The cabbie whistled as we pulled up near the doors. “This is quite a place! You live here?”
“I wish,” I said, gazing up at the mansion. “I’m just the decorator. Great place, though, isn’t it?”
He heartily agreed, then was kind enough to help me to the front door with my things. I sent him off with a tip half the cost of the ride itself, and he whistled cheerfully as he left. Satisfaction of a job well-done and the pay to match. If it was good enough to keep him going in this storm, then the payout and boost to my reputation for completing this project were incentive enough to keep me moving even with my foggy, jet-lagged brain.
I expected the door to be unlocked, seeing as the drive had been cleared, but it wasn’t. Fortunately, the key was exactly where Amelia said it would be, so I let myself in, expecting to hear the sounds of my designs coming to life. I heard nothing, though. Frowning, I moved through the massive foyer to the ballroom, turning lights on as I went.
Piles of supplies were stacked along the walls from foyer to ballroom, which was a relief. I made a mental note to go back to them the moment I found my crew.
But there was no crew. No decorators, no contractors, not even a salesman to be seen. Apart from the supplies having been delivered, no work had been done. This was going to set me a week behind at least, more if the decorators never showed.
“I’ll have to tell Amelia,” I said, pulling my phone out of my purse. “I don’t know how I can possibly get caught up now.”
I pulled up her number, then hesitated. She wasn’t a flexible sort of person, and she had insisted that the house must be finished by Christmas. She didn’t seem like the type who would accept impossible as an excuse. With that kind of money, very few things were impossible. Besides, with the travel time and everything, I only had sixteen days left to finish the job.
“I can do it,” I said firmly, putting my phone away. “Three months’ work in a little over two weeks? Psh, easy. As long as I don’t take too much time to sleep. Or eat. Or…anything, really. You know what, I bet I can get these walls stripped myself before I even get hungry.”
It was impossible, but that wasn’t going to stop me. I was hired because I was the best. If I let a little thing like ridiculous expectations get in my way, I wouldn’t be the best anymore, would I? With a decisive nod, I ducked into a little powder room and changed into paint-splattered coveralls.
I took inventory quickly and was satisfied. Everything I had ordered was there, complete with tools. Grabbing a putty knife and a spray bottle, I headed to the dining room. The tattered remains of the last decorator’s misguided attempts made my creative brain feel cluttered and itchy.
“Blank canvas,” I said as I began scraping the wallpaper off. “Show me your bones.”
I finished the dining room in record time and moved on to the library. This room would not need too much attention, as the walls were covered with built-in bookcases which Amelia, fortunately, wanted to keep, but there was a strip of gaudy fowl-print paper around the top of the walls which absolutely had to go.
I debated for a moment whether I should clear the shelves before I started but decided against it. The various ornaments and books sat far enough from the edge that I thought I could avoid bumping any accidentally. After running back out to the foyer for a tall ladder, I got started.
The awkward placement of the paper made the library take much longer than the dining room had. The sound of the scraper against the wall made the big empty house seem a little less empty, but I was mightily aware of the oppressive silence behind me. I was just contemplating climbing down to find my headphones for some music when a sound behind me made me jump.
“No!” I bumped a Fabergé egg with my knee and nearly fell off the ladder trying to catch it.
Chapter 5
Grace
“Got it!” A man caught the egg before it hit the floor. He was dressed in thick jeans and an even thicker sweater, and his British accent piqued my interest in a way that the cab driver’s hand’t.
“Oh, you must be one of the decorators!” I slid down the ladder and looked up at him. “Thank you so much for coming out here, you know no one else did? I thought I was going to have to do this whole project myself! I guess the snow kept everyone else home. I’m so glad you didn’t let it stop you. Amelia will have my head if I don’t finish this in time. Go get a scraper, bottle, and ladder from the foyer. You can start on that corner there and we’ll meet in the middle.”
He looked surprised for a moment, then a warm full-lipped smile spread across his fine-boned face.
