“Of course.” Dwyn looked at Alec as though he’d just asked if the sun still rose in the east every mornin’. “Ye think me daft?”
“I dinna ken what I think anymore.” Alec paced back and forth across the room, thumping the top of his and Dwyn’s packed suitcases each time he passed them. “This must work.” He halted after a third pass across the area rug. “If this doesna work, I’ll be stealin’ the woman and heading deep into the mountains with her until she sees sense. The felony charges can just be damned.”
“This will work,” Dwyn reassured him. “And not only will it bring her back t’ye, ’twill provide her a great deal of the healin’ the lass sorely needs. Borgus and Lyles are truly verra interested in her. They read her stories on that website Miss Martha told us about and both were greatly impressed by Sadie’s talent.”
Dwyn’s voice softened as he walked over to the desk, scooped up several scattered papers, and tucked them into his briefcase. “She needs t’hear that, Alec. She’s known nothin’ but cruelty all her life. Ye’ve sensed it in her ways and I saw it when I looked into her history.”
“I want her to ken how much she’s truly cherished.” Alec forced his clenched fists to relax, pulled in a deep breath, and slowly released it. “And I’ll be stayin’ close to her whilst she goes about all we’ve planned for her in the city. I want her t’feel m’love—without actually seein’ that it’s me until the proper moment, of course.” He couldna risk Sadie bolting like a skittish colt—not in New York. Hell’s bells, he’d ne’er find her in that mob of a place.
Dwyn snapped his briefcase shut and added it to the pair of suitcases sitting on the bench. “We’ll do whate’er it takes—carefully. A strategic campaign such as this must be plotted with enough skill to ensure not a single one of the battles leading up to the final charge fails.”
“And yer certain we must travel in that damn helicopter?” Alec hated that demon of a thing that had t’be used whene’er traveling in haste was a must. Planes were no better, but at least he didna feel as though he were sitting in a glass ball and bein’ dangled from the clouds.
“Get yer bags and stop yer whinin’.” Dwyn tossed his coat over his arm, strode to the door, then looked back and smiled at the waiting suitcases. “And while yer about it, be a good lad and get mine too. Aye?”
Chapter 29
Sadie grabbed Miss Martha’s final pair of suitcases off the baggage carousel and set them beside their carry-ons. “These two are light. What’s in them?”
“They’re empty.”
“Empty?”
Miss Martha winked as she popped up the handles on the rolling bags and swiveled them into a manageable row. “New York is the place to shop. They’ll be full by the time we head back home. Never you fear.” Waving Sadie forward, she stretched on tiptoe, peering across the crowded baggage claim area. “Now where did you say we needed to look for whoever they sent to fetch us?”
Sadie wished she were looking forward to this weekend as much as Miss Martha. Unrealistic optimism told her she should be over the moon about this opportunity, but her commonsense pessimism still smelled a very large rat. Her extended conversations—two phone calls, in fact—with the agency’s extremely personable client assistant had done little to calm her suspicions, even though the woman had easily answered all her questions and sounded as though she’d been in the business of representing artists and writers for years.
“Sadie!” Miss Martha stomped her tiny booted foot, scowling at Sadie with a you’d better answer me look.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?” Sadie struggled to stay focused on the high-strung old woman rather than the turmoil churning inside her.
“Where do we go now?” Miss Martha spoke slowly, eyebrows arched to the level that warned she was growing impatient. “You said they were sending someone to get us. Do we meet them down here or out where the cabs and the hotel vans pick up?”
“Clare said we were to meet our guide—correction: our personal concierge—over where the limos pick up.” Clare, the client assistant, had insisted Sadie call her by her first name several times—enough times to firmly imprint the name in Sadie’s memory.
“Oh my, my…our very own personal concierge. And a limo.” Miss Martha shimmied her shoulders, preening like a diva about to meet her fans. “We have arrived in Fancy Town for sure, haven’t we?”
“Are you sure you’re seventy?”
“It’s just a number, dear.” Miss Martha took off at a brisk clip, pulling rolling bags piled high with carry-ons on either side of her and clearing a path through the crowd of people jumping aside to avoid her careening suitcases. The woman was definitely safe from getting mugged. No one would risk approaching her for fear of getting plowed over.
