To my relief, there was nothing. Not even a stray tube of mascara. Which made me wonder whether Ren had been so done with her that he'd made a point of thoroughly eradicating her presence from the house. I could hope. Or maybe he'd simply hidden her things in one of the hidden spaces I had yet to find.
I finally finished my tour and decided to settle in before Ren got home.
There are two kinds of travelers in this world—those who happily live out of suitcases and those who unpack into hotel drawers, even if they're only planning on spending a night or two. I fall squarely into the latter. And I thought it wouldn't be a bad idea, either, if I had a drawer or two in his house and left some vital things there to mark my territory. I was his wife, after all. I wanted reminders to him. Yes, I'd leave some sexy panties here.
Ren texted back to help myself to the couple of empty drawers in his closet and any closet space I could carve out. Who had empty drawers? My stomach turned over—a man who left room for the woman in his life, that was who. The man who'd just tossed that woman out of it, apparently. But how did he feel about it?
I texted Ren my thanks and asked him to bring home carryout. An evening in with Ren sounded so much better than going out. I told him to surprise me with one of his favorite takeouts. It was a way to get to know him better. It was crazy that I had no idea what his favorite foods were. Or his favorite color. How many children he wanted. I knew next to nothing about him. We needed a real first date so we could ask all the silly questions.
Ren's closet was as large as most people's bedrooms and as immaculate and organized as the rest of his home. It was well lit and smelled delightfully like him and his expensive cologne. Every detail of the closet was well designed, as one would expect from a renowned architect. I stood in the middle of it and looked around. There was something familiar about that closet. The decorative stone patterns on the concrete wall behind the full-length mirror on the wall? Was it repeated from another room? It seemed more familiar, but I couldn't immediately put my finger on it.
It was one of those closets I envied—shoe racks and cubbyholes for sweaters. I'd specifically asked for one in the renovation and establishment of the new private quarters at the castle. The castle in its current state was sadly lacking good closet space.
I quickly filled the empty drawers with my things. And I wasn't above checking them for false bottoms first. Unfortunately, the drawers were solid.
There was a gap on one of the clothes bars. A large gap. A gap that spoke of it recently being emptied. I grabbed my new clothes, ready to fill it and erase any reminder of someone else. As I reached to hang the clothes, I got a closer look at the pattern on the wall. I went completely cold. I was looking at the pattern from the white lady's room. I'd know that pattern anywhere. I'd stared at it too many nights.
I dropped my clothes on the bench in the center of the closet and ran my hands over the stones. I didn't know what possessed me. I went through the entire closet, pushing Ren's clothes aside to get a look at the brick pattern. The closet, the entire closet, was a replica of the white lady's room. At least the walls were. Halfway through the second wall of clothes, I found it: another "brick" marked with numbers.
It was subtle—you had to be looking for them—but there were cuts in the concrete. Another hidden cache? I gave the area a hard push. To my surprise, the carved space popped open, revealing a hidden drawer with a lock. Fingers shaking, I pulled, hoping it wasn't locked. It slid open. I peered in to see what treasure Ren had hid there.
The journal. Right there in front of me.
I looked around guiltily, as if the closet was bugged or had surveillance cameras. Of course it didn't. But I had a guilty conscience. I glanced at my watch. Where had the time gone? I had to work quickly.
I grabbed my phone and snapped a picture of the drawer, the brick pattern, and each page of the journal, and put them into my secure cloud storage to share with the ghost hunters. Then I deleted the pictures from my phone. I couldn't risk Ren seeing them. Still trembling, I returned the journal, closed the drawer, slid the hidden panel back in place, tidied everything up, and hung my clothes in the gap. What was so important about that journal that Ren had hidden it like that?
I heard the garage door opening. Just in time. Ren's home.
I raced down the stairs to meet him. He walked in with a backpack slung over his shoulder, a bag of takeout in his hand, and a bakery box balanced on his arm.
My breath caught at the sight of him. I was startled, again, by the intensity of the sexual tension between us. Maybe I kept expecting it to disappear. Maybe I was afraid of it and where it would lead. Impulsively, I threw my arms around him and kissed him deeply, nearly knocking the baked goods out of his grip. "You smell delicious."
"You must be hungry. I know I am."
"Oh, I am. Desperately."
His grin said everything. Neither of us would be getting much sleep tonight.
I took the box and the takeout bag from him. "What have you brought us?" I opened the bag and took a deep whiff. "Indian food. Yum."
He grinned. "Good. You like spicy?"
"Love it." I carried them to the dining space at the kitchen island while he set down his backpack. "I suppose if I were a good wife, I would have set the table. I didn't want to nose around your kitchen. Is that a good enough excuse for my laziness?"
"Nose all you like."
It was reassuring that he was so supremely confident I wouldn't find anything incriminating. Or maybe he didn't care if I did. I took him at his word and began opening kitchen drawers. "Placemats?"
He pointed and hung his jacket in the closet.
"You see? I could make a complete mess of this pristine place." I found the placemats and set some out. "Has anyone ever actually eaten here? Or, heaven forbid, cooked here? Plates?"
