The Austen Playbook (London Celebrities #4)(24)

“There’s a roof?” one of the riggers asked, looking up and shielding his eyes against the blinding glare.

“No, when it rains, we just turn the place into a giant paddling pool. Of course there’s a roof.” Exasperated, Griff said to his brother, “Next time you invite dozens of people onto the property, give them a proper debrief on how to use the space. I’ve got enough on my hands without actors expiring in the garden. And find out who left that screwdriver lying about.”

If Sabrina had used that tone of voice on her, there would be at the very least some strong bristling, but Charlie was either the most easy-going person in the world or really had missed his calling as an actor. He simply saluted and patted Freddy on the head.

But before he ambled off to show the backstage crew how to activate the theatre’s hidden comforts, she saw a momentary flicker in his eyes.

On the short drive to Highbrook village, Freddy kept one clenched fist pushed tightly against her thigh above the cut, which Griff had covered with a temporary bandage, and her eyes fixed on the scenery out the side window. “You’re pretty rough on Charlie, aren’t you?”

She could feel Griff’s glance sear into her cheek. “Picked up another member of his fan club, has he?”

“Don’t sneer.” She turned her head and looked at him. “He’s your brother, not one of us hapless peeps you’re paid by the word to squash.”

“Charlie’s fine,” Griff said dismissively. “He’s unsquashable, to put it your way. And considering that the stream of hassle he causes appears to be never-ending, he couldn’t care less about my opinion. I’d reserve your sympathy. Charlie will never have a problem rebounding in life. His business sense is atrocious, but his personality is his biggest asset and he knows how to use it.”

“How very cynical.” Freddy watched him soberly. “I don’t think Charlie uses anything. He just is what he is—and I highly, highly doubt that he doesn’t care about your opinion.” She hesitated, wondering just how far she could push social boundaries on a subject that was none of her business, with a man she barely knew yet.

Whatever—she’d never claimed restraint in social situations, and she was in pain. “Just like you obviously care enough about your family to keep rescuing them from their bad decisions.”

Griff’s eyes met hers. Right now, there wasn’t a hint of warm amber; they were relentlessly, coldly obsidian. “Do you always make extremely personal comments on other people’s relationships?”

“Quite often, yeah.” Freddy rubbed the heel of her hand up and down, trying to cut off as much sensation as possible. “Are you jealous?”

“Of your insufferable nosiness? Not particularly.”

“Of Charlie.”

Griff didn’t respond, but the line of his jaw could slice through steel, and the knuckles of his left hand flexed on the wheel as if he was imagining it was her neck.

“Because you don’t need to be.” Freddy returned her attention out the window. “I’m starting to think you might be okay. In your own way.” Muttering, she added under her breath, “If you dig down quite far.”

His car was well-sprung and there was almost no road noise, so she could hear the faint sound of his breathing, and the way the rhythm altered for just an instant.

The GP’s clinic was a beautiful stone cottage next door to the pub—handy, if anybody drank themselves into alcohol poisoning or weaved unsteadily into a lamppost. Someone had phoned ahead, and the doctor was expecting her. He was a burly, handsome man in his forties, with sparkly eyes and a full beard. He looked more like a mountain climber or an Antarctic explorer than a village doc. He joked good-naturedly with Freddy while he examined her leg, and she returned the favour with a little too much enthusiasm. Things had got so unsettling in the car with Griff that she felt back in her comfort zone. Light-hearted, meaningless banter.

Dr. Adams gave her a tetanus booster. As he disposed of the needle, he looked through thick brows at Griff. “Must be chaotic over at the estate, if you’ve got a TV crew in situ and a film crew on the way. Is that still in the works? The film at Highbrook?”

“A few scenes will be at Highbrook. The majority in London.” Griff was standing by the bed, looking a tad murderous. He’d been emitting increasingly dark, dangerous vibes ever since he’d laid her down on the hard plastic. “I won’t ask how you know about that.”

Adams grinned, undaunted. “You know how the grapevine works around here.” He brought a sutures kit over to the bed. “Right. Time to be brave, I’m afraid.”

Freddy had gritted her teeth through the tetanus shot, but she felt nauseated even thinking about someone sewing her like a ragdoll. She’d never had any kind of surgery, and was a baby about pain. She did have pride, though, so she gave the sexy doctor a tight smile and hid her hand under her skirt so she could wind a tight grip into the fabric.

As Adams prepared the local anaesthetic and inserted the first needle into her leg, Griff unfolded his arms, his jaw still set, and reached one hand out to her. She looked at it, and up at him, then clutched it with no further attempt to pretend she was stoic. It took three more shots to fully numb her leg, and at each pinch, she held more tightly to Griff. When the stitching began, she took one look at the neat row of thread appearing in her skin and tucked her face into her reluctant comforter’s own leg.