Sylvia shrugged. ‘Just an ordinary day’s work. You do realise I do this for paying customers every day.’
It showed, Dominic thought. When they’d first opened the tea rooms in the old stables, he’d been doubtful. They already had the restaurant, over in the Orangery, offering fine dining to the visitors, and the café over on the other side of the yard, serving sandwiches and drinks. A third eating area seemed like overkill.
But Sylvia had wanted it. Sylvia, who never really asked for anything, only went along with his plans and said, ‘If that’s what we need to do.’ So when she’d said, ‘No, Dominic. You’re wrong. This will be a really good thing,’ he’d listened.
He was glad he had, now. Sylvia had taken on all the planning and running of the tea rooms, picking out the perfect curtains and matching tablecloths, light and airy without being too chintzy. She’d tasted every baker’s cakes from Beresford to London, and finally hired a young man called Russell to bake the scones, cakes and biscuits for the afternoon teas. People flocked to them—not just the senior citizens on their day trips, which he’d sort of expected, but everyone. Hard-nosed businessmen on a break from their conference schedule over at the events suite. Lovers checking out the Hall as a possible wedding venue. Hungover stag parties. Everyone.
For once, Dominic was actually pleased to be proved wrong.
The Americans certainly seemed to be enjoying it, too. He’d originally asked Sylvia to find them a private room somewhere, but she’d refused, saying half the charm of the tea rooms was the atmosphere. And she’d been right again. They were chatting away with the tourists on the next table, exclaiming over the scones and clotted cream and the cucumber sandwiches.
Even Faith looked as if she might be enjoying herself for the first time that day.
‘You’re staring at her again,’ Sylvia commented, and he could hear the smirk in her voice.
Diverting his gaze towards the tower of cakes on the counter, Dominic said, ‘Staring at whom?’
‘Your event planner. Tour guide. Kat’s replacement. Whoever she is.’
‘Merely a last-minute employee for the week,’ Dominic said, ignoring the tiny part of his brain that screamed at him that she should be more. ‘Kat cancelled on us.’
‘Understandably.’ She gave him a sideways look. ‘After that video.’
Just hearing the words made the shame rise up again, stinging in his throat. The memory of the moment he’d first seen it sharp and constant in his brain. And the swift realisation that what hurt most wasn’t the personal betrayal, wasn’t the fact that Kat had slept with another man. It was the humiliation. The way it sent him right back to his childhood, and those unbearable days after his mother left, when all anybody seemed able to talk or write or think about was his family’s shame.
He’d promised himself he’d never be in that position again, and Kat had made him break that promise. Maybe he couldn’t have changed what happened with his mother, but he should have been able to control Kat. And he could sure as hell make sure it never happened again. Which meant finding out what Faith was hiding.
Sylvia was still watching him carefully, as if waiting to see if he might explode at the very mention of the video. Dominic closed his eyes and wished very hard he’d never heard of YouTube. ‘Just tell me you haven’t watched it.’
‘I don’t think there’s a person we know that hasn’t seen at least a glimpse of it.’ Sylvia shook her head. ‘You think you know a person.’
‘It’s wildly unsuitable and inappropriate for you to even mention it.’
‘I don’t know why you’re so bothered. It’s not like you’re in it.’ Dominic looked at her, and she winced. ‘Of course, I suppose that might not actually make things any better.’
‘I’d like to stop talking about this now, please.’
Sylvia gave a quick nod. ‘Absolutely. Good idea. You can tell me about your latest employee instead.’
As if that was any safer a topic. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Her name would be a good start. Where you met. What she’s like. That kind of thing.’
‘You realise you’ll probably never see her again after today, right?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Sylvia said airily. ‘At the very least, there’s the theatre trip you promised faithfully to let me come along on...’
Damn it. He’d forgotten that. He’d have to ask Faith to try and score an extra ticket.
‘You forgot. Didn’t you?’
‘Of course not,’ Dominic lied. ‘I just need to ask Faith something...’
