A Year With the Millionaire Next Door Page 8

  In other words, nothing.

  The two of them were preparing for a run around St. James’s Park. Since Linus’s ankle had healed in mid-August, they’d made running together an afternoon habit. At first it was around the neighborhood, but as his ankle grew stronger, Linus began taking her on longer routes past historic landmarks. Sometimes they even took the Tube to run other sections of the city. It was all part of his insistence that she see more of London than one aerial tour.

  Things had changed following their spin on the Eye. There was a connection between them, a closeness. Linus’s confession touched her in a way she couldn’t explain. The look she saw in his eyes struck her square in the chest and squeezed until she wanted nothing more than to hug away his pain. Ironic, since he began the conversation by suggesting she was the one in crisis. It wasn’t until after the ride ended and they were on their way home that it occurred to her she should be angry about his presumption. But by then she couldn’t work up the energy. Besides, she couldn’t remember the last time someone had expressed concern about her well-being without the conversation leaving Stella feeling like she was the one messing up. Since the day they met, Linus had had her back. The least she could do was have his.

  “Why are you interested in my plans for the weekend?” Linus asked.

  “I, um...” His leg muscles flexed as he stretched his thigh, momentarily distracting her. He was the only person she knew who could wear neon-green Lycra and look masculine.

  “I have to go to Berkshire. I need to inventory Agnes’s country house.”

  “Looking for a cat sitter, are you? I’d be glad to keep an eye on Miss Toffee for you.”

  “Actually, I’m taking Toffee with me. It’s her house, after all.” Not to mention, she’d miss the little fur ball sleeping at the foot of her bed. Over the past few weeks, she’d come to think of Toffee more as a pet than a responsibility. She made for terrific company. The perfect distraction for when late-night dreams conflated friendly hugs with more intimate acts.

  “I was wondering if you would come with me,” she said.

  “Away with you for the weekend?”

  The way he said the words made her insides squirrelly. “You don’t have to come with me. Toffee and I can rent a car. I just thought it might be nice to have the company. Especially someone who knew the area. Didn’t you say you used to live near there?”

  “What you’re really asking is if I want to be your chauffeur for the weekend.”

  “Not at all. I just thought it would be nice to have company. I brought up the area thing because you’re always tells me to see more of the UK, and I figured you could play tour guide.”

  “Relax, luv. I was teasing. I think it’s a splendid idea.”

  “You do?” Stella didn’t realize how anxious she’d been about his response until her insides relaxed.

  “Absolutely. I’d love to go away with you for the weekend.” He was teasing again. The smirk at the end of his sentence said so.

  Now, if only her squirrelly stomach would get the message.

  It was cold and raw when the three of them departed Saturday morning. A typical English fall day. Linus and Stella sat in the front of his sports car, while in the back seat, Toffee sat in her travel carrier, blinking at them with annoyance. For the first part of the ninety-minute drive, Stella entertained herself by watching the passing landscape. It was a beautiful mix of suburban and pastoral. The foliage was a mosaic of red, brown and yellow interrupted every so often by a service station or steeple. Occasionally she would see a stretch of farmland in the distance. The farther out of the city they drove, the more frequent the stretches. “Oh my God, is that a thatched roof?” she exclaimed as they drove by a stone cottage.

  “Probably,” Linus replied. “They’re popular again, I hear.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Don’t knock it. A good one will last you a few decades.”

  She admired the UK for maintaining its quaintness, something she rarely saw in the city. “We have a Berkshire County in Massachusetts, too,” she told him. “My parents took us once so we could see the BSO at Tanglewood.”

  “BSO?”

  “Sorry. Boston Symphony Orchestra. Tanglewood is their summer home. I remember thinking how rural the place was. Clearly I didn’t understand rural.”

  Linus chuckled, the vibration filling the small space. “I hope you’re not expecting an orchestra in this Berkshire. You’ll be disappointed.”

