“Are you okay, dear?” asked the housekeeper.
Hearing her speak, Sam suddenly realized why she was so comfortable around Evelyn Weekes. It was her accent. Grace’s voice had been softer, her accent less distinct, but the same clipped vowels that peppered Evelyn Weekes’ speech had stayed with Grace until the day she died.
The rose, the candlestick, the Irish groom and now this.
She had to ask.
“Evelyn…?” Sam began…“Do you remember the house when it was fully staffed?”
“Before my time, dear…” The housekeeper sat back on her haunches. “Is there something specific you want to ask?”
“Not yet,” said Sam.
“Well then, when you do, you might want to pay old George a visit down at the home farm. You’ve met George, have you?” At Sam’s nod, the housekeeper continued, “his mother used to come up to the Hall when they had extra guests. That would be in the old lady’s time. Whatever might still be known about those days, George would be the one to ask.”
“Then I’ll ride over to visit,” Sam smiled.
“I’ll make extra scones in the morning. You can take them for his tea,” Evelyn said.
Sam nodded and returned to the weeding. She would ask him about his mother’s days at the Hall and see where the conversation took them. At the very least, she would get out with Max. But she’d ride across the meadow – the path by the stream held too many memories.
With the staff gone for the day, Chas thought he’d be able to relax yet he couldn’t seem to settle into his regular routine. The problem was obvious. He’d far rather be duking it out with Sam in Derbyshire than strutting around London in a suit and tie.
What was it about women; no, rephrase that, what was it about Sam? Her lush figure, her unexpectedly fiery temper, or her flashing green eyes that so captivated and beckoned him to step beyond his normal boundaries.
He loosened his tie and leaned back in his chair.
If the repairs to his car had been finished on time, he could have rescheduled his morning meetings and driven home tonight. But that was not to be. His eyes slid to the phone sitting on his desk. Perhaps, he should call Sam now and apologize.
He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair.
She would be alone in the house.
Maybe nervous.
On the other hand, she might resent his call and misinterpret it as checking up on her. As if she’d run off with the silver. He grinned. Maybe she had. She’d been angry enough when she realized he’d been holding out on her.
His indecision was laughable, and made him think that his teenage years hadn’t been so bad after all. He had never suffered from this ridiculous false bravado. Or the awkward hemming and hawing stage that seemed to plague other boys. He’d simply avoided the pain of dating. And then, once he’d become head of Burton-Porter & Sons, it had become so much easier; most women gravitated to money, power and prestige. Knowing that had allowed him to keep his distance. A stance he was finding harder and harder to maintain. Especially with Sam. She didn’t give a hoot how much money he had, she would judge him by his behaviour, and already had on more than one occasion. Nor was she shy in pointing it out. Look at the way she had stood her ground at the auction hall and then again in the restaurant. It had been their first encounter away from Burton-Porter or any related function, and it made him realize how much of life he was missing.
He wondered what she was doing now. Was she still hard at work on the estate? Or had she turned off the computer and relaxed with a book? He pictured her curled up in one of the armchairs in the library, her porcelain skin radiant in the soft spill of light from the setting sun. Groaning audibly, Chas flicked his wrist to check the time, forgetting that in his haste to leave the Hall, he’d left his watch behind. Hopefully, it was in its usual spot in his room.
From there, it wasn’t hard to envision Sam moving about his bedchamber, belonging there with him, responding to his touch as they shared their lives together. Her hair would be down, he decided, loose and luxurious, and glowing with health.
His fingers twitched with need.
Decision made, he practically snatched the phone from its cradle and dialed the Hall. Ten seconds later, he heard the answering burr. After five rings, Chas began to get concerned, after seven, he was worried.
Finally, Sam answered. “Hello?” She sounded out of breath.
“It’s me,” he said.
“Yes, it is.” He could hear the laughter in her voice, and the knot in his stomach unclenched for the first time since he’d left the Hall.
“Are you busy?”
“As a matter of fact, I was up the ladder in the library trying to find a first edition of Gulliver’s Travels. You don’t happen to know where it is, do you?”
“Try the study.” Chas put his feet up on his desk. “Under the atlas.”
“Now why didn’t I think of that?”
And so he found himself grinning down the line, like a fool in love, which, of course, he wasn’t. Never had been, never wanted to be…
“So…how was your day? Everything go okay?” Even though he was never, ever going to be a fool in love, it seemed very important that her day had gone well. That she was content doing what she did best in his home.
“Perfect,” replied Sam. “Inputting my notes went faster than I expected. Evelyn left a chicken casserole in the warming oven, which was delicious, and I finished the rest of that chardonnay. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course. There should be another one in the wine fridge. In case you can’t sleep or something…” his sentence faltered. Mustn’t think about sleep or imagine Sam snuggling into bed beside him. Desperately, he searched for a topic that was as far away from that particular fantasy as he could get. “I ran into your friend, Mia, this morning. Literally, I might add. Did she call?”
