The Austen Playbook (London Celebrities #4)(47)

Coming to sit on the edge of the bed, he looked down at where Freddy was still sleeping soundly, her hair a disaster, one hand tucked under her chin.

Wrinkled clothing was a small price to pay.

Although he could just imagine the forthcoming commentary from Charlie.

“Freddy.” He ran his fingers down her cheek and then her arm, and she briefly stirred, made a small sound, and promptly went back to sleep. Griff pushed back a handful of her curls and bent to kiss her ear. “Darling.” The endearment, which he’d never used in his life, slipped out with surprising ease, a low murmur straight into her ear.

Her lashes parted and she looked at him with no recognition, then a smile brightened her sleepy gaze, and he felt himself returning it.

“Good morning.” She yawned and reached an arm up to hook around his neck, and he couldn’t resist dropping a brief kiss on her mouth. “Why’re you dressed already?” The words slurred together through another yawn.

“It’s almost eight, and Charlie’s just driven into the courtyard.”

A single blink, and then it was like she’d been plugged in and turned on. She shot out of bed, almost shoving him aside. Folding his arms, he leaned against the tall wooden bedpost and admired the view as Freddy bent over to ferret out her dress and lingerie from under a pile of pillows.

“Oh my God. My call-time is nine-thirty today. And if Charlie’s here, Wanda and Arthur are probably up. I hope they didn’t hear us last night.” Orgasms seemed to have an unusual effect on her. Teasing and flirtation had been replaced by flapping hands and words. “You’re surprisingly loud in bed.”

“I’m surprisingly loud? The British infantry regiments could have staged the Trooping of the Colour in the courtyard last night and you wouldn’t have known a thing about it.” Every muscle in Griff’s body felt lax and satisfied, and it was difficult to summon the energy to care about the shite waiting back at Highbrook. No doubt the pleasant sense of lethargy had a time limit, however, and the clock was counting down. He gave it an hour at most before the stresses descended like yesterday’s fog.

Considering that Charlie had driven out here at an hour of the morning when he was usually still snoring in bed, possibly about three minutes.

Freddy winced. “Do you think people did hear us?”

“Not even your promised squeaks could have drowned out Wanda’s snoring.” Griff lifted his phone from the bedside table and slipped it into his pocket. “But as it now seems to have stopped, and I doubt Charlie drove out here for a scenic trip, we’d better go down.”

Freddy looked as rumpled as he did when they came out into the courtyard. Charlie was in animated conversation with Wanda, who was wearing a safari suit today and looked like an extra from a 1940s film. She was a good example of not judging people’s character by their appearance, because based on her manner, most costume departments would put her in black bombazine with a chatelaine at her belt.

Although she was almost giggling under the full battery of Charlie’s charm act. “Your dear brother is here to fix your car,” she said to Griff. “Isn’t that kind? I hope you both slept well. You obviously didn’t see the garment steamer in your wardrobe.”

Charlie, standing with one hip propped against his car, focused properly on Griff at that, examining him from unshaven jaw to creased legs. His intrigued gaze moved to Freddy’s wrinkled dress. A small smile started to play about his mouth, and Griff looked at him warningly.

“You got up before seven in the morning to do an AA job for us?”

“From what you said, the local garage wasn’t likely to do a speed fix, and our leading lady here is due on The Henry stage shortly.” Charlie turned the full force of his smile on Freddy, and Griff was caught off guard by the instinctive reaction that hit him in the gut.

If he’d never been very tactile, he’d sure as hell never been possessive, but seeing Charlie flirt with Freddy shot tension through his whole body. Which was both ridiculous and bloody ungrateful, when Charlie was doing him a favour. Albeit suspiciously.

It was the similarities between them, he thought grimly, as Freddy returned Charlie’s smile with breezy affection. They clearly recognised a sympathetic bond in one another. And they were a much more obvious pair. Had anyone placed a bet on Freddy becoming involved with either him or Charlie, his own odds would be comparable to a fairground pony winning the Grand National.

“You’re an actress?” Wanda looked narrowly at Freddy. Her lips pursed. “I should have guessed. I suppose you have grand plans to write the next great dramatic showpiece, too. Let’s hope you don’t follow too closely in your grandmother’s footsteps.”

“No.” That disquiet he’d noticed yesterday returned to Freddy’s face. “Let’s hope not.”

Charlie rolled up his sleeves, retrieved a toolbox from his own car, and popped open the bonnet of Griff’s. Within seconds, he was whistling. After a few notes, Griff recognised the tune as an old song about taking a girl away for a dirty weekend.

Rolling his eyes, he joined Charlie at the engine. His brother’s hands were moving dexterously and surely. “Let’s hear the rest of it, then.”

Charlie didn’t beat any further about the bush. Straightening, he wiped his hands on a grease-stained rag. “I thought you’d want to get back to Highbrook as quickly as possible.”