we crossed the street to go find a place for lunch.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” I was also glad she seemed to have the same kind of appreciation for history that I did. Growing up here meant I’d been exposed to this kind of thing on a daily basis, but it had never lost its shine in my eyes.

  As a kid, I could remember sitting in the back of a luxury car with my parents while we were chauffeured through the city for events. Any time we passed a famous landmark like Westminster Abbey, I’d have my face pressed against the glass, my breath fogging up the window, my eyes wide with the same wonder I’d seen in Piper as I stared up at the behemoth building.

  My parents never even looked up from what they were doing. Usually, they were reading reports or prepping for meetings. The abbey or landmarks like Big Ben never pulled their attention from the duty.

  And ever since I was old enough to appreciate the architecture and the history, I’d thought it was a damn shame.

  Piper and I stepped into a cafe not far down the street from the abbey. We ordered coffees and paninis, and when our order was ready, we took it out to a tiny wrought-iron patio set on the sidewalk. I put my back to the abbey so Piper could still see it, and her gaze lingered on it as she sipped her coffee.

  “Piper?”

  Her gaze flicked to me, and she set her coffee down. “Yes?”

  “I wanted to apologize.”

  “For what?” Her brow creased.

  “For taking things a little too far in the back of the cab the other night.”

  “Oh.” Piper’s expression relaxed, and she leaned back in her chair, bringing her latte with her. She sipped at the foam still lingering on the top and shrugged. “You have nothing to be sorry about. We had a nice night together. I kissed you back.”

  “But I pushed.”

  “No, you didn’t. It was me. This process with the Casanova Club has been a lot this year. I’ve learned that taking it slow is always better. Rushing in gets complicated.”

  Did that mean she’d rushed in with some of the other men?

  What was worse, had she taken her time with the ones she really liked? And was it enough time for a real connection to form?

  A connection I didn’t stand a chance of breaking?

  “Still,” I said, “I’m sorry. Thank you for being so forgiving.”

  “Asher, honestly, there’s nothing to forgive. You and I? We’re good.”

  I took her word for it. Piper was an honest young woman. I’d known that about her pretty early on. We sipped our coffees and finished our sandwiches and talked more about Westminster Abbey. Piper told me my affection for history had rubbed off on her, and she was inspired to do some of her own research in her downtime on historical landmarks around the world.

  “What’s your favorite thing you’ve seen in the world?” Piper asked, her eyes big and round like Christmas ornaments.

  “In the world?” I cocked my head to the side. “That’s a big question.”

  “I’m sure you can think of your answer.”

  She eyed me curiously from across the table. I wished I could lean forward and kiss her and dare her to guess. I wished I could do a lot of things.

  But she wanted to slow things down, and I respected that. It would just be a tough pill to swallow if I discovered the same rules hadn’t been in place for the other men.

  I gave my head a mental shake. I was going to miss opportunities if I kept dwelling on the other bachelors in this competition. This month was about me and Piper. Not any of the others. They’d had their time, and the ones worth their weight in stones had more than likely taken full advantage of every second.

  I couldn’t see Wyatt constantly worrying over her feelings for other men. Or Joshua. Or any of the others I considered real competition.

  Easton and Cooper? They might as well not have even come to any of the meetings. I was sure a girl like Piper would have stricken them from the list of candidates in a matter of days, if not hours.

  But no matter how I tried to use logic to reassure myself, self-doubt still crept up in the back of my mind and unfurled into a ravenous beast. This girl meant something to me. That was the only explanation for why I was getting in my head so much about it.

  I’d never had this problem with any of the other girls I’d dated in the past.

  Of course, those other girls hadn’t had any of the things Piper had that appealed to me.

  Wit, charm, humor. She was full of all of it. It practically leaked out of her pores. Not that she had any pores. She was exquisite in every sense of the word. A body worthy of real worship, slow and gentle and methodical. Diligent. Steady. She deserved a man who would make her feel all kinds of things in the bedroom and who would be her partner in life through all the ups and downs.

  I was having a very hard time believing in this moment that I might be that man.

  “Mont Saint Michel,” I said.

  Piper leaned forward. “Sorry?”

  “You asked me what my favorite thing is I’ve ever seen. It’s Mont Saint Michel. On the Northwest coast of France.”

  Piper set her coffee down, rested her elbow on the table, and perched her chin in her palm. “Tell me about it.”

  “I don’t know where to start. There’s a lot to say.”

  “What does it look like?”

  “I’m sure you’ve seen pictures. It was an abbey built on a small island off the coast in the eighth century. The city is walled and surrounded by tidelands. The water rises, covering the only road to the city around the abbey, and then recedes, opening it up again.”

  “I’ve seen it,” she said softly. “Well, pictures, anyway. There’s a knight at the highest point of the bell tower, yes?”