He washed his hands, went to a cupboard, and got the plates. "Yeah, of course." He set the plates out. "I have a meticulous cleaning lady. A real gem. I pay her well to keep her." He went to the wine fridge. "White or red?"
"Red with Indian food?" I had no idea. "So you're not some controlling neat-freak psycho who will insist the canned goods are alphabetized and the towels hung just so? Should I worry about upsetting you by leaving a glass out?"
He laughed as he opened the bottle and poured two glasses. "You have nothing to worry about. As long as you organize your clothes by color and pattern and your socks by thickness."
I relaxed. He was joking. "Liar. I've seen your closet." It was neat, but not color-organized. I set out the flatware.
"I'm really not a monster, Bliss, despite what you've heard." Ren handed me a glass of wine. "The dining table has a better view." He walked over to it. "What are these?" He stared at the plans I'd left out on the table.
"The architectural plans for the private quarter renovation to the castle. Since we'll be having paying guests nearly year-round, we'll need a private apartment. I went to the architect today to request some changes now that I don't need to consider Manly's needs."
Ren skimmed over them. He bent to get a closer look. His brow furrowed. "Do you mind?" He pointed to them.
"Mind?" I was amused. "I'd love your input. The apartment will be your home now too." Did that sound pitiful or pleading? Or simply factual, as I intended? "Though I'm not sure I can afford your professional rates. I hear you're very good." I raised my eyebrows.
He raised his eyebrows back at me. "So this is how you spent your day? Conspiring behind my back with another architect?"
I laughed. "Grab a plate of food. We can inspect them together while we eat." I began opening containers and helping myself.
We filled our plates and sat side by side in front of the blueprints, so close I could feel his heat. I ate and watched him as he studied the plans.
"You're redoing the old east wing?" he said between bites.
I nodded. "Yes. It's been shuttered and unused for all of Manly's life, as you know. Of course, we can't touch the outside because of the hist
oric preservation laws. No more than to restore and repair.
"But the interior is an open canvas. It was a later addition, anyway, and there's not much of architectural or historic interest left there. We have to add a kitchen, modern bathrooms, all of that. We have the necessary permissions. We can do what we like as long as we don't move any foundational walls or significant historical detailing. But given the space, we have plenty of room to do what we need and want.
"The guests, of course, will need and want access to all the main rooms of the castle that Manly has maintained and been living in—the great room, the grand staircase, the main bedrooms above them, the turrets, etc. Even the dungeon, which we'll restore. Let them have those. I had the vision of making our living quarters a beautiful space in our style."
His eyes lit up. "Good choice. Exactly what I would do. I've always believed the east wing has great potential. If you need private quarters, and you do, it's the place."
I relaxed. "I'm glad you think so." I paused. "Don't keep me in agony. What do you think of what we have?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"Not your style?" I asked, knowing the answer before I asked. I gestured around, pointing to what he obviously liked.
He nodded. "The bones of your plans are good enough. But if you moved this wall…"
He began pointing things out that he thought could be improved, listening to me as I talked about my vision and explained some of my frustrations with Manly's tastes. Making suggestions—gently, really, considering. Tiny improvements that added beauty and functionality in unexpected ways. Ren's suggestions came effortlessly. His passion for his work shone on his face and in his actions. It was surprising—to both of us, I thought—that we wanted the same things for the space and our tastes weren't too far apart.
I nodded. "Mark up your changes. I'll never remember them all."
He got up and grabbed a mechanical pencil and pen. "You're sure? What I'm suggesting is very modern."
"I love what you're doing," I said. "I thought our architect was good. But the changes you're suggesting are brilliant. And much more in line with what I want. Have at it. Change what you want. Start from scratch, if you like. It will be your home as much as mine."
The unspoken truth hung between us. For a year, at least. Then it might be his alone. Or mine. I wasn't an ungenerous person. The castle was his ancestral family home. I was only an interloper. His tastes should take precedence.
I put a hand on his arm. "The look of the place will all come down to the fixtures, the appliances, that sort of thing, of course. Nothing has been ordered yet. I have a designer. We could all shop for them together?"
He pulled my head to his shoulder. "I'd enjoy that. Your architect won't be happy."
"My architect is paid to do what makes me happy," I said. "What makes us happy. Though I suppose having an architect for a client is no picnic."
"No," Ren said dryly, and laughed.
"Ren, so you know, I had no idea you were an architect until we met. Manly never mentioned it. He barely talked about you at all, except to express his displeasure at your disregard for the inheritance, the castle, and the title you were slated to inherit. I was stunned when his last wishes were for us to marry." My pulse sped up. "Why didn't Manly hire you to do any of the renovations?"
"My specialty is commercial properties." His voice was hard.
I pulled my head from his shoulder and sat up straight. "Really? That's all? Look, I had affection for Manly. But we both know how manipulative he could be. Our marriage is proof enough of that. Knowing Manly, he would have liked to use the project as a way to build your love for the castle. Even schemed to use it. In case, you know, Manly and I couldn't make an heir in time to disinherit you," I teased.
Ren's expression became soft. "He asked. I turned him down. Uncle's taste and mine are, were, irreconcilable. Working with each other would only have led to greater distance between us."
