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The younger woman stands, flustered. “I’m sorry, sir. Maxim. Um… my lord.”
“Welcome to Angwin, Jessica.” Maxim extends his hand, and Alessia follows suit, taking Jessica’s limp, clammy hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
Jessica bows her head in a brief salute, and Alessia’s cheeks pink.
“We’ll go look around,” Maxim says.
“You do that, sir,” Francine replies with a huge smile. “I’ll let Mrs. Jenkins know you’re here.”
They walk through a door at the side of the reception hall, into a corridor that’s crowded with paintings.
“You didn’t tell me he was so good-looking!” they hear Jessica hiss at Francine.
Alessia cocks a brow at Maxim, and he shrugs and laughs.
* * *
Alessia is quiet while I drive the Jag through Chipping Norton, heading home to London. Reaching over, I grasp her hand and cradle it in mine. “It’s a lot. I know.”
Alessia nods. “I didn’t realize it would be so… big. Bigger than…um…the Hall, in Cornwall.”
“Yes. It’s the largest property we own in terms of the actual house and the land. Most of the land’s farmed—organically, of course. My father was ahead of his time. An eco-warrior in the late ’70s.”
My heart swells, and an aching knot forms in my throat. I miss him. Father.
And Kit.
I clear my throat. “Angwin mostly takes care of itself because the staff who run it are excellent.”
“But you don’t live there.”
“No. We stay occasionally. As you saw, we have an apartment in the main house. But that’s it. I always think of Angwin as a historical document and an amenity for the community. It’s open to the public, and they can roam the house and see how the landed gentry used to live. And browse the art collection…”
Alessia nods. “So many rooms…”
“Yeah. I know. The upkeep for that house is astronomical. But we’ve managed to keep it going and not let it die.”
She offers me a slight smile, and my scalp tightens as I wonder what she’s thinking.
Is she judging us? My family?
The wealth?
Shit.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yes. Yes. Of course. I am a little…um…overwhelmed. But thank you for showing me your… other home. It is very clear that your staff admire you.”
What? Her words are unexpected. “You think?”
Her smile warms. “Yes. Everyone. They are… loyal. It’s the right word?”
I snort. “Yes. I suppose so, but I’m not sure I agree with you. I think the jury is out for them.”
“I think they want you to succeed.”
An unfamiliar warmth spreads through my chest—commendation from the staff, that’s new. All praise was usually reserved for Kit.
“I was the family reprobate,” I mutter while I muse on Alessia’s observation. “Kit was the stable, mature, hard-working brother, but then he didn’t have a choice.”
“Reprobate?” she asks.
“Definitely.” I flash her my most wicked grin in the hope of lightening the mood, and to my relief, it works.
She laughs.
“Put some music on.” I point my chin to the sound system, and Alessia scrolls through the tunes.
* * *
In the glow of the little dragon, Alessia watches Maxim sleep. He’s more boyish when he sleeps. Gently, she smooths his hair off his forehead and plants a tender kiss there. She turns and lies on her back, staring at the dancing, watery reflections on the ceiling, and all she can think about is how one family can own so much property.
And now she’s one of them.
She has so much when others… do not.
She closes her eyes to blot out the reflections wavering on the ceiling and to quell her pervading sense of guilt.
Chapter Twelve
Bleriana! Sweet, young Bleriana is outside the locked doors of the ornate reception hall at Angwin House. Trying to get in. She rattles the door.
Banging her fists on the glass of the double doors.
On the glass.
She’ll break the glass.
She’s screaming. But Alessia cannot hear a word.
Alessia tries and fails to open the doors.
And behind Bleriana… Dante and Ylli emerge from the darkness.
Black plastic bags open and ready.
Alessia is plunged into choking darkness.
Bleriana screams.
“Alessia! Alessia! Wake up!” Maxim’s panicked voice penetrates Alessia’s horror, dragging her toward the light from the depths of her nightmare. Heart pounding, she opens her eyes—her fear, a tight knot in her chest clawing its way into her throat and choking her.
Maxim.
Her saviour.
Again.
His bright green eyes stare into hers, his face etched in worry. “Are you okay?”
“It was a dream, a bad dream,” Alessia mumbles and shudders as Maxim gathers her in his arms.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, tightening his hold and folding his body protectively around her. He kisses her forehead.
Her thundering heartbeat slows as she clings to her dear, dear husband and inhales his comforting scent—body wash, sleep, and Maxim.
“Hmm,” she breathes.
“Hush now,” he murmurs in the semi-darkness and lies back with Alessia in his arms. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”
Alessia closes her eyes, and as her fear recedes, she drifts once more.
* * *
It’s my first day in the office after the tumultuous events of the last few weeks. As the cab pulls up at the front door, I wonder what today will bring. I’m still unsettled by Alessia’s plaintive wail in the depths of the night—her cry for help from her nightmare. She seemed fine this morning and couldn’t remember her bad dream, but I’m worried her past trauma is catching up with her. She always seems so stoic but perhaps, now that she’s safe, the shock of the numerous ordeals she’s endured recently is finally taking its toll.