  “I’ll survive. I’m not much of a music person, anyway. We only went because my sister was performing in the student chorus.” Stella had auditioned a few years later but only made alternate.

  “Me, either. We had to take piano lessons when we were children,” Linus said. “Chopin hasn’t recovered.”

  “From the playing?” Somehow, she suspected Chopin had survived their efforts quite nicely.

  “No, from our whining about having to play. Susan was particularly dramatic about it. Then again, her mother was an actress, so she has the drama gene. Oh, sorry,” he said when she frowned. “I should have explained. Susan’s my half sister.”

  “I thought you said your father married his secretary.”

  “That was his third marriage. Susan was a product of marriage number two. Father was what you would call a serial committer.”

  Interesting. “How many times was he married?”

  “Three, but only because he passed away young. If he’d been healthier, I’m sure there would have been at least one or two more.” While he spoke breezily, the tone sounded practiced, like a precomposed interview answer.

  “No wonder you don’t believe in commitment,” she replied.

  “You sound like Susan when she’s playing armchair psychiatrist.”

  One didn’t need to be a psychiatrist to make a connection. Linus’s imposed solitude was a third rail that, up until now, Stella had avoided. Partly because she feared if she talked about it, Linus would then bring up New York again. And partly because she didn’t like the heavy feeling she got in her stomach whenever she thought of Linus dating.

  However, hearing about his father made her curious.

  “What do you think about Susan’s theory?”

  “I don’t think. That’s my problem.”

  “And yet you had deep enough thoughts to stop dating. Seems to me, if you were a bastard, you’d have shrugged off what happened to Victoria and carried on.”

  She watched as he worked through her logic, only to shake his head. “You’re basing your thoughts on the new and improved me. Proof that I was right to back off and enter monkdom. Prior to my evolvement, there is no way you and I would be taking a friendly trip to the country. At least not sleeping in separate beds.”

  “Aren’t I the lucky one,” she replied.

  Are you? a voice asked in her head. His comment had her fighting not to squirm in her seat. Ever since she’d kissed him, her late-night mind had been playing what-if, imagining what might have happened if Linus hadn’t pulled away. Inappropriate as the thoughts were, the fantasy—full of tangled limbs and heated kisses—was a tempting one.

  Before the image could invade her mind again, she turned her attention to the window. They’d left the highway and were driving deeper into the country. Occasionally the rock walls and hedges were broken up by the appearance of a village. Tiny clusters of Tudor-style buildings with modern window displays. “What do you think? Anything look familiar?” she asked Toffee.

  Head resting on her front paw, the cat blinked and went back to sleep.

  “Is that a yes or a no?” Linus asked.

  “I think it’s more an ‘I don’t care.’ She looks quite comfortable, I have to say. Must be used to the trip.”

  “Agnes did bring her everywhere.”

  “I can see why. She and I chat all day long.”

  “You do? About w
hat?”

  Stella blushed. Admitting you held long conversations with a cat was akin to saying you had an imaginary friend. “Oh, you know. The weather. Her food. Agnes’s inventory.” Linus. “The usual.”

  Linus nodded. “Everyone needs a good sounding board. How is the inventory going?”

  Ah, the inventory. “Pretty good. I’m eager to dig into the country house to see what I can’t find. I still can’t get over how interesting a life Agnes led.” In addition to her love life, she bore witness to some major moments in history. “She crossed paths with just about everyone who was anyone, and I swear half of those people gave her gifts.”

  “She wasn’t the queen of British theater for nothing,” Linus remarked.

  It was funny. Based on the still photographs, Agnes Moreland wasn’t a traditionally beautiful woman. Her nose was too long, and she had an overly prominent jaw. There was something about her, though, that captivated.

  “I saw one of her movies the other night,” she said. “Sixpence Sunday.”

  “Is that the one where she jumps off Tower Bridge?”

