Chapter 4
Chapter Four
CHRISTIAN
My gaze tracks the car as it winds away from Oakleigh with the intriguing, if skittish, Lady Grace Ambrose inside. Whatever I said that made her flee remains a mystery, and there’s little point in poring over it when I have far better things to do with my time.
Starting with research. I have an entire team I could call upon to do this for me, but I’d rather peel back the layers myself. It’s far more fun than having a dossier dropped on my desk.
Grace mentioned she’d recently moved back to the area, which explains why this was her first visit to Oakleigh, but I’m keen to discover where she spent her time growing up, and what her background is.
Because one thing is certain: I’m not letting her slip through my fingers.
She’s far too intriguing to let that happen, and it’s been a good long while since I got punched in the gut with a slug of lust at first sight.
I return inside, but instead of making my way back to the ballroom, I head for the stairs, taking them two at a time. My office is in darkness, and I feel around for the light switch. After closing the door behind me, I sit behind my desk and open my laptop.
Typing Lady Grace Ambrose into the browser, I lean back as results fill my screen.
The first one has a small picture of Grace dressed in black.
I zoom in. It’s unstaged, and she looks somber, lost in her own thoughts, with a de-thorned rose clasped between her fingers. Underneath the photograph is a caption:
Lady Grace Ambrose at the funeral of her mother, the late Lady Sarah Ambrose.
I read the article, brief as it is. Her mother died of cancer at the age of fifty-two.
There’s no mention of a father, but as I dig further, I discover that he died some ten years earlier.
As she confirmed, there are no siblings or, it seems, any other family.
I can’t imagine being that alone in the world.
The Ambrose name has a long history, but I’m not interested in her family tree.
I’m far more interested in living in the present.
She was left a little money by her mother, but not enough to afford a life of luxury, hence the rented apartment she’s living in about thirty miles from here that she shares with a woman called Juliet Beech.
The two appear to have been childhood friends, although they only recently reconnected when Grace moved back to the area following her mother’s death.
From what I can gather, she leads an extremely private life. No social media presence, no wild parties or scandal. A brief article mentions she’s dabbled in playing the piano and writes her own music. The lack of evidence she lives a riotous life all adds up to making her even more interesting.
It takes another thirty minutes of digging and using a few tools that aren’t exactly legal before I unearth a mobile phone number for her. I plug it into my contacts, close my laptop, and head back to the ball before my father realizes I’ve bailed.
After the peacefulness of the gardens and Grace’s quiet introspection, the noise from more than five hundred guests pierces my eardrums as I enter the ballroom.
I glance at my watch, groaning. At least another two hours before the guests begin to drift off, and another hour past that before I can hit the sack.
My family throws many balls, all of which we are required to attend, but I’m not a huge lover of formal gatherings.
Give me a quiet dinner with family or friends and I’m content.
“Got ditched, huh?” Tobias joins me, nursing a half-drunk glass of champagne.
I swipe it from him and down it in one go. “I didn’t get ditched. She had to leave. Family emergency.”
“Sure, sure.” He reaches for two more glasses from a passing waiter and hands me one. “So, who is she?”
“None of your business.”
Tobias laughs. “Chill, brother. I’m not planning to swoop in. I’m showing an interest in your life, that’s all.”
“Well, don’t.”
“You’re being awfully touchy.”
“What can I say? You bring it out in me.”
Tobias presses a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded.”
Bullshit. Nothing bothers Tobias. He’s the easiest going out of all of us and is impossible to offend. “You’re Teflon.”
Throwing back his head, he laughs. “Busted.” Nudging me, he adds, “Dad tells me you’re off the hook with HSE.”
“I wasn’t on the hook. They carried out an investigation and they’re satisfied there was no wrongdoing by me or my company. It was an unfortunate accident, that’s all.”
He frowns. “But something must’ve made the building collapse.”
I turn to him, eyes drilling into his. “Drop it, Tobias. It’s done. Finished. We move on.”
One hand comes up. “Okay, okay. Don’t get testy.” He drains the rest of his glass. “Want me to stick around?”
“No.”
