Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Ian yanked on my hand, effectively stopping both of us.
I looked up at him.
His eyes scanned my face.
“Did you sleep?” he asked.
Great.
Apparently, I looked as shit as I felt.
“I’m having some bad dreams.”
He tugged on my hand, and I hurried to keep up with him as he started prowling toward the servant’s stairs all the while growling, “We’re moving you out of that fucking room.”
“It’s not the room, Ian. It’s worry about my sister. And sure, yes, this place and all that happened in it doesn’t help. It’s sneaking into my subconscious. No surprise.”
He stopped abruptly, stopping me with him. “No more stories of murdered women.”
I felt my eyes get big and pointed in his face.
“There!” I crowed triumphantly. “You think she was murdered.”
“Christ,” he muttered, continuing to prowl and dragging me with him.
“Admit it, you think she was murdered. It was no accident. So now you have to tell me who you think dunnit.”
“No talk of Dorothy Clifton until you get a full night’s sleep.”
“No fair.”
He stopped us again at the top of the stairs. “I’ll tell you more if you let me help you sleep.”
“And how would you do that?” I asked, though I figured I knew the answer.
“First of all, you wouldn’t be in bed in the Carnation Room.”
“Dearie me, Lord Alcott,”—I fluttered my eyes—“are you suggesting something untoward?”
“By untoward, if you mean fucking you until you’re exhausted, yes. That’s what I’m suggesting.”
Take two with my eyes getting big.
“Yeesh, babe, you should try being honest once in a while,” I teased. “All this roundabout talk is exhausting.”
He tugged me down the stairs, saying, “You’re cute when you’re being a pain in the ass.”
We hit the kitchen and Bonnie, at work at a bowl, and Harriet, sitting on a stool, eating some toast, immediately smiled at us.
What a difference a day, and a decent guy treating them like humans, makes.
Ian immediately spoke.
To Harriet.
“Louella is being moved to the Poppy Room and Daphne to the Rose Room.”
For some reason, Bonnie gasped at this news.
“Oh, thank God. That Carnation Room gives me the heebie-jeebies,” Harriet said.
“Hang on, Lou is going to the Iris Room. We decided. She loves irises,” I reminded Ian.
“The Poppy Room is next to the Rose Room,” he reminded me.
“They don’t have to move me.”
“You’re moving.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re moving.”
“Am not.”
“This isn’t up for discussion.”
“It so is.”
“What’s happening?” Lou asked from behind us.
“The girls are moving you and Daphne to different rooms,” Ian told her.
“Why?” Lou asked, squeezing around us and sending greeting smiles to Bonnie and Harriet, also Rebecca, who’d just walked in.
“Because your room is shit,” Ian, King of Honesty, announced.
Lou bit her lip, not about to confirm, but what he spoke was so true, she didn’t have it in her to deny.
“And because Dorothy Clifton stayed in Daphne’s current room,” Ian went on.
“Oh my God!” Lou cried, her face draining of color.
“Now look what you’ve done,” I snapped at Ian.
And Lou totally lost it.
It was nearly a shout when she exclaimed, “I can’t believe they put you in her…her…room! That’s diabolical!”
“See, samesies,” Rebecca whispered to Harriett.
Harriet gave a fake shiver.
“Shh,” Bonnie shushed.
“It’s fine,” I assured everyone.
“She’s not sleeping,” Ian told on me. “She’s having bad dreams.”
I tore my hand from his. “Oh my God, will you shut up?”
He was completely unperturbed. “Yes, when you stop fighting about moving rooms.”
Lou spoke. “You’re moving rooms. We’re both moving rooms. This is…no.”
Lou gave me the hand when I opened my mouth to speak.
I closed my mouth.
“We’re moving,” she decreed. “I like irises. I also like poppies. But I want to be close to you and you are not sleeping another night in that room.”
Why was I fighting this?
“Okay, whatever, everybody chill,” I muttered.
“God, I have a headache,” Lou complained as she moved toward Bonnie’s workbench.
I squinted at Lou’s back because that was headache number two so far. She had bad head pain, and it wasn’t infrequent. But then she’d take something, rest, and be okay.
“You need coffee,” Bonnie prescribed, turning toward the kettle.
“I’ll take some of that,” I said, starting to follow Lou, but I got caught short when Ian grabbed my hand again. “I’m mad at you,” I told him when I looked back.
I was pulling at his hold.
He wasn’t letting go.
“I have sleeping pills. You’re taking one tonight.”
“Oh, it’s Doctor Alcott now, is it?”
He tipped his head to the side. “Shall I ask Lou?”
Bah!
“You fight dirty,” I groused.
“You can’t even imagine.”
I rolled my eyes.
Finally, he pulled me to the workbench.
I looked to Sam. “Hey, after breakfast, can you show me where my car and key fob are?”
“Sure,” Sam answered.
“Going somewhere?” Ian asked.
“No, but if you keep annoying me, after I murder you, I’ll need a clean getaway.”
Lou gasped.
Bonnie and Sam chuckled.
Harriet and Rebecca giggled.
But Ian?
Ian busted out laughing.
Ten
THE VIOGNIER ROOM
After Sam showed me where my car was (tucked between a black BMW and a sleek, British-racing-green Jaguar, which I hoped was Ian’s, and down from a white Mercedes coupe, another BMW, this one silver, and ending with a muddy Land Rover), he also instructed me on how to get into the lockbox where all the key fobs were held.