Chapter 1
Chapter
One
Niall completely missed out on the memo that I’m a grown man now.
FIVE YEARS LATER
Milo
I hear my best friend Oz’s entourage before I see them.
A cheerful whistle from him, the pattering of claws from his dog Chewwy on the wood floor, and the sound of a baby cooing.
I smile and bend over the portrait in front of me and dip my swab into the solvent before rolling it delicately over the surface of the picture to remove the old layer of varnish.
Slowly the old man’s dark doublet lightens to a rich green and I nod in satisfaction.
A strand of my long hair escapes my ponytail and I hook it impatiently back over my ear, making a mental note to get it cut.
I consider making another mental note not to forget the first one, but I know the likelihood is high that this time next month my hair will be even longer and more unmanageable until I approach a similarity to Mr. Twit.
The door creaks open and I hear Oz’s sigh. “This room is fucking freezing, Milo.”
Startled, I ask, “Is it?” I straighten up and hear my spine crack.
Art conservation might sound glamorous, but it’s actually low paid and quite hard on the body.
I think people imagine a beautiful room full of exotic paintings when it’s actually more likely to be working up a scaffold getting dirty in the cold and damp.
As a consequence, I’m sure my spine is aging more rapidly than the rest of me.
Currently, my body is twenty-seven and my spine is the same age as the pyramids.
He shakes his head. “I know you can be a bit absentminded, but surely even you’ve noticed the tell-tale signs of your breath in the air and your fingers dropping off from frostbite?”
“It’s not that cold. It has to be cool in here, but I probably wouldn’t notice anyway. Where I grew up, this is positively balmy.”
“Did you grow up in the North Pole?”
I laugh and, stripping off my gloves, I hold out my hands for the baby he’s carrying. “It’s going to get even colder in a second when you open that window because of the solvent fumes in here. Anyway, give me my precious,” I coo. “She hasn’t seen her Uncle Milo in hours.”
His mouth quirks but he hands the baby over quickly, watching me with an affectionate look on his sharp face.
He opens the window, letting in the cold autumnal air, and settles his arse down on the old chair in the corner of my studio.
He winces and immediately propels himself up. “Jesus. How old is this chair?”
“About the same age as my mother, I think,” I say, settling his daughter, Cora, in my arms. She coos and reaches for me, her brown eyes warm and curious and her dark mop of hair an exclamation mark over her forehead.
“Well, it’s time for it to go then,” he mutters. “Jesus, that spring got luckier with me than Silas has managed for a few days.”
I laugh. “Let’s keep it. I’ll make sure to sit in it and get a happy ending.”
“You’d have more chance of a happy ending if you moved out of this room,” he mutters, edging over to the portrait before recoiling slightly. “Bloody hell, is that a relation of my husband or a suspect in the Jack the Ripper case?”
I laugh and Cora startles slightly. I shush her and kiss the tiny fingers she holds up to my face. Moving next to him, I stare down at the picture. “He is a bit grim, isn’t he?”
“Grim? Caligula was grim. This is a new and previously undiscovered level of malevolence.” He cocks his head to one side. “Is it my imagination or do his eyes follow you when you move?”
I shake my head. “My remit isn’t to judge. Instead, I reveal what has been previously hidden.”
“While I’m sure that sounds romantic in your head, let’s be realistic. You’ve actually just wiped dirt off a grumpy old git’s face.”
I laugh. “I’m so glad my time at art college wasn’t wasted.”
He looks searchingly at me and opens his mouth but then closes it again. I stare at him. “Oh my God, what were you going to say? It must be bad if it’s made Oz Gallagher shut up.”
He laughs, and I look affectionately at him.
I know he’s going to tell me the truth. Oz doesn’t ever shy away from that.
He’s my best friend in the world and it comes as a shock to realise that I’ve only known him for a couple of years.
He came here to Chi an Mor in all his wisecracking, sassy glory and proceeded to turn everyone’s lives upside down.
Footloose and fancy-free, he only intended to stay for a few months and ease the old house into opening to the general public.
The best-laid plans always go wrong – or right – and now he’s settled with his husband Silas, the current earl, and they have a beautiful seven-month-old daughter.
He clears his throat and looks at me, and I straighten from kissing Cora’s forehead. “What?”
“I just think that you’re actually a bit wasted here, Milo.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re so bloody talented. People from all over the country are starting to come here to consult with you, and rather than enjoying it you’re stuck in a small, cold room wearing ugly gloves and hunched over a hideous painting. It’s like something from a Dickens novel.”