He shrugs. “Fair enough. Catch you later.” He wanders off, absorbed by the crowds in seconds.
My phone burns a hole in my pocket. The urge to call Grace if only to satisfy myself that it is her number is almost impossible to ignore.
The connection I felt with her is rare enough to have piqued my interest, but calling now may make her withdraw even more.
Better to leave it a couple of days and then make my move.
I float from group to group, making small talk as is expected of me, but once I see Dad deep in conversation with our local member of parliament, I slip out of the ballroom.
They’ll talk politics for hours, meaning I get a reprieve.
Instead, I find a quiet corner and put in a call to the driver who took Grace and her friend home. He assures me they got home safely.
I have some work ahead of me to win over the rather lovely Lady Grace Ambrose, but that’s okay. I’m ready for the challenge.
I love women. All women. But thinking of a particular woman before I go to bed and having my mind travel to her the second I wake up is new.
Looks as though I have a little obsession building over the rather lovely Grace. I’ve never been fixated on a person before. I’m not sure whether I’m a fan or not. Time will tell. One thing is certain though: I’m not letting another moment pass without calling her.
After I’ve showered and dressed, I answer a few urgent emails, then get up from my desk to lock my office door.
Just my luck to be laying the charm on thick only for one of my brothers, or worse, Saskia, to interrupt me.
I’ll get ribbed for weeks. I don’t lose my head over women.
Ever. I enjoy their company until my enthusiasm wanes, then I wait for the next one to catch my attention.
And even though I’m keener on Grace than I have been on anyone in a while, maybe ever, the same will eventually happen with her.
Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself until that time comes.
Now Nicholas is married, it won’t be long before the focus turns on me, and I intend to get my kicks while I’m still free to get them.
Once my father chooses a bride for me, that’s it.
My playboy days are over. Can’t say I’m looking forward to that.
Dreading it would be a better description.
If I had a way to skip it, I’d hurtle down that avenue like a sprinter racing for the finish line with his rival breathing down his neck.
The problem is, arranged marriages are what we do, what we are, and there is no skipping.
I dial the number my research uncovered as Grace’s. The call connects. One ring, two, three. She probably screens when there’s no caller ID. I wait for her voicemail to kick in. When it does, I disconnect and open the text app.
Me: Grace, it’s Christian De Vil. Are you free for a call?
I stare at the screen, willing her to reply. A full five minutes pass, then three dots appear. I hold my breath.
Grace: Sure.
I’m smiling as I hit redial. This time, she answers.
“Hi, Christian.”
My groin heats. She’s got this almost throaty quality to her voice that gets my dick excited. “Hi.”
“What can I do for you?”
Formal. Gotcha. “My driver says you got home safely from the ball.”
She gives a soft laugh. “Driver… or spy?”
“Driver. The spy is watching you right now.”
“Do I need to get a restraining order?”
I chuckle. She’s enchanting. “Not yet. Let’s see how it goes. I wonder if you’re free Wednesday night.”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On your proposal.”
Oh, I like this girl. I like her a lot. “The wife of a family friend is performing at the Royal Albert Hall. I can get us box tickets if you’re interested.”
“Who is it?”
“Destiny Winslow. She’s a concert pianist. Immensely talented.”
I hear the wisp of breath as air whistles between her teeth. “Oh, my goodness. I know her work. I adore her.”
I figured that three-line piece I found online regarding her amateur piano playing would come in handy.
“Then, you’ll come.”
“I’d be a fool to refuse. Her concerts sell out within minutes.”
“Wonderful. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”
“It’s okay. I have a meeting in London on Wednesday afternoon, so if it’s all the same to you, I’ll meet you there.”
She’s either telling the truth and the meeting is real, or she’s lying to stop me from coming to her apartment.
It could be that she’s ashamed of her lack of wealth.
If that’s the case, I intend to assure her there’s no shame in being poor.
She’s class from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
I couldn’t give a toss how many zeros she does or doesn’t have on her bank account.
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“Perfect. It’s a date.”
I hang up and toss my phone on the desk. If I thought the last twenty-four hours dragged, the next seventy-two will test every single strand of my patience.
Hmm. Obsessed, indeed.