Fiona was drawn from her thoughts by a gentle throat clearing. She looked up into H. Gideon’s steel grey eyes and saw a flicker of impatience in them. “He was a very nice gentleman,” she told him, handing back the photo. “Kind and interesting. I’m sorry he’s passed on.”
H. Gideon’s lips twisted into something that may have passed for a wry smile, but looked more like he was swallowing his tongue. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard Mr. Valente described in such complimentary terms,” he told her. “Even by myself.”
Fiona cocked her head and looked at him. “Perhaps his demeanor was merely a reflection of the people around him,” she said, then settled back into her chair with her arms folded over her middle.
The dart struck home, and his lips tightened. She couldn’t suppress a smile, seeing his smooth, arrogant facade crack. The imp had hold of her now. For some reason, it had become a personal challenge for her to get the stick out from under his behind.
At the same moment, Gideon was wondering just what he had done to get himself saddled with such a flighty, unapologetic female in the midst of this mess Valente had left him.
Not for the first time, he cursed his grandfather for falling so madly in love with his new wife that they’d chosen to take a three-month honeymoon on his yacht, leaving Gideon the Third as the only Nath available for the clients of Nath, Nath & Powell.
Gideon Senior could have had no inkling that the most eccentric—and wealthiest—of his clients would finally choose to drop dead at an age just shy of a hundred and one during the attorney’s sojourn through the Caribbean. Not that his demise hadn’t been long overdue, Gideon thought ruefully, remembering his impression of the stooped, rude man he’d met only twice.
And now here was this Fiona Murphy, who’d appeared from nowhere in the old man’s will. From their phone conversation, he’d expected someone younger—in her late teens or early twenties. And with a name like Fiona Murphy, she should have been a leprechaun-like creature with springy carrot-colored hair and thousands of freckles.
Instead, according to her driver’s license, she was twenty-seven. And she had disconcerted him by being strikingly attractive, with fair, translucent skin, a faint dust of freckles over high, well-defined cheekbones, and dark amber eyes. Somehow the character didn’t fit with the image, but no matter. He had to deal with her in whatever form she appeared, as per the last will and testament of Nevio Valente. He had no intention of making any missteps with his grandfather’s client—deceased though the client might be.
“So,” she was asking with a faint smile that implied a joke he had missed, “do I get to find out what he left me, or do I have to wait until the public reading of the will?”
The way she said “public reading of the will”—with a hint of condescension in her voice—made it sound like she was making fun of him, and Gideon tightened his jaw. He wished that there wasn’t going to be a formal reading, just so he could have cause to wipe that smirk off her face. And then he pulled his thoughts back, disconcerted by such a rash reaction.
“In fact,” he replied smoothly, “Mr. Valente did request that you attend the reading of the will. It won’t, however, be public, per se. Just for the family and other heirs. He also left this for you.” He slid a heavy cream-colored envelope across the table.
She hesitated, then reached for the packet. Her fingers were long and slim, with smooth pink nails and at least one ring on almost every finger. He thought perhaps they might have been trembling a bit, and when she looked up at him with an awkward smile, his suspicions were confirmed.
“It’s odd to get a letter from someone who is dead,” she commented.
Gideon didn’t know how to respond, so he offered her the gold-plated letter opener from his desk. She was a curious woman: one moment, carefree and flighty, the next subdued and thoughtful.
Fiona took the opener and slipped it under the envelope’s flap. He watched as she pulled out a single sheet of matching cream paper—Nevio Valente’s personal stationery—and looked down at the spidery writing. She stared at it for a moment, peering, squinting, and then finally, with a rueful smile, began to dig in her huge leather bag.
Gideon found himself suppressing his own smile when she pulled a pair of brightly patterned cheaters from the depths of her bag and slipped them apologetically onto her nose. “Much better,” she murmured, looking back down at the letter.
There was silence for a moment as she read the letter, and Gideon directed his attention to the rest of the file on Fiona Murphy. Apparently, she’d made a purchase from Valente’s antiques shop, and he’d written up the sales receipt, complete with her name, address, and telephone number, and kept it on file as he did with all customers. But why would he mention her in his will after a simple purchase from his store? Particularly since he had many more customers who made regular, more costly ones?
Fiona looked up from the letter at last, and he saw that her dark amber eyes glistened. “Thank you. When is the reading scheduled? I’ll certainly plan to be there.”
“Tomorrow, at four o’clock. It will be here. I do hope your schedule can accommodate that time slot. Is…there anything I can get for you?” he felt compelled to ask in light of her obvious emotion.
“No thank you. Well, Mr. Nath, if there’s nothing else?” She gathered up her bag as if preparing to rise.
“No, no there isn’t, Ms. Murphy.” Gideon stood and extended his hand to shake hers. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a nice evening.”
She clasped his hand with a firmness that surprised him, and held it for a moment, looking down as though examining something fascinating.
“Such long fingers,” she murmured, then, as though remembering where she was, looked up at him, smiled. “Have a nice evening yourself.”
He stared after her when she left, flowing skirts and gypsy hair, suddenly feeling like he’d been blindsided by the sun.
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Colleen Gleason is an award-winning, New York Times and USA Today best-selling author with more than twenty novels in print. Her international bestselling series, the Gardella Vampire Hunters, is a historical urban fantasy about a female vampire hunter who lives during the time of Jane Austen. Her first novel, The Rest Falls Away, was released to wide acclaim in 2007.
Since then, she has published more than twenty novels with New American Library, MIRA Books, Chronicle Books, and HarperCollins (writing as Joss Ware). Her books have been translated into more than seven languages and are available worldwide.
Visit Colleen at:
colleengleason.com
facebook.com/colleen.gleason.author
Other Books by Colleen Gleason
The Gardella Vampire Hunters
Victoria Gardella
The Rest Falls Away
Rises the Night
The Bleeding Dusk
When Twilight Burns
As Shadows Fade
Macey Gardella/Max Denton
Roaring Midnight
Raging Dawn
Roaring Shadows
Raging Winter
Roaring Dawn (2016)
* * *
The Draculia Vampire Trilogy
The Vampire Voss
The Vampire Dimitri
The Vampire Narcise
* * *
The Marina Alexander Adventure series
(writing as C. M. Gleason)
Siberian Treasure
Amazon Roulette
Sanskrit Cipher (2016)
* * *
The Medieval Herb Garden Series
Lavender Vows
A Whisper of Rosemary
Sanctuary of Roses
A Lily on the Heath
* * *
Contemporary Gothic Romance
The Shop of Shades & Secrets
The Cards of Life & Death
The Gems of Vice & Greed
* * *
The Stoker & Holmes Series
(for teens and adults)
The Clockwork Sc
arab
The Spiritglass Charade
The Chess Queen Enigma
* * *
The Envy Chronicles
Beyond the Night
Embrace the Night
Abandon the Night
Night Betrayed
Night Forbidden
Night Resurrected
also:
Tempted by the Night (a stand-alone novella)
The Gems of Vice and Greed (Contemporary Gothic Romance Book 3) Page 29
