Chapter 10 #2
Like he heard me, Christian started walking again.
I held my breath when he stopped next to Chastity.
I kept holding it when she twisted her neck to look up at him.
I continued holding it when I watched her entire body lock.
I knew he was saying something to her.
Inexplicably (maybe), in the middle of him saying it, she popped to her feet and ran—not jogged, not dashed—ran toward the house.
And she disappeared.
I let my breath out in a whoosh.
I could only see his profile as he stared after her, but I still could read his shock and concern.
“I sense you went gentle, but…shit, man, that was rough,” I muttered.
I watched him drop his head and lift a hand to rub the back of his neck. He stopped doing that, stared for a good long time at the space where Chastity disappeared, and then he walked out of my vision.
“Crap,” I mumbled.
I looked to my phone and saw my alarm was going to go off in quarter of an hour to tell me to get back to the house and get sorted for dinner.
I turned off the alarm, grabbed the studio phone and called the house.
“Yes, Miss Vivienne?” Patsy answered.
“Hey, I’m going back in. Do I need to do anything to the fire, or will it just die out?”
“I’ll send Scotty out to check it, but it should just die out.”
“Thanks, Patsy.”
“No worries, dear.”
I hung up the phone, nabbed my cell, and dashed through the mist to the house.
But I didn’t go to my room.
I took a chance and went to Battle’s study.
The door was closed.
I knocked.
“Yes?” he called.
I opened the door and poked my head through. “It’s me.”
He had his sexy glasses on, and when he saw me, he added a sexier smile on his mouth.
“This is a surprise,” he said.
“Am I interrupting you?”
He took his sexy glasses off (alas), dropped them on his desk and invited, “Of course not.”
I walked in, closing the door behind me.
“Is everything all right?” he queried.
Now was a good time to get into the whole What’s with All the Heavy Flirting, Your Grace? thing.
But first things first.
I sat in one of the wingchairs in front of his desk. “Do you know much about Talyn history?”
“A fair bit.”
“Harmony?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid the only notes made on the females of our line were those who made particularly advantageous matches.”
“So you don’t know if something happened to her…after the war?”
His brows moved down. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Anything.”
“Why do you ask?”
“I’ve just scratched the surface on my reading, but Marie recorded a very odd entry into her diary. Something about Harmony. Something about the ‘deeds that were done in this house.’”
“Jesus,” he murmured.
Oh yeah.
That was ominous.
“And I was about to get into Harmony’s letters to my grandfather, but from memory, his injury happened at the Battle of the Bulge.
So it was close to the end of the war. There was about a year and a half of correspondence between them after he left here, where they were planning on Harmony going to America and them getting married.
Her responses seem to infer he was saving for her trip over, along with buying an engagement ring and money to purchase a house.
She was helping by putting aside part of her allowance along with attempting to get her father to see reason and approve the match.
And then, quite suddenly, she begs off.”
“Did she give him a reason?”
“It was a lot of lovelorn, ‘go on without me,’ and ‘my father will never stand for it, he’ll disown me, he’ll never allow me to have anything to do with my family again.’ But it was a real turnabout, and I could tell, my grandfather was blindsided by it.”
“‘Deeds that were done in this house?’”
I nodded.
“I’m sorry, Vivi, I have no idea what she was referring to.”
My eyes drifted from him as I muttered, “Damn.”
“You said you’re just starting,” he reminded me. “Maybe more will turn up.”
I nodded again, but asked, “Do Tempie or Chassie maybe know more than you about the history of the Talyns?”
“Maybe Prue. That isn’t Tempie’s or Chassie’s thing.”
“Right,” I mumbled, dejected.
Because if Prue knew something about Harmoney, she’d already have told me.
“This has shaken you,” he observed.
“Since I read the letters, I always thought, after he left here and they were apart, Saint and Marie could put pressure on her. Remind her of her place. Maybe talk shit about what Grandpa Charlie had to offer. Definitely it seemed there were threats. That said, it was clear in her letters she wasn’t just dumping him.
They were emotional. Heartbroken. She thought she was doing him a favor, being free of her to go on with his life. ”
“And Charlie was having none of it?”
“There were at least half a dozen letters where she was palpably fending off his pleas for her to reconsider, and considering how long it took for mail to go back and forth, they seemed fast and furious, for the time. So yes, he was having none of it. It was just that nothing he said, whatever it was, made her change her mind.” I paused and then reminded him, “And she never married.”
“So she didn’t meet another man.”
“Not that we know. Just because she didn’t marry doesn’t mean she didn’t meet another man.