  “That’s the one.” Though her role as the suicidal prostitute wasn’t the lead, she managed to overshadow everyone every time she was on-screen. “You can see how she became a star.”

  “Definitely had charisma, she did, even in her eighties.”

  Explained why Linus had taken a shine to her. They were two of a kind, he and Agnes. He, too, made a room light up when he entered.

  “Any more missing objects?” he asked, oblivious to her thoughts. She’d filled him in on her mystery a few weeks ago.

  “Nothing so far that I’ve noticed. Of course, Agnes owned a lot of bric-a-brac she didn’t consider valuable enough to list in the addendum. Who knows if any of that’s missing?”

  “What does Mrs. Churchill think?”

  “She doesn’t know, either,” Stella replied, recalling that awkward conversation. “Neither does Teddy.”

  “Hmm...”

  “What? You think one of them is lying?”

  Linus raised and lowered his right shoulder. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t necessarily trust one of them.”

  Stella had an idea which one, too. Thing was, why would Teddy steal such minor objects when he had access to the more valuable ones?

  “The less expensive ones are easier to sell,” Linus replied when she voiced the question out loud.

  “Maybe so, but it’s not as though he needs the money.” As the man had tersely pointed out multiple times during his visit last summer.

  Linus didn’t look convinced. “What does Peter say?”

  “I haven’t mentioned it yet,” Stella replied. She didn’t want to make him think the situation was anything less than one hundred percent under control. “Not until I have a good theory.” She didn’t want to chance any bad news, or less-than-awesome news for that matter, leaking out. The weekly status updates her parents demanded were difficult enough. The last time Stella brought up her inventory project, the conversation somehow ended up about the best way to leverage the task on her résumé. The actual details of her job didn’t really matter.

  Except that Stella was really, really enjoying the details.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll figure out an answer before you leave,” Linus said.

  At first, Stella didn’t quite understand, and then she realized she must have sighed out loud. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  He looked across the seat at her. “I have plenty of confidence in you.” The gentleness in his voice wrapped around her insides. When he said things like that, in that voice, her midnight fantasies developed another layer. Unable to stop her face from warming, she turned her head back to the scenery.

  Linus tried not to enjoy the blush Stella was trying to hide, but it was difficult. He wasn’t so evolved that he didn’t enjoy having an effect on a woman.

  There was a moment a few miles back when he feared he’d crossed a line. When he said he’d have seduced her in the old days. It was clear from the way her body tensed that the comment made her uncomfortable. Thankfully, he’d reassured her quickly and changed the subject. The last thing he wanted was to cast an awkward pall over the weekend, especially considering how much he valued the invitation.

  Stella had no idea, either. No idea what it meant for her to trust his friendship that much. All the more reason not to muck things up with mention of seduction and sharing a bed. If only...

  Ever since the night on the Eye, when she’d hugged him—hugged him!—he couldn’t stop thinking about the way she felt in his arms. The moment wasn’t supposed to be romantic or tender, but dammit, having her pressed against him, her scent clinging to his clothes afterward, had made an impact. Here it was weeks later, and he could still feel the moment. Definitely a test of his resolve.

  He stole a look across the car. Stella had her chin propped on her hand as she studied the landscape, her expression contemplative. So serious. Even in jeans and a sweater, she looked all business.

  A familiar tightness gripped him. Sometimes, when he looked at her, he couldn’t breathe. Too many emotions clogged his chest. Concern, of course. Desire—he’d be lying if he didn’t admit to finding her attractive—and others he couldn’t name. Or didn’t want to.

  The GPS told them their street was the next left. “Almost there,” he said. “What do you know about the property?”

  “Very little,” Stella replied. “I meant to go online to see if I could find a photo, but I didn’t get the chance. On one document, it’s referred to as a country manor and on another, a cottage. In my head I’m picturing a little carriage house kind of thing.”

