Prologue
SARAH
Ardnoch Castle, Scotland
October
The castle seemed hushed. Not just because it was evening at Ardnoch, but because many of its members had returned to their film and television projects a few weeks ago. Summer was their season off, and we saw many members descend upon the estate only to depart in droves come September.
They’d been gone for a month and the castle had grown gradually quiet, just as I liked it.Not that it matters, I thought as I hurried down the carpeted corridor toward Theodore Cavendish’s room. I technically no longer worked here. It was the end of an era. But it was time.
Before I left, however, I was going to use my proximity to the rich and famous to get what I wanted.
Drawing to a stop outside of Mr. Cavendish’s door, I sucked in a breath and pushed down the sudden swarm of fluttering nerves in my stomach. Seriously, I felt a wee bit sick.
Fueled by a newfound confidence in myself and a promise I’d made to my now-deceased grandfather, I didn’t turn away. I would not run from this opportunity. Even if it meant putting trust in someone I wasn’t even sure I liked. Mr. Cavendish wasn’t just a droll, flirtatious son of an English viscount. The cynical bitterness within him might be my ruin. How did I know these things about someone I’d never actually spoken to?
I was very observant.
Because I was shy and introverted, some people assumed I lived in my own world and didn’t pay attention to what was going on around me. It was the exact opposite, actually. I paid close attention. I watched people. I read them. Attempted to understand them. And realized that because of the last three decades of doing just that, I had a pretty good gut instinct.
Years ago, when someone was threatening my boss Lachlan Adair and terrorizing the estate, I’d come under fire as a suspect because of the bad blood between my grandfather and the Adairs. The fact that I blushed in his presence because I found my boss attractive didn’t help matters. Yet, I’d forever be angry with myself for never voicing my suspicions. I’d always suspected the real culprit. The actor Lucy Wainwright.
Everyone thought she was a sweetheart, but she’d often been erratic toward me when I cleaned her room. One moment she was kind and generous and the next yelling at me for some misdemeanor for which I wasn’t to blame. I’d also observed her from a distance and noted her intense preoccupation with Lachlan. Moreover, I saw her talking with her partner in crime, Fergus Ray, more than once and thought their interactions odd and cagey.
I didn’t speak up because I thought no one would listen to the opinion of a shy housekeeper. How I regretted that after they kidnapped Lachlan. Thankfully, Lachlan’s now wife Robyn and my grandfather were there to save his life.
So, aye, I had good instincts about people. And my instincts told me to be wary of Mr. Cavendish, even if he was my first choice.
I raised my fist to knock on his door but before I could, it flew open and the man himself jolted to a stop.
“Fuck!” Mr. Cavendish clasped a hand to his chest in fright. His alarmed expression immediately darkened to a glare. “I almost defecated in my trousers, thank you very much.” His Eton upper-crust British accent made even the most disgusting sentences sound charming.
Uncomfortable under his glower, my cheeks grew frustratingly hot. As did the sight of him up close. Theo Cavendish was annoyingly attractive. Tall, at least a few inches over six feet with a swimmer’s build, he wore clothes well. Like a model. Even just in his current sweater and jeans, he looked like he’d stepped off a photo shoot. The sweater molded to his taut physique and accentuated his broad shoulders. His pale gray-blue eyes complemented a face that was almost too pretty due to his full, pouty mouth. The sharp angle of his jaw and cheekbones, along with his designer stubble, attempted to make him a little more rugged.
I knew I was probably gawking, but thirty-one years down the line and I still hadn’t quite figured out how to act around handsome men. I think taking the job at Ardnoch was an attempt to make myself immune to them. After all, it was a members-only club for film and industry professionals, and a lot of the members were good-looking. Including the behind-the-scenes people like Theo, who was a screenwriter and director.
However, it didn’t make me immune and instead, I’d shrunk further into my shell, allowing my old insecurities and traumas to dictate my introverted behavior. Or so all the podcasts I’d listened to on therapy and mental health told me.
“May I help you?” Theo snapped impatiently.
There. I saw and heard it in his voice. His contempt.
My cheeks flushed even hotter, and I wanted to run away.
Don’t you dare, treasure.I heard my grandfather’s growled words in my head as if he were there beside me.It’s time to go after what you want. You’ve already proven to yourself what you’re worth.
Okay, Grandpa, I thought.For you and for me. My keen perception might tell me that Mr. Cavendish was a wounded, cynical aristocrat who would lash out at anyone who dared get too close to him … but it also told me he was the right man for the job. I might not be a fan of him as a person, but as a creator, there was no one quite like him. And finally, I was beginning to believe in myself. Moreover, I’d promised Grandpa that I’d startliving.
I threw back my shoulders. “I—I’d like to speak with you, Mr. Cavendish.”
He searched my eyes, and I noted the spark of curiosity glinting in his. Suddenly, he looked taken aback, like he’d never seen me before. His perusal grew so intense, I could feel my nerves getting the better of me again. I nibbled nervously on my lip, trying to draw from that well of courage the memory of my grandfather had opened inside me.
“Well?” Mr. Cavendish grimaced. “Sarah, is it?”
Despite his obvious impatience to be rid of me, I was shocked he knew my name. “Aye. Sarah McCulloch.”
He gestured for me to hurry up.
