Chapter 7

Seven

THE PORT ROOM

Fuming, I left my bedroom and stalked down the hall.

I hammered on Lou’s door.

She opened it, looking freaked, probably because I was banging on her door, only to stop looking freaked and start looking bemused when she saw me.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Where have you been all day?”

“I texted you. Since we were out, Sam suggested we nip to the ruins. It was farther away than I thought. We just got back half an hour ago. It was a lot of wandering and climbing. Then it started to drizzle. There was lots of mud. It was amazing, but I’m a mess. I have to hurry, or I’ll be late for dinner.” Her eyes went up and down my body and she asked, her voice pitched higher. “What on earth are you wearing?”

“Richard Alcott isn’t my father. He can’t send me to bed without supper if he doesn’t like my outfit. Though I don’t know if he’s even at the house at all, since I haven’t seen him, or Lady Jane, or anyone since Ian gave me a tour this morning then brooded off.”

She seemed intrigued. “Ian gave you a tour?”

I didn’t have time to get into how irritating his tests and games were, then making me think I might like him only for him to disappear in full Mr. Rochester, leaving me alone for the rest of the entire day.

Sure, the place was enormous, and it took almost two hours to get through it all.

But then I was alone for the rest of the day.

I hadn’t invited my own self there, for goodness’ sake.

“Do you know Portia is in fucking London?” I demanded.

“Yes, she texted. She said it couldn’t be helped. Daniel had to go there for work. She’ll be back tomorrow.”

“I’d like to be in London, oh, I don’t know…running my business.”

Lou made excuses for her, like normal. “This was unexpected for her and Daniel.”

“This is another game,” I snapped. “She knows we don’t like him, or his family, or this crazy, beautiful, too damned perfect house. She knows if we have a chance to talk to her, we’ll talk her out of being with him. And she’s in London, where we live, and we’re in the middle of goddamn nowhere, because she asked us to be here, and that is not okay.”

“I see you’re upset,” she said conciliatorily.

“You think?”

“Come in while I get ready, but I have to take a really quick shower. It’ll be super quick, promise. I have to hurry.”

“You’re a grown-ass woman, Lou. Fuck Richard Alcott and his schedule. Don’t hurry. I’ll see you down there whenever you’re ready.”

I turned away as she called, “Where are you going?”

“To find a drink,” I called back.

One could say I was a lot more comfortable tonight, at least in what I was wearing.

I had on an iridescent shirt in black that was unbuttoned so far down, you could see quite a bit of the very lacy cups of my black bra. I was wearing this with black tuxedo cigarette pants and patent black Christian Louboutin pumps. The only jewelry I had on were a pair of hoops that, on the outside, were traced with diamonds, and on the inside, were black diamonds. Those and a Roberto Coin Rock and Diamonds white gold ring on the middle finger of my left hand.

I was headed to the Wine Room, and I was half an hour early, but screw it. If no one was there to get me a drink, and I couldn’t pour my own, I’d pull the cord and get someone to help me.

Since I had all day—by myself—as mentioned, I’d given myself the full tour.

So not only had I seen Portia’s Robin Room was an incredibly pretty exploration of just how well you could use robin’s egg blue, I also knew it was the Port Room where I heard the voices coming from as I closed in on the Wine Room.

“Who put her in Carnation?”

That was Ian, and he sounded pissed.

And one could only assume he was talking about me and my allocated bedroom.

The question was, why would that make him angry?

I stopped and stepped to the side of the hall, inching closer to the door, the better to eavesdrop.

“Household decisions are your mother’s.”

That was Richard.

“Bullshit. Mum wouldn’t put anyone in there. It’s ghoulish.”

“It’s a beautiful room. Outside Robin and Cherry, it’s the best in the house. At least on the feminine side of things.”

“So it was your decision.”

“She’s a special guest. She might be your sister-in-law if things go well for Daniel.”

“So you put her in a dead woman’s room?”

What the hell?

A dead woman?

“Please tell me you didn’t tell her about that,” Richard demanded.

“Fuck no, I didn’t. Christ, Dad.”

“It was nearly a hundred years ago.”

Nearly a hundred years ago.

Oh my God.