  “Maybe.” He thought of the sprawling property thirty or so kilometers east that his family used to call their country home. “Cottage could mean a variety of things.”

  Whatever the house was, it certainly had privacy. The property was hidden behind an ancient stone wall and acres of woodland. To gain access, they drove along a narrow road. “Good thing Toffee’s over her explorer phase,” he remarked. “Lose her in here and you’d never find her. The tree line is ahead. The house should be right over this bend.”

  As they rounded the corner, the trees broke to reveal a sprawling nineteenth-century hunting lodge.

  Stella gasped. “Holy cow. Toffee owns Downton Abbey.”

  Not quite. By estate standards, the house was small—certainly smaller than the Collier estate—but it was definitely a luxury home. The stone building boasted large arched windows and an intricately carved wooden door. There were multiple chimneys attached, no doubt, to multiple fireplaces. One, in the middle of the house, was happily puffing smoke.

  A dark sedan was parked in the drive. “Were you expected?” he asked Stella.

  She shook her head. “The estate pays for a cleaning company, but I don’t know why they’d light a fire. Can’t be that cold in the house.”

  “Last time I checked, maid services didn’t use rental cars,” he said, noting the tag on the license plate. There was only one person he could think of who would be using the house.

  From the look on Stella’s face, she had come to the same conclusion. “Teddy has his own house. Why would he come here?”

  “If I were to venture a guess, I would say he fancied a weekend in the country. Does he have visiting privileges?”

  “None that I know of,” Stella replied. She undid her seat belt. “Would you mind getting Toffee? I’m going to see what’s going on.”

  If Stella had any doubt they’d entered the wrong house, it disappeared as soon as she crossed the threshold. A giant portrait of a younger Agnes greeted them in the entranceway. The house itself was cozy and rustic with its faded floral wallpaper and antique furniture.

  “Bit like walking into a grandma’s house,” Linus remarked, “if your grandma was a dowager duchess.” He set the carrier on a nearb
y bench and let Toffee free. The cat stretched and began sniffing her surroundings.

  “What do you think, Toffee? Smell like home?” he asked.

  Leaving them to their conversation, Stella walked a little deeper into the house. Soft music was coming from the room behind the staircase. “Hello,” she called out.

  “I beg your pardon, but this is private... Oh!” With a tumbler in one hand, and a newspaper tucked under his arm, Teddy Moreland rounded the corner and stopped. He looked dressed for the weekend, a maroon sweater-vest buttoned over his stomach. The color matched the blotches on his cheeks.

  He looked at her with wide eyes. “Miss Russo, what a surprise.”

  “I could say the same, Mr. Moreland. Toffee and I are here to check out the property.”

  “You brought Etonia Toffee Pudding? All the way from London?”

  “Why not? It is her house.” They’d had this conversation before.

  As if on cue, Toffee jumped off the bench and began weaving between her legs. Stella scooped the cat up to cuddle her. “Besides, I couldn’t very well leave her unattended for the weekend, could I?” she added.

  “You’re staying for the weekend? All of you?”

  Teddy’s second question was directed at Linus, who had appeared at her shoulder. The insinuation was clear.

  “I had the car,” Linus answered, without missing a beat. “Since Stella isn’t familiar with directions or driving on the left side of the road yet, I offered to play chauffeur.”

  A slight rearranging of facts, but Stella wasn’t about to correct him, especially as the truth only added fuel to Teddy’s fire. “I’m here to start an inventory of the property,” she said. “Might I ask what you’re doing here?”

  “Keeping an eye on the property,” Teddy replied. As if the answer was obvious. He was using the same tone he used during their initial meeting. Imperious and condescending. “I made a habit of coming by on weekends as a favor to Aunt Agnes after she became ill. Now that she’s gone, it’s the least I can do to make sure her estate remains cared for.”

  “That’s very kind of you.” Her gaze slid to the drink in his hand. “I’m guessing you spend the night as well. To make sure the house looks occupied.”