Nico lifted his gaze to the top of the stairs and inhaled sharply at the sight of the twenty-foot stained-glass window there, crafted in vibrant greens, purples, golds, and blues.
“Louis Comfort Tiffany designed the window to represent a peacock’s head and body,” Caitlin offered. “And the marble mosaic of the landing and stairway below it portray the tail. ”
Nico’s gaze followed the vivid plumage of the peacock’s tail as it fanned out in the breathtaking jewel-colors of the window to spread down the stairs to the hall floor. “The staircase is a work of art,” he said, his voice hushed.
She nodded, pleased with his reaction. “The whole house is.” She cast a glance at his pale face. “1 forgot to ask you about your bags. Will you need them to freshen up?"
“Probably. They’re in my car. I’ll get them later.” “Fine.” She gazed at him worriedly. He really didn't look at all well. “I think we’d better take the elevator.” His lips compressed. “I can manage the stairs.” Without a word, she took his arm and led him to one of the two gilded elevators tucked beneath the stairway. On the third floor, they walked down a wide hall.
If he were going to be allowed to stay only a few hours, he had to make the best of the time, Nico thought, trying to focus on the layout of the house. But all the doors that led off the hall were closed, and he couldn’t summon his usual excellent sense of direction. “Is your room on this floor?”
“Yes, I’m a few doors down from the one I'm lending you, and Ramona’s room is at the end of the hall. Traditionally, the family’s private rooms are on this floor, but I’m planning on converting a series of suites on the fourth floor into rooms to be used exclusively for the family. That will give us more privacy, and well always have rooms available when we want to come and stay.”
His strength dwindling rapidly now, Nico stared down at the Persian carpet, concentrating on putting one foot after the other. He had to learn the general arrangement of the place, he told himself, but later. For now, rest was the top priority.
She stopped in front of a door and opened it. “I put this room in order in case my mother decides to drop in.”
He threw an unseeing glance around the large room. “Are you expecting her anytime soon?”
“I never know. Mother’s a restless soul, and she travels a great deal.”
He noticed a slight edge in her voice, but he didn’t look at her face. He focused on the big bed, its tall headboard done in marquetry work of dark stained wood with inlaid ivory and mother-of-pearl. He crossed to it and eased himself down onto the cream-colored satin coverlet.
She walked to the French windows and opened them. “I’m not sure where my mother is at the moment. She has homes in both Paris and Boston, but the last postcard I received from her had a picture of the Great Pyramid of Giza on it.” A tiny frown creased her forehead. “No telling where she is now.” She swept her hand in an arc before her. “Well, there it is. An ocean view, as ordered.” Turning, she found him sprawled on the bed, asleep.
She stared at him for a moment. Against the pale satin coverlet, his features seemed harder, his skin darker, his whole being more sensual and masculine. Like granite against silk, the contrast brought out the best of both.
She slowly shook her head, bewildered. She didn’t think she’d ever had such a strong reaction to a man, and she couldn’t explain it. But for some reason, she wasn’t particularly bothered.
She pulled a blanket from the wardrobe. At his side, she started to bend over him with the cover but then stopped. His sweater had separated from the waistband of his jeans, and the lower part of a large bandage had been exposed. Immediately her heart went out to him. He hadn’t been lying when he said he’d been ill. Actually it appeared that he’d either sustained some sort of injury or that he had had surgery. Speculation aside, whatever had been wrong with him, he’d obviously been through the mill.
With special care, she spread the cover over him, bringing it up to his chin. Straightening, she looked down at him. Exhausted though he obviously was, he still managed to maintain a certain wariness, a measure of control, even in sleep. There was no doubt about It. She was fascinated by him.
To be held spellbound by a powerful attraction could be dangerous. But it could also be exciting, pleasurable, fulfilling.
What was she going to do about it, she wondered.
