She’d made the suggestion less because of the fact that he might disturb her coming in late, and more because she’d convinced herself that it was probably wise to get some proper rest and sleep on things before broaching the subject. Her decision promoted the most disturbed night she’d had since coming to Glenteign—barring the night of the storm.
Nightmares of a baby crying and harsh voices telling it to be quiet, then a small boy curled up in the corner of an empty, dusty room, as if hiding from some lurking dark threat had sheened her body in icy perspiration when she’d woken, her face wet with tears, and she’d been struggling all morning to try and shake off the shroud of melancholy that inevitably lingered. And, as well as suffering the ravages of her nightmares, it was hard to think straight when the secret she carried had the potential to impact on her own and Keir’s life so dramatically.
Georgia just had no clue how he would take the news at all. Now, watching him across the room from her desk as he put down the telephone receiver on his umpteenth call of the morning, she felt her heart slam almost sickeningly against her ribs as she decided that now was as good as any moment to break it to him. But still she hesitated. Eyeing him with a profound stab of longing, she concluded that he looked almost too beguiling for words, in a navy blue cable-knit sweater and black corduroy jeans, his slightly mussed dark hair reminding— Georgia of a schoolboy who had rushed out of the door in the morning without remembering— to comb it.
In her mind’s eye she could see him as a young boy. With those amazing azure eyes of his and that perfect face, he must have been the most beautiful, adorable— child. It was inconceivable that his father had ill treated him as he had. It was inconceivable to Georgia that any adult could mistreat a child. Children were so precious…
The earnestly felt thought brought her anxiously back to her own astonishing news.
‘Keir?’
‘Hmm?’
‘I was—’
‘What?’
‘I was wondering if you had an enjoyable evening last night, at your friend’s club?’
Georgia grimaced at her own unhelpful diversion. Just where was her courage this morning?
Nonplussed, Keir glanced distractedly towards her. ‘It was fine. Nothing remarkable.’ But his expression— had suddenly became more animated, as if recalling something of far more interest than whether or not he’d enjoyed the evening at his friend’s club. ‘I was going to show you some paintings—remember?’ — He was on his feet and opening the study door before Georgia could gather her wits and waylay him.
‘Paintings?’ She frowned.
‘The illustrious Glenteign family legacy,’ he mocked with an enigmatic smile. ‘Let’s get out of here before that bloody phone rings again!’
That day he showed her around rooms she’d never looked into before. There were so many of them— anterooms and apartments full to the brim with paintings and priceless artefacts, all lovingly kept dusted and cleaned by Glenteign’s devoted housekeeper and her staff. To Georgia, following Keir around like some enthusiastic and interested tourist, it was really like having access to your own personal museum.
‘Look at this.’
He touched her elbow and diverted her attention from a regal-looking portrait of one of his many ancestors— to the stunning gold harp leaning, against the door to yet another undiscovered room.
‘Oh, how lovely!’ Georgia declared, moving swiftly towards it. ‘Did someone in your family play it?’
‘No.’
He was smiling inscrutably, and she glanced up at him in confusion.
‘Touch it,’ he suggested.
As Georgia bent low to obey him, she realised it wasn’t a real golden harp at all and she reached out to confirm it in amazement.
‘It’s what they call a “trompe-l’oeil.” It’s a painting…an illusion…of a three-dimensional object that looks completely real. As children, me and Robbie were fascinated by it.’
‘It’s amazing!’
As she straightened up to her full height again, Georgia saw the delight in Keir’s face at her obvious pleasure in the illusion, and her heart swelled anew with love for him. Her feelings must have revealed themselves for a moment, because the next thing she knew he was pulling her into his arms and kissing her with a slow-burning hunger that made her toes curl.
When he finally withdrew his lips, she knew that her cheeks were surely glowing as pink as any chrysanthemum.
‘What was that for?’ she asked, her voice soft.
‘Because I missed not being in bed with you last night. Would you have minded me coming in and waking you up?’