I didn't believe Ren was telling the whole truth, only part of it. "But you'll work with me?"
He took my shoulders. "Naturally. You're my wife."
"And you can bend me to your will?"
His gaze dropped to my chest. He took my breasts in his hands. "More accurately, you can bend me to yours."
Chapter 19
A honeymoon should be filled with sex. Even a honeymoon as unconventional as ours. But there was more I needed from Ren first. I leaned forward and kissed him. "You're just trying to distract me from asking any more inconvenient questions."
"Is it working?"
"You'll have to try harder. Later. After dessert. What did you bring us?"
"I was supposed to bring a pudding home, too?"
"You brought a bakery box home."
"I did, didn't I?"
I went to the island and retrieved it, while he made two cups of tea. He took them to the sofa and set them on the coffee table, along with two small plates and some paper napkins.
When I opened the box, it was filled with delicious-looking scones in a variety of flavors, elegantly arranged like a box of chocolates.
"Ladies first."
I picked one and watched to see which flavor he favored. "Orange," I said. "Your favorite?"
"What I'm in the mood for tonight." He grinned. "I like them all. Thanks for noticing, though."
I got the feeling he was used to his tastes and desires being invisible.
"Now, about those inconvenient questions," I said. "You have gargoyles holding up the corners of your gutters."
He relaxed and looked immensely pleased. It was touching, really. "Yeah, I do. You're one of the first people to notice so quickly. Have you been inspecting my house?"
"I may have walked around the outside, getting a good look in the daylight. And maybe around the inside, too." I took a bite of scone. "So, why gargoyles? And why the different expressions?"
"You noticed that, too?" he asked. "You do pay attention to detail."
I nodded.
"I like gargoyles," he said. "Why should they always be scowling and fierce? Gargoyles are our friends. That's what I thought when I was a boy. Anything else?"
I wondered if I should tip my hand. I made a snap decision. I set my scone down and walked to the nearby concrete wall, running my fingers over the rough texture. "Why a stone pattern on the concrete walls? Why not real stonework? Why not use the wood pattern of the form boards everywhere? That's more usual. And, shot in the dark here, less expensive."
"You're full of architectural questions," he said.
"If I'm going to allow you free rein with my castle apartment, I should be, right?"
"It's a design statement. Irony, almost," he said. "And it wasn't as expensive as you'd imagine. I have friends in the trades." He grinned at me. "These are your idea of inconvenient questions?"
I walked back to him and slid into his lap, straddling him. I took his face in my hands. "I'm just warming up, my darling duke." I stared deeply into his eyes. "Why are the gargoyles replicas of those from Manly Manor? Why are the stone patterns those of the castle, too? And why do all of your brilliant designs have some element of Manly Manor in them?"
I'd surprised him. His eyes widened. Then, to my surprise, he looked supremely pleased and flattered. "You're the first person to notice that. Ever. I've never mentioned it. Not in any interview or design brief. It's my little game to hide something in the design."
"I'm the only person familiar enough with the castle to see it."
"Yes, but how are you familiar with my designs?" He grabbed my hands. "You've been studying my work?"
"Guilty as charged."
"Why?"
"Because I want to know you," I said. "Body, soul, and mind. A wife should know her husband." I sighed. "And because once I started looking at one project, I couldn't stop. I wanted to see all the genius that's a Ren Sattler design."
He kissed my hands. "That's… I don't know what to say. Would you like to see some in person? I could show you some around the city tomor
row."
"I'd love that!" I grinned at him and rubbed against him, feeling the hardness in his slacks. "Now, how about answering my question—why the castle?" I hated to ruin the moment, but I had to know. I was compelled. And I had him where I wanted him.
He grabbed my hips. "I loved it once." He looked far away for a moment.
"You could love it again," I said softly. "Come live there with me. So we can really get to know each other. See whether this flame that's obviously burning between us burns out or burns brighter. Oversee the restoration and renovation work. Work with me to get the business off the ground and get the estate paying for itself. We'll work out a schedule, a way for you to have your London life and career and a life together." My heart pounded. "It's only for a year."
He pulled me to him and kissed me. "I'm not sure I can live there, really live there. I was never cut out to be the duke of the manor. That was Will's destiny. But I definitely want to get to know you, Bliss. I promise you to give that my best effort."
And he did. Right there on his immaculate sofa, in front of that huge, towering bank of windows. There was more, so much more I wanted to ask him. But I had to wait for the right time.
We had a beautiful evening together. I felt a bond between us growing. There are people in this world that you find yourself immediately getting close to. That you feel as if you've known forever and have a friendship that transcends time and distance. And others who will be strangers to you even if you've known them a lifetime. Ren was the first kind. With our sexual chemistry, it was an intoxicating combination.
I was humming softly to myself, happy, genuinely happy, as I got ready for bed. Here in London, Ren was a different person, and the whispers and gossip about him and his supposed dastardly deeds felt light years away. I used the last tissue in the box and called out to Ren, asking him if he had more.
"Under the sink on the left," he called from the bedroom.
Duked: Duke One, Duke Society Series Page 19