Still half asleep, Nico stretched. Pain in his side brought him wide awake to a dark room. A check of the luminescent dial on his watch informed him that he’d been asleep four hours. Damn. He had meant only to rest, not fall asleep.
He tried to recall what had happened. He remembered lying down, he remembered Caitlin walking to the window . . . Her voice . . . Her graceful movements . . .
He rubbed a hand over his face. He couldn’t allow her to distract him. Swiftly he went over what he knew about her. Since earning her B.A. from Harvard, she'd held an executive position with Deverell, Incorporated, the family business in Boston that was run by her cousin, Conall Deverell, a shark of a businessman. She had an uncle who was chairman of the board of the company, another uncle who was a powerful United States senator. A third uncle had died a hero in the Korean War. Last year, she’d inherited SwanSea from her grandfather Jake Deverell, the distinguished diplomat and statesman. She had beauty, wealth, social position—and SwanSea. In poker that would be called an almost unbeatable hand. Fortunately, he was very good at playing poker.
Mindful of his wound, he carefully reached for the switch on the bedside lamp. As he sat up, a blanket slid off him, and he saw his two bags sitting on the floor beside the bed. The idea that someone had been in his room while he slept fired him to action.
He checked his bags to make sure nothing had been disturbed, then stripped off his sweather and jeans. In the bathroom, he flipped on the light and discovered a stack of thick white towels and washcloths piled beside a black-marble basin with gold faucets in the shape of swans’ heads. Nice, very nice.
The house was astonishing, and its mistress . . . i
Looking into the mirror at himself, he shook his head. No. Nico. No.
Deliberately, he dropped his gaze to the two large gauze-pads on the left side of his upper body, one over his ribs, the other below his heart. He peeled off the bandages and studied the healing wounds, a grim expression on his face. He supposed he should be grateful that Nathan Rettig hadn’t been a better shot. A half inch more to the right and one of the bullets would have punctured his heart. As it was, the first bullet had grazed a rib, and the second had nicked his spleen. The result had been two hellish weeks in the hospital, with only policemen to keep him company.
He owed Rettig, Nico thought, and he was going to see that he was paid off in spades.
“Hello,” Caitlln said as Nico walked into the kitchen. She was sitting at the big walnut table in the center of the large room, drinking coffee. And until she saw him, she hadn’t admitted to herself that she’d been waiting for him. “You’re looking a little better.”
“I feel better," he said honestly. He’d showered and changed into another pair of black jeans, along with a long-sleeved blue-and-black-striped shirt. He’d left the collar open and rolled up the sleeves to his forearms.
Sexy, she thought, then caught herself. “Next time you tell me you need a room, I’ll respond very quickly.”
The teasing glints in the green-gold eyes caused a tingling along his nerves. He ignored the sensation. “Sorry to conk out on you like that, but I guess the drive took more out of me than I realized.”
“Don’t apologize. I understand. ”
I hope not, he thought. “By the way, my bags were in the room when I woke, and I was wondering who brought them in.”
The wariness in his seeemingly casual question brought her head up. “I did.”
He concentrated on excluding all tightness from his expression. “Does that mean I can stay?”
The answer was on the tip of her tongue, but she forced herself to consider the situa
tion one more times. She folded her hands on the table in front of her and stared at them for a moment. He was already here. She’d taken his bags upstairs herself. And there was her incredible fascination. I’ve got to be crazy. “I’d hate to see you have to start out this time of night and try to find a place.”
“Is that a yes?”
She met his gaze. “I guess it is. ”
“Thank you,” he said allowing himself to relax a degree. “The please call me Nico.”
“Fine, if you’ll call me Caitlin.”
Caitlin. The sound of her name rebounded softly through his brain, hitting all sorts of pleasure sensors. But then he remembered. It wouldn’t pay to get too close or to become obligated to the people in this house. His plan was to get in, spend some time, accomplish his tasks, and get back out. Smooth. Without causing a ripple. “I meant it when I said I don’t intend to be a bother.”