Sadie scurried to keep up and also not get tangled in the old woman’s wildly swerving bags. “Look over there.” She pointed to a wall of glass doors and a brightly lit kiosk advertising several different rental car companies. In front of the kiosk was an impeccably suited older man wearing a bowler. Between his hands, he held a large white placard with Sadie’s first and last names written across it in bold black print.
“What an unusual-looking fella,” Miss Martha said, veering off to the right to charge toward the unsuspecting man.
The distinguished greeter spotted them heading his way, quickly removed his hat, and stepped forward to meet them. “Miss Sadie Williams?” He gave a polite half-bow, then turned to Miss Martha. “And her esteemed assistant, I presume?”
“Hi.” Sadie found herself at a loss for words. The whirlwind of the last few days had effectively log-jammed her communication skills in the muck of her muddled mind. Great. I’ve arrived in New York to show them what an idiot I am.
Miss Martha hurried forward, beaming from ear to ear with a proud smirk as she shot out her hand, fingers stiff and thumb perked ready for a firm handshake. “I’m Martha Higgins, Sadie’s assistant and bodyguard.”
“A pleasure to meet you, mum.” The man, who would put the most seasoned of British butlers to shame, tucked the name placard under his arm, then slightly bowed again—first at Miss Martha and then toward Sadie. “Jarvis Guiden at your service. I’ll be at your beck and call during your stay and also see to it that you’re promptly where you need to be at every point of your quite busy three-day schedule.”
“Don’t you love the way those Brits say shheduule?” Miss Martha turned to Sadie and winked.
“Behave,” Sadie hissed in a low whisper. She turned back to Jarvis with an apologetic cringe. “Sorry—but you always know where you stand with Miss Martha.” Whether you want to or not.
Jarvis acknowledged this with the slight nod and minuscule smile always assumed by those taking the utmost care to hide their inner thoughts and never slip from the highest level of professionalism. “Think nothing of it, mum.”
Turning toward the wall of glass doors at his back, Jarvis lifted a hand over his head and made an impatient flicking motion with a snap of his fingers. Within seconds, a young man with a luggage trolley burst through the doors at a brisk pace, breezed around Jarvis, and hurriedly loaded Sadie’s and Miss Martha’s bags. He disappeared just as quickly, pulling the trolley behind him.
Jarvis turned back to them and gave what Sadie decided must be his trademark half-bow. “Ladies, if you’d be so good as to follow me. Your limousine is waiting.”
“Oh, I like the sound of that—don’t you?” Miss Martha hooked her arm through Sadie’s, dragging her forward.
Sadie squeezed Miss Martha’s arm. Maybe if she held on tight enough, some of the enthusiastic matron’s boundless excitement would soak into her. After a few moments of scurrying to keep up with Miss Martha’s bouncing step, the desperate theory seemed to work. A herd of inner butterflies tested their wings for liftoff at the sight of the sleek black limo Jarvis stood beside.
Sliding into a seat that was plusher than any sofa she’d ever had the pleasure of sinking her butt into, Sadie surreptitiously smoothed a
hand across the buttery leather of the car’s interior and looked around, taking in the fully stocked bar, refrigerator, television, and music system. All the luxurious auto needed was a bathroom and she could live in it. First-class seat on the plane and now a vehicle nicer than most apartments she’d rented. If this was a con, it was a damned expensive one.
It seemed like the ride was over before it began. Whether because the glamorous vehicle felt like a cloud skimming across the sky or Sadie was reluctant to leave the safety of the cozy, tinted-window interior, she wasn’t quite sure. All she knew for certain was that she wasn’t ready when Jarvis opened the door and stood waiting for them to emerge.
“The Dulcet,” Miss Martha said, then pursed her lips, her gaze locked on the gold lettering emblazoned across the hotel’s canopy. “Never heard of it.”
Jarvis closed the door of the limo and motioned for them to proceed up the pristine crimson carpet leading to the entrance of the hotel. “The Dulcet is a very exclusive hotel owned by The DBS Agency.”
A traditionally uniformed doorman, decked out in full gold braiding, white gloves, and top hat, held the door open with a coolly professional smile. “Welcome to The Dulcet,” he said with a polite bow.
