“I do not feel the cold as you do. Ms Preston, you must tell me when you feel a chill. I will have Reginald light the fire in my office when we work tomorrow.”
“That would be brilliant.”
Reginald appears in a blink, as if he were hiding in the shadows the whole time. “I have prepared dinner, Ms Preston. It is not much, I’m afraid, but I hope it will suffice. Would you like a red or white wine, or do you prefer a hot drink?”
“I’ll have a white if it’s going, thank you, Reginald.”
“My pleasure.” He turns to Alaric. “Your usual, my lord?”
Alaric nods. Reginald slinks back into the shadows and appears a moment later with two bottles of wine. He uncorks the white and pours a generous amount into a crystal gobletfor me. He then moves to Lord Valerian’s side and pours him a red, the wine sloshing nearly at the rim.
I raise my glass to Alaric. “Here’s to the first successful day of Operation Organise Alaric’s Life.”
He raises his glass in return. “To many more such evenings to come.”
Beneath the intensity of his stare, the butterfly in my stomach dances a little jig.
Reginald arrives and places a tray over my knees.
The food is nothing fancy – roast beef with a dark gravy, vegetables and salad – but the flavours dance on my tongue. The vegetables are so perfectly cooked that they’re caramelised around the edges, and the salad is made with grains and sharp goat’s cheese. I don’t recognise a single one of the herbs Reginald has used, but everything tastes incredible. I finish the plate and wonder if Alaric will think I’m rude if I lick the rest of the gravy.
I look over at him. He has one of his books open on his knee, those fathomless eyes devouring the page with a hunger that makes me wish I was made of paper and covered in diagrams of locomotive engines. The cat, Mirabelle, luxuriates across the back of his chair. He raises an eyebrow at me and sets his book aside.
I notice he doesn’t have a plate. “You’re not eating?”
“I am not hungry.”
“How can younotbe hungry? We just sorted enough stuff that we could open our own eccentric art gallery and model train museum. I’m so starving I’m going to eat this plate.”
He laughs, the sound startling for its unbidden mirth. I beam back at him. This guy isnothinglike my other clients. Too bad there’s no permanent job out there for organising castles filled with art for eccentric, grumpy, hot AF peerage, because I think I’d nail it.
As quickly as his laughter began, Alaric snaps his lips shut. “Forgive me, Ms Preston. I was not laughing at you. I merely …”
“You don’t have to apologise for having a good time. This work is quite personal. I’m digging around in the objects that make you who you are. It helps both of us ifwe can be friendly.”
That’s why I’m having dinner with you, even though it’s wildly inappropriate. Even though I’ve never eaten dinner with a client before. It’s for the good of the job. That’s the only reason.
It hasnothingto do with the way you kissed me at the pub.
“So you live here by yourself?” I ask. “Just you and Reginald in your medieval bachelor pad? No … Mrs Brooding Artist or Mr Sexy Jazz Fan?”
I shouldn’t be so flippant with a client, but, in my defence, he laughed at me first.
I like it when he laughs.
Lord Valerian doesn’t acknowledge my wit. His mouth forms a firm line. “I have sworn an oath never to marry unless it be for love, and it is difficult to fall in love in a lonely castle.”
“Are thereotherreasons to marry?”
“Obligation,” he growls. “Political alliance. Punishment, if you have a family like mine.”
“You might be surprised.” I dig my fingers into the soft leather of the chair.He’s a peer. You can’t even imagine his life. “You could try the dating apps. I’m sure there’s someone out there who loves dusty old castles and model trains. I could help you with your profile if you want. I write all the marketing copy for Clutter Queens.”What am I saying?
“That is enough about me. I wish to speak no more of things that cannot be. Tell me of yourself, Ms Preston. How did you come to do this work?” he asks me. “I didn’t know Professional Organiser was a métier until Reginald found your website.”
“You mean all little boys and girls don’t dream of tidying up after rich people?” I smile to hide the blood rushing to my face. I’m not used to clients asking aboutme. “I went to university to study archaeology. I loved history, exploring different times and places, and how people lived. Ithoughtmy calling was to explore dusty tombs and dig up skeletons and solve the mysteries of the past.”
“But it was not?”
