Chapter 5 #3
Four women stood post at their own beds, women she recognized from the cocktail party.
Just the sight of them left her firmly believing that her worst eighth-grade nightmare had come to life.
If she actually managed to get to sleep, she had no doubts she would wake up with her hand in warm water, superglue in her hair, and a permanent marker moustache and goatee adorning her face.
Her only alternative was to brave the wilds of a rural English village after dark and hike to her parents’ cottage.
Unfortunately, she knew all too well what might be lurking in the hedgerows or deserted alleyways that lay between her and a comfortable, mean-girl-free spare room.
She would do better to roam the hallways and look for a reasonably comfortable, definitely ghost-free corner in which to curl up and nap.
She stood there, dithering, then realized suddenly that she wasn’t the only one in the doorway. She looked up to find none other than TD Piaget himself standing next to her, observing the situation with absolutely no expression on his face.
Before she could say anything, he had very carefully pulled her out into the hallway and behind him. He caught hold of the doorknob, then nodded politely to the women inside the room.
“Sleep well, ladies,” he said, beginning to pull the door shut.
“But, don’t go,” one of the girls howled.
He paused and peeked around the door. “Not to worry,” he said soothingly. “I’ll be here for the rest of the week. Plenty of time to get to know each other, what?”
And with that, he pulled the door to. “Let’s bolt before they think to chase us.”
Harriet realized he was talking to her. She also realized he’d just ruined one of her hospitality choices, but she wasn’t ready to give up and sleep on a bench near the village green quite yet. “Bolt?”
“Aye, as in run away very quickly. My room’s up the stairs.”
“Oh,” she demurred, “I couldn’t—”
“You’ll take my room and I’ll find somewhere else to sleep.” He smiled. “Let’s hurry before they follow us.”
“But you have things to do this week,” she said in a last ditch effort to help him see sense. “I’ll be just fine with a bench—”
He took her hand. “I hear the thunder of high heels coming toward the door. We’ll be caught if we don’t run in truth.”
Harriet was a little surprised at how successfully she managed to do just that, but fear was apparently a great motivator.
After a decent flight up another set of stairs and down yet another hallway, TD Piaget stopped in front of a room that boasted an historical plaque she was certain she would appreciate when she’d caught her breath enough to think straight.
“Stay here,” he said, opening his door. “I’ll make sure everything’s safe inside.”
She imagined arguing was going to be pointless and, to be honest and given the alternative, she didn’t really want to argue.
If the man wanted to exercise a little chivalry and give her a safe place to sleep, she would find a way to repay him.
Maybe she could make a list of those who wanted his expertise or advice and another list of women he might want to run away from very quickly.
Hopefully she wouldn’t find herself on that list any time soon.
She eventually leaned against the doorframe.
She wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t taken a little micro-snooze, but who knew?
The hallway was free of suspicious butlers and rampaging fangirls, so it could have been much worse.
She patted her cheeks to wake herself up, then peered inside the room to see what her knight in jeans and a sweatshirt was up to.
He was prowling around his hotel room, checking it with a thoroughness that his fictional hero might have approved of.
He examined all parts of the armoire including under and above it, the locks on both windows, then looked under the beds.
He popped in and out of the bathroom, then came back to the door and stopped next to her.
He held out a key that looked as if it might have been original to the place.
“All yours.”
She had absolutely no idea how to either accept or refuse, so she simply looked up at him, mute.
He took her hand, put his key into it, then folded her fingers over it. He squeezed her hand very lightly, then released her.
“Sleep in peace,” he said with small bow.
“You can’t give me your room,” she said. “Really.”
He took her by the hand, then traded places with her so she was standing inside his room and he was out in the hallway.
“Just did,” he said pleasantly. He took a step back, then made her a bow. “You rescued me earlier. This is the very least I can do in return.”
“But that wasn’t much,” she protested.
“Did you see those four—” He shut his mouth and smiled again, briefly. “My pleasure, truly. Now, lock the door and don’t sleep through breakfast and leave me undefended. Who knows what those girls have planned for the morning?”
She supposed pointing out that she’d come to England with the similar purpose of pinning him in a corner and rifling through his writerly pockets wouldn’t add to the conversation, so she settled for a nod.
“You’ve no need to worry,” he added carefully, as if he suspected she might be doing just that.
“You’ll be perfectly safe here, and I’ve slept on much worse things than that very lovely sofa I saw downstairs earlier.
The only thing you need to do now is lock the door and sleep in peace. We’ll catch up in the morning.”
She considered, then shrugged out of her backpack. She dug around inside, then pulled out one of her dental flosses. It seemed a poor repayment, but she handed it to him anyway. It was the least she could do.
“Thank you,” he said with a smile. He made shooing motions, waited until she’d taken a step backward, then reached for the doorknob. “Sleep well. And lock the door.”
She watched the door close, then wondered what in the world she was supposed to do now.
She was in the middle of being overwhelmed by the fact that a handsome, kind man had just rescued her from what could have very probably ruined her week.
Just the thought of being trapped in a hotel room with women who she was quite sure spent a great deal of time thinking about plots, schemes, and how to get rid of bodies without muss or fuss was enough to leave her with terrible dreams. Ah, the halcyon days when she’d been mostly worried about her parents’ LARPing activities and whether or not she could make it through a month in England without getting poisoned by quiche at a fête.
She locked the door as instructed, then turned and leaned back against it. She was safe for the moment, not a butler or shifty-eyed chambermaid in sight, and she still had enough underwear to get through at least another pair of days. It could have been much worse.
She pushed away from the door, dropped her backpack on the extra bed, then made her own assessment of what might or might not be lurking in armoires or just outside vintage windows.
She finished her investigations back where she’d started, checked the door once more, and took a moment to appreciate the fact that she would be sleeping in perfect peace and safety thanks to a man who was full of an obviously well-used noblesse oblige. Her father would have approved.
For herself, she could hardly reconcile the man who was charming, self-effacing, and kind, with his hero who was relentless, ruthless, and chock full of ideals and habits that seemed firmly entrenched in medieval times.
Perhaps TD Piaget identified with his possibly medieval ancestors for some reason.
What she did know was that he was absolutely not what she’d expected.
The mystery had deepened and if there were anything she liked more than opening scenes, it was when things began to get complicated.
She could hardly wait to see what the morning would bring.