1. Winnie

CHAPTER ONE

WINNIE

Mum: Winnie, I got back from the shops and found the note you stuck to the telly. I can’t believe you just left for the countryside without even saying goodbye! If you’d told me in person, I could have shown you the lovely sundresses I picked up for you at the charity shop. You could have taken them on your trip. I sent you a picture. I think you’d look very fetching in this sunflower one. You can’t even notice the eyes until you’re right up near it and trust me, dear, if a man’s that close, he’s not looking at fabric.

Perhaps if you had the dress, a man could be taking it off you right now. Think on that.

“ I ’ll have gin in an IV,” I mutter to the bartender as I slide into a seat, water dribbling off the end of my nose onto the pristine wooden bar. I roll up my sleeve and present her with my wrist.

She flashes me a sympathetic smile. “I’m clean out of IVs, sorry. How about with some ice and tonic?”

“That’ll have to do.” I brush my ruined, sodden hair out of my face. When I lean on my elbows, my best lightweight wool coat squelches.

“Bad day?” The bartender raises a perfectly tweezed eyebrow as she fixes my drink.

“I don’t know what gave you that idea. Today’s been wonderful. I thought I’d try the new Supersize Baptism over at your local church.” I point out the window to the white Presbyterian steeple towering over the flooding village green. “I figured you can never have enough of the god juice.”

I drop my ruined leather tote on the floor at my feet, wedge my purple suitcase in the corner of the bar, and drape my cashmere scarf over the top of it. Maybe if I lay it out nicely, it won’t dry all misshapen.

I notice the bartender adding a double shot to my drink. She slides it across the bar to me. “At least if you’re doused in holy water, you’ll repel any vampires in the vicinity.”

“Honestly, bring on the vampires. An eternal bite sounds brilliant right about now.” I tug down the neck of my shirt. “This drink is excellent. I shall have another. And a plate of something unhealthy and delicious, ideally with cheese.”

“I agree. Cheese makes everything better. Another G&T and a basket of loaded wedges, coming up.”

She goes off to the other end of the bar to put in my order, while I drink my G&T far too quickly and curse my own stupidity. Today’s disaster is entirely my fault. I’m always the responsible one, the one with the checklist and the Instagram-famous organisation system. I never mess up.

But I’ve been messing up everything lately.

I’ve spent the last two hours waiting in sideways rain at the Argleton train station for my new client to pick me up. Only after I checked my phone for the gazillionth time and pulled up the email from Reginald, Lord Valerian’s personal secretary, I realised I got the date wrong. Somehow, I, Winnie Preston – the woman who gets paid to clean up other people’s chaotic lives – showed up for my new job a whole day early and was waiting in the pouring rain for a client who wasn’t expecting to pick me up until tomorrow.

How did I get it so wrong? I studied Reginald’s emailed instructions a hundred times. I wrote the dates in my calendar. I colour-coded them according to the Clutter Queens’ colour chart.

If I’m being honest with myself, my head’s been filled with cotton wool ever since Patrick. And Claire. And my mother and her terrifying sundresses don’t help – one was covered in red splotches, more a crime scene photograph than a fashion choice. The other had bright yellow flowers with terrifying beady eyes in the centres. They were terrible, and I think that she knows that.

The sundresses will join the two breadmakers and the antique apothecary cabinet she bought me yesterday, and the twenty-two pairs of men’s socks from the day before.

No matter how many times I tell her not to, she still buys me these ‘gifts.’ Nothing I say or do will stop her, so I will accept the breadmakers and the creepy sundresses and the apothecary cabinet and the socks and I will throw them away, and the ordeal will begin again next week.

I stare at her text message as fat raindrops roll off the end of my nose. Googly eyes stare back at me. I debate hopping on the next train and heading back to London. I’d be too late to find a hotel, so I’d have to crash at Mum’s, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad this time, and then I could flat hunt in the morning before catching the train I was supposed to catch…

But some defiant part of me whispers, “You escaped, Winnie. You escaped London and that cursed house and all those horrible memories. Don’t go back now.”

So I did what any self-respecting girl would do in my position. I squared my jaw, smoothed down my frizzy hair, and headed for the pub.

Which is where I find myself now, staring at the bottom of a G&T glass. How did that get empty so fast?

The bartender places a new drink beside it.

“You deserve a knighthood. Is there a B&B or hotel nearby?” I say as I take a sip. I nearly choke. She made this one even stronger than the last.

The girl’s got my back.