  I smiled. “The archangel Michael, actually.”

  “I’ve always wanted to see it. What was it like?”

  I brought myself back to the first time I saw the abbey and the island. I was young. Probably twenty-four or so. I’d left London for a three-month trip throughout Europe, and I extended my stay in Mont Saint Michel because I couldn’t get enough of it.

  I’d spent a lot of time standing on the causeway, looking out at the ocean, trying to comprehend what I was seeing and feeling.

  I never fully digested it.

  “It smells like the ocean. Like salt. It was cold when I went. The water is shallow around the abbey, so there are gentle sounds of waves, not crashing, and the sound sort of lulls the town into a state of peace. Standing at the highest point, the bell tower, and looking out at the surrounding ocean and flatlands for miles upon miles was almost unsettling. It was like me and the abbey were the only things on earth. Everything else had been swallowed up by distance and fog.”

  “It sounds in
credible.”

  “It is. If you ever get the chance to go there, take it. For just a while, you can be transported back to an older world. It will change you.”

  “One day,” she breathed.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and glared at my mother’s name flashing across my screen. “Sorry, I have to get this.”

  “No worries,” Piper said, picking her coffee back up. As I answered the phone, her eyes slid over my shoulder to look at Westminster Abbey behind me.

  “Yes?” I said into the phone.

  My mother’s tense voice filled the line. “We need you at the house, Ash. Now.”

  “I’m tied up at the moment.”

  “Well, untie yourself. Whatever you’re doing can wait. Now, Ash.”

  Chapter 12

  Piper

  Antoni was on his way to pick up Asher and me outside Westminster Abbey. Asher was pacing and checking his phone every two minutes, and I couldn’t help but feel some of his anxiety permeating the air around us.

  “Should I be worried?” I asked.

  “No,” Asher said quickly. “No. Not at all. I’m sure it’s just the usual family bullshit. Like Great Aunt Helda lost her family crest or something like that.”

  I laughed. “Nice. Aunt Helda. Good one.”

  He blinked at me. “I do have a great aunt named Helda.”

  I wanted to cram the words back into my mouth as my cheeks started burning. “Sorry.”

  He laughed. “Don’t be. She’s a cruel old hag who never forgave me for breaking one of her crystal Christmas ornaments when I was six.”

  “I think everyone has an aunt like that.”

  “Do you?”

  “Erm. No.”

  Asher snorted. “Lucky. She’s a real treat. And so help me God, if this is some petty shit to do with her or any of my other old fart relatives, I’m going to have a stroke.”

  “It can’t be that bad.” I studied him as he gave me an ‘are you serious’ look. “Can it?”

  “You have no idea.”

  A black luxury SUV pulled up to the curb, and Antoni rolled down the window. “Get in. Your mother is in a mood, Ash. Get a move on.”

  We piled into the back of the car. The door hadn’t even closed behind Asher when Antoni pulled back out to join the flow of traffic.

  “Do you know what this is about?” Asher asked.

  Antoni glanced briefly over his shoulder. “Not a clue.”

  “Has anyone showed up at the house?”

  “As far as I know, the only people involved are Brynwold, Keaton, and maybe John. I haven’t seen John, however. Old bastard is probably having a mid-afternoon snooze someplace quiet where your mother can’t find him.”

  “Smart,” Asher grumbled. “Will you be able to stay with Piper while I’m in the meeting?”

  Antoni locked eyes with me in the reflection of the rearview mirror. “Sorry, mate. Can’t swing it. Your mother is sending me on errands. Apparently, she has a list for me. I think she just wants me out of the house while you guys convene.”

  “Drop Piper off at the Dorchester then,” Asher said.

  “Mate, I want to, and don’t hate me for this, but my orders were to come get you and bring you straight home. No pit stops.”

  “What, are you afraid she’ll check the mileage or something?”

  Antoni chuckled. “Would you put it past your mother?”

  Asher sighed and looked warily out the window. “No, I suppose not.” He turned his attention to me. “Sorry our afternoon was cut short. I had grand plans of all the things I still wanted to show you. Big Ben. The London Eye. Several bookstores and cafes. I know how much you like books.”

  “Don’t worry,” I told him. “I can take care of myself. Whatever this is, it sounds important. I can wait for you. And that’s a sweet sentiment about the bookstores. I would like to see some later.”

  “Promise,” Asher said. “Now step on it, Antoni. The last thing I want is to push my mother closer to the brink of insanity than absolutely necessary.”

  “You got it, boss,” Antoni said.

  Within ten minutes of being picked up, we pulled through the iron gates of the Sutton Place and rolled down the long winding driveway until the manor appeared.

  Just as it had that first Monday night after my arrival, it stole the words from my lips and the breath from my lungs.