‘Aha! So her name is Faith. We’re getting somewhere.’
Dominic rolled his eyes. Apparently she wasn’t giving up on this one any time soon. ‘Her name is Faith Fowler, she’s a tour guide I met in Italy and hired to come over and run this tour, and she doesn’t like stately homes. That’s about all I know.’
Sylvia’s brow furrowed. ‘Except this one. She likes this stately home. Don’t you, Faith?’
Glancing up, Dominic saw Faith approaching, too late to steer her away from his sister’s insatiable curiosity.
‘I love these tea rooms,’ Faith said, not really answering the question. ‘And the scones are to die for.’
‘I’ll introduce you to Russell before you go,’ Sylvia replied, suitably distracted. ‘He’s a marvel in the kitchen.’
‘Faith, we’re going to need an extra ticket for the theatre tomorrow,’ Dominic said. For some reason, the idea of Faith and Sylvia getting chummy made him nervous.
‘Not a problem.’ Faith whipped out her tablet and made a note. ‘We’re in the box anyway, and I think there are a couple of extra seats at the very back. Or I can always just skip it.’
‘No. I need you there.’ The words came out too firm, even to Dominic’s ears, and both women looked at him in surprise.
‘I’ll still be around to get you all there and home again,’ Faith said.
‘Still, you don’t want to miss the play,’ Sylvia said, but she was looking at Dominic. He tried to keep his face blank. The last thing he needed was his little sister questioning his motives for hiring Faith. And he didn’t want to explain that he needed to keep Faith close until he discovered what secrets she was keeping.
‘I’m not much of a theatre person,’ Faith said with a tight smile.
She was lying again, Dominic thought, wondering when he’d got so adept at spotting even her little fibs. But why? Why wouldn’t she want to go to the opening night of the play she’d been so excited to score them tickets for?
‘Is this another wardrobe issue?’ he guessed, and Sylvia started staring at him again.
Faith flushed, the pink colour clashing with her scarlet cardigan. ‘Not entirely. I could always wear my black dress again.’
‘You’ve worn that dress every evening this week,’ he pointed out. ‘It’s going to fall apart if you dry clean it once more.’
Faith blinked at him. ‘I didn’t think you’d notice.’
‘I didn’t think he could tell one dress from another,’ Sylvia added, glancing between them. ‘It must be a very special dress.’
‘It’s really not,’ Faith told her.
‘So go buy a new one,’ Dominic said. ‘You can go shopping while we’re in meetings tomorrow. Just put it on the card.’
‘I really don’t need—’
‘I’ll come with you!’ Sylvia clapped her hands together with excitement. ‘It’ll be great! I’m in town anyway for that evening, and I love a good shopping trip...’
Faith glanced between them, and suddenly Dominic felt just a little sorry for her. Not enough to get her out of a shopping trip with his sister, though.
‘Well, that would be...’ Faith started.
‘Expensive,’ Dominic finished for her. ‘That’s the word you’re lookin
g for. Expensive and exhausting.’
‘Oh, shush,’ Sylvia said. ‘You want her to look her best, don’t you?’
He didn’t care, Dominic realised. He didn’t care what she wore, what she looked like. He just wanted her there with him. And not just so he could uncover her lies.
He was in trouble.
* * *
Faith spent the coach ride back to the hotel sulking. Not that anyone could tell; she was cheery and chatty enough to the clients. Maybe Dominic might have noticed but, since it was his fault anyway, she didn’t care.
How had this happened? She’d known all along the theatre trip was a risk, but not much more than anything else she’d agreed to that week. The theatre was one of her mother’s passions; her circle of friends liked to patronise up-and-coming directors, playwrights, actors. Tomorrow, the opening night of a well-hyped show, directed by London’s next big thing...no way they’d miss it. Maybe her mum wouldn’t be there, but someone who would know Faith on sight would be, she had no doubt.
