I rolled my eyes at that harebrained scheme. "On paper, maybe. But if you ever saw it, how could you deny what it was?"
Riggins shrugged. "Hubris. We Feldhems are known for it."
I raised an eyebrow. We broke out laughing.
The car pulled through an arch between two stone towers that must have had a drawbridge at some point. Either that or some badass wooden doors with wrought iron hinges.
I felt totally intimidated, suddenly catching a large dose of Riggins' reluctance to be lord of this place. Seeing it in person, I couldn't imagine really living here and managing it. Suddenly I longed for Seattle and my parents' average, middle-class, cozy home. And Sid.
Riggins squeezed my hand as the car swung around the drive and pulled in front of the main entrance. A middle-aged man in tails stood at the bottom of the stairs.
He came out to greet us and opened my car door. As he gave me a hand out, he nearly did a double take, looking almost as if he'd seen a ghost. I was obviously a curiosity to him.
"Gibson, ma'am. I'm your butler."
I wanted to ask him to call me Haley, but restrained myself. We weren't in casual old America anymore.
He regained his composure. "Your Grace," he said to Riggins.
Riggins nodded. "Good to finally meet you in person, Gibson. I appreciate the care you've taken with the place in this interim period between ducal reigns."
"It's my job, sir." But Gibson looked pleased as the driver began to unload our bags. "I've opened and aired the master suite for you and the duchess, as instructed. And set up a day of meetings with individual staff members for tomorrow, sir. I thought you'd want to spend the first day getting settled."
He showed us up the steps to the house and paused at the entrance to let us go through. I was about to step in when Riggins caught me in his arms. "No way, duchess. This is our new home. I have to carry you over the threshold."
"Why, duke!" I said. "You're such a romantic." I was laughing as Riggins caught me beneath the knees and carried me into the castle.
Whatever Gibson thought of the show, he kept it to himself as the driver followed behind with our luggage.
When we stepped into the reception room and Riggins set me down, I gasped again. The great stairway across from us looked like something a king should descend while wearing a red velvet cape trimmed with spotted white fur. I had the impression of white—white stone and granite or something—and great quantities of light shining in through the tall, crowned windows at the top of the landing. A red carpet ran up the middle of the stairs, which looked like they belonged in an elegant institution, not my home. I never thought people actually rolled out the red carpet, or had it permanently installed on their home staircases. The stairs were double, or triple, or quadruple wide, with a railing that looked like an altar at the top. Eyeballing them, it was hard to judge exactly how wide they were. Everything was so enormous in scale. Heavy vases filled with potted plants sat on either side of the altar-looking edifice. Massive plants. Trees, really.
The Dead Duke had spent his hundred-year reign restoring the castle interior to its Italianate Renaissance splendor. Walking in was like stepping into a glorious past century. A time when opulence was expected, status existed to flaunt, and money flowed freely.
Riggins was beside me, very quiet, scarily quiet, as he took in the inner sanctum of his dukedom. I pictured him seeing money flying out the window and a million administrative details plaguing him. Time, time, bloody limited time. Time and effort he needed for Flash being siphoned away.
I was intimidated. Oh yes, very. But crazily, I was also enthralled. Impressed. Almost proud. Taken in by all the exceptional artwork and décor.
"I'll show you to your rooms, sir. You and the duchess will want to freshen up and rest before dinner. I'd be happy to give you a tour of the house at your convenience."
Riggins nodded. "Excellent. Very thoughtful."
We followed Gibson up the stairs and down a long corridor where pictures of Riggins' ancestors from over the centuries hung. I didn't see any recent enough to be the Dead Duke. I assumed his portrait must be displayed somewhere more prominent.
I remembered Riggins' aversion to just such a display. But I felt a kinship with them that seemed lost on him. Secretly, I was hoping to see a portrait of Helen hanging here. Because, very vainly, it would almost be like having a picture of me in the place, putting my mark on it. The more permanent a fixture I became…
I made a mental note to go on a long exploration and see if any of her touches were still around and if any more paintings of her were prominently placed. It would have been nice if she'd lived to old age. Then I could have had a glimpse of what I'd probably look like when I got old. But, as they say in fairytales, alas, it was not to be. Maybe that was better for my sanity anyway. What if we didn't age gracefully?