“Uh, huh.” A note of caution crept into their conversation. He ploughed on, anxious to dispel Sam’s concerns about his encounter with Mia and anything she might have said.
“Does she always roller blade to work…and at work?”
“Rain or shine,” Sam was sounding bubbly again. “She’s saving for a scooter.”
“Ah,” said Chas. “You’re not going to tell me I don’t pay her enough, are you?”
“Are you baiting me, Mr. Porter…?”
“Actually, I was trying to reassure you…look, Sam,” he began, “I seem to be making a bad habit of this…” he took a deep breath, “but I am truly sorry about last night. I should have told you about the other candlesticks sooner…”
“…no, not really,” replied Sam slowly. “Not after the auction. It was pretty awkward all round, as I’m sure you recall.”
Chas frowned. She was letting him off way too easily. She had been stunned to see the candlesticks last night, stunned and furious, and then she’d clammed up. He’d assumed it was because he hadn’t told her about the collection. Perhaps she’d guessed from the record’s more recent entries that he was quietly trying to recover lost pieces, but why would that send her into such a state? Something was beginning to gnaw at the back of his mind, something unsettling, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on…
Was there no end to the riddle that was Samantha Redfern?
“Does that mean you forgive me?” He injected a teasing note into his question, hoping she would not sense how ridiculously anxious he was to get back to their friendly, professional…no scratch that, their intimate, loving, and totally sensual relationship. Alone in his darkened office, he had been thinking of little else.
“Yes,” answered Sam. “But, on one condition. That you forgive my outburst.”
“If it means we’re friends again, then yes.”
“Deal,” said Sam.
Chas let out an audible sigh of relief. “In that case…may I entice you upstairs, Miss Redfern? I…um, need a favour.”
“Why, Mr. Porter…” came Sam’s coquettish
reply. “Whatever do you mean?”
Chas replied with a throaty chuckle. “I would like you to check my bedroom and see if my watch is where I left it, and not languishing in some rest stop on the way to London.”
“That is the most pathetic come-on line I’ve ever heard.”
“Hey, it was the best I could come up with on short notice…besides, it’s true.”
Sam laughed. “You’ll have to give me directions.” The pitch of her voice changed as she left the library and crossed the vestibule. “I don’t know exactly where your bedroom is…not having been there before…”
“Ah…” They both paused, the silence between them laden with unspoken desires. “Left at the top of the stairs.” Chas directed. “Third door on the right.” He felt his pulse quicken. His image of Sam mounting the stairs and then silently gliding along the corridor as she approached his bedroom was bordering on the erotic.
Sam talked as she walked, giving Chas an update on what was left to do before she called it a day. He heard himself make the appropriate sounds of agreement, but he was definitely having trouble concentrating. “Are you listening to me?” Sam asked with a ripple of laughter, “or are you multitasking with a file of invoices on your desk?”
“Listening to you,” Chas assured her. He heard the metallic click as she turned the handle of the door to his room. Chas’ mouth went dry. She was there. The old brass hinges creaked slightly. And, then nothing.
Warily, Sam peeked inside. Even without the lights on, she could see Chas’ imprint everywhere. She reached up and flicked the switch, illuminating the perfectly-proportioned room. Its beauty left her breathless.
“Oh, wow,” Sam said softly. “I had no idea…”
“My one big indulgence at the Hall,” she heard Chas say, “was to redecorate the master bedroom and make it my own.”
“I’m impressed,” said Sam, her shrewd eye assessing the natural look of the Belgian linens on the bed, the deep reds in the Persian rug on the floor. His palate was creamy white complimented by a deep red in the pillows and the armchairs flanking the fireplace. Like her room, only much larger, Chas’ suite angled towards the woods, but his was sighted so that he could see the terrace below. Here, the window seat was deeper, more sumptuous, with room for two, thought Sam warming to the thought. She felt the flush in her cheeks as she pictured them together, arms entwined, sharing soft kisses as they watched the sun go down.
“Are you still there?” said a voice in her ear.
Sam dragged herself away from the scene she’d been watching in her head. “Just admiring your…furnishings.” And seeing myself sprawled across them.
“…my watch?” Chas prompted.
“Right.” Sam hurriedly panned the room, “any suggestions?”
“Try the bedside table.”
“Which one?”
“The one on the right. I sleep on the right.”
“Me, too.” What on earth was she doing? Telling her boss what side of the bed she slept on while she prowled about his room, taking inventory, and soaking up his lingering scent as she went from one side of the bed to the other. His bedside table was a three-drawer chest. An angle poise lamp, a stack of books, an empty cut-glass tumbler, and next to it…an extremely expensive watch.
“Got it,” said Sam.
“That’s a relief,” said Chas, “it was a gift from my grandmother.”
“It’s beautiful. May I?”
“Of course.”
Sam picked up the watch. It was heavier than she expected. Elegant rather than fancy with a classic face. She sat down on Chas’ bed and rubbed the silver chasing with the pad of her thumb. Like magic, all the complications between them simply slipped away.
