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His full name was Sigmund Benedictus, but Phil and Kate called him Sig.
I turned to him. “Well, this is embarrassing. Did you know it was me this whole time?”
“When you pulled into the inn, I figured it out. But I had my suspicions after you rammed into me and I heard your accent. I feared it was you.”
My cheeks burned. “Why didn’t you say anything, if you suspected?”
“I wanted to observe you in your natural element, I suppose.”
That kind of pissed me off. He was testing me? “Learn anything interesting?” I cocked my head.
“You’re a bad driver.”
There was an awkward silence as we stood across from each other. A brisk breeze blew my long, brown hair around. His stunning looks were unnerving. I hadn’t been prepared for this. Not that his appearance mattered—I wasn’t coming here to date him. But I might’ve been less tense if he wasn’t so intimidatingly good-looking.
The old woman stepped between us and held out her hand to me. “I’m Lavinia.”
I took it. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for having me.” I turned to Sig. “I didn’t realize youlivedhere.”
“Only part time.”
“He’s being humble,” Lavinia interrupted. “Sigmund actuallyownsThe Bainbridge. He bought it from me when I couldn’t afford to keep it any longer. He saved this place from being shut down.”
I looked over at him. “That’s commendable.”
“Not really. I needed a place to crash when I’m in Westfordshire. And Lavinia is a good drinking chum.” He looked out toward the road a moment. “I won’t be staying here this week, however.”
“You live in London normally, right?”
“Yes.”
This guy was not going out of his way to make me feel welcome. He didnotseem comfortable with me being here, and I had to wonder if Phil and Kate had steered me wrong.
“Well, let’s not all stand here in the middle of the driveway.” Lavinia waved toward the stone structure, covered in vines. “Come on in. Make yourself at home.”
As I followed her into the house, I could hear Sig’s footsteps behind me.
The walls in the living room were painted dark green. There was a fireplace in the center and gnome statues scattered about the room. The coffee table looked handmade, as if someone had chopped down a tree outside and carved it.
We passed a small piano that looked like it had been collecting dust on the way into the kitchen. When I breathed in the spicy aroma of something cooking on the stove, my stomach grumbled.
“I’ve put on a pot of stew for dinner,” Lavinia announced. “Do you eat meat?”
“I do. It smells delicious. Thank you so much for doing that.”
The kitchen cabinets were painted light green, and there was a small center island in the same color with a wooden butcher-block countertop. Porcelain figurines were arranged on fixed-bracket wall shelves.
“We’ll eat about six, if that works for you,” she said.
“That sounds perfect.” I nodded, having no idea what time it was.
Sig finally spoke. “Lavinia has to limit her trips upstairs. I can show you to your room.”
“Don’t give away my weaknesses so soon, Sigmund,” Lavinia said from behind me.
I smiled at her and turned to him. “That’d be great.”
He picked up my suitcase and ascended the stairs. I followed, unable to escape the view. Through his dark jeans, I could see Mr. Benedictus had quite a nice ass. Totally inappropriate observation to make about Britney’s husband? Maybe. But Sig was a beautiful man—on the outside, at least. And he was definitely older than me, maybe somewhere in his thirties.
