“Please have a seat.” He pulled out her chair, and then sat next to her.
“Thanks.” Alex glanced at the Wedgwood china. Not too rare a pattern, but rare enough to impress. The familiarity of the fine china brought her back to her life before Luc. A life working with beautiful things. She took a deep breath and enjoyed the atmosphere.
Martha followed them into the room with a coffeepot and cream. When she left, Alex filled a teacup to the rim with coffee.
“Would you like some, sir?” She lifted the pot toward him.
“Yes, please.” He leaned back in his seat, as though someone had always taken care of him. And called him sir.
The cook returned a few minutes later with their eggs and toast, then departed again.
“Is Martha a servant like Simon, a prisoner like me, or something more intimate?” The final thought depressed her for some reason.
“She helps run the house with her partner, Frank, and their two children, Irene and Penelope.”
“Oh.”
“And you’re not a prisoner, Gabe.” He paused. His eyes drifted over her now-black hair and grubby clothes. “You’re a guest.”
He added cream and some sugar to his coffee, and then stirred it several times. How could such a simple act as clinking the spoon against a cup send her straight back to the breakfast room in her parents’ house? She blinked back the tears threatening to spill. The irritating sound reminded her of her mother’s inability to stir her tea once and be done with it. She missed her.
She took a sip of her own coffee and tried to shift her focus from the past to the immediate future and her need to leave. She had her things. All she needed to do was slip out the door that night.
After a few sips, never a gulp, Henry focused his attention on her. “As much as I enjoy calling you Sunshine, Sunshine. It may be less awkward if you provided me with your real name.”
“We’ve done this before. Gabe West. Gabrielle to my mother.”
“Why don’t I believe that Gabe is your God-given name?”
“Your inability to trust is a mystery, which might be the reason you forced me into your car.”
“You came willingly and happily. In fact, I think you like me more than you care to admit.”
She did, but he was right, she wouldn’t admit it. Instead, she changed the subject away from her name and her feelings. “This place suits you. Master of the manor. You even have a moat to keep the barbarians from attacking and stealing the Wedgwood. Very practical.”
“I like it.” His eyes circled the room in satisfaction. His pride in the house showed through his mannerisms, from how he treated the staff to his careful gaze at the drawings on the walls.
“Have you owned this castle long?”
He nodded. “It’s been in my family for four generations.”
“Only four?” The family might not have been to the manor born. “Did you snatch it up from the king after he kicked out the previous owners? They must have been traitors to the Crown.”
Henry laughed. “No. My ancestors purchased it from the prior owners in what was considered a fair deal at the time.”
“Impressive. Any titles come with the property?”
“No, but my great-grandfather’s service to the king earned him a title.” Henry grinned and took a sip of coffee.
“Shut up. You’re royalty? A duke. Say you’re a duke. My mother would be tickled if she learned I hung out with a duke. Kidnapped by one even. Oh, the stories she could tell her grandchildren.”
“Sorry to burst your mother’s dream, but I’m merely an earl.”
She stared at him. He sounded apologetic. Embarrassed. She frowned and patted his hand. “Don’t worry, Henry. I’ve heard dukes and even marquesses have some pretty serious inbreeding issues. The problem occurs less with earls, because who would marry a cousin just to be a countess? You should consider yourself lucky.” Her hand felt comfortable sitting on top of Henry’s, so she left it there. “You seem to have survived your destiny without too much dim-wittedness. You did graduate from college, after all. Not with a useful degree, but not everyone can be a doctor, lawyer, or engineer. I’m sure this country needs anthropologists to maintain the empire. You’re doing the best you can considering your less-than-desirable circumstances.”
Henry’s seductive chuckle warmed parts of her she’d thought had died after her nightmare with Luc. “I’ve never been pitied for my title before. Thank you.”
“So.” She pulled back her hand, placed it on her lap, and tried not to sigh over the heat remaining on her palm. “What should I call you? Hmmmm. I can’t call you Earl, because I’d be reminded of a cousin from South Carolina. Earl Harper Jr. He never did finish third grade, but he can do his sums real well now that he works at the Laundromat. And being an American, I’d feel awkward calling you lord or sir. ”
More crinkles appeared in his eyes with more laughter. “You’d best stick with Henry then.”
“Henry it is.” She liked his name. Reassuring and trustworthy.
In his presence, the strain of the past few days began to dissipate. Why run away from a comfortable house with warm food and a smiling companion? Perhaps she could stay a day or two.
He stood and led her through the great hall. It had been converted to a family room with three large sitting areas. One in front of a fireplace, one in front of a large-screen television, and one overlooking the most exquisite formal gardens and miles of hillside. The enormous window framing the scene must have been installed in the past fifty years, allowing light to pour into what would otherwise be a dark space.
Overstuffed couches and brown leather chairs filled each nook. She was ready to grab some popcorn and flop down on one of the couches for a movie night.
“My favorite place to relax.” Henry surveyed the room corner to corner while he crossed to the back door.
“I see why. It’s a wonder you ever return to the university.”
“That’s the brilliant thing about my academic position. I’m close enough to escape here on weekends. And I’m away enough to revel in returning.”