“We have a couple of rooms upstairs.” She pulls a pint for a customer further down the bar. “Nothing fancy, mind, but the pillows aren’t lumpy and we throw in a roast dinner.”

“Sold.” I glance around the pub. It is just on dinner time, and the place is starting to fill up. The typical country pub has a community noticeboard on the wall as you come in, quiz team draws and sepia-tone photographs of horses on the walls, and paper coasters advertising a locally brewed cider. It’s a far cry from the glitzy cocktail bars I used to go to with Claire, where we’d yell gossip to each other over pounding music and try to get Claire laid.

In contrast, all the alcohol I’ve consumed in the last three months has been done in my empty flat while lying on my Atkin & Thyme rug and raging along with the angry music pounding out my speakers until my downstairs neighbour bangs on the ceiling.

And now I can’t even do that.

Something about this pub makes me let out my breath. People here aren’t in such a rush. They greet each other as they walk in the door. There’s a group of women my age crowded around a leaner in the corner, cackling with laughter like a coven of witches. Everyone knows everyone. There’s a whole community here – people who’ll look after you when something shitty happens. I wish I had that. I thought I had that, until Claire and Patrick?—

Hey, speaking of vampires…

My gaze lands on a guy at the end of the bar.

…holy Gomez Addams, Edward Cullen, and Lestat’s lovechild…

My breath stills in my throat.

I can’t explain the sensation that washes over me as I drink him in. I’d come to this pub because I was hoping to get lost from my shitty life for a little bit, but as I watch him, I wish more than anything that I could be found.

For one thing, he looks about as pleased with life as I do. His broad shoulders slump over a glass of red wine. He stares into the depths of it, but doesn’t drink. Eyes the colour of anthracite, flecked with ripples of silver, study the contents of the glass as though they contain the secrets of the universe. He wears an exquisitely tailored jacket that’s about two centuries out of fashion.

Period clothing in a country pub is a vibe .

And that vibe is sexy AF .

I’m aware that I’m staring, my jaw wide open like I’m a Venus flytrap with a ravenous hunger. I quickly turn back to my drink just in time to see an unremarkable man with a skeevy smile slide onto the stool next to me.

“Can I buy you another drink, love?” The man’s arm brushes against mine, too close for a stranger.

Instantly, I become a cat protecting my personal territorial bubble – back rigid, hair raised, ready to scratch out some eyeballs if required.

“I’m meeting a friend,” I say quickly, my stock-standard response for when creepy guys try to hit on me in bars.

A bone-deep sadness washes over me. I wish it was true. I wish I was meeting a friend like everyone else in this pub.

But it’s just me and Skeevy McPimpleFace duelling for possession of my personal bubble.

“When your friend gets here, she can sit on my knee.” He leans in close. I cringe away from the beer and mouldy cheese scent of his breath. “Or you can sit on my knee, if you like.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” I turn away from him.

“My name’s Danny O’Hare. What’s yours, love?” Danny leans in even closer. I jerk away as his stubble brushes my cheek. “I want to know what name I’ll be screaming later.”

“I’m not interested, thanks.”

“I heard you tell our lovely barkeep Lilac that you’re going to be staying above the pub tonight. Lucky for you, I’ll be down the hall. I could sneak over later. You can be my Republic of Ireland, since lookin’ at you makes my penis Dublin.” He leers at me with a smile that I suspect is supposed to be charming. “I want you to taste my lucky charms.”

“Leave me alone.” I try to scoot out of the other side of the seat, but he grabs my thigh.

I freeze.

“You’re an uptight bitch, aren’t you? Think you’re too good for someone like me?” Danny’s fingers dig into my flesh. He latches onto my shoulder with his other hand, trying to force me to turn towards him. My heart hammers in my chest. I shrink away from his leering face, his cheeks flush with liquor. Every self-defence lesson I’ve ever had flies straight out of my head?—

“Excuse me,” a deep voice behind me says. “My darling, I’m sorry I’m late. Is this man bothering you?”

Danny’s hand drops from my shoulder.

I whirl around. My surprise catches in my throat.

The voice belongs to the shadowy stranger at the end of the bar. Only, he’s no longer draped in shadow but standing right beside me, his stance rigid, protective. He places a hand on the small of my back, and unlike the unwanted touch of Danny, his fingers are a lit fuse that’s quickly burning down to some kind of beautifully violent explosion.

His eyes lock with mine, his full lips quirking up on one side with an unasked question.