Dorothy Clifton had been given my room.

“Not a single person has slept in that room for ninety-five years, until last night,” Ian declared.

“I told your mother it was time to break the seal.”

“So it was you who put her in that room.”

“It isn’t an issue, Ian.”

“She’s going to figure Danny out.”

“I’m sure you helped her with that on your tour,” Richard said snidely.

“Might as well save her some time.”

“You can’t see your brother happy.”

“No, I can. I want that for him. What I don’t want is for him to shit on yet another woman while he makes himself happy, just like his father taught him.”

The viciousness of Richard’s next had me holding my breath. “How fucking dare you,” he snarled.

“Pretty fucking easy, Dad. Christ, she’s a shell. You think I’m her son and I don’t feel that for her?”

Richard’s shift of subject felt like whiplash, and I wasn’t even part of the conversation.

“She’s in that room. She’s fine. There’s no reason to move her. It’s a beautiful room.”

“And Louella is in Floral, which is the shittiest room in the house. How stupid do you think women in general are?” Ian sneered. “Do you honestly think they haven’t figured you out, at least Daphne? She had your ticket the second she laid eyes on you.”

“I don’t have a ticket, for God’s sakes.”

“You’re worse than her father, and she smelled that on you before you entered the Pearl Room to greet her.”

Well, surprise, surprise. Ian thought highly of me, because I didn’t, but I also kinda sorta did, just not in the way he thought.

I must have passed his tests.

“This is a ridiculous conversation,” Richard derided. “You’re not needed here this week. You can go back to London tomorrow when Daniel and Portia return.”

“If you think I’m going to leave those women to this pack of hyenas, Dad, you’re dead, fucking wrong.”

Yes.

I was beginning to like this guy.

Damn.

“Also, please, for the love of God, let this sink in,” Ian went on. “You don’t tell me what to do anymore. You haven’t for twenty goddamn years. You never will again.”

“Would that I could break the covenants,” Richard taunted in an ugly voice.

I clapped both hands over my mouth.

Because…

The covenants?

That had to be…what?

What determined the succession of the earldom?

Richard was saying to his son’s face that he didn’t want him to inherit what was rightfully his.

Sure, it was by luck of the birth order.

It was still Ian’s.

“Well, you can’t,” Ian returned. “But go for it. I could buy Duncroft twice and not blink.”

“No one likes a braggart, Ian.”

“You missed my point, Dad. I don’t need the fucking title and I don’t want the fucking house. I’m not stupid, it’s worth a fortune, and since it’s mine, I’ll take it. But unlike you, and Danny, and everyone before you, I don’t need it. And that’s what pisses you off so goddamn much. Because I have something to brag about. And you’ve done not one fucking worthwhile thing in your life, so you’ve got dick.”

Score!

I nearly cheered.

Instead, since this seemed to be winding down, I made sure to keep to the carpet runner and quickly made my way to the foyer.

That was marble, no rug, so I tiptoed as best I could around the staircase, then walked normally when I entered the Conservatory.

Because I knew where I could find a drink.

I was helping myself to a bottle of Champagne (Veuve, as a matter of fact) from the beverage fridge when I cried out and whirled after I heard Ian ask, “Making yourself at home?”

I stood, expensive bottle in one hand, fingers wrapped around the cork I’d already divested of its foil, caught red-handed.

“Uh…”

“Enjoy the entertainment?”

Shit, I could feel the blood rushing to my face.

“You couldn’t miss it,” I said carefully.

“You didn’t have to listen.”

True.

“You’re freaking me out, how did you know I was there?” I asked.

“I heard your heels on the marble of the entryway. Coming and leaving. Even all the way from the Conservatory. It echoes.”

Oh. Yes. Of course. How did I not think of that?

“Did your dad hear me?”

“My father lives in a bubble of his own importance that nothing penetrates. I’d pushed myself into it, necessarily, but regrettably. Since he’s only capable of dealing with one thing at a time, and considering he’d have no issue calling you out for listening, I’d say no.”

He came toward me, and I stood still, wondering what he would do.

He stopped in front of me and yanked the Champagne out of my hands.

