Chapter 4 The Animals
THE ANIMALS
Whoever modernized the mattresses, and the sheets, had my undying love and admiration.
The mattress on my bed in my pretty room with a view to a garden was a firm, supportive, cushiony cloud.
The sheets were downright heaven.
But sadly, both made me nap half an hour longer than I’d planned.
I’d wanted to luxuriate in the use of that vanity, but instead, after a quick shower and face cleanse, I had to hurry.
Making matters worse, my slinky, full-length, pine green satin gown had a mock turtleneck formed by a scarf tie at the back side of my neck, which made hairstyles a challenge.
Therefore, I’d had to intercom the staff to get the Wi-Fi info, which made me feel weird…again.
Obviously, these people had money. But I was still sleeping on their celestial bed, eating their scrumptious cream scones and using their very fast Wi-Fi.
In truth, it’d taken Prudence some doing to talk me into staying this long. The Downs being The Downs, I wanted to stay, but everything drilled into me by my mother and grandparents dictated I shouldn’t stay as long as I agreed.
Prudence had worn me down.
I shouldn’t have let her, but here I was, with a gracious invitation from a friend, an agreement with Battle and a job to do.
So I just had to shake it off and do it.
Two weeks would fly by (I hoped).
But the Wi-Fi gave me access on my iPad to watch the hair tutorial on YouTube the fifteen times it took me to get it down, though it took me five times of trying with my actual hair to get it right.
I did my makeup in subtle shades of smoke and drama, allowing my ruby-red lips to do the heavy lifting.
Fortunately, the simple gown, which bared not only my shoulders but also, with the low elevation of material at my back, my shoulder blades, skimmed my body like a lover, so I didn’t have to go gung-ho on accessories.
This was good, since I did not live a life that would leave me dripping in jewels at age thirty-two.
I put in the simple diamond studs Mom gave me on my thirtieth birthday and strapped on the champagne metallic, high-heeled evening sandals.
I then touched my signature scent (one of my few splurges: Carolina Herrera) behind my ears and at my wrists, and I was ready for my first dinner with the Talyns.
There was a smart screen on the vanity.
I touched it to activate it and then I touched the intercom icon.
I was given a dizzying array of choices that I scrolled through until I found the one noted as Study.
I tapped it.
As I waited for a response, never having had a formal dinner in a home, I didn’t know if you were supposed to take an evening bag.
But with this lipstick, reapplication was going to have to happen so I wasn’t left with a ruby ring around my lips making me look like a clown, and I didn’t have pockets.
Therefore, I was tucking my phone, compact and lippie in an evening bag when Battle’s purr came through my smart unit.
“Vivienne?”
God, even remotely, his voice wrapped around my name gave me a physical reaction.
“Are you ready for me?” I asked.
“As I have been for the last hour.”
Hmm.
We had not set an exact time to meet, and he knew that.
Don’t bite, Vivi!
“I’ll be right down,” I said, though “right down” was relative since I was on the upper floor in the north wing, he was on the ground floor in the south, and the space in between was a lot.
“Excellent,” he drawled.
I decided not to say anything else, grabbed my evening bag, took one last look at myself in the mirror, touching the chignon at my nape crafted of fluffy curls, checking if I had lipstick on my teeth, and then I took off.
I ran into no staff, no Talyns and no cats on my way to the study.
The door was open.
I steadied myself so I wouldn’t do anything stupid, say faint or act like a bitch, before I rapped on the door.
“Yes?” Battle called.
I took a breath and walked in to see Battle behind the desk again, this time wearing a dinner jacket, a crisp white shirt and a bow tie.
One could say, he worked it.
Sublimely.
He had his glasses on, and behind them, his eyes were on me.
I immediately became unsteady.
He stood.
And I was unsteadier.
God, this man was something.
“And naturally, she excels at being tardy,” he murmured, his gaze gliding the length of me.
I stopped dead between the two wingbacks in front of his desk.
And I forgot about not acting like a bitch.
“I beg your pardon?” I snapped.
His gaze came to mine.
“It’s nearly seven,” he shared.
“I was under the impression you hit the parlor whenever you were ready.”
“But you’re expected by seven.”
“Well, please accept my deepest apologies, Your Grace,” I said snootily. “But it’s your fault, considering your mattresses and sheets are the foam and springs and Egyptian cotton versions of heaven, and they made me oversleep during my nap.”
After I said this, something lazy entered his eyes as he watched me, and since that caused something not lazy at all to happen between my legs, an inappropriate response, but clearly one he was going for with that look, I nearly threw my evening bag at him.
