“Sorry, obscure reference to a character from a decades-old movie.”
“I can say with the utmost confidence that, based on the name alone, you’re nothing like her.”
“You may change your mind on day fourteen of our time here when you tire of me waking you up every morning.”
“I’d never tire of waking up to you, Ophelia.”
How easy would it be to allow myself to fall into his arms and tell him how much I wanted that? But I couldn’t. Especially after my dreams last night.
After completing the morning vitals check, I hastily retreated to my own room, telling him I’d meet him later for breakfast.
I showered, spent too much time deciding what to wear, then went downstairs to the dining room where we’d had dinner.
A few minutes later, Oliver joined me. However, Kiernan was noticeably absent.
“His lordship left early for estate business,” Millie informed us when she came in to see if we needed anything. “He sends his apologies.”
Oliver and I exchanged a glance but said nothing. Whatever game Kiernan was playing, we were not going to question his staff about it.
We finished our morning meal, then decided to explore. Oliver needed to move to rebuild his strength, and the castle offered endless corridors to wander. We found more rooms that appeared unoccupied for years, perhaps decades. The castle was enormous, and it seemed Kiernan lived in only a small fraction of it.
We discovered a gallery of portraits extending the family history we’d seen in the great hall the day before, revealing more Lockharts. These women also wore elaborate gowns, and the men were in uniforms from wars long ended. One portrait in particular caught my attention. It was of a woman who resembled Kiernan. There was a fierce intelligence in her expression. I leanedforward to read the brass plate beneath it. “Helena Lockhart, 1890–1962.”
“His grandmother, perhaps,” Oliver mused. “I’d wager she could command armies.”
“Like her grandson.”
Oliver’s expression sharpened. “Noticed that about our host, eh?”
“How could I not? Observation is part of the job.”
“Right.” His tone was knowing. “The job.”
I continued, cutting him off before he could press further, but stopped when we got close to the library door. On impulse, I reached for the brass handle, and when it refused to turn, I pressed my ear to the old wood.
“Hear anything?” Oliver asked from where he’d walked farther down the corridor.
“Negative.”
When I joined him, we were only steps from the west tower staircase.
Millie appeared as if summoned, materializing from a doorway I hadn’t noticed. “Can I help you? The kitchens are this way if you’d like tea.”
The redirection was polite but unmistakable. The west tower was not for guests.
We accepted the tea and spent the afternoon in the guest wing. Oliver rested while I read a book I’d found in the sitting room. Neither of us spoke about our enigmatic host.
That evening, Kiernan joined us for dinner. He asked about our day, but his concentration drifted as he spoke. He excused himself before the meal ended, retreating to wherever he went when he was not with us.
He’d done so twice now—joined us for dinner, then excused himself early, and vanished.
Clearly, Kiernan intended to be present but not accessible, available but not engaged. He’d invited us into his home but kept himself at a distance.
Later that night,I stood at my window, staring into the darkness. I’d spent two days in this castle and knew less about Kiernan Lockhart than when I arrived.
The intelligence operative in me wondered what secrets he kept.
My purpose, though, was to be here for Oliver while he recovered. That was the reason I’d agreed to stay at Greymarch rather than return to London. The daysahead felt like time that was on one part an eternity, and none at all on another.