But I’d have to say, she’s a damned good liar, even in written word, if all of what she was saying to Charlie was bullshit.
But mostly, they were an ocean away from each other.
If she was done and moving on, she could just stop writing.
It’s not like he could do anything, or they’d run into each other at the grocery store or something. ”
“This has to be both the reason why you do what you do, and the risks you take doing it.”
I was confused at his comment, so I asked, “Pardon?”
“You’ll dive deeper to find what you can find, even knowing you might never learn what you wish to learn. Much like whether or not Elizabeth and Christopher had a thing.”
Ah.
“Yes, that’s why I love what I do. But when a mystery remains buried, it sucks huge.”
He smiled at me.
Three areas of my body perked up.
Okay, now was the time to have the What’s with All the Heavy Flirting, Your Grace? conversation.
I did not dive into that conversation.
I remarked, “I know it’s not my place to ask, but I wondered why Christian doesn’t come to dinner.”
He appeared perplexed. “Christian?”
“The PhD candidate.”
“I know who he is. Did he say something to you?”
“We haven’t met.”
“I’ll remedy that,” he muttered.
“That’s kinda not the point.”
He focused on me. “What is the point?”
Hmm.
Perhaps this wasn’t the best course of action.
Because…
Did I tell the protective big brother that I just watched Christian talk himself into shooting his shot, and then get shot down? Though I wasn’t sure Chastity wanted to shoot him down, rather than being terrified of just about everything.
“Vivienne.”
Not a purr now, a growl.
Which was better.
Kill me!
“I don’t want to say.”
“Well, I’d like you to say.”
“That doesn’t mean I’ll say.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he complained while sitting back in his chair. “Has Christian done something to concern you?”
“Not at all,” I replied on a rush.
“So why are we discussing him?”
“Just…curious.”
Shit!
Lame!
“I mean, you seem very generous with your hospitality,” I included.
Lame again, and I could tell it was by the way his eyes narrowed.
“Are you requesting I ask him to dinner?” he inquired suspiciously.
“Not, erm…yet.”
I needed to talk to Prue.
And maybe Tempie.
“Not yet?” he asked.
But first I needed to deal with Battle.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Well, you did.”
“But I shouldn’t have.”
“But…you did.”
I ticked my head to the side and shrugged.
“We could go around about this for the next hour, and you’re still not going to tell me why you mentioned Christian, are you?” he guessed.
Accurately.
“It’s like you know me,” I quipped.
He pushed up from his chair saying, “Oh yes, I know you. Obstinate and quarrelsome and contrary. Fuck it. Let’s go to the parlor and get a drink.”
I looked at my phone and informed him, “We have a full ten minutes before we’re expected in the parlor.”
“Dolores Umbridge did not make me do lines into my arm that say, ‘I will not appear in the parlor before six thirty.’ We can arrive early.”
He had my hand and was pulling me out of my chair.
He was also being funny.
A new thing for the duke.
And I liked it.
Damn.
“I need to freshen up,” I told him.
He stopped when he had me on my feet and studied me. “Why?”
“Because I’ve been out in the studio all day. I need to floof my hair and refresh my makeup.”
“Floof your hair?”
“You make it sound stupid,” I groused. “Women need to floof before dinner.”
“Your hair is arguably your best asset, after your ass and those fucking freckles on your nose. Also, your eyes. And of course your mouth.”
I stared up at him, stunned.
“Though, oftentimes, not when you’re using it to speak,” he continued.
I glared up at him, annoyed.
“In other words, you look beautiful. So fuck the floofing and come have a drink with me.”
Who could turn down that kind of offer?
Apparently, not me.
(I will point out, he told me I looked beautiful…mm.)
“Oh, all right.”
“Ah, the dulcet acceptance of the fair maiden,” he said as he led me to the door with his hand in mine.
“God, you can be super annoying sometimes,” I bitched.
He decided, probably wisely, not to respond.
“Where’s Bartholomew?” I asked.
“Last time I saw him, he’d made his way up to the attics to keep company with Prue, and then promptly took a nap.”
I laughed.
Then I shared, “Baby Blue spent the night with me last night.”
“I’d wondered where she’d gone,” he murmured.
“She’s a bed hog.”
“She is that,” he agreed.
Okay, now was the time to get into the whole What’s with All the Heavy Flirting, Your Grace? chat.
I did not.
We made the plum parlor, and I challenged him with making me a Mary Pickford.
He bested it with ease.
Clearly, he’d learned at the hand of a master.
This gave indication he was (almost) perfect in every way.
Drat the man.