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“Yes, since I don’t make a habit of going to an old man’s bedroom at”—I looked at my phone, thumbing the screen to activate it—“nine thirty at night.”
“Then follow me.”
She stood with her hand on the light switches.
I walked to her.
She turned the lights out before I got there, plunging the room into shadows.
Not a cold fish.
A bit of a bitch.
She didn’t say anything as we made our way into the hall, down the stairs, or to Richard’s room. She still didn’t say anything as she knocked softly.
She then gave me a lip curl and walked away.
The door opened.
Good news, he wasn’t in his underwear or a gaping dressing gown.
Bad news, I didn’t know what this was about, and I’d had a trying day. I didn’t need his shit.
“Are you all right?” I asked. “Do you need something?”
“Yes, please, Daphne. To talk to you.”
I had a feeling Daniel had been at his dad, told him the jig was up with the carnations, and Portia’s money, and Daddy-o was intervening.
He stepped aside so I’d enter his room.
I did, but when he went to close the door, I said, “I’d rather you keep it open, please.”
He appeared startled, then pissed. “I’d hardly be inappropriate.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard.”
He scowled at me but did as I wished, leaving the door open before he walked into the room.
It was much like Ian’s, except a lot bigger. There was an additional room that was a study, another baronial desk he did nothing at. The furniture was heavier, more ornate, darker, even lugubrious.
And there was a lot of white, with flashes of surprising pink, though somehow made masculine, both colors of dogwood blooms.
“Would you feel comfortable sitting?” he asked.
I would, actually. I was feeling off. It was the day. Lou’s situation. Amaretto on an empty stomach.
“No,” I answered.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“No again, and no offense. I’ve already had one and I was about to go to my room and get ready for bed.”
“So be it,” he murmured.
He then glanced at the door.
Though it wasn’t a glance since it lasted a long time.
