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Chapter 8
♥?♥?♥
Paula
THIS HAD TO BE A DIFFERENT DATE.A wizard had conjured a lookalike Bastian Spencer in the place of the stuffy snob who’d asked her out.
That or she was in a dream.
Either way, the night had turned. The lunch disaster was in the past. In the present was a Bastian she was trying and failing not to like. Not to want. Not to fall under the spell of.
Correction: In the immediate present was a tour guide. Since leading her up the steps, holding her hand in his but allowing a small distance between them, Bastian had started reciting facts in a cool voice that if she wasn’t mistaken had become tight with tension that she suspected had nothing to do with her.
The Spencer mansion, he narrated, just as if he were reading from cue cards, had been built in the late Victorian period. It had been in the family ever since its construction, with the exception of a brief period during the Great Depression when it fell into the hands of the bank. By the beginning of the second world war, the Spencers had reclaimed their collapsed fortunes and the family estate. Bastian’s grandfather had modernized all the buildings in the 1970s. The mansion itself was constructed of quarried granite and featured oak half timbering, and boasted one of the earliest rudimentary air conditioning systems in this part of the country. The great hall marked the site of the most elaborate natural indoor Christmas tree ever decorated in the recorded history of New Highland, with ornaments valuing over half a million dollars. In the mid-1980s, it was topped by a star cast from melted bullion that was so heavy it had to be supported on metal rods tied to the trunk. That star was permanently on loan to the New Highland History Museum. The ornaments had since been sold or donated, except for a small group of heirlooms retained by the family.
“I do know most of this,” she told him with a sidelong look. “I took the tour.”
The front door opened, and the muted sounds of orchestral music became a blast of noise. Drifting through the entryway were the cheerful hum of voices and the delicious scents of pine and caramel.
Paula smiled at the tuxedo-clad white-haired man who greeted them, pegging him for the butler. He addressed Bastian formally as Mr. Spencer. Bastian didn’t stop to introduce the man. He merely led her through the crowd, answering her as if they hadn’t been interrupted. “Great, then I don’t have to give you the big tour.”
“Not if you don’t feel like it. That’s interesting about the ornaments, though. It must have been hard for your family to part with them.”
“Not really. They needed the cash.”
Paula glanced at him, wondering at his terse tone. It didn’t invite more questions. She changed the subject. “I don’t remember that butler when I went on the tour.”
Bastian shook his head. “The staff is outsourced, hired as occasion demands. My parents haven’t kept a permanent staff in years.”
“He seemed to know you.”
“That’s their job.”
She said tentatively, “You’re not telling me your parents have fallen on hard times.”
“Right on their asses,” he said, shocking her. Then slanted a smile down at her. “It happens.”
“I guess so.” Paula gazed wide-eyed at the most enormous decorated Christmas tree she’d ever seen inside a non-commercial building. “You for real grew up in this house?”
“In my own suite,” he said casually, shocking her again. “I saw my nanny and the cook more than my parents or grandparents.”
“Your grandparents live here too?”
“They did until they passed away.”
“Well, that is slightly disturbing.”
“What is? That my grandparents are dead?”
“That you just told me you hardly saw your family growing up, and you seem completely fine with it.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m fine with it. But it could have been worse.”
“How?”
His grip tightened. “I could have seen them more.”
“Hmm.” Paula thought about that. When they reached the ballroom, she couldn’t help it; she halted and turned around on her heel.
