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“Are you an investment banker?”
“A hedge fund manager. My grandfather started the business in the early 1960s, my father went to work for him, just as I did after leaving Oxford. And now I’m in charge. Or that’s what they tell me.” He nearly smiled.
When Alec smiled, he was gorgeous. When he didn’t smile, he was rather terrifying. She didn’t think she’d ever met a man quite so distinguished. Alec’s features were chiseled, his browstrong, his jaw angular, chin firm. He had almost perfect lips—not too full, not thin, and his blue gaze was steady, penetrating. And then there was the way he spoke, carefully, conscious of what he said, and how he said it. “Your world is full of numbers.”
“And data. I prefer facts. Opinions don’t mean much about experience.”
Cara laughed. “You must hate children. They have endless opinions and absolutely no experience.”
Alec grimaced. “I don’t hate children. Does anyone actually hate children?”
She wrinkled her nose, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I was being silly, trying to be funny. Clearly, I wasn’t, and I’m sure you don’t hate children. It’s just that I love kids. I love how outspoken they are, and how expressive, and how wild—little beings learning self-control, people before they been taught to behave and conform.”
“Do you work with children? Are you a teacher?”
“I work at a university in student affairs, helping coordinate undergraduate activities on campus, assisting with clubs and student programs. Not anything actually academic. I’m there to make sure the social needs are being met, and that students feel validated and valuable.”
“Universities have such programs?”
“American universities do—” And she broke off, realizing he was being ironic. She managed a smile and then decided it was time to focus on finishing her dinner.
After the main course had been cleared, Mrs. Johnson brought in slices of warm apple tart with a bowl of freshly whipped cream. She also offered a choice of coffee or tea. Cara declined the coffee and tea but did want to try the tart. It was as good as the rest of dinner, with lots of nice cinnamon but not overly sweet.
And then dinner was over and Cara was yawning and trying to hide her yawns behind her hand. Alec noticed, though, and almost immediately rose. “If you’re ready, I’ll see you to your room.”
She nodded, relieved, because she was exhausted and after eating so much food, all she wanted was to climb into bed and sleep.
*
Alec walked Caraup to her room, his dogs at his side. As they made their way up the final flight of stairs, he wondered why his housekeeper had assigned Cara the Rose Room, as it was in the middle of the hall on the third floor, and rather isolated when no one else was staying here. On the flip side, the Rose Room was one of the bigger rooms, with a stunning view of the park when it wasn’t raining, leaded windows, and a newly remodeled bathroom with lots of gleaming marble and pretty fixtures. But it was certainly a change from the elegant entry, and he wanted to prepare her as they reached the third floor.
“I’m sure Mrs. Booth told you, but you are in the older wing,” he said. “The oldest part of the house, the old hall, dates back to the 1500s. The hall once had a tower, and that was where the bedrooms were, but a fire destroyed it in the 1600s, and this new wing was built. My wing was built over a ten-year period in the 1700s, which gives Langley Park its interesting interior. But as you’ll soon discover, we Brits love our history, and while I prefer the newer wing, many of our guests enjoy the old.” He’d reached her door and stopped. “I trust you’ll sleep well.”
“I’m sure I will.” Cara opened the door, hesitated. “Not that there will be an emergency, but should there be—”
“There’s an intercom here, it’s replaced the old bells. Let me show you.” He entered the room and faced the door. Above thelight switches was a little panel of buttons. “This one on the far left is for the staff, answered either by Mr. Trimble or Mrs. Booth. The one in the middle is for my suite of rooms.”
“And the far right button?” she asked.
“It’s not in service.” He was about to walk out when he noted her dead bolt. “The house has a sophisticated security system but I’d advise you to lock your door. It’s an old house, and windows and doors can rattle during a storm.”
“And it’s not a ghost,” Cara said, half smiling. “But if it was, it’s a friendly one, and helpful.”
Alec sighed. “Mrs. Booth has been talking.”
“She said I wasn’t to be afraid.”
“I’ve never encountered a ghost,” he said.
“Have you ever lived in this wing?” Cara countered.
“I must have a word with her.”
“Oh, please don’t. She’s been so kind to me. I’m just teasing, and even if there were ghosts, I’m not worried. Ghosts don’t bother me.”
A black eyebrow lifted quizzically. “Have you ever encountered a ghost?” When she didn’t answer, he smiled even more faintly. “Sleep well.” Then with a slight dip of his head, he was gone.
*