“Sounds like a perfect life.”
“Almost. It’ll be better when the children arrive.”
Children? Shouldn’t he focus on finding a wife first?
Chapter Eight
Henry led Gabe into the formal gardens. They stayed on the pea-gravel walkway to avoid the mud that always arrived when winter faded into spring. Usually the tulips arrived in time for spring recess, but this year, the cold had pushed them off a few weeks.
Gabe looked different with her shorter black hair and brown eyes. The hair color didn’t suit her, but neither did that pink disaster. The brown eyes, however, had to be part of the original. The color evoked his favorite brandy dropped into melted dark chocolate. Real. Honest. Decadent.
She walked lightly over the path, almost skipping. Her eyes took in every corner of the yard. “Beautiful. Do you have a grounds staff?”
“I hired a gardener to maintain the formal gardens. A few people from town come and assist on a volunteer basis. In exchange, I open the property to hikers.”
“What a perfect spot for an afternoon stroll.” She stalled out near the end of the rose garden and pointed toward the large hedge maze. A rare and beautiful smile graced her pixie face. “I’ve always wanted one of those, but my mother never saw the point.” She clapped her hands together, and her toes bounced under her until it seemed as if she’d levitated off the ground. “Race you to the center. Winner gets a prize.”
She charged into the maze with the enthusiasm of a young schoolgirl at recess.
Henry watched her run off. He entered the maze and breathed in the smell of the hawthorn hedges. Pungent and earthy. His feet sank into the moist ground. Standing still for a moment, he paused to listen for the most exasperating but enchanting woman alive. Her giggles floated over a few rows of bushes. He made three turns and sat on the stone bench in the center waiting for her.
Gabe tur
ned into the center circle and frowned. “You beat me.”
Her cheeks glowed a healthy pink. She jogged over to the bench, stood a few seconds to catch her breath, and then sat next to him. The sheer joy in her eyes replaced the strain he’d observed when she’d left his house in Oxford.
“After hundreds of forays into the maze, if I didn’t win, I’d have to blame it on the inbreeding.”
“Touché.”
They sat in companionable silence. A subtle Mona Lisa smile graced Gabe’s face. Her top teeth peeked out between two lush lips. He wanted to lean in and…he kissed her. It couldn’t be helped really. Her full and glossy lips had been the perfect landing spot for his own. And she kissed him back. Soft, simple, and sweeter than his favorite peppermints shipped in from Greenwich. He became lost in her.
When they separated, Gabe stared at him, wide-eyed and lips slightly open. An invitation? He wouldn’t push his luck.
“So anyway,” she tried to change the subject, but the blush on her cheeks and the way she bit her bottom lip kept the memory of their kiss dangling in front of them. “I guess that was your prize.”
“My prize?”
“Getting to the center of the maze first.”
He laughed and pecked her on the cheek. “Nice try, Sunshine, but as the winner, I’ve earned the right to choose the prize I want.”
Her entire body tensed. Was she waiting for him to take advantage of her? The knobhead in her past who had shredded her trust in people needed a huge arse-kicking.
“What do you desire, Henry?” The hesitancy in her voice nearly killed him.
“Merely the answer to a simple question.” He tried to reassure her with one hand placed over hers and a shift on the bench a centimeter away from her.
“That’s fair.” Her breathing slowed and expression softened.
“How can I locate the original Lady Elizabeth?”
Sighing, she looked up over the hedges toward the sky. “That’s not an easy question to answer. The reality is you may never recover it.”
“I don’t believe in impossibilities. There has to be a means of finding it.” He gazed into her brandy eyes.
The corners of her mouth fell. “It could take months to track the location of an unknown portrait.”
He didn’t have months.
“I could backtrack to find the restoration expert. I could search in some private galleries known to deal in stolen art. Simon knows people who can provide me access.” He sounded desperate. He was desperate.
“If Simon knows people in those circles, then use his connections.” Her jaw visibly tightened at the mention of stolen art or Simon or both. She stood and circled the area, brushing her hand over the tiny leaves of the hedge as she moved. “Why don’t you call the police, fill out a report, and let the authorities handle it?”
“They have too many dangerous criminals to catch, and no time to invest in tracking a painting. I’d lose it forever.”
She continued pacing around the bench. “I think it’s already lost forever.”
“It can’t be. In three weeks, an appraiser is coming to see it.”
“Why?” She stopped and turned toward him. “Are you going to sell it?”
“I was hoping to use it as collateral for a loan.” He raised up his hands. “Hard to appraise a reproduction.”
Somehow, this news seemed to recharge her energy levels. “If you found the painting, it would be valued high. Not priceless masterpiece high, but higher than the average portrait by Sir Thomas Lawrence because of the size and the subject matter.”
She resumed her pacing at an increased speed. Her mouth quirked to the right as her mind went into action. At least he hoped it did.
“We’re not talking a bidding war, are we?” he asked.
“I’m afraid not. Lawrence made many portraits, and Lady Elizabeth is not exactly a well-known member of the aristocracy. I can provide you with the names of several appraisers who can give a better estimate than the one the finance company will send out, provided you don’t mention the source of the referral.”
