Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
“As for Lou, I checked on her on the way down,” I went on after I took a sip. “She’s having some issues with headaches. She said she hopes she’ll be well enough to join us for dinner.”
Michael appeared crestfallen, which didn’t make Mary too happy.
Daniel sidled close and requested under his breath, “Can we talk?”
I looked up at him. “Now isn’t the time.”
“It really was a work thing,” he replied.
“Mm,” I hummed to the rim of my glass before I took another sip.
“You’re friends with your stepmother?” Chelsea inquired.
I nodded. “Good friends.”
“Would stand to reason,” she noted to everyone and no one. Then aimed at me, “She’s your age, isn’t she?”
“Chels,” Ian warned low.
“Am I lying?” she asked mock-innocently.
“Yes, though not exactly,” I answered her calmly. “She’s five years older.”
“Is that bizarre?” Chelsea inquired, then again to everyone and no one. “I mean, if it were me, I’d find it hard to handle.”
“I loved my dad. He loved Lou. I met Lou and fell in love with her too. He died too young, and we grew even closer as we nursed him until the end. They didn’t have a lot of time together, and perhaps our family isn’t normal, but tell me whose is, and I’ll uncover the rocks to prove it untrue. We are who we are, do what we do, and we have two choices. Live in glass houses and throw stones or live outside them and get stones thrown at us.”
Chelsea squinted her eyes at me irritably.
I took another sip of Champagne.
Ian settled his hand on the small of my back again, this time both proudly and possessively.
I squinted at him irritably.
His brows rose.
“I’m here, so sorry, what a rush,” Portia called out breathlessly, scampering in while smoothing down the skirt of her blush-colored cocktail dress, which looked to be made entirely of tulle and boning. It had a swirly skirt, and I was pretty sure the costume designers said it was too girlie for Baby to wear when Johnny asked her to dance, but it was a close runner-up, and now it had somehow found its way onto my little sister’s body.
“Oh, delicious,” Chelsea purred.
“Is she for real?” I asked Ian, not quite low enough I couldn’t be heard.
“Maybe I should ask you to behave yourself,” he suggested.
“I will if others will,” I returned, again, meaning to be heard.
He grinned rakishly.
Even if it was a great grin, I fought rolling my eyes.
“Oh, Stevenson, you’re a lifesaver,” Portia declared while accepting the last glass of Champagne on the tray.
“Let me introduce you, love,” Daniel waded in.
I stepped back to allow them room, and since Ian was still claiming me, he came with me.
He then dipped his mouth to my ear. “Have I done something to annoy you?”
I turned my head so he had no choice but to pull away to catch my eyes.
“I’d like an after-dinner rendezvous in the Conservatory.”
“This can be arranged, though I’m thinking what you’re thinking we’d do there is not as titillating as what I’m thinking of doing to you there.”
Such a damned flirt.
“It isn’t,” I confirmed.
“I’m also thinking you aren’t going to ask me to teach you backgammon.”
“Nope.”
He drew me farther away from the others.
Much farther.
“We don’t know each other well,” he said low when we were out of earshot. “So I’ll share something. I’m not a patient man, and I particularly don’t have a lot of it when a woman is pissed off at me and makes me wait to find out why.”
I tipped my head to the side, put my Champagne to my lips, didn’t release his gaze, and asked, “The Rose Room?”
“What of it?”
I dropped my Champagne hand so it was out of our way and got closer to him. “It’s your mother’s room.”
“No. Right now, it’s your room.”
“It’s the countess’s room.”
“No,” he repeated. “Right now, it’s your room.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know it’s the best room in the house. I know you’ve been sleeping, essentially, in a dead woman’s bed. Or not sleeping, as you’re having bad dreams in that dead woman’s bed. I know that I like you and this is my home and I want you to feel comfortable here, and you haven’t been made very comfortable for a variety of reasons. And I know I don’t give a shit about the traditions this house has carried for four hundred years. If I ever have a wife, when I’m earl, I’m not going to sleep in the Cherry Room while she’s all the fucking way across the house in the Rose Room, like every earl and countess have done since Thomas murdered Joan in their bed in the Cherry Room. Instead, her body will be in my bed in whatever room she likes. I don’t give a shit which room it is.”
Always, without fail, every single one of his answers was a good one.