Page 75

Theo laughs softly. Barbara busies herself cleaning up the teapot.

And just like that, I understand why his shoulders squared the moment we turned onto the drive. Despite being greeted by the lovely Barbara and Mike.

“Want to come for a tour?” Theo asks. “And then we can unpack.”

I stand, and he slides his hand down to the dip in my back, the warm pressure of his palm steadying me.

“I’d love to,” I tell him. “Thank you for the tea,” I say to Barbara.

“It’s a pleasure, sweetheart,” she tells me. “If you need anything at all, you know where I am.”

“Mike and Barbara are really lovely,” I tell Theo as he points out a portrait of the first Baron, who apparently did some kind of favor for King George I. He said something about the Hanoverians that went right over my head.

“They like you too,” he says, sliding his fingers through mine. “You have two new fans.”

I glance at the painting again. The first Baron is all curly wig and powdered face. I wonder if he knew what he was getting his ancestors into.

“What’s it like growing up in a place like this?” I walk over to the French doors that lead out to sculpted gardens. In the distance I can see Mike talking to a couple of men. The snow has stopped for a moment. The wind is still there, lifting all their hair.

Theo slides his hands around my waist as I look out through the window, pulling my back against his hard chest. He rests his palms on my stomach, leaning down to press his lips against my neck.

“I didn’t know any different,” he murmurs against my skin. The warmth of his breath sends a shiver down my spine. “And I was only here half the time. I was away at school the rest.”

“It still feels strange to send a child away to school.”

He kisses me again, lower this time, in the dip where my neck meets my shoulder. “I liked it. I knew where I belonged when I was there.”

My breath catches. “And now?”

“What about now?” His hand trails down, the tips of his fingers tracing the button on my jeans. I lean back, trying to keep myself grounded.

“Where do you belong now?” I manage to ask, as his teeth scrape the shell of my ear.

“Here feels pretty good.” His thumb brushes lazily against the skin right above my jeans.

I try not to smile. “I didn’t mean right now. I meant… what feels like home to you? Here? The hotel? Your mews house?”

“I haven’t really thought about it.” His fingers dip lower, underneath the waistband of my jeans. Enough to make me gasp. “Want to see my bedroom?” he asks.

I laugh softly against him. “I bet you used to say that to all the girls.”

“Only the ones who threw themselves in front of my car.” He turns me around until I’m facing him. I have to incline my head to look at his face. He traces my cheek with his finger, his face impassive.

I nod and a half-smile pulls at his lips. He takes my hand again, leading me back through the hallway to the grand entrance, and up the sweeping staircase that leads to the upper floors. We pass closed door after closed door, turning unexpected corners until it feels less like a house and more like a maze.

“How many people have you lost in here?” I ask when he finally stops in front of a door.

“Not many.” He smirks. “It’s laid out pretty symmetrically.” He opens the door and I step inside what once was his childhood bedroom. “You’ll work it out soon enough.”

The room is large, but simpler than I expected. Painted blue walls, white woodwork, a large picture window facing the sea. The dark wood furniture looks older than both of us combined.

“So this is where you used to… do whatever it is boys do,” I say, biting down a smile.

He laughs softly. “I’m thinking you probably don’t want to go there.”

“Probably not,” I agree. I walk over to the window, pressing my face against the glass. My breath fogs it up, obscuring the view of the vast North Sea.

He steps up behind me again, but this time there’s less urgency in it. His hands settle at my hips, warm through the denim, his chin brushing my shoulder as he looks out at the sea with me.