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Unlike you, his PA, Beatrice was tempted to point out. Yet she was coming to quite like their chats.
‘I’m quite sure Prince’s Lane resembles Grand Central Station at times,’ Jordan went on.
Or shehadbeen starting to like their chats!
‘Sorry?’
‘Just before the stables...where the shuttle bus drops his staff off.’
‘I know where it is.’ Beatrice bristled.
‘Well, there are special gates...’ She lowered her voice. ‘There’s a tunnel that runs under Prince’s Lane.’
‘Why wasn’t I told this?’
‘Nobody’s “told”. It’s just a piece of knowledge you acquire if you work here long enough.’ She laughed. ‘You haven’t seen anything?’
‘What?’
‘I used to think the place was haunted by beautiful women in ball gowns, walking through the mist.’
‘Are you saying that he has a secret passage to his suite?’
‘Beatrice!’ Jordan frowned at the clear annoyance in the usually unruffled liaison aide. ‘He’s not the only one; it’s like a rabbit warren beneath here.’
Of course it was. Beatrice took a short-cut sometimes through one of those passages, if she was running late, and the morning coffee came via another... But a direct passage to his suite? No wonder he was so cocksure about ‘behaving’.
She felt a fire burning in her chest and had to fight to prevent the heat rising to her cheeks. ‘Well, it would have been nice to have been warned.’
But she had been...sort of. Now she looked back on it. It was in her job description, Beatrice reminded herself.
‘Shh...’ Jordan said, as the buzzer lit up to indicate that he’d left his apartment.
At least you got a slight warning of his approach when you were up here in Jordan’s office.
Beatrice carried on working as he sauntered past.
‘Ah, the Marchioness,’ he said fondly as he looked over her shoulder.
‘They’re saying...’ Beatrice wished he would get away from her shoulder ‘...that you broke up with her because she was past childbearing age.’
‘Are they, now?’ He shrugged and offered no insight.
None at all.
‘You are discreet—I’ll give you that.’ Beatrice turned her head just a bit and smiled, then got back to looking at the screen. ‘Even I don’t really know what you get up to.’
‘As it should be,’ he said.
‘So, no further response?’
‘Of course not.’
She clicked away from the image of the Marchioness and a much younger Prince Julius with marked relief—only it was short-lived, because he came beside her and leant on the desk.
‘They’re just going to keep digging...’ he said.
‘Well, you’re giving them nothing new.’ She looked up a little, and knew that she too was digging. ‘Unless there is something...?’
