door shut on the rest of his sentence.
Dominic returned in record time to find an empty bedroom.
The doors to the veranda hadn’t been opened. Katherine wasn’t likely to be playing hide and seek; the corridor had been empty. That left his dressing room. Dropping the items he’d found on the bed, he strode towards the closed door.
Quietly opening it, he stood on the threshold of his dressing room and felt a chill run up his spine. Kate was halfway down his wardrobe wall, several doors left open behind her; she was currently flipping through his neatly hung shirts. ‘Could I help you with something?’ His voice was ultra soft.
She swung round, his long robe brushing the floor. ‘Sure you could,’ she said softly, smiling.
‘I meant could I help you with something in here?’ He’d never considered himself gullible. This might be a first.
Another smile. ‘Here’s fine.’
He didn’t smile back. ‘What are you looking for?’
‘Women’s things. With your track record at the Garden House, I’m inclined to trust but verify. Maybe you’re not the only one with control issues.’
He felt his muscles relax, felt a profound sense of relief – dicey issues of mistrust resolved. ‘You? Controlling? That could be interesting.’
She shot a quick glance over her shoulder as she turned back to the wall of closets. ‘Call it morbid curiosity if you like; this is what I do in my line of work. Look for things: clues, patterns, details that don’t make sense in the grand scheme of the universe.’
He leaned against the door jamb. ‘Curiosity killed the cat, baby. Just kidding,’ he said quickly as she spun round. ‘Look all night. You won’t find anything. I’m a monk here.’
‘That must make up for you not being a monk everywhere else,’ she retorted pithily.
He shrugged. ‘It was a phase. I’m moving on to better times.’
‘With me.’
She was the only woman he’d allow such unreserved presumption and he wondered whether it was because she was the only woman who’d ever left him. But more interested in the present, he said pleasantly, ‘That’s the plan. You and me. Good times, happy times. Sunshine and fucking roses from now on.’ He gestured towards the wardrobe with a flick of his finger. ‘Come on, you’re wasting your time. Let me entertain you instead.’
She grinned. ‘I’ll hurry. How’s that?’
He rolled his eyes and she went back to opening doors and flicking through his clothes. ‘Christ, you have lots of … well … everything,’ she said, reproachful and chiding.
‘I do.’ His voice was mild; he had no intention of arguing.
‘How can you possibly wear all this?’ She began systematically opening and shutting drawers in a built-in bureau.
‘Three hundred and sixty-five days a year times two or three years before most clothes go out of style. You do the math.’
‘It’s still seriously plutocratic.’
‘I’m sorry if it offends you.’
‘No, you’re not.’ Shutting a drawer full of blue socks, she opened another filled with black socks and scooped them up in her hands. ‘This many of one colour – really?’ She dropped them back in, slammed the drawer shut, gestured at the remaining drawers. ‘Brown, tan, white, I suppose. That still leaves two drawers. What – argyle grey? What am I missing?’
‘I fund several charitable foundations if that helps,’ he said, his voice scrupulously neutral. ‘I could show them to you if you like.’
She turned, lips pursed. ‘Would you?’
‘Certainly. Later. I thought you wanted to play.’
‘Are you trying to change the subject?’
‘No, just the schedule of events. You won’t find anything but my clothes in here because I’ve never had a woman in this house.’ He briefly raised his hand. ‘Scout’s honour – not even my mother. She prefers shopping in Hong Kong. And I apologize for my wealth but making it helps keep me sane.’ A faint smile. ‘I consider that a good cause too. Now, I
Dominic returned in record time to find an empty bedroom.
The doors to the veranda hadn’t been opened. Katherine wasn’t likely to be playing hide and seek; the corridor had been empty. That left his dressing room. Dropping the items he’d found on the bed, he strode towards the closed door.
Quietly opening it, he stood on the threshold of his dressing room and felt a chill run up his spine. Kate was halfway down his wardrobe wall, several doors left open behind her; she was currently flipping through his neatly hung shirts. ‘Could I help you with something?’ His voice was ultra soft.
She swung round, his long robe brushing the floor. ‘Sure you could,’ she said softly, smiling.
‘I meant could I help you with something in here?’ He’d never considered himself gullible. This might be a first.
Another smile. ‘Here’s fine.’
He didn’t smile back. ‘What are you looking for?’
‘Women’s things. With your track record at the Garden House, I’m inclined to trust but verify. Maybe you’re not the only one with control issues.’
He felt his muscles relax, felt a profound sense of relief – dicey issues of mistrust resolved. ‘You? Controlling? That could be interesting.’
She shot a quick glance over her shoulder as she turned back to the wall of closets. ‘Call it morbid curiosity if you like; this is what I do in my line of work. Look for things: clues, patterns, details that don’t make sense in the grand scheme of the universe.’
He leaned against the door jamb. ‘Curiosity killed the cat, baby. Just kidding,’ he said quickly as she spun round. ‘Look all night. You won’t find anything. I’m a monk here.’
‘That must make up for you not being a monk everywhere else,’ she retorted pithily.
He shrugged. ‘It was a phase. I’m moving on to better times.’
‘With me.’
She was the only woman he’d allow such unreserved presumption and he wondered whether it was because she was the only woman who’d ever left him. But more interested in the present, he said pleasantly, ‘That’s the plan. You and me. Good times, happy times. Sunshine and fucking roses from now on.’ He gestured towards the wardrobe with a flick of his finger. ‘Come on, you’re wasting your time. Let me entertain you instead.’
She grinned. ‘I’ll hurry. How’s that?’
He rolled his eyes and she went back to opening doors and flicking through his clothes. ‘Christ, you have lots of … well … everything,’ she said, reproachful and chiding.
‘I do.’ His voice was mild; he had no intention of arguing.
‘How can you possibly wear all this?’ She began systematically opening and shutting drawers in a built-in bureau.
‘Three hundred and sixty-five days a year times two or three years before most clothes go out of style. You do the math.’
‘It’s still seriously plutocratic.’
‘I’m sorry if it offends you.’
‘No, you’re not.’ Shutting a drawer full of blue socks, she opened another filled with black socks and scooped them up in her hands. ‘This many of one colour – really?’ She dropped them back in, slammed the drawer shut, gestured at the remaining drawers. ‘Brown, tan, white, I suppose. That still leaves two drawers. What – argyle grey? What am I missing?’
‘I fund several charitable foundations if that helps,’ he said, his voice scrupulously neutral. ‘I could show them to you if you like.’
She turned, lips pursed. ‘Would you?’
‘Certainly. Later. I thought you wanted to play.’
‘Are you trying to change the subject?’
‘No, just the schedule of events. You won’t find anything but my clothes in here because I’ve never had a woman in this house.’ He briefly raised his hand. ‘Scout’s honour – not even my mother. She prefers shopping in Hong Kong. And I apologize for my wealth but making it helps keep me sane.’ A faint smile. ‘I consider that a good cause too. Now, I
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