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His big body jolted with surprise at my words, and I took advantage.
Bending, I placed one hand on his chest, one on his jaw, and my mouth on his.
Ian didn’t pull away.
He sifted his fingers into my hair and curled them into my scalp.
And then my kiss turned into Ian’s as his tongue slipped into my mouth.
He tasted of smooth, expensive tobacco, smoother, more expensive whisky, and Ian.
I was addicted in a flash.
Our tongues danced, but he was a strong lead, carrying me away into a shadowed, secluded corner where he could see about making it so he could do as he wished with me.
And then he pulled away.
Instead of climbing into his lap, like I wanted to, I brushed my lips along his jaw, straightened and made note that post make out, Ian was the best Ian of all.
“I’m taking up smoking,” I announced.
He burst out laughing.
No.
I was wrong.
Ian laughing was the best Ian of all.
I smiled while he did it.
And then I blew him a kiss before I wound my way out of his lair.
Twenty
THE DOGWOOD SUITE
I was in the gallery on the third floor, or in British terms, the second, since the first was known as the ground floor.
I’d checked the Poppy Room, and Rebecca and Brittany had taken care of all Lou’s things. Her bags were lined up beside the door, ready to be carried down in the morning.
I didn’t want to go back to the Rose Room for whatever reason, possibly because the last time I was in it, I’d heard a woman scream.
But also because of the story of Adelaide and Augustus.
I hadn’t spent a lot of time on the second floor. When I did, I saw it was clearly unused.
This was because it contained the ballroom and a variety of parlors to mingle in, when people did that kind of thing in the days of massive house parties where hundreds of guests were invited.
There were more bedrooms up here, much smaller, they hadn’t been modernized (not a one), and back in the day, they were probably used for those with lesser titles or even overflow staff.
There was one, sunny, beautiful room at the end of the northeast corner, which was unmistakably the Music Room, what with the harp, the pianoforte, and a flute that lay in a bed of cobalt-blue velvet sitting on a side table.
There was also a gallery of portraits of past earls and countesses and their progeny, and this was what I wandered as I talked with Jo, Lou’s mum, and shared what happened, spinning it as best I could when there wasn’t much to use to spin it that way. But I made sure she knew Lou was in fine fettle when we left her: covered in Hello! And OK! magazines, KitKats, Maltesers and Crunchies.
I continued wandering when our conversation was over.
I hadn’t paid much attention to the gallery when I took my own tour, but one could say now that the legacy of Cuthbert was marked.