Sadie felt like she was floating through the best dream she’d ever had in her life. The only way it could be any better was if that dull ache where her heart used to be would finally ease up a bit. A sigh escaped her and she tried not to think about how perfect this would’ve been if Alec had been at her side.
“I know. It’s breathtaking.” Miss Martha hugged Sadie’s arm and excitedly patted her hand.
Miss Martha was right. The hotel lobby would make any interior designer drool. Marble floors. Lush fabrics and furniture. Artwork and floral arrangements that looked as though this season’s design style had been inspired by the hotel itself.
Jarvis led them to the front desk and nodded toward the smiling matron behind it. “This is Francine. As supervisor of The Dulcet’s guest services, she’ll personally see to it that your suite of rooms has anything and everything you might require before you even know you require it.”
“Welcome to The Dulcet.” Francine’s pleasant voice was barely loud enough to be heard above the strains of Vivaldi softly floating through the lobby. She had an accent Sadie couldn’t quite pick out. Not really French. Not Italian. Just a slight lilting of her words that left the impression that the athletically thin uniformed woman could easily be some sort of foreign spy.
A spy. Right. I am losing my mind. Sadie nodded to Francine. “Thank you. The Dulcet is lovely. I’m sure we’re going to enjoy our stay.”
“I’m certain you will and if you should need anything, please don’t hesitate to contact me. I’ll see to it that whatever you require is promptly provided.” Francine held up a small black notebook that looked as padded and plush as the rest of the hotel. “You’ll find your room keys in here, as well as a listing of any phone numbers you might need and the hotel amenities available to you.” She handed the book over to Jarvis with a pert nod. “Their luggage should be in their rooms by now, but I assume you’d prefer to escort them?”
“You assume correctly, Francine, as is your usual professional perception.” Jarvis accepted the notebook, tucked it under one arm, and motioned with his hat to a set of large doors inlaid with scrollwork panels of mother-of-pearl and intricately curled and hammered metalwork. “Ladies—if you’ll follow me, please?”
As soon as they neared the doors, the panels slid open with a shushing whisper. Jarvis stood to the side of the opened door and motioned to the leather settee at the back of the elevator. “Ladies.”
“A couch in an elevator.” Miss Martha hurried in and lowered herself down into the depths of the rich burgundy Victorian-era wingback sofa. “Whoever heard of such? Is it gonna be that long a ride?”
Sadie bit the inside of her cheek but didn’t bother saying anything as she slid into place on the seat beside Miss Martha. I give up. There’s no muffling her. Instead, she just smiled up at Jarvis as he unlocked a door in the walnut-paneled wall, inserted another key, and turned it. “No buttons, huh?”
“No, miss,” he replied, as he kept his hand on the key, staring down at the floor and frowning in concentration as though silently counting the quiet pings coming from a tiny speaker inside the box. After they’d ridden for nearly a minute, he turned to Miss Martha with a reassuring smile. “It takes a bit to get to the top floor.”
Miss Martha elbowed Sadie, then loudly whispered, “Top floor. Penthouse suite. I told you this wasn’t a scam!”
Sadie held her breath. There was no way in hell Jarvis couldn’t have heard every word, but if he did, he didn’t react. Time to chatter so Miss Martha couldn’t get a word in edgewise. “So…do you work for the DBS Agency too?”
Without looking at her, Jarvis answered. “Yes, mum. I’ve been with them quite some time.”
“Have you met lots of stars?” Miss Martha jumped into the conversation.
So much for a conversation without Miss Martha. “He probably can’t say who their clients are. They have to be discreet.” Sadie shot Jarvis an apologetic roll of her eyes.
“Oh, bull!” Miss Martha leaned forward like a cat about to pounce on a mouse. “Come on, Jarvis. We won’t tell anybody. Spill something juicy.”
Before Miss Martha could interrogate Jarvis any further, the elevator came to a stop and the doors whooshed open. The still silent man removed the floor key, closed the small door in the elevator wall, and locked it. He turned to them both with a broad smile and waved his bowler to the wonderland waiting beyond the doors. “Here we are, ladies. Your suite. I do hope it meets with your every need.”