I would have loved the castle completely, if its size and opulence hadn't completely overwhelmed me. And it wasn't my responsibility. Okay, sure, that was two huge strikes against it. How was I going to find any secrets about Sid's twin that the Dead Duke may have left? Where did I even start? The Dead Duke must have had an office or a study or something. I just had to find it. And not get lost. Trail of breadcrumbs, anyone?
Gibson let us in through heavy double doors to a sumptuous bedroom, complete with a fireplace and ornate four-poster bed covered in expensive silk bedspreads and pillows. This time, however, the bed was not turned down and covered in rose petals. Guess that was just a wedding night thing. Still, a bit disappointing. Where had the romance gone?
There was a sofa at the foot of the bed. Nightstands on either side. An easy chair nearby and one by the windows. A dressing table. A desk. A small, round table. And matching walk-in closets. Again, it was all from another century.
The driver had delivered our bags to the closet. Refreshments, including scones and a teapot covered with a cozy that matched the yellow décor of the room, sat on the table near the windows, along with a beautifully wrapped package in deep blue paper and a fresh bouquet of red roses. Riggins' gaze skimmed it almost too casually.
Gibson gave him a questioning look. "Is everything as you requested, sir?"
Riggins' gaze landed on the package. He raised a brow. "That's from…?"
"Yes, sir. It arrived this morning."
"Perfect. Thank you, Gibson."
"I'll let you get settled. Dinner is at seven in the dining room tonight, as requested."
Riggins nodded. "Yes, very good."
"Text me if you need anything, sir. It's the easiest way." Then Gibson disappeared, closing the door behind him nearly silently.
Riggins didn't say anything more about the package. I figured he'd get to it in due time. Riggins was like that. He liked to build anticipation. He ambled casually to the refreshments, removed the cozy, and poured a cup of tea, glancing sexily at me. "Tea? Scone?"
Anytime he looked at me like that, my heart stopped and I became breathless.
I hoped the feeling never went away. And yet it was unnerving at the same time. And heartbreaking when I considered that our relationship was only business, with maybe a pinch of blossoming friendship thrown in for good measure.
"It is teatime," I said. "And I'm hungry. So sure. When in England…"
He poured me a cup. "Sugar? Milk?"
I stuck my tongue out. "Milk? In my tea?" I shivered dramatically to highlight my disgust.
"You're English now, duchess. Remember?"
"Let's not get carried away right off the bat." I smiled demurely and sweetly at him.
"As you wish." He held up a sugar cube in a pair of silver tongs.
"One lump, please."
He dropped it in my tea and handed me the delicate, probably priceless antique china cup, and a silver spoon to stir it. Which I did, and licked the spoon seductively just to tease Riggins. Yes, here I was with a silver spoon literally in my mouth. And my child would be born with one, too, so to speak. If Riggins and I ever had a child.
"You can't beat English tea. So they say," Riggins said.
I nodded. "Try it. It has a natural honey-like flavor to it." I took another sip, trying to identify the flavor undertones. My baking training kicking in. "I'll have to ask Gibson what kind of tea it is. Or the kitchen staff."
Riggins took a sip and agreed with me.
I selected a scone and looked around the room, with its yellow-gold theme and patterned silk wallpaper. "I hope there's good cell coverage here in the castle, or we'll need an old-fashioned intercom. I mean, if you're wandering around this place and get lost and your cell phone dies, you could be lost for years before anyone finds you." I shuddered for effect.
Riggins grinned and mimicked looking lost and pressing a fake intercom. "I'm in a room with a moose," he said, quoting an old Washington State Lotto commercial.