Fair play. It was his, or his dad’s, but actually it was both of theirs, really, in a weird way.

My mind stopped rambling when I heard the cork pop and he leaned into me.

His cologne wasn’t cloying. It was elusive, but I smelled moss, clove and something fresh, maybe bergamot.

It was unusual: subtle (not him), yet still strong (totally him).

Oh dear.

When he straightened, he had two cut crystal Champagne flutes in one hand.

He offered them to me.

I took them.

He poured, set the bottle down, took one glass, clinked the one I held in front of me, looked me in the eyes, and said, “Santé.”

I kept eye contact and repeated, “Santé.”

If he’d opened his mouth over the rim and downed it in one, I wouldn’t have been surprised.

He didn’t.

He took a sip.

I watched…his face, his mouth, and in the end, that strong throat.

Oh yes.

Oh dear.

I took my own sip.

“I’ll be telling Christine to move you and Louella into the bird wing tomorrow,” he declared, not stepping away from me, standing very close.

“Who’s Christine?”

“Our housekeeper.”

“It’s slightly creepy, knowing what I know now, I will admit, but my room is very beautiful. That said, Lou’s room sucks. She loves irises, and I checked out that room on the solo part of my tour. It’s right across the hall from mine and she’d like it very much. So maybe move her?”

“If you wish,” he muttered, his attention having been captured by my lacy bra. “Is that for me?”

I didn’t know it until that moment, but it was one thousand percent for him.

Argh.

“I thought it might annoy your dad.”

He lifted his gaze to mine. “He’s going to hate it.”

“Then my work tonight will be done.”

“Fuck, I wanna kiss you,” he murmured, put that right out there, his gaze now on my mouth.

Well, damn.

And double damn because I wanted him to kiss me, goddamn it.

He didn’t kiss me.

He moved to the couch and opened a sleek wooden box on a side table. In it was a stack of cigarettes rolled in dark-blue, watermarked paper, and they had a gold tip.

He took one, put it between his beautiful lips, then slid a long, thin, sleek gold lighter out of a special compartment carved into the box, which looked made for it.

He tipped his head to the side in a movement that had been made by many a gorgeous man over the decades, and had sold a million, trillion cigarettes, and he lit up.

He blew out a plume of smoke and only then did he down the Champagne in what was now two swallows.

“Trust you to have fancy cigarettes,” I quipped.

He leveled his blue gaze on me in a way that had me rooted to the spot so firmly, in that moment, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to move again.

“Only the best,” he decreed in a throaty rumble of a voice.

“Ian,” I whispered.

“Do you want to know more about Dorothy Clifton?” he offered.

I didn’t, considering the last time she slept, it was in my bed.

“Um…okay.”

He put the lighter back in its place, snapped the box closed, and turned again to me.

“David fancied himself in love with her, or at least that’s what he told Virginia in an effort to make her jealous.”

“Oh,” I muttered, then took a sip of my Champagne.

“William was in love with Virginia.”

“Oh!” I said much louder, caught by surprise by that nugget of information.

“William couldn’t marry Virginia…” He shook his head. “Strike that. Virginia couldn’t marry William because he was the second son. There was a third, but he was gay and moved to Paris when he was twenty, never to return to English soil again. William lived at Duncroft at David’s leisure.”

“All right,” I said when he didn’t go on.

“So, obviously, William had nothing. Not true. He was the local physician, but although a noble pursuit, it didn’t give him much status. Not like David had. Virginia had no choice. It was her job to make the best marriage she could, and if lore is true, David was besotted, so she made it.”

Ian had a beautiful voice, deep with that posh accent, mesmerizing.

“So, David loved her too,” I noted.

“He was besotted with her, darling,” Ian said softly, the last word sliding over my skin like velvet. So, so, so much better than petal. “That isn’t about love. It’s about something else. Obviously, after he had her, he was an Alcott. It appears he quickly lost interest.”

I was beginning to get concerned about this self-deprecating bent he had toward his family line. I’d barely been there a day, but even so, it seemed to be deserved, though it wasn’t like he’d personally broken promises along the way.

Certainly hearts, but I sensed not that first promise.

“This is a less fun story than it seemed, when all I knew about it was a woman fell to her death,” I joked.