He pauses for breath and I try to relax my instinctive defensive shield. I don’t need it with him.
He rubs my arm affectionately. “You’re so clever and talented and no one sees it here apart from us, and you need more than that. You should be living it up and going to exotic parties. Mixing with artists and the bohemian crowd.”
I swallow hard at the thought of the people that used to surround Thomas. “I don’t think I’m cut out for a bohemian crowd. They sound quite noisy and tiring,” I manage to say.
“Well, maybe look for a sub-branch. The whispering bohemians or something.” I laugh, letting it flush away the horrible memory, and he smiles at me. “I’m not sure why you stay here, to be honest. It’s a lovely place and my home, but you could be anywhere.”
“I don’t want to be anywhere else. Chi an Mor is my home too,” I say quietly. “It’s very pretty.”
We both jump as there’s a loud bang on the door and a familiar messy blond head appears. “What are the two of you doing up here?” he demands. “We’re sending out for Chinese. What do you want?”
Oz grins at me. “Oh yes, he’s very pretty indeed,” he mutters. “But which of his parts are the prettiest?”
“Shut up.” I feel my cheeks flush and hope it looks like it’s the cold.
I look at the man who’s just appeared and sigh.
Niall Fawcett. Estate manager of Chi an Mor .
I’ve known him all my life, as in his teenage years he practically lived with us.
He’s my brother’s best friend and the man I crushed on for years.
He’s gorgeous. Tall with wide shoulders, narrow hips, and legs that go on for days.
With a head of shiny white-blond hair that looks fashionably messy and piercing blue eyes, he looks more like a Nordic model than an estate manager.
He was the subject of many of my wet dreams when I was a teenager, which is slightly awkward, but it needn’t be for one very good reason.
“It’s bloody cold in here,” he says, coming into the room fully and striding over to the radiator.
“Jesus,” he mutters, standing up and coming over to me.
“The radiator’s out.” I swallow hard as he grabs my hands.
“Fucking hell, Lo, your hands are freezing. You’ll make yourself ill again.
You’ve only just got over that flu you had a couple of months ago.
” He ruffles my hair affectionately, sending strands of it falling messily out of my ponytail.
Yes, that is the reason why it’s not awkward.
Niall completely missed out on the memo that I’m a grown man now and not the small, nervous child who shadowed his footsteps through the long school summer holidays or even the damaged man he brought back here.
He treats me like I’m seven and although I know the reason and adore him for it, it’s still fucking aggravating.
I pull my hands back, not missing the swift frown he gives. “I’m fine,” I say shortly. “You make me sound like something from a Bronte novel.”
“Which one would you be?” he asks.
I arch my eyebrow. “Read many of them, have you, Niall?”
He flushes slightly. “I do read, you know.”
“The weather reports, mainly,” Oz says tartly.
“They’re very educational.”
“Only if you’re interested in hot air and cold fronts.”
He laughs. “That sounds like the title of your autobiography, Ozzy.”
“Oh, fuck off,” my friend mutters, shoving Niall but not managing to move him an inch. Niall ignores him and looks back at me.
“Food,” he says succinctly. “You’ve been up here all day and Maggie says you haven’t eaten anything.”
“Oh my God, you’re spying on me using Maggie.”
He raises one very arrogant eyebrow. “Spying is such a common word, Milo. Let’s call it overseeing.”
“Well, stop all the seeing over,” I say crossly. “I’ll eat when I’m ready and not a second before.”
He shoots a quick look at me which for a second almost looks proud but then it vanishes, no doubt because I just sounded like a sulky seven-year-old.
“I’ll order you a sweet and sour chicken,” he says decisively. “You always eat that like it’s going out of fashion.”
I open my mouth but it’s too late to blast him as he smiles at Cora in my arms. It’s far too warm and potent this close up and I swallow hard, seeing Oz grinning out of the corner of my eye.
“How’s my precious?” Niall coos. “Did she miss her Uncle Niall? Did she?”
Oz and I exchange shakes of our heads, but Cora is a lot less discriminating. She fucking loves Niall, and whenever he’s in the room she gets agitated and waves all her arms and legs trying to get his attention. I gape as he removes her adeptly from my arms.
“Let’s go and get some food, Cora Bora,” he says, kissing the tiny tip of her nose and making her go briefly cross-eyed. “If I take you downstairs the silly boy will follow.”