Geoffrey chuckled. “Yes. I’ve had some other experiences with art that don’t involve my mother’s collection.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, no, we’re not making this conversation about me. You can find a silly magazine article that will answer all your questions. Let’s talk about you and your art. Did you pursue it? What made you put down your paintbrush and take up curating?”
Alice would have rather kept the conversation about him. “I found curating was better suited to my talents than painting.”
How was she supposed to tell him that she would have loved to be an artist, but the odds of her being a starving one were too high? She knew what it was to be hungry, and she couldn’t afford it. So, she pursued art in a way that would provide a steady paycheck. Her artistic talent could only take her so far, but curating was a talent she could continue to develop until she was the best at it.
“What about you? Did you ever want to pursue art as more than the man in charge of it?”
He took his time before answering. “I wasn’t very good.”
She couldn’t put her finger on why she didn’t believe him, but she didn’t. Maybe it was the self-deprecating humor the British were famous for, or their tendency to deflect praise, but more likely it was the sadness that had crept into his voice when he said it. Like giving up art had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.
Alice knew how that sadness felt, so she was an expert at recognizing it in others. Everyone had to give up a dream at some point, but for those who said goodbye to their hearts in the process, that was a mourning that never ended.
“I’ll bet you were better than you thought you were,” she said softly, and then with more encouragement she added, “Why don’t you pick it up again? You’re a man of leisure, aren’t you? What with the Grey fortune . . .” she let the thought hang heavy in the air, recognizing how very American she sounded talking about money.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Alice had a knack for letting her mouth run—at least that’s what her mother said—especially when she was tired.
“I may not be quite the man of leisure I’m made out to be. Aristocrats don’t open their homes to tourists without reason.” As open as his words were, there was a guardedness in his tone that hadn’t been there before.
“I’ve never thought about that. I mean, except when I watched Downton Abbey.” Alice wanted him to trust her. He was confiding something in her, but she needed him to know the information wouldn’t go further than her. “I had to move a lot after my dad left and my mom couldn’t pay rent, so when I see people living in big houses with every luxury, I assume they don’t have any financial worries. But maybe they just have money problems on a much bigger scale.”
“That may be true, but that scale usually still tips in their favor, which is a bit unfair . . .” His words trailed off. “Despite our debt, we’ll be able to keep our estate by opening up the house. That’s a small sacrifice to make.”
Geoffrey sounded very nonchalant, and she wondered if money worried him more than he was letting on.
“That’s a nice way to think about things.” She wished her mom had had the same kind of access to money. She doubted many aristocrats recognized that money problems generally have a more negative impact on those who are already poor than on those who have lost wealth.
She tried to stifle a yawn, but it came out as a squeak.
“Alice?”
“Yes?”
“Are you falling asleep on me?”
She laughed. “Maybe just a little.”
“I’ve enjoyed talking to you.”
“Same here,” she said carefully.
“Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow? I could come down to London. I’d love to have an excuse to go back to my flat.”
His question shocked her. Was he asking as her boss? Or something else?
When she didn’t answer right away, Geoffrey quickly added, “We still need to go over the details of your contract, and we could talk about what you’ve come up with in place of Re-Collecting.”
“Th-thank you. I’d love to.”
“Perfect. I’ll pick you up around eighteen hundred—six o’clock, I mean.”
“Great. I’m looking forward to it.” She balled her hand into a fist, just to feel her nails in her palm. She smiled when she did because it meant the conversation wasn’t a dream. She’d done the same thing as a child whenever something good happened.
Alice hung up her phone and laid it carefully on the side table, staring into the darkness left behind with her phone off. She ran her fingertips along the insides of her palms, trying to feel the light marks her nails had left behind, still needing confirmation that Geoffrey Grey-Chatsworth, Earl of Bellingham had asked her to dinner.
* * * * *
The next day went slowly as she researched every possible avenue looking for replacements for Re-Collecting. Usually when researching, Alice would get so deeply engrossed in her topic that nothing could distract her from it. That didn’t hold true when it came to Geoffrey. Not even the important task at hand could keep her mind off of the dinner she’d be having with him that night.
The hours ticked by, but with each minute that seemed to pass more slowly, her heart beat quicker. Just before six o’clock, he texted, asking her to meet him outside at his car. She thought the request a little strange, but she agreed and made her way downstairs. As soon as she stepped out of the lobby onto the sidewalk, Geoffrey popped out of the black BMW parked in front of the hotel. A woman passing by did a double take, smiled with recognition, and suddenly Alice understood why Geoffrey had wanted to meet her at the car. Waiting in the lobby would have attracted some unwanted attention.
The moment he smiled and opened the car door for her, she knew she’d had no reason to be nervous. His smile held a genuineness she was surprised to find in someone who was used to being called Lord.
“You look lovely.” He offered his hand to help her into the car, and she couldn’t help but notice his palm felt the slightest bit damp. So maybe he was nervous, too.
“Thank you,” she said before he shut her door, giving her a few seconds to take a deep breath before he slid in the driver’s side. “I should have asked where we were going. Hopefully I’m dressed appropriately.”