I cracked up laughing. "I really do feel like I've woken up in a Washington State Lotto commercial. This is too much. All we need now is a zip line down to the nearest coffee shop and we'll be just as upscale. Because we are on a hill so we can look down on our neighbors—"
"I think when this place was built, it was built on hill so that it was easier to defend against marauders with weapons like arrows, tar, and boiling oil," he said.
"I don't think we need boiling oil anymore, except for French fries and donuts." I was having fun and getting carried away as I drank more of my tea. These last few weeks had been a total dream—Riggins, his house on the lake, Wareswood, the wedding, the yacht, the private plane, and now a castle.
"And if I open a door to one of the rooms and find a forest inside, I'm hyperventilating and passing out," I said, referring to several more commercials. "I've had so much over-gorging on wealth the last few days, I think I'm getting wealth hangover."
"That's too bad." He set his teacup down on the table, picked up the wrapped package, and held it out to me. His grin turned lecherous. "This is for you. My wedding gift to you."
"I wasn't expecting a wedding present." To be honest, I'd barely managed to get him a wedding ring. I panicked. Had he been expecting a groom's gift from me? That was traditional, wasn't it? Then again, our courtship, engagement, and marriage were anything but.
He started to pull it away. "If you don't want it—"
"Let's not be hasty. I'm probably not over the legal luxury limit just yet. And I'm not driving anywhere. I can probably make room for one more excess." I held his gaze and smiled sexily, kittenishly. "Just how extravagant is it?"
"Deliciously extravagant. Fantasy-making." His eyes danced and his voice was low and sexy.
"Oh, crap." Now he really had my attention. Fantasy-making? I bit my lip like I was really weighing accepting it. But it was just a formality. I was taking that thing no matter what. "In that case, maybe just one more luxurious item before I call it quits for the day."
I set my tea down and took the package from him. It was heavier than I expected, and large. I hefted it, trying to guess what it might be. My first inclination had been jewelry. But the box was too large for a ring, or a bracelet, or even a necklace.
"Open it," he urged.
I bit my lip, concentrating as I pulled the string of the bow and the ribbon fell away. I took my time carefully removing the wrapping, which was clearly store paper, the kind you got in Europe, not the U.S. The paper fell away to reveal a jewelry box, a tall, large jewelry box with the name of one of England's top jewelers embossed in gold on it.
Riggins watched me closely. I hesitated. The hinge of the box was stiff. It took some effort before it sprang open to reveal a brilliant, sparkling diamond tiara sitting on a rich velvet bed.
"Oh." I took a deep breath to keep from crying.
"Duchesses are expected to wear a tiara to special events. There's evidently a collection of them that have been passed down from past duchesses in the safe. But I thought you needed your own." He sounded almost nervous.
Which was so touching and endearing that I almost believed he loved me. I stared at him with tears sparkling in my eyes.
"Don't you like it? I took the liberty of designing it. We can have it reworked—"
"I'm speechless." I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. "It's the most beautiful thing ever." I threw myself into his arms and wrapped them around his neck, still holding the box. "Thank you." I kissed him until it became obvious that we already had a room, so maybe we should use it.
He pried me away and took the jewelry box from me. "Let me put this on you." He whispered in my ear as he removed the tiara from the box, "I want to see you in this and nothing else."
"Why, duke! The things you say. That's not very duchesslike behavior you're suggesting. Is this a special occasion?" I was wearing jeans, not an evening gown.
"It is when the duke's around. And yes, it's a very special occasion." He nuzzled my neck, pressing hot kisses into it. "The first time we're going to do the deed in our castle, duchess." He had a wicked gleam in his eye as he pulled away and set the tiara on my head.
"We're supposed to be resting," I said playfully, as I unbuttoned his shirt.
"We'll have plenty of time to rest. After."
Chapter 6
Riggins
We dressed for dinner that evening. Haley in an evening gown my Flash merch buyers had helped her pick out. Me in a white tux. Like we were from a bygone era. Maybe the early 1900s. Haley wore her tiara. Which pleased me and drove me mad with lust. I kept picturing her naked with those diamonds glistening against her silver hair as I made love to her.
