Page 4 of Riding High

Jed scanned the field, didn’t see her and silently cursed.He was surprised by his keen disappointment and his level of interest.He didn’t normally react so strongly to women.He was a veteran of the polo circuit and had been chased by 7-Ups– women who only dated players with a handicap of seven and up– on every continent and found most women unoriginal.He was a jaded bastard with high standards and a low boredom threshold.

Still something about the strawberry blonde called to him… But she was gone, and he wouldn’t see her again.Pity.

Troyden adjusted the brim of his cap and folded his arms, sinking lower into the chair.Jed knew Troyden would wait for him to raise the subject of the Duke’s death last night.He’d been found by his wife in the kennels, sitting up against the wall, hand on his heart, a massive cigar between his fingers, and reputedly, a ‘what the fuck’ look on his face.They said he’d suffered a massive heart attack, which was a surprise to Jed.

He hadn’t realised the Duke had a heart.

‘You heard, then?’Jed asked, his eyes on his scuffed boots.

‘How do you feel about it?’

‘It couldn’t have happened to a nicer arsehole,’ he stated.He’d hated the Duke in life, and he wasn’t about to do a one-eighty and hypocritically change his views because he was dead.

‘It wasn’t like it was my father who died,’ he continued, answering Troyden’s earlier question.Though, technically, it was.

No, the man next to him was his father, not that waste of space dickhead who’d donated his sperm.Troyden became a permanent part of his life after he married his mum– she was wife number three– and moved them into Elmsleigh.He and his mum divorced twenty-five years ago when he was ten, but he and Troyden remained close.When his mum died, Elmsleigh became his permanent home and Troyden his guardian.Two more wives came and went before Jed’s eighteenth birthday, but all of Troyden’s stepchildren stuck close.

Within a few months of living at Elmsleigh, Jed realised Troyden, a man who had a rep for being a corporate bastard, was an absolute pushover, stunningly generous, and that it was stupidly easy to take advantage of him.Troyden’s inability to say no to any of his ex-wives, girlfriends, stepchildren and friends, gave Jed a way to repay his stepfather for his generosity, and Jed made a point of never asking for anything from his super-wealthy stepfather.

And when he thought Troyden’s nearest and dearest were pushing the envelope of his generosity, he stepped in and shut them down.Even as a kid, he was fiercely protective of the man who gave him a home.Helped by Diana, Troyden’s no-nonsense housekeeper who took no shit, Jed’s protective streak had rubbed off on his stepsiblings, and they frequently banded together to protect the man who’d been, was, the father he didn’t have to be.

Jed’s bullshit radar remained finely tuned.

Talking of BS artists… ‘Where’s Sugar Baby?’he asked.

‘I wish you and your siblings would learn her name,’ Troyden muttered.

They did know her name– this one was called Lana– but they liked giving their father shit about his terrible taste in women.

‘Bring home someone worthy of us learning her name and we will,’ Jed retorted.Lana was the last in a long line of beautiful but vapid, money-hungry women who wanted to be the next Mrs Castle.She wasn’t doing badly: in the six weeks since she’d arrived on Troyden’s radar she’d scored a trip to the South of France, a Birkin bag and a diamond tennis bracelet.

‘She went to lie down.She has a headache,’ Troyden explained, then archly continued, ‘I think she might be The One.’

Jed rolled his eyes.Troyden had said the same thing about at least three women in the past five years.How the hell the man amassed a fortune in retail, dealing with the sharks and backstabbers of corporate UK and America, while being a sucker for anyone with big eyes and a great line of charming crap, God only knew.

AndThe One?Such bullshit.

Jed didn’t believe in love, not much and not for him anyway.It always came, he believed, with an expiration date.

His mum’s words to him, shortly before marrying Troyden, still played in his head.Do not make him regret taking us in.If you want to stay, you have to prove your worth.And if he didn’t?That’s when, he was convinced, the people who said they loved him would walk away.

‘I asked how you were,’ Troyden reminded him, keeping his voice low.

Damn, back to the Duke, his least favourite subject.‘I’m fine, I’m just pissed Junior gets to inherit,’ Jed replied.

Troyden frowned.‘But you’ve never wanted to inherit Bythesea Hall or the Duke’s money.Or even be associated with him.’

Jed pushed his thumb and index finger into his eyes.When it came to Lysander, the Duke of Bythesea (pronounced bithsee), or the Fucking Duke, his emotions always got twisted up.The FD had an affair with his mother, his groom, when she was eighteen and he newly married.As in, just-back-from-his-honeymoon married.Around the same time his wife announced she was pregnant with the next generation of Bythesea arsehats, his bio-father made the first payment to ensure his mum’s silence about their affair and her pregnancy.

Every year, until the time Jed had turned eighteen, the Duke had paid a yearly stipend, first to his mum, then to Troyden, to keep their connection from being exposed.Troyden handed his hush money to his money guy– his first stepson, Alistair– and thanks to Al’s nerdy love affair with numbers, Jed owned a ridiculously healthy portfolio of stocks, shares and crypto.He’d also inherit a share of Troyden’s assets one day, which scared him a little.What the fuck was he supposed to do with so much money?He was just a part-time polo player, part-time furniture maker.Full-time grump.

He did his best to add value.He wasn’t just any polo player, he was the captain of his country’s team, and he made sure Troyden’s team were regulars on podiums all over the world.He was the shield protecting Troyden from gold-diggers, con artists and anyone wanting to take advantage of his too-soft heart.The rock for his stepsibs, the one they could always rely on.There was no space for a woman, his plate was full, his capacity maxed out.

‘Jedson?’

He jerked and remembered Troyden’s question.‘No, I don’t give a shit about the estate or theby-the-seatitle, for fuck’s sake.’He saw Troyden narrow his eyes at his swearing and winced.Troyden hated profanity– he called it unoriginal– but he was also pragmatic.He knew there wasn’t much he could do to keep adult stepkids from occasionally swearing.Or, in Jed’s case, swearing often.

‘I object to Henry inheriting,’ Jed muttered, his skin feeling too tight for his body.‘Because he’s the biggest knob I know.’