“Safe enough. Now that you’re decent, why not come downstairs with me? And then I’ll give you the grand tour.”
“Are there gaslights on this tour?” she snapped. “Because you seem fond of those.”
“Mm, you’re rather waspish, aren’t you? And here, I thought you were going to be some sweetly frivolous little thing like your sister.”
That stung, and it shouldn’t have, because she didn’t owe anyonesweet. But she had grown up insecure and awkward, and had spent her whole life being judged for it. She had told herself on some level that if she couldn’t be pretty, she could be nice. Sweet. But building her whole life aroundnicenesshad caused people to walk all over her, and left her feeling helpless when it came to standing up to herself. Because that wasn’tnice.
And if she didn’t have nice, she had nothing.
She must have looked stricken, because he said, “That’s all right, Nadine. You don’t have to be sweet for me.”
Dick. She pulled her head away when he reached out to tug at a lock of her hair, marching through the door. Cal followed her, nipping at her heels like an aggressively playful dog, his clear delight in the situation obvious.
Nadine looked edgily down the hallway and saw the maid from yesterday. Holly, she was sure Cal had called her. As if she’d heard her name, Holly looked up, and Nadine felt a slow heat creep along her throat as the woman watched her and Cal exit her bedroom.
“Good thing you didn’t scream after all.” His voice sounded very close to her ear. “Imagine if someone heard you shrieking yourself hoarse with me in a room meant for docile little brides.”
Nadine jumped. “Cut that out,” she hissed. “You’re going to get me in trouble with your family.”
“Darling,” he said, in a deep, confiding tone, “I think you already are.”
Darling?She shivered. “That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s not too late to leave, Nadine.”
Leave? This house? This town? “I can’t.”
“Well,” he said, not sounding particularly upset as they went down the creaking stairs, under the eyes of all his ancestors. “Your fate is signed and sealed then, isn’t it? Just like every other soul who walked freely into this house.”
Nadine glanced at him sharply. “You’re not saying it’s haunted.”
“You tell me,” he said, with a strange intensity in his face.
Oh goody, something else to have nightmares about.
She looked away, glad when they got into the kitchen, which was downright cheerful when compared to the rest of the house, even it wasn’t crammed full of roses. Nadine could almost swear she could still smell them, although the scent would have surely faded after a year.
The eggs, bacon, and croissants he’d saved for her in the fridge were far better than anything she’d been having in the diner, even while cold. She felt a twinge of unwilling gratitude that he’d gotten up early enough to get food for her, even though she was still angry and embarrassed about the way he’d touched and taunted her.
Being in Cal’s presence was a little like boiling to death under a heat lamp. She felt dizzy and clumsy around him, so feverish she couldn’t think of anything except him and what he’d do next, and she hated not knowing how to stop it, or if she even wanted to, because sometimes he said things to her that made her feel so fucking seen.
A maid came to clear her dishes away almost as soon as she’d raised the last bite to her mouth and Cal set aside his porcelain coffee cup, which he’d barely touched. “Ready to see the house?”
“No tricks?” she asked warily, rubbing at her neck.
“No promises. But I’ll try to behave.” There was a predacious gleam in his eyes. “Since you’ve already seen most of this floor, we can start at the top and work our way down.”
She tripped on her way back up the stairs, though, and would have gone flying if he hadn’t immediately reached out to steady her. Nadine shied from his touch, but this time, she didn’t shake him off when he persisted. “Careful.”
“There was something there. But I don’t see anything.”
“There’s a lot of loose boards in this house. They tend to jump out at you.”
Nadine tightened her grip on the rail.They’re not the only thing.“Why don’t you fix them?”
“A lot of it’s dimensional lumber. Nonstandard,” he clarified. “But also, it’s the way of these old houses to wear down and grow old. It’s considered tasteless to restore them unless absolutely necessary.”
“Who decides that? The old house police?”