“Fair enough. I’m hoping to receive enough financing to begin the renovation of the wing you’re staying in.”
“Why don’t you use the castle as collateral, or the Oxford house?”
“I can’t. The Oxford house is mortgaged to the hilt, and Ripon Manor’s value is tied up in a family trust that has every loophole sewn shut and sealed. My solicitor has already examined every possibility.”
“Wouldn’t a trustee want to fund a renovation of its main property?”
“Upkeep, yes, but I’m planning to alter the character and purpose of the wing. The trustee claims these modifications wouldn’t benefit the heir.”
She sat next to him. Her thighs brushed against his, creating a burning sensation inappropriately directed toward his groin. His heat-seeking hormones destroyed his concentration, and he struggled to stay in the conversation. She tempted him more than anyone ever had. Leave it to his quirky libido to fall for a woman who offered more questions than answers.
Focus, damn it.
The women’s group needed him. His adolescent urges had to be contained.
“Who’s the heir? Ask him or her if you can renovate.” She wandered away from him without leaving the center space.
“That would be my uncle. He’s not too keen on children taking over the property.”
Her eyes widened. “What children?”
“The Ripon Women’s Club helps victims of domestic violence and their families. Right now, we have an after-school program and a small house in Ripon proper that houses only three families. In fact, there’s no room for you to stay right now, but you can remain here in the manor until you have a plan to move on. Ultimately, I’d like to use the ten bedrooms in the east wing to create a temporary place for the most needy women to raise their children in a safe and pleasant location.”
“Battered women and their children?” she repeated.
“Exactly.”
The fear he’d seen reflected in her eyes since the moment he saw her at his party faded, as though she’d always worn a bright countenance.
“It’s a wonderful idea. Imagine how a child who wears hand-me-down clothes year after year will feel being served in that gorgeous dining room and running through the hedge maze.” She glowed with a radiance that drew him like a moth to a bug zapper. “You’ll need a zip line.”
“A zip line?”
“Absolutely. And a climbing wall. Maybe some horses. That’s the kind of home I’d have wanted to be raised in.”
A hint into her past? Raised by a single mother or maybe in a foster family? Whatever her past circumstances, she’d obtained a top-notch education. Despite her penchant for tattoos and unnatural hair color, she carried herself well.
Henry frowned. “Back to the original problem. It remains a dream unless I find the painting.”
Her expression darkened. “Henry, you have no idea what you’re getting into. You could end up losing your life. No painting is worth that.”
“I’ll never find it if I don’t try. I’d give everything I own to help these families.”
“If people find out what you’re doing, they’ll kill you.”
He thought about her comment for a minute. “What if I stay in disguise? I’ll be an art buyer looking for a large portrait.” It was brilliant. He could remain safe and help the Ripon Women’s Group.
“You?” She seemed indignant.
Obviously, she didn’t understand the depth of his learning. “I’m not a novice. I’ve studied art history and have purchased antiques for both houses.” Rising to his full height, a good foot above her, he looked down at the pint-sized genius with his most professorial stare.
“Here’s a simple question, then. What is the main difference between two of the most popular artists from the Impressionist period, Manet and Monet?” She crossed her arms and held his gaze without a flicker of nerves.
“Simple. Monet painted mostly land
scapes, while Manet created many war scenes.”
She shook her head. “Monet painted primarily outdoors and the lighting in his work reflects this, while most of Manet’s paintings were created in a studio.”
“Who the bloody hell will be asking me that sort of thing?”
“Someone like me.”
They enjoyed the rest of the afternoon together. When they returned to the house, Henry removed himself to his study, and Gabe ventured off to explore more of the gardens. Before he had a chance to sit at his desk, Simon called looking for more information on her. Henry refused to interrogate her. She was beginning to trust him, and he’d already assured her she’d be safe with him.
After putting off Simon, he pulled up a spreadsheet on his laptop, showing the finances of the Ripon Women’s Group. They needed him, and he needed the painting. The painting, through some strange yet miraculous maneuvering by his mother’s solicitor, belonged to him and not the family trust. The rest of his assets were tied up for the benefit of future Chiltons.
A multimillionaire on paper, he couldn’t fix a broken water heater at the castle without begging Mr. Martin Baum, the trustee of the Chilton Family Trust, for the funds. Even then, Martin took sadistic pleasure in dangling the carrot just out of reach ever since Henry’s refusal to marry Martin’s vexatious sister Hazel. With the family trust money more fiercely guarded than the Crown Jewels, Henry had limited options. His salary from Oxford barely supported the house there.
The insurance on the painting was currently worthless, since an insurance claim for a huge loss filed at the moment he needed money would be processed with greater scrutiny. The company could even bring him up on charges of insurance fraud. Not the public relations exposure the Ripon Women’s Group needed to move forward and help more families. No, he wouldn’t be reporting the theft just yet.
And thanks to Mr. Baum’s tightwad attitude, Henry had never supported any of the many causes his friends championed, minus the occasional benefit dinner and such, so they’d never responded to his requests for assistance.
Untrue Colors (Entangled Select Suspense) Page 6
