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)
“Bouquets on beds?” she asked.
“Carnations.”
Her eyes darted to Ian.
“Tell me!” I shrieked.
She looked again to me. “No, dear, I don’t. We don’t. Is someone leaving carnations on your bed?”
While Jane asked this, Ian stalked out of the room.
“Yes. The first night. And tonight,” I told her.
“I don’t know who’s doing that, Daphne, but we’ll get to the bottom of it. Come,” she motioned to Ian’s couch. “Sit. Let me call down for some hot cocoa.”
I was shivering. So damned cold.
I raked a hand through my hair, shook my head. “I’m having nightmares.”
“It’s a cruel joke. Perhaps a prank. Not funny,” she murmured irritably. She got close, touched my arm lightly. “Will you sit with me?”
“Don’t wake anybody up. I just need to calm down.”
“All right. I won’t wake anyone up. But will you sit with me?”
I nodded.
She led me to the couch, carefully moved some papers, and we sat down.
“I’m so sorry this has happened,” she said. “I can’t…there’s no excuse. But I can assure you it’ll be dealt with.”
It hit me.
Daniel.
And maybe Portia.
Probably mostly Portia.
They were here the first night, and tonight.
But not last night, when I didn’t get any flowers.
Both nights, they’d disappeared early.
It was Daniel, but probably Portia.
I knew it.
I sucked in a breath.
It was then I realized Jane was holding my hand on her knee.
“I’m sorry I woke you up,” I mumbled.
“This house can be overpowering. You get used to it, though.”
Never.
I was having my talk tomorrow with Portia, then I was taking Lou, who this house and the people in it was giving migraines, and we were getting the fuck out of there.
I jumped nearly out of my skin when I saw movement at the door.
Daniel in nothing but boxer briefs, and Portia, in a baby-pink, short, lace-edged, obviously expensive nightie.
Ian brought up the rear.
The new arrivals both looked disheveled and that groggy-alert you get when you’re woken up by something important: you’re awake, but you’re still half-asleep.
“Tell her,” Ian demanded.
Daniel was staring at me.
“Tell her!” he roared.
“It was just a joke,” Portia said in a small voice, also staring at me, looking ludicrously guilty.
Goddamn it.
Portia.
“Oh my Lord,” Lady Jane breathed angrily.
“Get out of my sight,” Ian ordered.
“Ian—” Daniel started.
“Danny, get her…out of my…sight.”
Straightaway, Daniel herded Portia out the door.
But my sister kept looking back at me.
Guilty.
Ian turned to his mother.
“I’ve got this,” he declared.
“All right, darling,” she replied readily, giving my hand one last pat, putting it in my lap and rising with the grace of a ballerina.
She floated to Ian. He dipped down to get her peck on his cheek.
She turned at the door. “I’m truly so sorry, darling,” she said to me. “But as ever, tomorrow is another day.”
Trust her to quote Scarlet O’Hara and not sound like a twit.
“Thanks for checking in, Lady Jane.”
The ends of her lips curled minutely.
She closed the door behind her.
A glass of liquor I smelled instantly was whisky was shoved in my face.
I looked up at Ian. “I don’t like whisky.”
“Drink it.”
“I—”
“Drink it, Daphne.”
I gave him a glare and took the glass. Then I threw back the entire contents.
I nearly retched. I did breathe with my mouth open like fire would come out.
Whisky.
Bluh.
“I didn’t say chug it, for fuck’s sake,” Ian muttered, taking the glass from me and slamming it down on the table on top of some papers. “Up. In bed.”
I stood. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“I’m sorry about why you woke me up.”
“I’m sorry I woke your mum up too.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s over. Get in bed.”
“How did you know it was them?”
“You don’t make two billion pounds before you’re twenty-eight not knowing how to read people. Your sister has a nasty streak. Hence only two dates.”
And no fucking, he thankfully left unsaid.
“Thanks for…well…” I lamely threw out a hand to finish that statement.
“Daphne, get in bed.”
“All right,” I mumbled. “Thanks again.”
I started to the door.
His arm around my belly stopped me.
I looked up at him.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To bed.”
He jerked his head to the left. “The bed is that way.”
My mouth dropped open.
“You think I’m going to let you sleep alone?” he demanded.
“I—”
“You shrieked at me.”
Oh God.
How embarrassing was this?
“I’m fine now, Ian.”
“You’ll be more fine if you have another nightmare that wakes you up, terrified, and you don’t have to race through the house in the dark to get where you feel safe. You didn’t go to Lou. You didn’t go to Portia. You came to me. That shares all I need to know. Now, get in my bed.”
“I don’t want to—”
I stopped talking when he looked to the ceiling.
This had to do with him being clearly exasperated, and I felt bad it was me exasperating him.
This also had to do with the fact his throat and shoulders and collarbone and chest were on display, all of that was close, and I was no longer freaking out (so much), so I could process it, and what I was processing was making me weak in the knees.