“Where are you now?”
“On the edge of the bed. Sorry. I really should be going.”
“Stay. Talk to me.”
Sam felt her heart flip flop. She could hear Chas clear his throat on the other end of the line.
“How was work?” she asked, scrambling to get a handle on her own emotions.
“Other than the leering glances no one thought I would notice, it was extremely busy. The catalogue for the fall sales looks fantastic, and we’ll be handling, with the utmost discretion, of course, the art collection of a major dealer.”
“Brilliant. Are you in your office?”
“Jacket off, feet up and missing you like crazy.”
“It’s strange being here without you,” said Sam. She lay back and stretched out on the bed, the watch still in the palm of her hand, warm and reassuringly male like the man who wore it. Against his skin. Most men never thought how sexy they could be, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms and the promise of what lay hidden from view.
“I can see you lying there, with the firelight flickering over your face and hair.”
Sam felt a shiver run down her spine and closed her eyes. “Made even better if you were here with me,” she whispered. Her rising desire was palpable. She felt lithe and languorous, and entirely focused on the man on the other end of the line.
“Are you wearing another one of my shirts?” Chas asked her, his voice soft and low in her ear.
“Yes,” said Sam. “My second of the day.” She told him about her time outside with Evelyn Weekes tidying the rose garden while they enjoyed the afternoon sun. “Would you mind if I rode Max tomorrow,” she asked, “and stopped in to see George?”
“I suppose…”
“You’re not jealous of George, are you?” Sam teased.
“Actually, I was thinking of Max.”
“I’ll be riding him, it’s Damien you should be thinking of…” Sam laughed. “Wait a minute now. Did I just set you up?”
“I don’t know what…hold on, I hear footsteps.” Chas’ chair juddered as his weight shifted. “Guess I’m not alone in the building after all… Hey, Dave, how are you?” She heard him say in the background. The office security guard must be doing his rounds. “Five minutes, I should think. Yeah. Front entrance.”
“I’ve been rousted.” he breathed into the phone.
“I thought you owned the place?”
“I do. Unfortunately, that doesn’t always make me the boss….anyway, let’s not talk shop...”
“What would you like to talk about,” Sam whispered. She wondered if he could hear her heart thumping. In her mind, she saw the intense look in his hooded eyes, the ripple of muscles as he stretched, relaxing into their conversation.
“I’d like to hold you,” Chas replied, his voice dusky with desire. “All of you. I would like to get to know you in every way, Samantha Redfern. I want to know the feel of you, the taste of you. I want to feel the heat of your skin under my hands and hold you so close your breath melds with mine.”
Sam’s pulse quickened and she felt a quiver of fire in her belly. “I’ve wanted you ever since our first kiss.” She knew what she was saying, the invitation she was offering. Even though every sensible particle in her brain told her this was not a good idea, the passion she felt for this man was deeper than any she had ever experienced.
Yet despite her words of love, she knew she wasn’t ready. Her heart and soul could yearn for Chas all they wanted, but until she knew exactly who she was and how she had ended up in the master bedroom at Porter Hall, she couldn’t have him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sam paced back-and-forth across the library, her ponytail marking the time like a pendulum. Today was likely her last opportunity to locate any documents related to her grandparents if, and it was still an “if” in her mind, they had indeed worked for Chas’ family. She'd been selfishly ignoring the possibility for days, afraid that if her past was rooted in this house, its history could stand between her and Chas.
She stopped to run a finger over the old ledgers that recorded the minutiae of the family’s history. During last evening’s phone call, Chas had made his intentions clear. He wanted her. Any reservations he may have h
ad about having a personal relationship with an employee were obviously long gone. Sam had no doubt he would be back tonight to claim her as his. And she was longing for his strong arms around her, the slow beat of his heart through her skin. She closed her eyes remembering the weight and scent of him as they had lain by the stream. Every fiber of her being cried out for this man. But could she go to him with the past a dark cloud behind her?
Panic rose in her throat.
She’d known from the very beginning that the dance of anger, laughter and shared passion for their work was no mild flirtation. Their relationship was destined to be a serious one no matter how many times they stepped around their true feelings. What a conundrum. In the absence of her own parents, Grace and Patrick Quinn had given their granddaughter a loving home, a good education and the strength to weather any storm. Even after Sam's grandfather had died, Gran set aside her own pain to nurse her granddaughter's.
Tears clouded her vision. Part of Gran’s strength had come from unwavering honesty; Sam knew to her very bones that truth had to be the basis of any future she might have with Chas. She owed her grandparents everything, yet even she had begun to doubt how such a valuable candlestick from a wealthy estate had made it across the Atlantic to take pride of place in a tiny clapboard house in Canada. It was time to put her fears behind her.
Whatever the answer proved to be, Sam could not, no, she would not, let anything besmirch her grandparents' memory. But first she needed to know for sure whether or not they had even worked at the Hall.
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