God he’s gorgeous, I realized.
Dang it, don’t get distracted.
“Shall I put this back up?” he asked, holding up the egg.
“Oh! Yes, please, if you think you can get it up there without dropping it. I’d be her indentured servant for a hundred years if that broke.”
“Of course.” His blue eyes sparkled mischievously, and he winked at me. To my dismay, he darted up the ladder as quick as a cat, making it wobble.
“Be careful!”
He made a theatrical show of almost dropping the egg, then cheekily set it back in its cradle before sliding back down the ladder. I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes at him.
“What is your name? Who is your supervisor?” I didn’t have time for these shenanigans.
“Dan,” he said, taking my hand and bowing over it with a flourish. “And as far as I know, you are my supervisor.”
His delectable mannerisms sent warm shivers trickling over my body.
I don’t have time for that, either, I reminded myself.
“Then allow me to supervise. No more games, Dan. We have until the end of today to get this place stripped and ready to go. Without the other crew, we are sorely strapped for time, so let’s get to it!”
He clicked his heels in a snappy salute, flashing me a cheeky smile. The least he could do is let me be angry with him.
I shook my head, amused and annoyed in equal parts, then scaled the ladder once more to get back to work. He joined me shortly after, and we finished scraping the library walls in no time.
“Where to next?” he asked. His black hair curled a little as it stuck to his forehead, and I couldn’t help but think that I wouldn’t mind seeing him get sweaty like that in a different context. I surreptitiously checked his finger for a wedding ring and was happy to find it naked. Not that I have time to flirt, but if we get caught up on the house today… The thought trailed into an imaginative territory which was utterly inappropriate for the moment.
“The study,” I said. “I’m not sure what to do with it yet, so bear with me.”
“The lady of the house didn’t tell you?”
“No, she says it’s her husband’s study. She claims that his aesthetic is ‘dull and stuffy,’ but that doesn’t exactly tell me what to do.”
He laughed. “Consider the source,” he said. “What is her aesthetic?”
“Golden dessert,” I answered immediately.
He laughed again. “So dull and stuffy could be anything short of a whipped cream terrace?”
“I suppose it could,” I said with a grin. “I hadn’t really thought about it that way.”
I opened the door to the study and was immediately intrigued. Tall, dark bookshelves made up two of the walls, one of which contained a secret door in the center which was propped open and collecting cobwebs.
Mystified, I batted the webs away and ducked inside. It was a smaller room with more shelves, an antique safe, and a little locked desk. A bar sat against the wall opposite the desk, stocked with a few dusty bottles and a cobwebby glass.
“Someone’s inner sanctum,” I said. “She didn’t say anything about this room at all. I don’t even remember seeing it on the blueprints.”
“Perhaps she doesn’t know it exists,” he suggested. “If she never entered the outer room, she never would have seen the door. I’m sure the architect wouldn’t have put a secret room on public blueprints.
It would seem a bit counterproductive, wouldn’t it?”
“True. God, I wish I knew more about the husband. I would love to preserve this room just as it is, with more stock behind the bar and a little cleaning of course, but what if he wants everything modernized? That safe might not exactly be fit for purpose in this day and age, but it’s still a glorious little cupboard. Look at the filigree! I couldn’t bear to update that.”
“You have good instincts,” he said with a carefree shrug. “This is your project, isn’t it? Do what you like.”
“It’s Mrs. Hornsby-Harris’ project,” I corrected ruefully. “You know how clients are.”
“Misguided at best,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Designers know better.”
“I aspire to be as cocky as you one day,” I said, rolling my eyes. “In this specific case, I think you’re right. I’m going to preserve the space. If he doesn’t like it, he can hire me to redo it up later.”
“There, you see? A little cockiness goes a long way. What of the main room?”
We went back through the hidden door into the main space. The bookcases were original, though someone had painted them black at some point. The green carpet was worn and grungy, and the zig-zag patterned curtains were dated to about 1975.