She’d planned on hiding out in the coach. She could get them all in and settled easy enough, then slip out and hide. Mum’s gang were bound to be the last in so, as long as she got the rest of them there early, she’d be fine. When Dominic had said about needing a seat for Sylvia, things got even easier. They’d never even notice she’d gone.
But now, suddenly, not only was she attending the bloody thing, she was buying a new frock, just for the occasion.
And the absolute worst thing was, she didn’t even mind. Because it meant an evening with Dominic, dressed up and looking her best, and as close to off-duty as she could get this week.
Faith sighed, and slouched down in her seat. Falling for her employer. How cliché. And just the sort of man her mother would love her to marry, too. Perfect.
After the long day trip, Faith had planned a quiet dinner at a restaurant not far from the hotel. With only an hour to answer emails, catch up on work and get changed for dinner, she didn’t have much choice but to pull on the hated black dress again. She’d thought it was versatile enough to see her through the week, but then she hadn’t fully anticipated having to accompany the group on every single one of their evenings out. And she hadn’t counted on Dominic being there, watching her, either.
Taking in her reflection in the hotel room mirror, she pulled a face. And then she grabbed her red shoes, red cardigan and brightest red lipstick. Worn right, he might not even notice the dress underneath.
* * *
‘Nice dress,’ Dominic said ten minutes later when they met in the lobby. Faith pulled a face at him, and he laughed.
* * *
Dinner, Faith thought, would have been more or less perfect if it wasn’t for two things. One, the heel of her shoe breaking as she returned from the bathrooms after dessert. And two, Jerry insisting on accompanying her back to the hotel when she decided to leave while the others had coffee. After four days of fending off his advances, she was running out of excuses.
Even then, it might have been salvaged if Jerry hadn’t followed her up to her room, staring intently down her cleavage as she rooted through her bag for her keycard.
‘Thanks for helping me home,’ she said, smiling falsely up at him. ‘I think I can manage from here.’ She waved her keycard, just to prove the point.
‘What kind of a gentleman would I be if I didn’t see you safely into your room?’ He gave her a smile that made her want to shudder. ‘I can check for monsters under your bed, if you like.’
I’m much more concerned about what you want to do in my bed. ‘I’m a big girl now, Jerry. I think I can manage.’
His gaze dropped down to her breasts again. ‘You certainly are.’
Okay, that was enough. ‘Jerry, I’m tired. I’m going to bed. I suggest you do the same.’ How much wine had he drunk with dinner? His eyes weren’t entirely focused when he finally managed to look up at her face.
‘Aw, come on. Just a quick nightcap. After all, we missed out on after-dinner drinks.’
‘I really don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Faith said, slipping her keycard into the door. ‘Early start and all tomorrow. Goodnight, Jerry.’
A hand appeared above hers on the door, pushing it open, and the first pangs of panic stabbed in Faith’s chest. Focusing on her breathing, she grabbed the handle and yanked it closed again, almost catching Jerry’s fingers in the door as she did so.
‘I said goodnight, Jerry.’ The words came out much calmer than she felt. Her heart pounded against her ribcage and she wanted to kick out, stamp on his feet in her one remaining red heel, the way the self-defence classes had taught her.
But he was Dominic’s client. And he hadn’t actually done anything yet, except make her feel desperately uncomfortable.
Of course, if his hands moved from the door to her body, she was taking him down.
Fingers, hot and sweaty, landed on her hip and Faith didn’t waste time thinking any more. Stamping down with her right foot, she tried not to smile in satisfaction as Jerry let go and howled.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Was that your foot?’ she asked, her voice syrupy sweet.
‘You bitch! You wait until I tell your boss about this.’ Jerry was practically curled up over his foot, his face shining red, his eyes furious.
Faith managed one moment of relief before a figure appeared at the edge of her vision, coming around the corridor from the lift. And, before she could even look, she heard Dominic say, ‘Tell her boss about what?’ and her heart plummeted.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JERRY HAD SCAMPERED back to his room before Dominic could get any coherent account of what had happened, which he supposed meant he’d have to trust Faith’s version of the story to be fully accurate. Normally, he hated only hearing one side. But on this occasion...he trusted Faith a hell of a lot more than the man he’d been doing business with for nearly three years.