Geoffrey was wearing tapered khakis, a shirt, and a blazer that she guessed passed for casual for him, whereas she’d put on the nicest thing she’d brought—aside from her interview outfit—a vintage button-up dress with a rounded collar. She’d seen Kate Middleton in a similar, much more expensive, dress and had scooped it up when she found it in a resell shop in LA. Fortunately, she’d thought through her wardrobe pretty carefully before coming to London, opting for dresses, blouses, and dress pants rather than the usual athleisure wear she wore outside of work. London definitely wasn’t LA. She hadn’t seen one person wearing yoga pants and flip flops.
She’d also adopted a much more formal pattern of speech just in the twenty-four hours she’d been in England. Maybe because she’d talked more to Geoffrey than to anyone else, and he had the Queen’s English down pat.
“This is going to sound very forward, and if you’re uncomfortable I won’t hesitate to change plans,” he said carefully as he pulled into traffic. “I thought we could eat at my flat—my family’s, actually.”
“Alone?” Alice wondered if she’d given him the wrong signals while at the same time not hating the idea of going to his place as much as she should have.
“Only because some of the Grey family collection is there,” Geoffrey rushed to add. “There will be staff. We won’t be alone . . .”
“I make it a rule not to get involved with my employers,” she blurted. At least, she’d had that rule for the last thirty seconds. There had never been a need to have it before. Geoffrey seemed trustworthy, and as hard as she was trying not to be, she was attracted to him. But did she really feel safe going somewhere private with him?
His eyes
darted to her then back to the road. “I respect that and feel the same. I give you my word that I only want to show you some paintings, and I don’t have any nefarious motives.” He crossed his heart, then smiled.
Alice kept her eyes locked on him. She wasn’t going to feel ashamed for questioning his motives or being absolutely clear about their employee-employer relationship, but she also wasn’t going to mistrust him just because he was a man. A very handsome man.
And if she kept having thoughts like that, she wouldn’t be able to trust herself.
He leaned toward her, but not so far as to invade her personal space. “I have a piece there I think we may be able to loan in exchange for some contemporary pieces for the Grey Museum. I should have led with that. I apologize, but I hope you feel you can trust me.”
Alice thought through every exchange they’d had since meeting and couldn’t find anything in his behavior that would make her distrust him. In fact, she had fallen asleep on his shoulder, and he’d been a perfect gentleman.
“I do trust you.” She still held his eyes with hers and saw in them that he had spoken the truth. “But, just as a matter of information, I’ve sent more than one boy home with a broken nose when he got too ‘friendly’ with me.”
A smile crept across his face. “I would expect nothing less of you if I make the mistake of getting too familiar.”
“Well then, that’s settled.” Alice nodded her head once with the same certainty as a judge banging a gavel.
Although, she was almost sorry she’d made the threat. She would defend herself against anyone who tried to take advantage of her, physically or emotionally. But she couldn’t help wondering what Geoffrey’s perfectly-shaped lips would feel like kissing her neck . . .
Or nibbling her ears . . .
Tasting her mouth . . .
With a slight shake of her head, Alice banished thoughts of Geoffrey’s lips. She’d shut down whatever opportunity may have existed to explore his kisses, so there was no point in dwelling on his lips.
Or his deep blue eyes . . .
The cleft in his chin . . .
Alice shook her head again, but it did little to clear it. Not with the man she was trying to get out of her head sitting directly across from her, a smile playing at his wonderfully perfect lips as he looked at her with eyes the same color blue as the sky after a good rain.
It was no use fighting it. Everything about Geoffrey Grey-Chatsworth made him kissable.
Very, very kissable.
But, as her boss, he was very, very off limits.
Chapter Seven
Geoffrey knew it would be a risk taking Alice to his flat. He didn’t want to give her the wrong idea about what he wanted from her, but he also didn’t want her privacy to be invaded like it was bound to be if she were seen with him. The fact she hadn’t recognized him on their flight still intrigued him. She knew so little about what the UK tabloids had reported about him and his family for years that he felt at ease with her. He could be himself without feeling he had to live up to some image, or worse, dispel some rumor.
A private dinner would be the ideal way to get to know her better, and to talk about the thing they both loved without interruption. Art. Clarissa could talk about art—what it was, what it meant—but Alice felt what it was and what it meant. She shared his passion. And even if he couldn’t be honest with her about who he was in the art world, he could be honest with her about the thing he cared about most.
His flat was in a neighborhood not far from Kensington Palace, and as they stopped at a traffic light near the palace, he pointed to where they could catch a glimpse of it. “That’s where Prince William and Kate live, among a few other royals.” He wasn’t that impressed with them himself, but Americans always wanted to know where they lived.
Her eyes followed the direction he pointed to, but she didn’t need any more than a brief look. “Do you know them?”
“Slightly. Not well. They’re rather private, and William is older than I am, so we never became great friends.”
“What’s that like? Hanging out with princes and princesses, lords and ladies?” Her eyebrows knit together quizzically, like she really wanted to dig into the questions and not just get a pat answer she could sell to a magazine.
