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)
I knew what it was.
I felt safe in that room when, so far, I hadn’t really felt safe anywhere in that house.
It all seemed, so far, to be traps, games, efforts at control, bonds and strictures.
I felt I could go to this room, and no one would look for me there: no maid, no Alcott.
No bad dreams.
When I finally had the opportunity, I intended to talk to Portia in that room.
“How did you know about your father?” I asked the room, speaking quietly.
“He shouted. She cried. I have excellent hearing. They’re my parents, I’m their son, I’m going to feel everything, notice everything, especially about my mother. What might hurt her, what might keep hurting her. Most especially when I’m six.”
Six.
Six years old.
For some reason, I shared, “It happened to me when I was four. Dad had just opened his twentieth store. We were leveraged to the hilt for him to do it. He took risks. Lived on the edge. Mom stood beside him even if we were eating ramen and she was cutting my hair, stealing from Peter to pay Paul to deal with bills, and she was a dab hand at begging for more time from creditors. But he was on the cusp. It would only take months from then when all his bets paid off and the profits started pouring in. When she found out about Andrea, Mom didn’t move him out of her bedroom. She moved him out of our house. And then Andrea swooped in for the kill.”
“She had something she could do. My mother doesn’t. No woman should put themselves in that position. If there are no laws preventing them, they should be able to look after themselves. If there are laws, they should do everything they can to have them struck down.”
Oh shit.
Was I beginning to like this guy?
I looked at him to see he was watching me.
“You didn’t answer,” I noted. “Who do you think killed Dorothy Clifton?”
At my question, without warning, he shut it down.
Completely.
His face. Our conversation.
He did this by saying, “You’ve had your quota of questions. Let’s skip to the good part and go to the Diamond Room.” He guided me out of the Cat’s-eye Room, and we walked down the long hall. Along the way, he shared, “There are one hundred and fifty-four rooms in this house.”
“Whoa,” I muttered.
“And for the most part, two people live in it, two being the ones who can avail themselves of the fullness of it. There are ten full-time staff, as well as several part-time staff. However, they don’t get to kick back and watch telly in the Port Room.”
Again, was I beginning to like this guy, or was I reading into things?
I tested the waters. “What are you saying?”
“I think I said what I was saying,” he replied enigmatically, and then he ushered me into the Diamond Room, which was certainly, at least in this wing, the pièce de résistance.
“Wow, this is gorgeous,” I breathed, gazing around, taking in the prisms of light, the dripping chandeliers and wall sconces, the opalescent wallpaper, the delicate furnishings, the ivory grand piano in one of the turrets that had a runner draped over it that sparkled like diamonds, even in the dreary, weak sunlight that was struggling through the clouds.
I knew how shut down he was when he said, “You’re welcome to peruse the rest of the house at your leisure.”
This was surprising.
“But I thought—”
“However, the third door to the right of first floor, southeastern wing is mine, so if you’re in there, be prepared for me to make a full perusal of your underwear firsthand.”
I felt my eyes get big at this insanely forward comment.
Ian continued, “Next door is the Smoke Tree Room, that’s Danny’s. He’s not in it much, seeing as he sneaks out to join Portia in her room in the northeast wing, something that irritates my father, for reasons I don’t know, since he’s still screwing around on my mum. Still, I doubt Danny would welcome your presence in his room. Portia is in the Robin Room in the northeast wing, which is where yours is, but flipped around.”
At least I now knew where Portia was.
And the fact that wing seemed to be named after birds.
Oh, and the bizarre fact she was set in a different wing than everybody else, and far away from me.
“Cherry and Dogwood are the last two rooms on the southeast wing, Mum and Dad’s room. Don’t go there either,” he demanded.
“But your father doesn’t want—”
“Daphne, I’m quite sure you noticed, I don’t give a fuck what my father wants.”
And with that, and further apropos of nothing, the guided tour was over.
I knew that when the Viscount Duncroft turned and walked away.
Seven
THE PORT ROOM
Fuming, I left my bedroom and stalked down the hall.
I hammered on Lou’s door.