Chapter 4

EMILY

Ican't believe I'm being so reckless. This man really could be a serial killer, even though he says he isn't. I've willingly got on his bike, and now he's taking me farther and farther away from the safety of my home. Except, is my home a place of safety or a trap that will be the death of all my hopes and dreams.

Ethan looks different to anyone I've ever met before. All the men I know are smartly dressed, clean cut, and well spoken. They smell of expensive aftershave and have never done a day's work in their life. Ethan is rugged, covered in tattoos, and has a beard. His jeans are tight around his strong thighs, his hands look rough from manual labor, and he smells like a real man should, raw and powerful.

The wind rushes past me, whipping tendrils of hair out of my ponytail and around my face, despite the helmet I'm wearing. The freedom of the open road stretches out before us with its promise of adventure—it's a thrilling sensation. Ethan navigates the winding roads with ease. His handling of the bike feels secure, and I don't experience any fear when the bike dips to the left and then right as he corners.

This is not preparing for a ball, this is not contemplating what dress I need to wear, and this is not worrying about my future. This is the here and now, and even though it's completely wild and reckless, I don't want it to end. Every twist and turn brings a new thrill, a sense of liberation.

I want to freeze frame this moment and live in it for eternity.

"This is amazing," I shout over the roar of the wind, my heart pounding with excitement. I don't expect a response, though, because the noise of the engine is too loud.

As the bike cuts through the Dales, I can't help but marvel at the beauty unfolding around us. I don't tend to notice it in when I'm sat in my father's Land Rover or Bentley. The privacy glass in the windows is too dark, and I'm usually trying to ignore the fact I'm being lectured to on how to behave.

The rolling hills, green fields, and winding rivers of the landscape seem to go on forever, and dotted on the horizon sheep are grazing, waiting for the summer to end and the breeding season to return once more.

Sometimes, it seems like the entire world is obsessed with procreation!

Eventually, we come to a stop, and I dismount with some help from Ethan. We're parked outside The Barrel Inn, a quaint country pub nestled within the breathtaking scenery of the Peak District National Park.

The building itself is a relic of a bygone era, its weathered stone walls and thatched roof standing testament to its centuries-old history. I've heard of it before, but it's not somewhere my family would frequent. We have a private chef to prepare our meals, and when we do eat out, it's invariably at a Michelin-starred restaurant.

Removing my helmet, I take in the panoramic views of the Hope Valley and surrounding countryside.

"This place looks incredible," I tell Ethan.

He nods in agreement, his gaze sweeping over the picturesque scenery with a sense of reverence.

"Yeah, it's one of my favorite spots. And the food in the pub is top-notch," he tells me.

We step inside the cozy interior of the inn. The comforting woody scent of an unlit fire and the aroma of freshly cooked food embraces us as we enter. The oak-beamed bar and flagstone floors lend the place a rustic charm, while the polished copper and brass fixtures and fittings add a touch of elegance to the cozy atmosphere.

As we sit at a table by the window, I feel a sense of contentment wash over me. Surrounded by the beauty of nature and the warmth of Ethan's presence, I feel truly at peace.

"That ride was amazing. I've never experienced anything like it before."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. I've always got a thrill from being on the open road."

We order pie, mine chicken and Ethan's beef, and a beer each. It's a simple meal, but it feels like a feast in this idyllic setting. At first, we eat in comfortable silence, but then I experience an overwhelming need to talk to Ethan about my upcoming debutante ball and the pressure I'm under to conform to my parents' expectations.

"Do you know what a debutante is?" I question.

Ethan shakes his head.

"It's a long-established tradition for the daughters of the landed gentry, once they are of marriageable age, to be presented to society and, more importantly, to the King and Queen. Historically, the main aim was to secure a husband, but nowadays, the events surrounding the debutantes are focused on raising money for charity. However, there are some parents who still see the social gatherings as an opportunity to make a good match for their daughter."

"Landed gentry sounds like something from the Victorian era." Ethan screws up his nose.

"Even older than that, I'm afraid. My family is titled and owns lots of land around here, and as the daughter of a Lord, I'm going to be a debutante next week." I suddenly feel a flicker of worry about revealing to this massive biker that I'm from a wealthy family, but I shake it away immediately. I was the one who chose to get on the bike with him. "I don't want to be married off to some rich landowner just to further my father's ambitions," I confess, my voice tinged with frustration. "I want to experience life, real life, not the one where I'm expected to breed children with a man I probably don't even love."

Ethan listens intently, his eyes soft with compassion.

"I can't imagine what it's like to have your choices taken away from you, Emily. My life is the complete opposite of yours. I've been with the Robin Hood Riders since I was born. My father used to be the President, but now I'm in charge. I'm the one who makes the decisions." He goes silent for a moment. "Actually, maybe I can understand a little bit of what your life is like."

I shake my head, confused.

"In what way?" I ask.

"Okay, no one's ever told me who to marry, but there's always been an assumption I'd run the club."

"I suppose we've both had our lives planned out for us. Your jacket says ‘President', so I'm guessing your father isn't around anymore."

