Chapter 8 #2
“We may only have just met officially,” Ranulf conceded.
“But you admitted to knowing my routine of going to the shop each day.” It was a new habit that had only begun since Sephie came to stay at the inn with her parents.
One that Sephie admitted being aware of, as well as looking out for him.
“That sounds as if you’ve been as aware of my presence this past couple of weeks as I have yours. ”
Her cheeks colored with a becoming blush. “You have?”
“Yes.”
“That’s…interesting.”
“Very.” He nodded. “I suggest we go to my sitting room because it would give us more privacy for the conversation we need to have,” he encouraged huskily.
“You have your own sitting room?”
“We all have our own suite of rooms.”
“Wow.”
He grimaced. “Castle, remember?”
“Something else we need to talk about.” She kept her hand on his arm as she turned fully to face him.
“But first I want to know how you came to own those amazing frescoes that have never, to my knowledge, ever been shown to the public.” She gave a derisive shake of her head.
“One of my tutors has a theory regarding the identity of the artist.”
“Which is?” Ranulf indulged, already having heard many theories over the years as to who the master carver could be.
“That it isn’t just one person, but many people who have taken on the persona over the centuries. My tutor says it’s the only explanation as to how some of these carvings can be dated back many centuries and others are clearly more recent.”
“It’s one theory,” Ranulf allowed.
She nodded. “He also claims to have found a tiny dragon hidden in each of those more recent carvings,” she added slowly.
“Hm.” Ranulf had included the first one in a moment of whimsy almost a century ago. But he had liked it so much that he had continued to add a single tiny dragon to all his carvings since.
“We’re back to dragons again,” she realized.
“Hm,” he rumbled again. “Will you please accompany me to my suite so we can talk in private?”
She gave an abrupt nod. “But I should say good night to your brothers and their partners first. They have all been so kind—”
“They’ve all already retired for the night,” he dismissed. “They asked me to pass on their good nights to you,” he excused. “Shall we go upstairs now?” He invited Sephie to precede him up the stone staircase.
* * *
Sephie was even more confused now than she had been earlier. Of course, the brothers were all steeped in mystery, but those frescoes on all four walls in that huge room had taken it to a whole other level.
Even the carvings and furniture kept in private collections had been in the public domain at some time and were not only listed but photographed and discussed in the books Sephie had read on the subject.
There had never been so much as a mention of these lengthy panels depicting different eras in history.
The fact that the Drake brothers owned unseen works that art experts would consider virtually priceless was an indication of how mega-rich they all were.
To a student who was working part-time as a waitress in a restaurant to help pay her way through university, it was a little scary to realize how rich the Drake family was.
Sephie came to a halt when Ranulf opened the door of the sitting room she assumed must be his.
It was in a completely different part of the castle from her parents’ guest suite. The room was larger too, with two doors opening off it, probably the bedroom and bathroom.
But that wasn’t what had stopped Sephie in her tracks.
That was all down to the huge pieces of furniture in the sitting room.
An eight-foot-tall, shelved bookcase, completely filled with leatherbound books.
A sofa that would comfortably seat six people, two matching chairs, and a couple of side tables.
There were also a couple of tapestries on the walls and a thick Aubusson carpet on the floor.
But it was the furniture that held her in rapt attention. The size of the furniture she could understand: Ranulf and his brothers were all six and a half feet tall, and they all had wide and muscular shoulders and long legs.
No, it wasn’t the size of the furniture that surprised her. It was that each piece had obviously been lovingly created, and by a master at the craft that she easily recognized—again—because of her obsession with other carvings by the same carver.
She was also very sure, with the same certainty as she was about the panels downstairs, that none of this furniture had ever been photographed or listed under the master’s works.
Perhaps it was time—past time—that she confronted the elephant in the room.
She had been ignoring the obvious since she had first seen the panels.
The glaringly but also completely unbelievable obvious.
Because what she was thinking wasn’t possible. It couldn’t and shouldn’t be possible.
And yet…
Sephie turned slowly until she was able to look at Ranulf’s guarded expression.
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, reluctant to actually voice what she knew was a wildly speculative conclusion, but also knowing she couldn’t let the moment pass.
“Are you the same Ranulf whose carvings are in galleries and private collections all around the world?” Her mouth had now gone completely dry with how insane she must sound.
“Yes,” he confirmed quietly.
Sephie winced. “Just the most recent ones or…” She swallowed, couldn’t believe the ridiculousness of what she was about to say, at the same time as she knew she was going to ask the question anyway.
She closed her eyes briefly before opening them and continuing, inwardly praying Ranulf wouldn’t think she had completely lost her mind. “…or all of them?”
He didn’t look as if questioning her sanity was his first thought.
In fact, he looked completely calm and unruffled by the impossibility of her thought process.
He opened his mouth to answer her.