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She looked up to find Rafe, in old jeans and a worn polo, standing in the doorway to the hall, watching her. He had a streak of soot on his unscarred cheek, and in his eyes she could see all the lovely things they’d done the night before. She swallowed that last big bite of sausage and reached for her napkin.
“Rafe, good morning,” said Melinda, her voice a little too bright. Genny slid her a glance. What she saw startled her. A look of...what? Yearning? Hurt?
Whatever it was, it only lasted a split second. The strange expression vanished, replaced with a sweet, agreeable smile.
“Melinda,” Rafe replied with a nod and turned back to Genny. “Almost done?” he asked her. She was still kind of stuck back there with that look on Melinda’s face. He prompted, “Gen?”
She tucked her napkin in at the side of her plate. “Finished, yes. Have you eaten?”
“Later. Right now, there’s something you need to see.”
* * *
Deep in the center of the house, below the State Rooms, they stared at the ancient oil heater that provided warmth to the rooms above.
He said, “I’ll have the man in from the village to look at it. I think he can keep it going until the end of the season, at least.”
“How old is it, exactly?” she asked.
“Twenty-three years.”
“That’s old, isn’t it—for a heater, I mean?”
He nodded. “It’s guzzling sixty thousand pounds a year now just for the oil, with another forty thousand for the electricity to run it.”
“We’ll have to replace it, won’t we?”
He hooked an arm around her, pulled her close and pressed his lips to her hair. “I think we might, yes.”
“This winter, then, while they’re doing the roof and refurbishing the West Wing?”
He made a low, thoughtful sound of agreement as he rubbed his hand up and down her arm lightly, with a casual sort of intimacy that stole her breath—and made her feel she belonged to him, that they belonged together. “Visitors pour in and out of here every day,” he said. “They see rooms full of art, Chinese wallpaper and Chippendale furniture. It all looks so well maintained.”
She knew exactly where he was going. “But the trouble is behind the scenes, where people don’t see—and you know what?”
He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “You have an idea.”
“Maybe. Did you read about the new heating system they put in at Castle Howard? It was a few years ago.”
“That’s right. I’d completely forgotten. Ground-source heat, wasn’t it called? A system of coils filled with heat-absorbing glycol under the lake. The heated glycol is then pumped up into the house and through the radiators, same as oil.”
“From what I read, the savings are enormous for them. And they got government aid, because God knows the British government loves anything green.” She turned into his arms and tipped her head up to grin at him. “Heating oil is not going to get any cheaper, you know.”
He guided a curling lock of hair behind her ear. There was such warmth in his eyes. “We should look into it.”
“Definitely.” She reached up and rubbed that streak of soot off his cheek.
He gazed at her so...fondly. As though she were the only other person in the world. “Only you would have been reading casually about ground-source heating.”
“You know about it, too, which means you did the same—and yes. It’s what you said the day you showed me the plans for the new roof.”
He remembered. “You were born for this.” He bent his head to kiss her—a light, brushing, so-sweet little kiss. “We’ll whip this old pile into shape in no time.”
“Just stay away from Melinda.” She hardly knew she was going to say it until the words were out of her mouth.
He stiffened and his eyes grew wary. “What do you mean?”
She stared up at him, wordless at that moment. She’d shocked herself when she blurted it out like that.
Now he was looking offended. “I told you everything, Gen. There’s nothing between Melinda and me. Not for years.”
She drew a slow breath—and set about making amends. “I believe you.”
“Then, what’s this about? Why demand I stay away from her?”
“Rafe, I mean it. I honestly don’t believe you’ve done anything wrong.” She put a hesitant hand against his hard chest—and breathed a little easier when he wrapped his fingers around it.
“I’ll ask again,” he said low. “What’s this about?”
She tried to think how to explain it. “You’re going to say I’m imagining things....”