He considered the question carefully before answering. “Stressful.” The light changed, and he pulled his eyes off of her and back to the road. Alice was far more interesting than any royal he’d ever met.
“Stressful? That’s not the answer I expected.”
“Nobody does, but that’s the truth.” He cracked open the window to get some fresh air. “Everyone is related or has been married to and divorced from each other. There’s always someone you should be trying to gain the favor of, or someone to avoid, people who can’t be invited to the same events because they hate each other, and people who can’t be invited to the same events because they’re in love, but they don’t want their spouses to find out. And that’s just the drama before members of the royal family make an appearance.”
She turned to look in the direction of the palace again, as though she might catch a glimpse of what he’d described. “Wow. Kind of sounds like my dad’s family get-togethers; just trade the tiaras for trucker hats.”
Geoffrey laughed. “I guess it doesn’t matter where you’re from or who you’re born to, there will always be family drama.”
Alice sat back in her seat. “I don’t know.” Her amber eyes seemed to be examining his soul. “You know that Tolstoy quote about how happy families are all alike, but every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way? Ever since I first read that, I’ve been searching for these families that are all alike. What do they do that makes them happy? It would have to be something similar for each of them, wouldn’t it?”
He considered her questions. They weren’t things he’d thought about before. At least not in any depth. He’d been around happy families on occasion and knew he enjoyed spending time with them, but he’d never considered what it was they did that made them happy. In fact, he’d assumed they were happy at that moment but not necessarily all the time.
“I think it may be the other way around, actually,” he said after taking time to think about what she’d said. “Happy families have found the thing that works for them, but unhappy families are usually unhappy for the same reason: selfishness.”
She tipped her head to the side and looked up. “Huh. That’s an interesting idea.”
Her brow wrinkled, and he wished he could see inside her brain. He and Clarissa never talked like this. Her interests lay more in what the latest gossip was or how to get an invite to whatever thing was supposed to be THE event of the year. He never understood why she cared or why she put on the pretense of worrying she wouldn’t get an invite. She always got the invite. Her family was too wealthy for her not to be included in everything.
“Think about it,” he said. “It takes one person in a family who thinks only of himself and puts his needs above everyone else’s to make everyone else miserable.” She didn’t look convinced, so he opened his heart.
“Take, for example, my father. Granted, my parents’ marriage was based more on his family having money and my mother’s family having an estate and a need for money more than it was based on love.” Geoffrey paused and chewed the inside of his bottom lip. Had he said too much? The problems between his parents were no secret among people who knew them, but should he be airing their dirty laundry to this American he barely knew?
“You’re going to stop there? Halfway through the plot of every Regency novel I’ve ever read?” Her joke made him laugh, but the sympathetic smile on her face made him go on.
“They may not have loved each other in a conventional way, but my mother had real affection for my father and did what she could to love him. She wanted them to be happy, but my father has a hard time thinking of anyone but himself.” They were approaching their destination, so Geoffrey summed up his father’s life story in a sentence. “Whatever money m
y father had when he and Mother married has been drunk, snorted, or gambled away.” He smoothed his trousers then glanced at Alice. “I don’t usually divulge quite so much about my private life to women I’ve just met.”
His attempt to brush off what he’d revealed to her didn’t work. She laid a hand on the arm he had on the console between them and waited for him to meet her eye.
“Thank you for sharing. I think you’re right; unhappy families are alike. Yours sounds a lot like mine before my dad left.”
Alice’s hand was so close to his that he wanted to turn his palm to meet hers and let their fingers intertwine. He wanted to tell her so much more, because there was so much more, and he sensed Alice was the kind of woman who would listen to all of it without being scared away.
But he waited too long. They’d reached his flat and he needed both hands to navigate the sharp turn into the narrow garage. Alice patted his arm in a way that was appropriate for an employee.
“Shall we go in?” Geoffrey asked after parking the car and opening her door. He held out his hand to help her from the car, but she didn’t take it.
His flat, or rather the Grey family flat, was rather posh, but after having entertained her at Binchley Hall, he didn’t think Alice would be awed by the much smaller residence. What he hadn’t thought about was one of his earliest sculptures housed in the entry way.
“Where did you get this?” She walked right to it, then around it, examining it from every angle. “It’s by G, isn’t it?”
“How did you know that?” It was unlike his more recent pieces which were rougher and more abstract.
Alice stopped her examination and looked at him. “I thought you didn’t like G.”
“I-uh, I . . .” Geoffrey scanned the room to avoid looking at those eyes that could see right through him. “I don’t know.” He walked toward her and took her by the arm. “Dinner should be ready. Shall we eat?”
“Sure.” She allowed him to lead her into the dining room, but he hadn’t missed the suspicious look she gave him.
“We have so many better works that could go in that spot; I’m not sure why it’s there,” he said as he pulled out her chair for her. “I can’t wait to show you.” Her perfume tickled his nose as she sat, a nice floral scent with a hint of orange. “I’m just going to check on dinner if you don’t mind waiting here for a few minutes.”
Always You: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (ABCs of Love Collection Books 5-8) Page 40