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Well. It was clear she’d dealt with the redhead before and expected the worst. As if she were at fault for taking up her own personal space. I opened my mouth to reassure her, but the words stalled on my tongue. She’d called mema’am. Notmajesty. No title, no royalty. See? Isobel lied.
Unless there was a reason for the lack? Like, say, hiding one’s immortality from mortals.
Gah! What did I know? “Have you seen Callen? Mr. Bruce?” I’d rather get directions from her than from my shadows.
Frowning, she pointed. “Down the steps, take two rights and a left.”
“Thank you.” Off I went, descending the vast wooden staircase. This time, I kept my gaze straight ahead, not letting myself study the glorious furnishings and stained-glass windows. I was a woman on a mission.
I passed several other housekeepers dusting and opening curtains to welcome in the morning sun. Each onecurtsied deeper than the last. But did this prove Isobel right?
Uncertain of protocol, I simply smiled and nodded a greeting. Not that it won me any fans. Everyone raced away immediately afterward.
Finally, I reached the end of her directions and used open a door, entering a formal dining room. My shoes pushed into thick carpet as the door snickered shut behind me. Buzz and Ponytail faded into the background, leaving me alone with Callen, who occupied the head of a long, rectangular table bare but for the plate from which he ate, and a floral centerpiece made of delphinium, thistle and forget-me-nots in the most vibrant shades of blue. He was reading something tucked inside a discreet navy folder. If he noticed me, he didn’t reveal it.
My heartbeat sped up. He looked good. Really good. Really, really,reallygood. Black hair brushed back, not a strand out of place. Face straight out of a romance novel with thick brows, heavily lashed eyes and sharp cheekbones. A thicker shadow dusted his strong jaw, proving he hadn’t shaved this morning. Another tailored suit displayed his broad shoulders. Today he wore a silk tie in a subdued shade of sapphire. No telltale battle scars decorated his hands.
Was he a berserker known for savagery in combat or not? He couldn’t be.
Could he?
Unease rippled through me. I shifted from one foot to the other, only then realizing I’d been stroking my fingertips over a coin necklace I no longer wore.
Without glancing up, he intoned, “I thought we agreed. I eat at seven, you eat at eight.”
Yikes. He’d noticed me right from the start, hadn’t he? What else had “we” agreed upon?
“Perhaps we could make an exception today? I’m starved.” When dealing with an errant husband, a girl should keep up her strength.
Rather than waiting for permission, I plopped into the chair at the opposite end of the table. Because that’s what Isobel would do, one hundred percent. My motives had nothing to do with the way his presence unbalanced me.
“I’ll be so quiet you’ll forget I’m here,” I added, continuing my covert study of him for signs of whatever traits berserkers might have. A prominent brow ridge? Nope. A forward-projecting midface? No again. A stubborn chin? Well, yes.
“Isobel,” he said, and I heard the warning note in his tone.
Oh, how I hated that name. “Please, call me—Elle.” Yes! Perfect. The name fit both Isobel and Elizabeth. “And that’s definitely the last thing I’ll say. Unless you invite a few questions?” As a teacher, I’d learned sweeter wording increased learning. “I’m wondering why your decorator selected certain pieces of art.”
A muscle jumped beneath his eye. He twisted the signet ring around his finger. An action I now suspected pointed to a questioning mind. “Bring her a plate,” he called.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you—apologies! Being quiet now.” I mimed zipping my lips, then rubbed my hands together with triumph. Finally I’d won a battle.
An ancient man in a starched black-and-white uniform marched through a door hidden in the wall behind Callen, carrying a plate piled high with eggs, sausage, bread, and several dishes I couldn’t identify.
My mouth watered. “Thank you very much,” I said as the newcomer arranged the buffet of delights before me.
He humphed before striding away. No matter. I dove in with gusto. Mmm. My eyes closed as I savored the first bite. So, so good! Better than the salmon scones.
Only after I’d devoured half the food did I remember Callen and glance up. He’d set his folder aside in favor of watching me.
“What?” I asked, a fork halfway to my mouth. His brusque expression could mean anything. Because in every other way, he appeared relaxed. He reclined in his seat, with an elbow resting on the carved arm of the chair. Was he softening toward me? At least a little? “I wasn’t speaking, exactly as advertised.”
“What game are you playing? Yesterday, you acted as if you were my captive. Today, you pretend you’re thrilled to be here.” The twisting stopped. Decision made?
“Definitely not thrilled,” I admitted with a shrug. “You’re not the warmest of guys. And you aren’t even wearing a kilt.”
He tapped a finger against the tabletop. Didn’t care to hear he was as much a problem as his hated wife? Too bad. Truth was truth. Although, I had to walk a fine line with my honesty. If he truly were a berserker and he raged, I’d have no defense.
I shuddered. “Since you initiated a conversation, I can only assume you wish it to continue.” With barely a breath, I added, “You obviously dislike me. Why not divorce me?” Might as well feel him out and compare his answers to Isobel’s.