I take a sip of my beer. It's really refreshing compared to the champagne I'm used to drinking, and the bitter taste of the hops tickles my nose.

"No, he died a while ago now. From what you've been saying, I presume your father is still very much around," Ethan responds before taking a drink from his pint.

"He is. I can confirm Lord Hanbury is very much alive and kicking."

"Can't say I've heard of him." Ethan shrugs his shoulders. "But then I guess we mix in very different circles," he adds with a wink.

"Very much so." I sigh heavily.

As we converse, the noise of the pub fades into the background, and it feels like we're the only two people here. I'm learning more and more about Ethan while we chat. I've even noticed he holds his knife and fork back-to-front as he eats his pie, so I think he must be left-handed.

This is probably the longest time I've ever spent alone with a man who isn't blood related to me.

"How old are you?" he asks.

"Nineteen."

"What school did you go to?"

"I was home educated with a tutor and nanny."

"Ever had a job?"

What is this? Fifty questions?

I shake my head. Ethan inhales deeply.

"Ever dress up in a suit or something other than jeans and a T-shirt." I turn the questions back on him.

"No, not even to my father's funeral. We all rode our bikes." Ethan pauses. "Have you ever got so drunk that you've ended up having a one-night stand?"

Lowering my head, I blush and bite my lip. I'm still a virgin, and I've never been drunk in my life. My parents would be horrified at the thought of me behaving like that.

"If you were one of the women at the club, your blushes would suggest you‘ve probably done that on more than one occasion," Ethan continues. "But I suspect your cheeks are flushed for a very different reason."

"I've never been with a man. I'm expected to stay a virgin until I'm married," I blurt out the truth. He nods but says no more. "Can-can I ask about y-you?" I stumble over my question, not sure how to ask it without being intrusive. Talking about sex is completely alien to me.

"I'm not a virgin, if that's what you're asking? I lost my virginity at fourteen, and I don't need to get drunk to get laid."

I understand his meaning. He must have women falling at his feet. I'm not surprised with the way he looks.

"I'm guessing you've traveled a lot, though," Ethan comments.

I'm relieved at the change of subject, even though there's a part of me that would like to learn a bit more about his sexual exploits. I can't help but imagine what he looks like under his jeans and T-shirt.

"Vacations in the Maldives every summer. Christmases spent at my father's castle in Scotland. That sort of thing."

"We toured Scotland once, but we didn't stay in a castle. And it certainly wasn't in winter, because we were on our bikes and camping out."

"What is the longest ride you've ever been on?" I question.

I'm intrigued by the freedom and independence that being on the back of a bike offers.

"I've traveled across the States on Route 66 a few times. That's probably the longest journey. But there are annual bikers' conventions held in different countries each year where chapters from all over the world meet up. We ride to those, and some of them are a long distance away." Ethan leans back in his chair and crosses his left ankle over the right.

"Are you involved in drugs and prostitution?" I don't know where the question comes from. It tumbles from my mouth before I have a chance to drag it back in.

Ethan chuckles, a smile curling his lips.

"We have girls who choose to live at the club and make themselves freely available to the men. But we don't traffic or sell girls to anyone, if that's what you're asking? As for drugs. Yes, they are accessible in the club. I do the occasional line of coke, but I'm not an addict. Cigarettes are my vice, alcohol as well. I know many people see motorcycle clubs as akin to mafia, but we're not. Let me put the same question to you. I know not all members of the aristocracy are innocent. Have you ever done drugs?"

"No."

Ethan shakes his head, rubbing his hand across his brow in a gesture of frustration. "Can you tell me something wild you have done?"

"I got on a bike with a complete stranger who brought me to a pub and had lunch with me." I pause. "Are you going to take me home now?"

Ethan doesn't answer straight away. He watches me in silence for a few moments.

"Is that what you want?" he finally asks.

"It's what I should do," I respond, my voice deflated. I'm not the type of person who takes risks. I need to be sensible and go back to being a good girl. I don't want to disappoint my family. "Yes, I do want you to take me home." I reach out and grab Ethan's hand. "But before you do, show me more. Show me what my life could've been like if I wasn't bound by duty."

"I promise I'll show you a life that exists outside the confines of society's expectations. A life where you can be free to be yourself and follow your own path. But after that, Emily, I will take you home. Our lives are too different for there to be anything more than that. I hope you understand."

As he speaks, his words fill me with a sense of hope, a glimmer of possibility in the darkness of my mundane existence. For the first time, I dare to believe there might be more to life than the suffocating world I've always known. But as he finishes speaking, I know what he says is right. This is my wild, carefree phase, and it has to end with me returning home.

We finish our meal, and having paid, we leave the comfort of the inn behind. Once we're outside, I shrug on Ethan's jacket and pull on the helmet before he helps me to climb on the Harley once more. The engine roars to life beneath us, and as we ride off into the sunset, I can't help but feel a sense of excitement building.

With Ethan here, I know anything is possible, even if it's just for now.