“It gets even less fun,” he warned.

“Sock it to me,” I invited.

His lips quirked, he took another drag from his cigarette and came my way, but only so he could refill his Champagne glass.

He leaned against the drinks cabinet, close to me, and I found it touching he made sure the cigarette smoke didn’t get near me.

“William never fell out of love with Virginia. And not because he hadn’t had her, and as such, he’d gotten bored. He was genuinely in love with her, and her him. Star-crossed lovers, living in the same house.”

No wonder her pictures showed a wounded vulnerability.

Good God.

What a nightmare.

Poor Virginia and William.

“Dorothy toyed,” he continued. “She was known for it. She was open sexually, very much. Things started expanding for a lot of people around that time in those ways, but not that much. However, she was fortunate. She had the studios to squelch any shady rumors, like the fact she was bisexual.”

Another surprising nugget.

“Whoa.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “As for the rest, it only enhanced her reputation as a screen siren and femme fatale. It amused her to sleep with David and William at the same time. David was reportedly wild with jealousy, for she’d tell him William was her favorite. William, it’s thought, did it simply to hurt David as he’d hurt Virginia for years.”

“So you think David killed her?”

“I think it was talked about openly, even written about, how callous, and even cruel Dorothy was to Virginia while she was in this house. She paraded her affair with both men under Virginia’s nose, and Virginia, a product of a gentler time, living a genteel life and being of her particular gender, could do nothing but keep her upper lip stiff.”

“So you think Virginia killed her.”

“I think it’s amusing how angry women are at the patriarchy, when so often they work so hard to tear each other down. Virginia and Dorothy were not natural enemies. They were both caught in their roles with limited power to break free. And yet Dorothy targeted Virginia as much as she did William and David, but at least the men got something out of it. I truly don’t know if, today, women bend their entire lives around food and exercise so they can impress men in their yoga pants, or if they do it to make their sisters feel inferior.”

He took another drag from his smoke and then kept talking.

“But I sense, for the most part, it’s about the very sad fact that society has drilled into their heads the only power they have is sweating and starving themselves in order to have a firm ass, and that being to make men think they’re attractive. In many senses, no offense, it’s through little fault of your own, but you lot haven’t come very far since Dorothy’s and Virginia’s time.”

“You won’t hear any argument from me on that.”

A quick glance at my bra, my outfit, then a lip quirk, before he bent slightly toward me and went on, “And that’s all you get for story time tonight, little girl.”

I pretended to pout.

Though him calling me “little girl” didn’t feel like velvet.

I had another reaction to that, and it was centered between my legs.

He grinned broadly, maybe because of my fake pout, more likely because he knew the reaction he caused. He took another drag from his fancy-ass cigarette and walked away to blow the smoke well away from my person.

“I hope this story doesn’t end with you telling me you think Dorothy’s shenanigans meant she got what she deserved,” I said.

He shook his head. “Virginia was powerless. Dorothy was one of the first women in modern times who had scratched her way to holding a modicum of power, and I don’t blame her how she chose to use it, or either of them for how they were forced to live their lives.”

“Good answer.”

“Hungry?” he asked.

“I think dinner is imminent.”

“As much as I want to see my father react to your shirt and that fetching bra, I ran into Stevenson on the way here and asked him to request Bonnie set up a chef’s table in the kitchen. Mum and Dad can stare at each other across a twenty-five-foot expanse. You and Louella and I are going where it’s warm, it smells good, and people actually like each other.”

“That sounds amazing.”

He took another drag, crushed out his cigarette, and held his hand my way.

For some reason, I sensed taking it was a bigger declaration than just Ian leading me to the kitchen (and collecting Lou along the way) for dinner.

So I hesitated.

When I did, he turned it palm up.

He wanted me to take it.

He wanted me to make that declaration, not just follow him out of the Conservatory, or the other way around.

He wanted us connected.

And the way he was now holding his hand to me made him seem vulnerable.

Exposed.

Like he was taking a huge risk.

No, like he was teetering on the edge and holding that hand to me so I’d save him from falling.

I took his hand.

And we found Louella on the way to the kitchen.