What if she doesn’t remember asking me? It’s possible. She was pretty drunk.
The door swung open.
Clarke wanted to burst out laughing. The man who opened it looked like a butler. Not just in the way he was dressed, but the manner in which he stood and spoke.
“May I help you, sir?”
“I’m a friend of Ceci Rivers.”
That sounded odd even to his own ears. They were hardly friends.
The man stood in place, his hand still on the doorknob, not moving an inch.
“That’s Mr. Rivers’s daughter,” Clarke added. “She invited me.”
He stepped aside.
“Very good, sir. Please come in.”
He followed the man to what looked like the drawing room in a BBC period drama.
The walls were painted a delicate shade of sage and ivory and adorned with gilt-framed paintings of hunting scenes. On the mantelabove the large fireplace sat an ormolu clock. Above it, a large mirror reflected the brilliance of the crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling. There were plush chairs and settees upholstered in rich brocades and silks and even a mahogany writing desk, which sat by the tall, mullioned window, framed by heavy damask drapes that were pulled back with tasseled gold cords. And yes, on the desk sat a quill and inkwell.
The only thing missing was a lady sitting at her embroidery and the soft notes of a pianoforte drifting in from an adjoining music room.
Clarke saw Ceci immediately.
I never have to look for her. She’s always just … there.
She was wearing black leather pants and a black blouse with a deep-cut neckline, exposing that delicate neck, throat, and those luscious curves that made him fist his hands and his heart race.
Not exactly a catsuit. But close enough.
She stood conversing with a group of men.
Unexpectedly, he felt a hand on his arm. He should have flinched, but he didn’t. He understood why when he turned.
Aunt Delilah.
The woman exuded warmth. She was somehow comforting. Strange, given she was so intrusive. It should have made him uncomfortable. But she was so authentic.Like her niece, he thought, glancing over at Ceci.
Maybe not now. Something about her is different now.
Aunt Delilah grinned. “So, Cecilia invited you. I know that because you’re so well-mannered you would never show up at a party without a proper invite. Manners are generally a good thing, but they can sometimes get in the way.”
He frowned. “Get in the way?”
“Yes. Of living. Sometimes even of doing what’s right.” She reached up, placing her hand on his cheek, peering at his lip. “It is possible to be too polite, dear. Then again, perhaps my niece’s invitation wouldn’t count as a proper invite, givenshewasn’t invited.” She squeezed his arm. “So perhaps there’s hope for you yet. I wasn’t invited either. But I figured she would come, given the news.”
What news?
She pulled him alongside her, and they entered the room.
“Perhaps my presence isn’t needed … now that you’re here.” A sly smile slid up her cheeks. “I think he’ll like you. His wife definitely will. That’s her father there.” She indicated a tall, handsome man talking with the same group of men that Ceci was conversing with. He had his hands on the shoulders of a little boy standing in front of him. “And that is Cecilia’s stepbrother. It’s his birthday.”
Aunt Delilah drew a deep breath. It was followed by a forceful exhale.
“Do you know her father never attended one of Ceci’s birthdays? Not one. He never even had a birthday gift for her. Up until the age of eighteen, I always made sure there was a present that supposedly came from him. His assistant and I were the ones who planned her parties. I’m not even sure he remembers the date of her birthday. It should be a day that’s impossible to forget. But then, maybe that’s why he’s put so much effort into erasing it from his memory. I thought I was doing the right thing lying to her—letting her believe her father knew what she loved when the birthday themes were so well suited to her. Telling her he wanted to be there, but there was something important he had to take care of. But of course, she’s a smart girl. She figured out that meant there was always something more important than her. She had to know the gifts didn’t come from him when they stopped. But I suspect she knew long before then. It’s tough to put one over that girl.” She eyed him. “Do you know what I mean?”
