Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
I looked over the back of the couch, the direction he’d turned his head, and saw the desk and wing chairs in front of it were on that side of the room, we were on the other side, where there was yet another seating area by a fireplace.
So yeah, the guy probably carried me.
God.
Excruciating.
Fitzgibbons was also there, entering the room with a woman at his side.
He was carrying a first aid kit in one hand, a silver tray with a glass of ice water balanced on the other.
I was impressed.
The woman was carrying a basin with a bright white towel folded over the side of it.
“I’m sorry, but it appears Ms. Dupree is recovering, and now we don’t need any of that,” Battle told his staff.
“You’re sure?” the woman asked, examining me with kind eyes.
“We’re sure, Patsy,” Prudence said.
“You don’t wish for me to call the doctor?” Fitzgibbons asked Battle.
“No. Apparently, Ms. Dupree has not had a mind to her jetlag,” Battle answered, still in that delicious purr of his, however this time it was incongruously accusatory.
My attention returned to him.
He was still speaking.
“But leave the glass of water.” He shifted to his sisters. “And you three can go. I’ll mind Ms. Dupree. Our business shouldn’t take that long.”
“Are you sure? I can stay,” Prudence offered to me.
“I’m fine,” I said at the same time Battle ordered, “Go, Prue.”
She shot her brother a scrunch-face look that was cute, before she gave me a reassuring smile and pat on the shoulder.
Chastity and Temperance didn’t need further permission to exit the scene. They were already leaving.
Patsy was gone, but Fitzgibbons came forward sans the first aid kit and put the glass of water on a leather coaster he unearthed from somewhere so he could set it on the coffee table in front of me.
“If you need anything, Miss Dupree, simply have His Grace ring,” he encouraged.
“Thank you, Mr. Fitzgibbons.”
He smiled kindly, something I thought was really sweet, then he moved away.
I watched Battle fold his very long body in a leather Queen Anne wing chair that flanked the chesterfield.
“Better here,” he murmured, crossing his also very long legs. “More informal.”
“Again, I’m sorry,” I told him, reaching for the water and wondering if I’d paid any attention to hydration the last four days.
I had not.
I took a healthy sip.
“It’s unnecessary for you to keep repeating that,” he replied.
I stopped drinking and my gaze shot to him at his curt words.
“I do believe our conversation will be simple and straightforward,” he went on. “Our solicitors have been belaboring this, but I’m certain you and I can come to an understanding.”
I wasn’t certain of the same thing.
“I’ve read your work, at least the historicals,” he informed me.
And goodness, that got another tingle that was both fear and excitement, knowing this man had spent time with my babies.
The fear was because I hoped he liked them.
The excitement was just that he’d read them, my words to his eyes.
For me, this was like this magnificent man had spent hours with me.
He continued talking. “You have a flair for the dramatic, which obviously makes these books marketable, but a bent toward historical accuracy.”
Well, if that didn’t deflate my balloon, primarily the cold way he laid it on me.
“This is rather the point of a book written in the historical fiction genre,” I pointed out.
“However, as my family’s history is what you’ll be writing about next, I don’t think my demands are that far-fetched,” he stated like I didn’t speak.
Oh yes.
This was what our solicitors had been “belaboring.”
This is your host. Keep your cool, Vivi, keep your cool.
I took another sip of water then set it down and turned fully toward the duke.
I then took a moment to let my retinas recover from looking at the man full face.
Only then did I share, “As you’re not a writer, I can understand how you might feel that way. What I need for you to understand is that what you’re requesting is categorically not something any writer can abide.”
“And if you were to have a book written about you, would you not request to have final approval of what’s published?”
I shrugged. “To be honest, unless it was something libelous, I wouldn’t have any choice. However, the only choice I’d have was after publication, suing if it was libelous, but the book would still already have been published.”
“As we don’t have a choice,” he agreed. “Although it would be difficult for you to write with your exacting precision if you don’t have access to my family’s papers.”
Mm-hm.
This was exactly what our solicitors had been “belaboring.”
“I do believe it’s been communicated to you that this book is not going to be about any living Talyn. In other words, it won’t be about you at all.”
“Any Talyn, living or dead, is mine to protect,” he returned.