undone. Which explains these,” he said pulling a half-dozen old ledgers towards them. “The account books track paintings sold and what was hung in their place.”
Sam blinked. “Wouldn’t someone from the art department be a better choice?”
Chas shook his head. “Only if we go to auction. Until then, it doesn’t matter if they’re fakes or not. Besides, from the First World War on, the estate records are less than meticulous. We have to sort out what we can.”
“And the family portraits?”
“The best ones are down in London. No doubt you’ve seen them lining the halls of Burton-Porter glowering down at the staff.”
“I thought I recognized that look.”
He shot her a quelling glance. “You’re teasing me, right?”
She grinned. “And the portraits here?” She gestured to a dark painting in an even darker corner of the library.
“That’s one of our tasks – identifying the ones without much documentation. Quite a few were unearthed from the attic to cover the empty spots on the wall. Faded wallpaper is a great giveaway. And there you have it,” said Chas getting to his feet. He held out the chair for Sam. “Will you be okay on your own?” he asked.
“Absolutely.” Even though she was moving slowly, her eyes sparkled. “This is proving to be the most excellent adventure.” He rather hoped she meant being with him, but he knew better than to discount the impact his wealth had on the opposite sex. He watched Sam gather her notes. If he was reading her correctly, she was as excited about him as she was about the job at hand. He should be pleased, Chas reminded himself, but he’d seen the passion lurking beneath the surface and he wanted more of it.
After a dizzying morning of foxes, hounds and horses, punctuated by the odd landscape, Sam found herself in a little used reception room on the second floor staring into the stern eyes of a dour woman wearing the dark finery of the late 19 th -century. This old girl was definitely a Porter. She peered at Sam through hooded eyes, punctuated by a familiar hawk-like nose.
Sam shivered. Chas was lucky. On him, those harsh features were an enhancement. They made him look strong and commanding, and virile.
“Boo!”
Sam whirled around to see her boss standing directly behind her! “You scared me,” she charged.
“Sorry about that,” grinned Chas. “But I’m not surprised. You looked as though you’d fallen under the spell of Agnes the miserable, the elder sister of my great-great uncle. Direct action was required.”
“She is rather…austere,” said Sam.
“When my grandmother arrived at the Hall, she took one look at the portrait, and banished Aunt Agnes to the attic where she languished for,” Chas shrugged, “sixty years or more.”
Sam nodded in heartfelt agreement. “I can see why your grandmother packed poor Agnes away. The question is why bring her out again?”
Chas grimaced. “Even the best of families get down to the dregs when money’s tight. In our case, it was Aunt Agnes. A bad artist and a sour expression are a deadly combination, don’t you think?”
“I can’t argue with that.” Sam turned to smile at Chas, feeling the heat of attraction once again. Even the baleful glare of his ancestor couldn’t dim the flare of feeling she had for this man. Their eyes met and the moment stretched.
With a slight jerk, Chas stepped away. “Lunch in an hour?”
“Perfect.” Despite her resolve to be professional, Sam’s body rebelled. She watched him walk the length of the gallery, shamelessly ogling his muscular physique from head to toe, taking care to note how the tailor-made, fawn-coloured trousers accentuated his trim waist and perfect backside. Mia would be so proud of her, thought Sam. She knew her office buddy thought she was a prude, but here she was with her eyes glued to her boss’s behind. And what a behind.
As Chas neared the end of the gallery, Sam quickly switched her concentration back
Sam blinked. “Wouldn’t someone from the art department be a better choice?”
Chas shook his head. “Only if we go to auction. Until then, it doesn’t matter if they’re fakes or not. Besides, from the First World War on, the estate records are less than meticulous. We have to sort out what we can.”
“And the family portraits?”
“The best ones are down in London. No doubt you’ve seen them lining the halls of Burton-Porter glowering down at the staff.”
“I thought I recognized that look.”
He shot her a quelling glance. “You’re teasing me, right?”
She grinned. “And the portraits here?” She gestured to a dark painting in an even darker corner of the library.
“That’s one of our tasks – identifying the ones without much documentation. Quite a few were unearthed from the attic to cover the empty spots on the wall. Faded wallpaper is a great giveaway. And there you have it,” said Chas getting to his feet. He held out the chair for Sam. “Will you be okay on your own?” he asked.
“Absolutely.” Even though she was moving slowly, her eyes sparkled. “This is proving to be the most excellent adventure.” He rather hoped she meant being with him, but he knew better than to discount the impact his wealth had on the opposite sex. He watched Sam gather her notes. If he was reading her correctly, she was as excited about him as she was about the job at hand. He should be pleased, Chas reminded himself, but he’d seen the passion lurking beneath the surface and he wanted more of it.
After a dizzying morning of foxes, hounds and horses, punctuated by the odd landscape, Sam found herself in a little used reception room on the second floor staring into the stern eyes of a dour woman wearing the dark finery of the late 19 th -century. This old girl was definitely a Porter. She peered at Sam through hooded eyes, punctuated by a familiar hawk-like nose.
Sam shivered. Chas was lucky. On him, those harsh features were an enhancement. They made him look strong and commanding, and virile.
“Boo!”
Sam whirled around to see her boss standing directly behind her! “You scared me,” she charged.
“Sorry about that,” grinned Chas. “But I’m not surprised. You looked as though you’d fallen under the spell of Agnes the miserable, the elder sister of my great-great uncle. Direct action was required.”
“She is rather…austere,” said Sam.
“When my grandmother arrived at the Hall, she took one look at the portrait, and banished Aunt Agnes to the attic where she languished for,” Chas shrugged, “sixty years or more.”
Sam nodded in heartfelt agreement. “I can see why your grandmother packed poor Agnes away. The question is why bring her out again?”
Chas grimaced. “Even the best of families get down to the dregs when money’s tight. In our case, it was Aunt Agnes. A bad artist and a sour expression are a deadly combination, don’t you think?”
“I can’t argue with that.” Sam turned to smile at Chas, feeling the heat of attraction once again. Even the baleful glare of his ancestor couldn’t dim the flare of feeling she had for this man. Their eyes met and the moment stretched.
With a slight jerk, Chas stepped away. “Lunch in an hour?”
“Perfect.” Despite her resolve to be professional, Sam’s body rebelled. She watched him walk the length of the gallery, shamelessly ogling his muscular physique from head to toe, taking care to note how the tailor-made, fawn-coloured trousers accentuated his trim waist and perfect backside. Mia would be so proud of her, thought Sam. She knew her office buddy thought she was a prude, but here she was with her eyes glued to her boss’s behind. And what a behind.
As Chas neared the end of the gallery, Sam quickly switched her concentration back
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