A small smile lifted her lips. “I know, and believe me, I don’t have time to wait on you. But as it happened, it was no trouble for me to bring up the bags. Now, why don’t you sit down, and I'll get your dinner.”
“Dinner?”
The two men she’d been closest to in her life, Jake and Conall, were both formidable men with wide streaks of stubbornness and pride, so the objection Nico was about to make didn’t deter her. She pushed away from the table and stood up. “Ramona made a huge casserole for the two of us tonight, and there was quite a bit left over. She left it warming for you.”
She grabbed a hot pad, bent to pull the dish from the oven, and set it on the counter, talking all the while to distract him. “Remodeling this kitchen is going to be a hellish job. I really dread it. But in order to hold the type of up-to-date professional equipment we’ll need for the resort, we’re going to have to rearrange the kitchen and knock out a couple of walls to make it large enough. That one"—she pointed to a wall—“and the one beyond that. We’ll lose the original servants’ dining hall, but there are so many other rooms down here that we can connect into a dining room and lounge for our employees, we won’t even miss it.”
“Caitlin.”
The sound of his iron-hard voice made her turn and look at him. “Yes?”
“I won’t allow Ramona or you to go to extra trouble for me.”
She shrugged. “You’ll have to take that up with Ramona. I never tell her what to do. ” She scooped a large portion of the casserole onto a plate and set it in front of him, along with a basket of hot, crusty French bread.
“Beef bourguignonne?” he asked.
“Yes. Coffee?”
He nodded, thinking that there probably weren’t a lot of people who would call beef bourguignonne a casserole, but his brief glimpses of the house had already begun to teach him that there were the rich, and then there were the rich.
Ignoring the food, he watched Caitlin as she moved around the room. Unfortunately he couldn’t find a thing about her to fault. The sundress left her arms, throat, and back bare and revealed skin the color of ivory with a tantalizing undertone of gold. She was too damned beautiful for his peace of mind.
“Did you have any trouble finding the kitchen?” He shrugged. “A little. I took the elevator down to the first floor, then headed in the general direction of the back of the house. It should have been simple, but it wasn't. I had no idea how huge this place is until I made a few wrong turns. And it hadn’t occurred to me that the kitchen would be in the halfbasement.” He took the cup of coffee from her outstretched hand and waited until she sat down again. Now was as good a time as any, he thought, to get a little information. Mainly, though, it would give him something else to think about beside her— something he badly needed. “What’s the general layout of the place?”
There was a coiled alertness in him that seemed to have come out of nowhere, and it presented her with a moment’s unease. She wondered if his controlled energy was natural, or if it came and went with each new difficult situation. No, she thought. This wasn’t a difficult situation, and it was normal that he would want to learn how to get around the place where he’d be staying for a few days. She was being too suspicious. She smiled. “Knowing the layout would make it easier for you, wouldn’t it?”
He nodded, his gaze dropping to the fullness of her curving mouth. She wore no lipstick, but a delicate sheen of moisture had been applied to the natural soft pink color of her lips. He’d like to kiss his way through that sheen of moisture to the taste and the texture beneath. A strong surge of hunger shook him; he picked up his fork and tried hard to dredge up interest in the beef bourguignonne.
“Okay, I’ll give you a rundown on the highlights. Here in the half-basement there’s the kitchen, its pantries, which are quite extensive, service and storage rooms, and the servants’ dining hall. On the first floor, there’s the great hall and staircase, of course, and all the formal rooms. The drawing rooms, a banquet hall, a smaller dining room, plus a library and the study are also on the first floor.”
To his disgust, he was having trouble keeping his mind on business. He was finding Caitlin infinitely more absorbing than the information she was giving him, and he had to have the information. So far, nothing had worked out as he had planned. No, that wasn’t true. His first objective had been accomplished. He was now an official guest at SwanSea. He’d just have to come to terms with this incredible attraction he had for Caitlin. He had to, because he wasn’t sure ignoring her would be possible. “Study? That was your grandfather . . . Jake’s study?”