“We’ll strip the paint, refinish the wood, take up the carpet, and pull down the drapes. It’ll take several hours and it isn’t a priority, so we’ll leave it be for now.”
“Enlighten me. What are the priorities?”
I ticked them off on my fingers. “Ballroom, dining room, foyer, sitting room, parlor, the gallery, two bathrooms downstairs, and the lady’s bedroom upstairs. The other rooms can be done last, as they probably won’t be needed for her Christmas party.”
“Will her bedroom be required for the Christmas party?” He raised a sardonic, suggestive brow.
“Of course not! God, I hope not… No, she just wants a comfortable place to go when she gets worn out. I hope. Though…it is strange to me that the two of them sleep in separate rooms.”
We moved to the gallery, tools in hand, and he shrugged. “Perhaps they prefer it that way. Marriages of convenience haven’t fallen entirely out of fashion, you know.”
I shuddered. “What an awful thought.”
“Perhaps. Or pragmatic.”
“Maybe I’m a hopeless romantic, but pragmatism isn’t high on my list of reasons to get married. Oh, it’s just too sad to think about. But maybe it isn’t that. We don’t really know the couple. Maybe they just have different sleeping habits and this is more conducive to good sleep.”
“Perhaps. The lady probably snores.”
“The lady? I bet it’s the man who snores, keeping her ladyship up all night with his snuffling and snorting.” I wrinkled my nose at the thought. “Do you think she married him for his money? I don’t even know what he looks like. Maybe he’s old and fat and that’s why they sleep in separate rooms.”
“That must be it,” he agreed with a glittering smile. “He’s ancient, decrepit. Morbidly obese. Can’t even see his toes, let alone anything else.” He waggled his brows suggestively.
I laughed. “Or maybe he could find it if he wasn’t covered in hair. He’s a beast, and she’s his beauty. Only this isn’t a fairy tale and he just remained a beast.”
“Or, or,” he held up a finger as he propped his ladder against the wall. “Maybe she’s the beast. A secret beast. She’s really a vampire, and he’s the only one who knows her secret. He sleeps in his own room so that she doesn’t attack him in his sleep.”
“That explains her posh beauty,” I said, nodding sagely. “Everybody knows that vampires are irresistible.”
“Do you find her irresistible?” he asked it teasingly, but there was a real question in his eyes.
“In a way I do. She seems somehow more than human, you know? Maybe it’s just that she carries her fortune so well, but there’s something about her which excites my curiosity. Oh God, not like that! Don’t give me that look.”
“Excites your curiosity,” he repeated thoughtfully. “There are only so many ways to interpret that, your Grace.”
“Who told you to use my first name?” I teased.
“It wasn’t a name—it was a title.” He grinned at me.
“I’ll be sure to let the queen know I’m a duchess now,” I said with a grin. “Now, strip!”
He raised his brows then shrugged. He began dancing his hips around to imaginary music and grabbed the hem of his sweater, making a move like he was going to pull it up over his head.
“Strip the wall! The wall! Good Lord.” I buried my hot cheeks in my hands and shook my head. “Are you always like this?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m usually stuffy and dull.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
He grinned at me over his shoulder and began stripping the wall. I watched him work for a moment, appreciating how the sweater framed his body and wondering how he would look without it. My eyes traveled down his strong back to his narrow hips. I bit my lip. For a moment, I hoped that the other decorators would never show up.
That’s a terrible idea, I scolded myself silently. The two of us can’t possibly finish this alone. But he worked fast when he wasn’t teasing me, which egged on my competitive nature. By the time my stomach demanded a lunch break, we had gotten as much done as I would have expected from a team of four.
“All right, break time,” I said when we had circled back around to the foyer. “She said we could raid the fridge if you didn’t bring your own food.”
“I did not,” he said. “Let’s see what they keep in stock around here.”