They eased out of the elevator into a marble-floored foyer big enough to hold a long hallway table filled with flowers and magazines. Beside the table was a vintage French round-backed chair and a brass umbrella stand. A set of white double doors stood slightly ajar. Jarvis pushed the doors open wider and stepped aside.
Sinking into the creamy white carpet, Sadie stopped halfway into the room. Lilies. Everywhere. She drew in a deep breath, slowly turning in a semicircle, taking in the expanse of the lush, sweet-smelling sitting room. How had they managed to find so many lilies at this time of year? And her favorite ones—the pinkish-white lilies that smelled so light and sweet. And how had the agency known to choose them?
“I love lilies.” Sadie bent closer to one of the vases of fragrant flowers, cradling her hand against the velvety petals as she pulled in another deep whiff. “They’re my favorite flower.”
Jarvis didn’t respond, just looked down at the floor with a barely discernible smile.
“Sadie—come here!” Miss Martha’s excited voice echoed from somewhere beyond a wide archway leading into what looked like a small formal dining area complete with a rich mahogany table laid out with delicate china and crystal place settings. “In here! You’ve got to see this.”
“Miss?” Jarvis called out to her before she passed through the archway.
Sadie looked back, a twinge of guilt flitting through her. Taken with the impressiveness of the suite, she’d forgotten Jarvis was still there. “I’m sorry, Jarvis—yes?”
“Think nothing of it, miss.” Jarvis held up the notebook from Francine, then slid it onto one of the side tables next to a Victorian sofa that matched the chair in the foyer. “I’ll place your hotel information here and leave you and Miss Higgins to settle in. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering a light supper to be sent up here to your suite. I assumed you wouldn’t wish to venture out for an elaborate meal this late in the evening. Will that do or would you prefer other arrangements?”
“You assumed correctly, Jarvis.” For the first time since arriving, Sadie allowed herself to almost believe all of this was real. She slowly looked around the room, then back at Jarvis. “Thank you. It looks like you’ve thought of everything.”
“That’s why I’m here, mum.” Jarvis smiled and bowed, then pulled the double
doors closed as he backed out of the room. “Have a pleasant evening, Miss Williams,” he said before firmly clicking them shut.
A loud pop sounded in the next room, followed by a victorious cackling and the sound of liquid splashing on a hard surface.
“Oh Lord.” Sadie rushed toward the sound. Leaving Miss Martha unattended was like forgetting to watch a toddler.
The still giggling woman stood behind a bright white kitchen island with a matching marble countertop. She held aloft two full champagne glasses, the foaming effervescence that had shot out of the bottle puddling on the counter in front of her. “Look! Champagne! And not that cheap stuff that’s so bitter it locks your jaws.” Holding the glass by its stem, she pushed it toward Sadie with a wink. “Bottoms up.”
Sadie hazarded a light sip. She needed a drink after the day she’d had. She rolled the bubbling sweetness across her tongue, immediate shock registering as she hurried to swallow before she spewed it out. She knew that taste. Reaching for the bottle, she quickly spun it so she could read the label. Sorrowful recognition tainted the light aftertaste of the sparkling wine.
Just as she thought—it was the same. She and Alec had enjoyed just such a bottle the last time they’d made love. Her body flashed hot at the memory of Alec dribbling the tickling liquid into her navel, then lapping it up. Of course, she’d returned the favor, enjoying the effects of the bubbly much more when she’d licked it from Alec’s abs than when she’d sipped it from a glass. Sadie set the glass on the counter and pushed it away.
“What’s wrong?” Miss Martha licked her lips like a cat just finishing a saucer of cream. She held the glass poised in front of her mouth, looking ready to down the rest of its contents as though Sadie were about to snatch it away.
“Nothing.” Sadie turned away, blinking hard to push back the threat of tears. “I’m just tired.” And when she was tired, she lost control over the pain that reduced her to weeping for Alec every night. She hurried over to the full-size refrigerator. Maybe if she snacked on a little something before supper arrived. That’s what she needed—her old friend and nemesis in times of emotional crisis: food. She pulled open the stainless-steel door and nearly sobbed out loud.
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