Because…
Right.
Now what kind of games was this man playing?
To curb that desire, I tucked my bag under my arm and bit out, “Shall we do this?”
He gestured to the chairs. “Allow us, this time, not to impersonate bickering MPs on the floor of Parliament and instead sit and do this like civilized people.”
I sat, muttering, “You started it.”
Lame, also immature, but I did not care.
I heard his heavy sigh.
But what I saw was movement on the floor by the side of the desk.
I looked that way, jumped in my chair and let out a muted scream.
“What on…?” Battle murmured, having seated himself, he rose to his feet.
But I was staring.
Then I was smiling.
After that, I was crying out, “Oh my God! It’s Hagrid’s dog!”
The animal crept up to me, so I dropped a hand low and held it out to him.
He got close enough to sniff it.
It didn’t take long for him to cast judgement, since after a single sniff, he dipped his snout low and used it to toss my hand up to his head.
Approved.
I laughed, carefully leaned the dog’s way and gave his head a rubdown, cooing, “Aren’t you a gentle brute.”
“That’s Bartholomew,” Battle explained.
“He looks like his face is melting. He’s adorable.”
“He’s a Neapolitan Mastiff, and be cautioned, he’s hell on satin considering his propensity to drool.”
I gave Bartholomew a good scratch behind his ear, leaning closer and fussing, “We don’t care about drool, do we? We are who we are, and people have to accept us just so. Am I right?”
Bartholomew panted his agreement.
I kept petting as I turned my head to look at Battle, who had again taken his seat. “Where did you hide him earlier?”
“I wasn’t hiding him,” he retorted.
I looked back at Bartholomew. “Did I witness your gloriousness and that’s what made me pass out?”
“No. He was in the gamekeeper’s cottage with Christian.”
I returned my attention to Battle.
He kept talking. “We went out to speak with him, and as that journey of about three hundred meters was rather taxing for my pup, he fell into a snooze whilst Christian and I conversed, so I left him there.”
Again, I went back to Bartholomew. “I totally understand. It’s hard being gorgeous, large and packed with muscle. It’s good to take frequent rests from lugging your amazingness around.”
Bartholomew licked his floppy chops, sending a string of drool curving around his short snout.
I laughed again.
Bartholomew pressed his head harder into my scratches.
“If we could do this so I can finally have a drink,” Battle prompted.
I straightened, catching his eyes then looking to the right where I’d spied a drinks cart earlier.
And there it sat right now.
Back to him and I raised my brows.
“With my sisters,” he added, lifting a leather portfolio and plopping it in front of me.
So we were going old-school, and this agreement was on paper, not electronic.
Interesting.
I tucked my bag in my lap and reached forward to take it.
Bartholomew realized pet time was over, but he didn’t return to Daddy.
Oh no.
He shifted his bulk against my knee, then, no other way to put it, he dissolved down my satin-covered shins with a hearty groan to rest his considerable mass on my feet.
This meant I was smiling when I opened the portfolio.
“Who’s Christian?” I asked as I scanned it.
“A botany PhD candidate from Oxford. He’s writing his dissertation, studying the physiology or genetics or some such of the plants in our gardens.”
This must be the sandy-haired handsome guy who’d been checking out Chastity as much as the roses earlier that day.
“Is he a member of the family or something?”
“No. He’s a PhD candidate who reached out to us to ask if he could study our gardens for his dissertation.”
With all the mystery surrounding The Downs, this surprised me.
“And you said yes?”
“Apparently,” he drawled, eloquently pointing out that was a stupid question.
I gestured to myself with the portfolio. “You seem to say yes a lot.”
“I’m not an ogre, Vivienne. Though, I might seem to be if I’m dealing with a stubborn American.”
Oh my God.
This guy.
“I’m not stubborn,” I retorted. “And being American has nothing to do with anything.”
“Allow me to amend. An argumentative American.”
Yet again I was opening my mouth to retort, then I bit it back, feeling the heat of annoyance sting my cheeks, and I forced my attention to the agreement.
“When she blushes, the freckles across her nose come out even stronger,” he said under his breath, but even if he was pretending to talk to himself, I was oh-so supposed to hear.
I gave up reading the agreement and snapped, “I wasn’t blushing. That was annoyance. And I’ll ask you to refrain from commenting on my person.”
“Does that mean you’d prefer me not to tell you I think that’s a rather fetching frock you’re wearing?”
Oh yeah.
Mm-hmm.
He was playing games.
“Yes,” I gritted.
“Then I won’t share I think that’s a rather fetching frock.”