  The property really was incredible. Roses grew on either side of the drive, and as we approached, I noticed something I’d missed when I first arrived. The vines that crept up the sides and front of the manor had been hidden by darkness on my first visit. Now they were visible in the afternoon light, and they reached up toward the windows on the third story like twisting, spindling green claws. It lent the place an eerie yet romantic feel that was made all the more visceral by the sweet scent of roses in the air when I got out of the car.

  Antoni rolled his window down and winked at me. “Good luck, little lady. Try not to talk to anyone in there, yeah? It’ll spare you a whole lot of bullshit if you keep your head down.”

  “Thank you,” I said, unsure if expressing gratitude was the right response there.

  Antoni pulled away, and I hurried after Asher across the cobblestone courtyard to the grand front doors, which swung open for us as soon as our feet touched the polished stone at the doorstep.

  “Should I wait here for you?” I asked, pausing in the foyer and looking toward a comfortable, lonely looking bench at the base of the winding grand staircase.

  “No, I want you closer than that. Come with me. I’ll find a place for you.”

  I followed him through the manor. We passed open empty rooms filled with lavish furniture of all color schemes. We passed a study and a library, two separate entities, and then a fully enclosed observatory of all glass walls and ceiling off the back of the house.

  “What’s that for?” I asked.

  “My great grandfather loved birds,” Asher said, not slowing his steps. “It used to be full of them. But since he passed, nobody has replaced them, and there are only a few left.”

  “That’s sad,” I whispered.

  “Not really. He liked those birds better than he liked people, and he shut himself away in there for days at a time, only letting the wait staff come in to bring him his meals.”

  I watched Asher’s back as we walked. He held himself with purpose. His shoulders were squared, his posture straight, and his hands tightened into fists at his sides.

  He really hates this, I thought to myself.

  I couldn’t blame him. He was caught in a world with different values from his own. I could only imagine how frustrating that would be and how long you could suffer under the thumb of a family with shallower intentions than you.

  We came to a stop at the back of the house outside a set of double doors. They were old, dark-stained wood set with gothic black hinges and dramatic black handles. Asher turned to me, putting his back to the door, and took my hands in his. “I’m sorry about this. I’ll be as quick as I can so I can get you out of here. Okay?”

  “Asher, it’s all right.”

  His jaw flexed. “Yeah. There’s a bench right there you can sit on and wait. I don’t know how long this will be. If you see anyone in a black suit, you can ask them for a drink or food, and they’ll bring it. And if you need fresh air, just go out those back doors there, and you’ll be in the garden. Okay?”

  I looked to the doors he referred to and nodded. “Okay.”

  He squeezed my hands before letting go, turning to the door, yanking them open, and stepping through. I couldn’t see what lay beyond, but I watched his back until he vanished behind the closing doors.

  Then I stood in the permeating silence of the corridor, swinging my arms uselessly, debating whether or not I should sit on the black velvet bench as he’d suggested or go out into the gardens.

  I decided to sit.

  Initially, I thought I might take my phone out and use the reading app I’d installed so
I could read books on the go, but I found myself admiring the architecture around me instead. Asher’s home was old. Very old. And beautiful.

  The stone floors gave way to stone walls, which bled into stone ceilings. Every sound bounced off them, including the tapping of my anxious heel, and I fell still.

  I was about to get up and start to cautiously explore the corridor when a shadow fell across the stone at my feet. I looked down the hall. Standing about twenty feet away was a woman in a form-fitting dark gray dress. It had long sleeves, and it went down a few inches past the knees.

  It was Asher’s mother.

  She began walking toward me.

  Her steps were perfect. She walked with practiced care, like a lady, and I marveled at her posture in the pointed-toe high-heeled shoes she was wearing. She was the epitome of class and grace from head to toe.

  No, that wasn’t right.

  From neck to toe.

  Her face was drawn into a tight scowl as she stopped about four feet from the bench I sat on, crossed her arms, and arched an eyebrow. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  I resisted the urge to bite my lip. It was a bad nervous habit that a woman like her would take as a sign of weakness. Instead, I forced myself to smile politely, hiding my teeth.

  “Apologies.” I stood up and offered her a small bow. “I came here with Asher. He didn’t have time to drop me off on the way, and he asked me to wait. I was marveling at how incredible this home is. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I don’t imagine a girl like you would have, no.”

  Rude. I kept my cool. “Your son took me to Westminster Abbey today. He’s a real history buff. I learned a lot from him.”

  “Asher always had his nose buried in a book when he was young. Escapism, his therapist said.”

  I blinked.

  She smiled cruelly. “Escapism means the tendency to seek distraction from unpleasant realities. Thank Goodness, he preferred history over fantasy. His therapist warned me about that, too. Old buildings are much preferable than dragons and unicorns. Child’s play.”