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Cameron’s thighs burned as he crested the wood-shrouded hill; the sun had come out and a rainbow misted the sky in the distance, framing the towers and parapets of the house.
He strode through the open gates, only slowing at the scent of Alicia’s perfume lingering in the entranceway.
He held his head high against it.
Georgie startled him in the kitchen as he was pouring juice into a glass.
“You missed Henry and Alicia.”
“They went out? Without you?”
“I’m feeling a little off. Better they let me rest a couple of hours.”
“Can I get you something? Painkillers or—”
“I’m fine.” She eyed him studiously. “Henry waited as long as he could, hoping you’d come back. Paced the hallway outside our bedrooms, stared out all the windows.”
He sipped his juice, smiling softly at the image of Henry frowning, mouth tight with hope as he watched the gates. Of course Henry had waited. That’s the kind of man he was.
“They went out for lunch,” Georgie said. “They’ll probably be a while. Later, we wanted to go to the beach and visit that cottage we want to buy.” She frowned. “Although, I’m thinking I’ll have to break it to Henry that I won’t be moving in.”
“Is he refusing to let you have a cat?”
She snorted but her smile quickly dissipated. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea anymore.”
“Why not?”
“What if one day he wants to settle? Have kids?”
The image of Henry laughing as he tossed and caught kids with pixie cuts did strange things to his stomach.
“He might not want me living on top of them.”
Cameron forced the bittersweet images away. “Your brother will want you there.”
“But would his partner?”
“I should hope so. You’d make an amazing aunt.” He cocked his head. “But maybe you’ll meet someone and won’t want to live with Henry?”
Georgie shuddered visibly. “My last boyfriend . . . I’ve been put off for life.” She rolled back suddenly. “I’m turning on a movie. Interested?”
He shook his head.
“Okay. I’m in my room if you change your mind.”
After she left, Cameron walked the halls. They didn’t seem quite as daunting anymore. The colors, though dark, were rich, and the soft lighting was soothing. Twice he walked past Mr. Tilney’s study, and on the third time he simply had to take one more look . . .
Sunlight slanted over the rug in the quiet room, breathing warmth into the shadows, over the desk, cabinets, shelves.
He dwelled on each picture and carefully picked up objects from the desk, replacing them exactly as they’d been: a candle holder full of broken staples, brightly painted with Henry’s childhood signature; a brilliant paua shell—something Georgie had brought home?
On hands and knees, he searched the bookshelves, and gave a small cry when he saw it.
The sound of footsteps in the hall jumpstarted his heart. If it was Fred it would be bad enough, but if it was Mr. Tilney . . . how would he explain?
One step, and the floorboards creaked.
Almost immediately, the door swung wider. Cameron slammed his eyes shut.
“When you’re ready,” came the most familiar British voice.
His heart sank. It wasn’t Fred. It was the worst possible person to find him here.
He opened his eyes to the floor and Henry’s boots. “You’re back already.”
Henry moved farther into the room and shut the door behind him. “I forgot my wallet. You must have come through the woods or I’d have spotted you.”
Cameron nodded stiffly.
Henry perched on his dad’s desk, hands gripping the wood. He wore jeans and a soft gray hoodie, darker than the one Cameron had hidden from Isabella in his bedside drawer last night.
Cameron struggled through the heat swamping him to make up an explanation.
Henry folded one leg. All the patience in the world. “Do enlighten me. Is it as interesting as my room?”
Cameron swallowed. “I shouldn’t have come in. I’m sorry.”
“I guess your Bluebeard remark should have warned me.”
“Is it a bad place for me to look?”
“I guess it depends on what you’re searching for.” Henry paused. “You don’t need to look so guilty, Cameron. You didn’t know my father keeps confidential files in here. I doubt you’re interested in his legal cases. Besides, I think he locks up any sensitive information.”
“No, I’m not interested. I didn’t know.”
“If you really wanted to snoop, you could have talked to me. I’d have snooped with you.”
“Sorry. Only the first time—”
“This is not your first time?”
“No. Alicia must be waiting for you, we should . . .” He gestured to the door with an eager flick of his hand.
“Alicia fell asleep in the car. She won’t notice another few minutes. It’s a nice study, isn’t it? Good natural light, tender memories.”
“The pictures are beautiful.”
“Not many of my mum, though. He took most of them down. Was it her you wanted a look at? After my wardrobe . . . I have other photos, you know.”
