Page 19

Wait…what? I slowed my steps then backtracked to the room he’d pointed into last. Floor to ceiling bookshelves dominated the space, and there were ladders hooked over rails at various points around the room. I stepped inside, already inhaling the smell of leather and pages and ink.

“My dear?” Mr. Baldwin’s voice floated back down the hallway, and I peered around the doorway toward him.

“Sorry. I… I like this room.”

“A very good choice.” He hurried toward me, his shoes striking the wooden floor with each step. “It’s one of my favorite rooms, too.” He sighed. “Alas, we don’t have time to discuss the books now. Chef has a lot of knives in his kitchen.” He broke off and chuckled. Then he started to walk and point again. “Formal dining room. Family dining room, and the kitchen is through that door there. I’m sure the master would let you in there, but maybe while Chef’s not around.” He winked. “Where would you like to eat tonight?”

I glanced around. “Is it… Is it just me?”

I glanced around like I almost expected Nicolas Dupont to appear through the walls or hurtle through a window. I hated feeling so insecure, but this house wasn’t my natural environment, and I didn’t feel safe here.

Well, no. That wasn’t quite it. It wasn’t safety so much as I didn’t trust my surroundings.

Fuck it. I didn’t trust myself.

A masculine, spicy scent lingered in the air in nearly every room, and I knew exactly who it belonged to.

“For now.” Mr. Baldwin nodded. “The master has been further delayed at—”

“At the casino.” I jumped in and finished his sentence, and he nodded.

Disappointment niggled at me, but I pushed it away and waited for the relief I should feel instead. I needed to be relieved that I was here alone. Perhaps my whole month would fly by like this. Just me and that fantastic library. Alone. In Dupont’s house.

Now that was the kind of vacation I could get behind.

“I guess I could go family dining room? I’m not sure I’m dressed for formal.” And I definitely didn’t need to be at the end of the huge banquet table I’d glimpsed through the doorway.

“Perfect.” He led me in and set a place at the table before stopping on his way to the door. “Chef will be in with your meal in a moment.”

I unfolded my napkin and set it over my lap, and when I looked up, Mr. Baldwin had left the room.

I glanced around, taking in the sumptuous designs and textures in the decoration and finishes of the room. I was sitting at a table that looked like an antique. In the fucking least formal of the dining rooms. I was more used to making do with badly put together furniture I’d assembled from Ikea knockoffs. A knock at the door startled me, and a man stepped in, a huge try of food in his arms.

“Good evening,” he said, and I half-stood to return his greeting.

My napkin slid from my lap, and I bent to retrieve it but ended up sitting back in my chair with no grace at all.

“Fresh from the kitchen.” A woman rushed in behind the man, a tray stand clutched in one of her hands. “I’m Emma. I work for Mr. Dupont, and this is Chef.”

“Just… Chef?” I lifted an eyebrow.

“I am what I do,” he confirmed as he set up the tray and started unloading plates in front of me.

I watched pasta dishes and a hamburger and risotto and a surf and turf platter hit the table, and I blew out a breath. “Are we expecting more guests or…or someone else?”

Maybe Nicolas Dupont wasn’t held up at work anymore. My anxiety roared back to life, and I drummed my fingertips on the gleaming wood.

“I got a little carried away, perhaps.” Chef ran his gaze over the food.

“Or maybe not carried away enough?” Emma suggested. “Maybe she prefers something else?”

“Oh, no! I… There’s no way I can eat so much food. Will you join me?” I gestured to the chairs opposite me.

Emma darted a quick glance at Chef. “Uh, we’re staff. We’re not allowed to eat while on duty.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” I cringed. “Sorry again. I mean, I don’t want to get you in trouble with Mr. Dupont.” I scooped some pasta onto my plate. “I’ll just have a little of everything.”

Chef watched me carefully while I ate, nodding his approval every time I murmured appreciation for his food, and Emma chatted, telling me a little about the various antiques in the room and details about the house and grounds. When I finally pushed my plate away, Chef looked at Emma, triumph shining in his eyes.