His Cinderella Heiress Read Online Free Page B

maybe with a decent pie and a pint of Guinness.
    He’d like to be there, he thought. Inheritance or not, right now maybe he’d rather be with her than in a castle.
    Or not. What he’d inherited was a massive responsibility. It required...more loyalty?
    And loyalty was his principle skill, he thought ruefully. It was what he accepted, what he was good at, and this inheritance was enough to take a man’s breath away. Meanwhile the least he could do was tackle more of Mrs O’Reilly’s excellent roast beef, he decided, and he did.
    * * *
    If she had anywhere else to go, she wouldn’t be here. Here scared her half to death.
    Jo was cleaned up—sort of—but she was still wet and she was still cold.
    She was sitting on her bike outside the long driveway to Castle Glenconaill.
    The castle was beautiful.
    But this was no glistening white fairy tale, complete with turrets and spires, with pennants and heraldic banners fluttering in the wind. Instead, it seemed carved from the very land it was built on—grey-white stone, rising to maybe three storeys, but so gradually it gave the impression of a vast, long, low line of battlements emerging from the land. The castle was surrounded by farmland, but the now empty moat and the impressive battlements and the mountains looming behind said this castle was built to repel any invader.
    As it was repelling her. It was vast and wonderful. It was...scary.
    But she was cold. And wet. A group of stone cottages were clustered around the castle’s main gates but they all looked derelict, and it was miles back to the village. And she’d travelled half a world because she’d just inherited half of what lay before her.
    â€˜This is my ancestral home,’ she muttered and shivered and thought, Who’d want a home like this?
    Who’d want a home? She wanted to turn and run.
    But she was cold and she was getting colder. The wind was biting. She’d be cold even if her leathers weren’t wet, she thought, but her leathers were wet and there was nowhere to stay in the village and, dammit, she had just inherited half this pile.
    â€˜But if they don’t have a bath I’m leaving,’ she muttered.
    Where would she go?
    She didn’t know and she didn’t care. There was always somewhere. But the castle was here and all she had to do was march across the great ditch that had once been a moat, hammer on the doors and demand her rights. One hot bath.
    â€˜Just do it,’ she told herself. ‘Do it before you lose your nerve entirely.’
    * * *
    The massive gong echoed off the great stone walls as if in warning that an entire Viking war fleet was heading for the castle. Finn was halfway through his second coffee and the sound was enough to scare a man into the middle of next week. Or at least spill his coffee. ‘What the...?’
    â€˜It’s the doorbell, My Lord,’ Mrs O’Reilly said placidly, heading out to the grand hall. ‘It’ll be the woman. If she’s like her mother, heaven help us.’ She tugged off her apron, ran her fingers through her permed grey hair, took a quick peep into one of the over-mantel mirrors and then tugged at the doors.
    The oak doors swung open. And there was...
    Jo.
    She was still in her bike gear but she must have washed. There wasn’t a trace of mud on her, including her boots and trousers. Her face was scrubbed clean and she’d reapplied her make-up. Her kohl-rimmed eyes looked huge in her elfin face. Her cropped copper curls were combed and neat. She was smiling a wide smile, as if her welcome was assured.
    He checked her legs and saw a telltale drip of water fall to her boots.
    She was still sodden.
    That figured. How many bikers had spare leathers in their kitbags?
    She must be trying really hard not to shiver. He looked back at the bright smile and saw the effort she was making to keep it in place.
    â€˜Good evening,’ she was saying. She