Understanding dawns.

Hot vampire guy is saving my arse.

“Hello, um, darling ,” I manage to choke out, pretending that there was a universe where someone as beautiful as this man could possibly be dating me. “I didn’t see you there. I tried to save this seat for you, but?—”

My rescuer fixes his anthracite eyes on Danny. Beneath the low lighting of the bar, the flecks of silver at the edges of his irises appear to glow.

“Hey mate, I don’t want any trouble.” Danny raises his hands in mock surrender. “I was just chatting with your girl.”

“It didn’t look like you were chatting. It looks as if you were touching her when she specifically told you that she wasn’t interested.”

How does he know that? He was sitting too far away and the pub was too noisy for my voice to carry.

But I’m not about to question my knight in period clothing, not with his fingers rubbing a reassuring circle on the small of my back that makes my skin feel like I’m being invaded by an army of fire ants, but in a good way.

“She never said she wasn’t interested—hey, I know you.” Darren’s eyes narrow. “You’re not her boyfriend. You’re that recluse who lives in the big house outside of the village?—”

“If I wasn’t her boyfriend,” the stranger’s hand grazes my cheek, my skin burning where he touches, “would I do this?”

He tips my head back and kisses me.

Woah.

What is happening right now?

His lips are cool, probably because he’s come in from the wet weather outside. But the way he holds me with casual possession makes my whole body burn. For a single heartbeat, the kiss is chaste – just his cool lips pressing against me. But then he must sense that he needs to sell our lie to Danny because he pushes against me gently, then a little harder, to force my lips apart with his tongue.

I open for him, and his tongue loosens something inside me that’s been tied up in knots for too long. My heart hammers against my chest and I am worried that I’m doing everything wrong, that I’ve forgotten how to kiss or that I never even knew in the first place, because I dated Patrick for three years and we never had a kiss like this.

Hot Vampire is a method actor, fully committing himself to the role of my devoted boyfriend. His hand cups my cheek as he tips my head back to deepen the stroke of his tongue. He tastes of winter spices – cardamon and ginger – and something else. Something dark and haunted and delicious.

The kiss burns a trail of fire through my body, from my lips right down to my toes. It’s the kind of kiss that Taylor Swift would write a hit song about, with every line dissecting the perfection of it.

I’m dimly aware of Danny kicking over his barstool and stomping out of the pub. I can faintly hear the bartender, Lilac, cheering, but I don’t want to think about them because that will mean the kiss will be over, and this man will go back to being a stranger and I’ll go back to being boring, organised Winnie Preston who never does anything spontaneous or wild?—

But I feel wild now – wild and untethered. I reach up and run my hand through his dark curls, letting the silky threads fall through my fingers. He tugs at my lip with teeth that are a little sharp, and a throaty moan erupts from my throat.

Did I just make that noise?

Did I just moan in the middle of a crowded pub because a stranger nibbled on my lip?

Yes. Yes, I did.

And I do it again as his lips lay a trail across my jaw, along my neck. He pauses, scraping his sharp teeth over my skin. I feel his body tremble, as though he’s on the edge of control. And I find myself melting against him, begging him for something I don’t understand…

He draws back, his features tight. “He will not bother you again,” he says, his voice formal, as if he hadn’t just turned me into a gooey mess.

My skin burns with embarrassment. He was just being nice, and I’d been ready to climb him like the property ladder.

“Thank you so much.” I wave to Lilac. I need another G&T to burn off the mortification of this moment. She hurries over and I turn back to my mysterious rescuer. “Can I buy you a?—”

But he’s gone.

Vanished into thin air.

I glance towards the door, but I can’t see him. He’s not moving between the empty outdoor tables or splashing across the village green.

How did he manage to sneak off so stealthily?

I shuffle into the corner and pat the stool where he’d been sitting before he came over to rescue me. His wine glass has disappeared. The stool is ice cold, as if no one had sat there for some time.

“Did you see where that man went?” I ask Lilac as I settle into the vacated seat. She sets down a basket of wedges loaded with cheese, bacon, and a generous dollop of sour cream.

“What man?”

“The one who kissed me? He had a glass of red wine. He was standing right there, and then, poof.” I wave my arms around to indicate the empty space. “He’s gone, like magic.”

Lilac slides a new drink across the bar to me. “If I were you, I’d forget that you ever met him. He’s more trouble than ten Danny O’Hares, you mark my words. Now, how about I get you that roast dinner to go with your cheese wedges?”