‘Tell me what happened,’ he said as Faith let them both into her room, kicked off her ruined shoes and headed straight for the minibar.
‘Pretty much exactly what you think happened.’ She pulled out a small bottle of Scotch and reached for the glasses on the counter above.
‘I don’t know what happened,’ he said reasonably as he took a seat in the armchair. ‘All I saw was my client on the floor, practically crying in pain.’
Faith shrugged. ‘I stood on his foot.’
Dominic’s gaze dropped to the ridiculously high heels she’d discarded in the corner. The one with the intact heel certainly looked as if it could do some damage. ‘Why?’
‘Would you believe me if I said it was an accident?’ Faith poured the whisky evenly between the two glasses and handed one to him.
‘No,’ he said, taking a sip. Not as good as his, but not bad.
With a sigh, Faith dropped onto the sofa, curling her legs up under her. ‘He was drunk. He got...ideas. And he didn’t appear able to comprehend the word no.’
Dominic stopped, stared, his blood heating up. He’d kill him. How could he even think for a moment that Faith—Faith!—would want to...?
‘You don’t believe me.’ Glancing over, he saw Faith’s wide eyes looking at him with disappointment.
‘Oh I believe you,’ he said, the words scratchy in his throat. ‘And that bastard is on the next flight home.’ Pushing himself to his feet, he let his anger carry him towards the door, but Faith stopped him before he got there, her small hand on his arm, a touch he hadn’t expected.
‘He was drunk,’ she repeated. ‘And stupid. Very, very stupid. But I took care of it.’
‘You shouldn’t have had to.’
‘No, I shouldn’t. But, trust me, it’s not the first time it’s happened. Guys get ideas in hotels, for some reason. But I learnt to look after myself, and no one has ever got any further than a hand on my waist unl
ess I wanted them to, I promise.’
She sounded so calm, so certain, that Dominic’s blood started to cool, just a little. ‘I still want to punish him.’
‘Oh, by all means,’ Faith said, giving him a lopsided smile. ‘Just find something more subtle than getting yourself arrested for grievous bodily harm, yeah?’
Dropping back down onto the couch, Dominic realised that he would have done. He’d have gone to that bastard’s room and pounded him to a pulp, without caring what the police would do, or what the press would say, what damage it would do to the business, to these negotiations. Three years of strategising down the drain, and the Beresford name on the front of every paper for all the wrong reasons again.
He couldn’t risk that.
He wanted to believe that he’d have done it anyway because he was a noble man who knew right from wrong. But, as Faith sat down beside him, her thigh close enough to touch his, he knew that gentlemanly behaviour had nothing to do with it.
He’d have hurt that man for touching Faith. Any other woman...he’d have reported it to Jerry’s superiors, to the police if it had gone far enough. But Faith...was different.
‘You okay?’ she asked, bumping her arm against his.
He gave a humourless laugh. ‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that?’
‘Probably. But I’m clearly fine.’
Dominic studied her, taking in her pale skin, and the spots of pink on her cheeks that were probably the fault of the whisky. ‘Are you?’
She gave a half-shrug, and took another sip. ‘Just a little shaken. I should have known better than to let him walk me back, really.’
‘This is in no way your fault,’ Dominic said firmly.
‘Oh, I know that. Trust me, I blame him entirely.’
‘Good.’ Leaning back against the sofa, Dominic began to imagine ways of making Jerry pay. At the very least, he was going to get every meeting request for every video conference until the end of time, whether he needed to be there or not.
‘You’re thinking of torture techniques, aren’t you?’ Faith curled her feet up under her again, twisting to face him on the sofa, and he couldn’t help but notice the way the skirt of that bloody black dress rode up her thighs. God, he was as bad as Jerry.
Heiress on the Run (Harlequin Romance) Page 7