“That’s right, and it was also Edward’s. The ballroom, a billiard room, a music room, and more sitting rooms are on the second floor. I’m going to turn most of those sitting rooms into meeting areas. The third floor contains bedrooms, dressing rooms, and sitting rooms, as does the fourth floor. Neither the third nor fourth floor has enough bathrooms or closets, so dressing rooms and some sitting rooms will be converted for those two relatively modem conveniences. ” “What about the attic?”
“Storage and servants’ quarters. One of these days soon. I’ve got to get around to going through all the trunks and boxes up there.”
Interest quickened in him. “You don’t know what’s stored there?”
“Some of it I do. I used to play up there as a child. But a great many new things have only recently been transferred to the attic from rooms currently being worked in. ”
"I’m surprised you didn’t store it.”
“All the really valuable items are in storage. And a lot of the furniture has been sent off to refinishers. A first-floor sitting room, the study, and the bedrooms on the third floor are practically the only rooms left with all of their furniture.”
Having gotten a few of the answers he needed, he finished eating, then leaned back in the chair to study Caitlin. He could afford the luxury just this once, he assured himself. After all, greater knowledge could help him deal with her.
She was a woman who had had the best of everything all her life. She could coast through life on her beauty alone, not to mention her wealth, but by all accounts, she could have become a vital part of the Deverell organization if she’d stayed. Instead, she’d taken on a new and different challenge. “I’m curious. What made you decide to turn this place into a resort?”
She smoothed her thumb and finger around the porcelain rim of her coffee cup, a gesture that unexpectedly brought life to his lower limbs and made him shift uncomfortably in his chair.
“In college, I’d majored in business because it seemed like the thing to do at the time, and it was relatively easy for me. When I graduated, I naturally" —she grinned, giving the emphasized word significance and charm—“went to work at Deverell’s. I was in the public relations department, and I’d begun to feel restless when I inherited SwanSea.”
“Restless about where you were in the company?” he asked, totally engrossed in what she was saying.
“No. Public relations wasn't the problem. I could have worked in any department I chose, including assisting Conall, my cousin. But I had fou
nd a certain confinement and rigidity to the business world that had begun to chafe.”
“Even In a company where you must have had a certain amount of power?”
“Yes, because I would never have abused that power.”
Somehow he’d known that, he thought.
“Your family must have hated the idea of you turning your back on the business.” His had, in spades. The fights between him and his father had been terrible.
“They called me crazy at first,” she admitted. “They couldn’t see the practicality. But they have their own warm feelings for SwanSea, and now they can’t wait for the grand opening.”
"But running SwanSea will be a business too. ” The sudden luminosity of her expression caught him unaware and caused a tightening in his gut.
“Yes, but SwanSea is different somehow. This place has been a part of me all my life. It was my first home. And even after my mother and I left and lived in Boston, I always considered myself a part of it. I know exactly what’s right for it, and I’ve thought things through very carefully. The style of life Edward Deverell had in mind when he built the place is no longer practical. When I inherited SwanSea, I had several options, one being to open it for tours. But it would have been too dispassionate to have groups of tourists tramping through its rooms.” “Dispassionate?”
She grinned. “You probably think that’s a funny way to speak of a house, but I can’t be unemotional when it comes to SwanSea. Remember? You noticed its strength. The house is almost a living force.”
He nodded, recalling the strange feeling that had come over him at his first glimpse of the house. It had seemed to have a rhythmic energy. Even more strange, it had seemed to be welcoming him. He’d chalked up the reaction to his weariness.
Then there had been his reaction to Caitlin. As much as he had tried to ignore it, he had been strongly attracted to her. He hadn’t expected that with simply a look, a gesture, or a smile, she could make his insides catch fire. He’d slept, awakened rested, and found he still wanted her.
The Legacy Page 2