She was the most beautiful, enticing woman I'd ever known. And becoming more so every day. She made me laugh. Even at dinner. As we sat in the formal dining room at the end of a table that could easily seat dozens, Haley whispered that she felt like we were playing dress-up. It was a little-girl fantasy come to life.
Everything I gave her and every new experience delighted her. I wanted her to be happy. Wanted it so damn much. But she had no sense of entitlement. Made no demands for romance. I knew what would thrill her most. Now that the Dead Duke had gotten his wish and drawn me to the castle, I was going to find Sid's cure. And then? I was growing less sure I wanted out of this arranged marriage. But not convinced. Where Haley saw sentiment, history, and a family, all I could see as I looked around the castle was work and commitment.
Haley was already more part of this place than I was. Or maybe could ever hope to be. Maybe that was appropriate. I would have given it to her, if that had been possible.
The dining room was green. Deep green. Not my favorite shade of the color. Filled with antiques and filigree. With more of those damned paintings of ancestors staring down at us. Approvingly or disapprovingly, it was hard to tell. All I could say was that some of them looked exceedingly arrogant. And many of them had what women always described as my sexy smirk.
Was smirking sexy? Hell, I had no idea. I did it unconsciously. But women thought it indicated confidence. And confidence was sexy. The smirk every few generations, and sometimes something about the eyes, where the only links I could find between the men in the paintings, my predecessors, and myself.
I didn't like the arrogant ones. Others looked silly in their stiff white ruffs and frills. I still hadn't seen a portrait of the Dead Duke. I wasn't sure I wanted to. If he had the smirk… Shit.
There was probably a gigantic painting of him in the entry, hanging in the place of honor. I ignored it when we came in, fearing I'd give in to my anger and fantasies of slashing it with a knife. But there was no reason to destroy a valuable piece of art.
This whole place looked more and more like an albatross to me the more I saw of it. Beautiful, yes. But lethal to the lifestyle I'd carved out for myself.
Annoyed, I became nitpicky. The Wi-Fi signal was weak. Being connected to the outside world was essential to me.
How was I supposed to work without Wi-Fi? Apparently it hadn't been as important to the reclusive Dead Duke. First thing I was going to update to high-speed Internet. If that were possible out here in the sticks. It was a small annoyance, but indicative of dozens of others that were sure to pop up.
The next morning, Tuesday, I got up early for my meeting with Bird, the groundskeeper. Aptly named, at least. At his request, I met him at a stand of trees on the edge of one of my meadows. Gibson gave me directions. It was embarrassing to have to get directions to find my way on my own property.
I found Bird dressed in archaic-looking tweeds, including hat, in colors that blended fairly well with the surroundings. An old-fashioned version of camouflage. He sat on the ground with his back against a tree with a high-powered rifle at his side, and a pair of binoculars held to his eyes as he watched a herd of deer in the meadow.
I wasn't a hunter, but I knew enough to approach quietly. I was dressed in jeans, boots, and hunting jacket at Gibson's suggestion. Earlier, I'd ordered it, also on Gibson's recommendation, and had it sent to the castle before our arrival. Caring about the game was part of my job.
Bird looked up and nodded slowly as I approached and took a seat next to him. We watched the deer together in silence for what seemed like forever. They were fine animals. Healthy and strong. Bird was doing a good job with them as far as I could tell.
Finally he whispered to me, "Fancy venison for dinner tonight, Your Grace?"
I grimaced.
Bird nodded. "Beautiful animals; you're right. We don't generally hunt them. But from time to time we need to cull the herd. Otherwise they overpopulate and the vegetation can't support them."
I nodded. He made sense. But it seemed a shame.
"Does usually outnumber bucks by as much as ten to one. Right now, many of the does are pregnant." He pointed with the tip of his rifle. "We try to cull the herd early in the fall season. But I shoot does year round when I have to. That one." He nodded. "She isn't pregnant. Probably miscarried earlier. We'll take her."
The Temporary Duchess: A Jet City Billionaire Serial Romance (The Billionaire Duke Series Book 3) Page 7