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“Thank you, Auntie. I like it when you spoil me.”
She leaned back and placed a hand on my cheek. “Make yourself at home. If you need anything, we’re down in the library. Your uncle will likely be up all night working. I’ll probably fall asleep reading in my chair. Some things never change.” She laughed and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving me alone in the room.
I shut the door behind her and pulled my phone out of my pocket on reflex. A quick glance at the screen confirmed I had no new messages. I turned off the screen and slid the phone onto the dresser, then tossed my duffle onto the bed and began unpacking my toiletries.
Once Uncle Oscar agreed to take me on as his assistant, I’d start by organizing and digitizing all his files. He probably still wasn’t using a computer. Then I’d take over coordination of his project with the local history museum. He had classes to teach, and I had experience managing projects. It only made sense.
I changed into my pajamas and brushed my teeth, then peeled back the thick, soft duvet and crawled up onto the plush mattress. My mind continued to churn with plans long after I’d turned out the lamp. I stared at the ceiling in the darkness, listening to the crackle of the logs in the dying fire. Only then did I let myself think about the woman in the tapestry.
I closed my eyes, and a vision of Godda, seated on her throne, floated before my eyelids. Suddenly, I wasn’t even remotely sleepy. Throwing off the covers, I decided to take Aunt Vivian up on the offer of a hot cocoa before bed. I pulled on my new, thick socks, grabbed my sweater off the chair, and padded down the hall toward the front staircase.
At the end of the hallway, I decided to take the back stairs that led straight to the kitchen instead of going down past the Faerie Queen tapestry. I turned left and started down the main hall, peeking into any open doorways I passed. A rustle and thunk from inside one of the dark rooms behind me made me stop and turn around.
I crept toward the open door, pausing outside to listen. Another thunk rattled the floor, followed by the unmistakable hiss of a cardboard box sliding across carpet. A dim light glowed from inside the room, one that was definitely not there a moment ago when I’d walked past.
“Uncle Oscar? Aunt Vivian? Is that you?” I called out.
A mumbled curse and a thud followed by a low growl was the only response I received.
I poked my head into the room, pausing in the entry to look around. “Uncle Oscar? Do you need help?”
A figure emerged from behind a stack of boxes. The light source seemed to be coming from behind him, but even in silhouette, I knew it wasn’t my uncle.
I clutched my sweater in one fist and took a step backward, preparing to run. “Who are you? How did you get in here?”
“I could ask the same of you,” he said. He stepped forward, wiping his hands against his pant legs. “Except, given your resemblance to Vivian, I take it you must be her niece, Evelyn, from California.” His thick English accent curled around the words, making them sound a hundred times sexier than they should have.
I hesitated. I should have been running away from this intruder, not drawn in by his accent. “How do you know who I am?” My hand found the light switch just inside the door, and I flipped it on, flooding the room in bright light and causing us both to wince and blink. Once my eyes adjusted, I realized he was staring at me and remembered I’d left my room in my pajamas—tank top and shorts with no bra. I crossed my arms over my sweater, hugging it to my chest, and glared at him.
He grinned at me in response and took a few more steps to close the distance between us. Extending his hand, he said, “I’m Liam, your uncle’s secretary.”
Shock froze me in place for a moment before I extended my own hand to meet his, observing his warm, slightly rough but firm grip. “Since when does Uncle Oscar have a secretary?” I frowned at this new development.
“Since October,” he said. “Your uncle is a very important man. Why shouldn’t he have a secretary?”
I squinted at him. I’d been thinking the same thing earlier, only I’d imagined me filling that role, not this scruffy young man with his week-old, scrubby beard and his wavy brown mop of hair that probably hadn’t seen a brush or a barber since Easter. “It’s almost midnight. Shouldn’t you have gone home by now?”
He shrugged. “No need. I’m living here. It’s easier that way, given the hours your uncle keeps.”
I stumbled backward a few steps into the hallway, and he reached out to steady me, wrapping his warm fingers around my bare arm. His fingers shocked me like he’d been scraping his socks against carpet, and I twisted out of his grip, still trying to process what he’d said. He lived with them. Certainly, Aunt Vivian would have mentioned if they had another houseguest.
“Come on,” he said. “I’m about done up here. I’ll take you down to the kitchen.”
“I know where the kitchen is,” I said, pulling my sweater over my head. The way he looked at me left me feeling very exposed.
“Right, then.” He grinned. “After you.” He waved a hand toward the back stairs.
I hurried ahead of him, only to remember that my pajama shorts barely covered my backside. Instead of stopping, I forged ahead. Let him stare. Once I’d convinced my uncle that I’d be more than happy to take over, he’d send this so-called secretary packing. If only I’d announced my plan when I’d booked my ticket, maybe he would never have hired this guy in the first place.
I pushed open the door to the kitchen. Then I stopped as I realized that I had no idea where to find anything. When I spun around, I found myself face-to-face with Liam, who was well inside my personal space. “Oh.”
“All right?” he asked. He stood only a few inches taller than me. Our eyes were nearly level and entirely too close for my comfort.
I took a step backward. “Do you know where they keep the cocoa?”
“I’ll make some for us. Go ahead and sit down. It’ll just take a few minutes.” He stepped around me and headed for the refrigerator.
I plopped down onto one of the benches at the farmhouse-style table and watched him pour milk from a glass jug into a pot. He pushed up the sleeves on his baggy, misshapen wool sweater before setting the pot on the stove to heat.
