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I refused to play the winner and not only because I didn’t know how to play backgammon.
No, it was because I didn’t need any more of Ian Alcott’s attention on me that night.
Now, I was in bed, wondering at my sanity for buying a book about a dead woman who had slept where I was sleeping, and also wondering if I wanted the full story, as told by Dorothy Clifton’s great-nephew.
I wanted the full story.
I just wanted Ian to tell me.
Man, I was in trouble.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
“Yes?” I called.
Louella poked her head around the door.
Shit!
I hadn’t come up with a plausible explanation why we were going to move her tomorrow, or a plausible reason why she was in the shittiest room in the house.
And now, that hour was upon me, and I was unprepared.
“Can I come in?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said.
She looked around after she slid into the room and closed the door behind her.
“Uh…” I mumbled uncomfortably.
“I’ve stuck my head into a couple of rooms,” she said, moving to the other side of my bed, then stretching out on her side next to me, up on an elbow. “I also know people like this have a nasty way of communicating things. They did it to your dad all the time.”
That was news.
“Really?”
She nodded. “He wanted to be a Lord Richard Alcott. He thought money could buy that for him. He was wrong, and when he courted their favor, they liked to make sure he knew his place.”
I didn’t know that about Dad.
Still.
“Ugh.”
“Yes,” she agreed. Then she hit me with it. “What’s going on with you and Ian?”
“Nothing,” I said, too quickly.
“He liked his dinner. He’d have preferred to be eating you.”
I batted her with my Kindle. “Lou!”
“Am I wrong?”
“He’s flirty. It’s not like he isn’t known for his killer charm.”
“Mm,” she hummed.