Chapter 6
Grace
“She clearly doesn’t eat at home much,” I said, disappointed as I searched the barren fridge and cupboards. “Do you think it’s too late to order in?”
“Likely,” he said, stretching his shoulders and neck. “With this storm you’d be lucky to get anybody even if they are still open.”
“Fair enough.” I sighed and looked over my paltry find. “Let’s see…toast and eggs would be fine if there was bread. Crackers and eggs, then. I could make a tuna salad instead, but I can’t imagine it being any good with just Worcestershire sauce.”
He made a face. “Crackers and eggs, it is. Tea?”
“Yes, please. I’ll handle the eggs. You’re probably better at making tea than I am.”
“I am shocked and appalled by your completely accurate stereotype,” he said with a dramatic upturn of his straight nose.
“As long as it’s accurate,” I said with a grin. “Oh! Look at the time. I’m still on New York time and had no idea it had gotten so late. I think we’ll call it a day after we eat. We got enough done to give us a good start tomorrow.”
“Do you think your decorators will show up?”
“I hope so. This project was almost impossible to begin with, so I can’t imagine trying to finish a six-person job with just the two of us.”
“If it was impossible, why did you accept it?”
I grinned as I cracked the eggs into the sizzling hot pan. “Because it was impossible. My reputation is just now starting to spark. If I do this and do it well, I’ll catch fire. Mansions, castles, beach house renovations, architectural wonders the world over will have my mark on them. Besides, it’s kind of a thrill to conquer an impossible task.”
He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. “You remind me of myself,” he said. “A few years ago, of course. There are very few people, in my experience, who will dive headlong into an impossible challenge and come out ahead.”
“That latter half is the tricky part. I don’t know if I’ll come out ahead on this one, honestly. I think I will. I believe I can. But I don’t always work well under pressure, especially tight deadlines. It makes my brain freeze up. Not all the time, just sometimes. Then I get to the job only to realize that I designed a staircase to nowhere or planned to paint a room three different colors and ne
ver picked one, and if I don’t double-check my work before the decorators take it and run with it, the whole job gets muddled.”
“We will have to ensure that doesn’t happen,” he said solemnly. “For my sake as well as yours.”
“What do you have on the line?” I asked as I slid the eggs out of the pan onto two plates. I split the crackers evenly and slid a plate across the counter to him.
He took a bite before he answered and chewed slowly.
“When you’re finished with this project, you’ll be going back to New York, I assume.”
“Yes, but what does that have to do with it?”
He gestured around. “I’ll still be here, won’t I? Mrs. Hornsby-Harris may have a house in New York, but she is a London resident. There isn’t a who’s who around here who doesn’t know her name. If she chose, she could ruin me.”
“But if it does go poorly, you never have to admit to being a part of it at all. As a contractor you could simply melt into the shadows. My name will be mud, of course, but yours will be safe.”
“That is a relief,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Tell me, what are your plans for the rest of the place?”
“Oh, it’s all going to be very artistic. The gallery and the dining room especially, lots of subtle color and rich furnishings. Honestly, I’m most excited about the gallery and Mr. Harris’ rooms, the office and the bedroom. Everything else will be designed specifically to suit Amelia’s tastes.”
“You don’t care for her tastes?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” I said thoughtfully. “But there’s nothing I like more than letting a room tell me what it wants to look like. It’s a creative challenge to match a person’s personality to a room’s, and I enjoy that well enough, but there’s something almost magical about letting the muse take me where it wants to go.”
“Ah, I see. And as Mr. Harris hasn’t made his wishes known, the rooms are free of human personality.”
“That’s one way to put it. I wish he had made his wishes known to me, honestly. I feel like his personality has been misrepresented to me, but that’s just a hunch. Maybe he is dull and stuffy, and maybe he couldn’t care less about how his rooms look. I can’t be sure, though, and I wouldn’t want to inadvertently make him miserable.”
The Baby Scandal Page 3