Simon poured three glasses of orange juice and filled a carafe with coffee. He set the drinks on the table, followed by three huge plates of food.
The eggs, fried in real butter, tasted wonderful on her empty stomach, but the warm cinnamon rolls transformed her entire attitude. If she could manage to lift herself from a dirty, youth hostel to a beautiful house filled with handsome men, decadent pastries, and fine art, she could find a way to protect herself from Luc.
Henry sat down and allowed Simon to wait on him as though he was lord of the manor. His mannerisms, however, didn’t display the arrogance or self-importance that had characterized the usual men in her life.
“Have you been traveling a long time?” Simon poured her more coffee.
They wanted to help her, but still, she had no idea who they were and if they had connections to Luc’s world. “Just a few weeks.”
Simon took a bite of eggs, paused for a moment, and then continued his questions. “Get into London at all?”
“No.”
“You sound like you’re from the States?” Simon didn’t stare, but he watched her reactions. He also drank his coffee with the benign expression of a man trying to look like her answers didn’t matter. They mattered. Every scrap of information she handed out could be used against her someday.
“I’m from a small town in Indiana. Most days I spent reading books in the corner of our barn, staring at the sky and dreaming of better places.” Her eyes purposefully wandered to the window. Could she miss a place she’d never been? Probably not. But she could yearn for the rhythmic sound of the ocean waves rippling across the long stretches of sand near her family’s summer home in Martha’s Vineyard. Her heart thumped at the thought of all she’d lost. A magnificent life exchanged for no life at all.
Sighing, she pulled her gaze to the breakfast table. Her reverie caught the attention of Henry and Simon. Both stared at her, as if looking for a clue or a hint about who she really was.
Sorry guys, not today.
Henry leaned back in his chair. “Oxford must be a nice change from a small town. Ripon isn’t a big city, more like a middle-size village that wants to be a small city. I hope it won’t bore you.”
“I appreciate a lot more in my life than I ever did. Trust me. Ripon will be perfect.” She turned toward Simon. “I can’t thank you enough for breakfast.”
He waved her off. “It’s no bother. I have to cook for Lord Henry anyway.”
“Don’t you have places to go?” Henry motioned Simon to leave.
“As soon as I finish my chores.” Simon stood and picked up a few dishes. “Don’t get up, fair lady. You had a rough evening.” He waved his arm in front of him as though a courtly knight, forcing Alex’s smile to break free.
Henry stood and assisted him. “Can you pick up some beer when you’re out? The students drank us dry.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
Their continued banter lightened her mood. The men moved around the kitchen as though they’d lived together forever. They towered over six feet tall, but Simon had Henry by at least two inches. Simon seemed military, with his cropped hair and GI Joe muscles. Henry, on the other hand, appeared athletic, yet sophisticated. His house fit his personality. The old carved wood, the darker, more somber colors. After years of living in a black-and-white modern apartment in Paris, she appreciated this warm, elegant environment.
When Simon departed, Henry escorted her to the main stairway.
“Come. I’ll show you to your room.” He didn’t attempt to carry her bag, probably sensing how important it was to her.
She followed him, slowing down in front of several paintings. “Are these pieces yours?”
“Every one. If you like art, I can show you my collection after lunch.” He continued up the stairs, whistling.
She not only liked art, she loved it more than she liked eating a piece of crispy bacon.
Maybe Simon the brawny chef would make some the next morning. She licked her lips in anticipation and glanced up at Henry. He seemed just as nice-looking from behind as he did from the front. Very nice-looking.
Hot breakfasts, delicious men, and quality art. This place appeared too perfect to be real.
“I’d love to see your collection,” she called after him. She’d enjoy looking over his collection, but she’d never again share the depth of her knowledge with a stranger. At least she’d try to keep her opinions to herself. Her typical enthusiasm when looking at masterpieces bubbled out of her without a filter. Had she kept her opinion to herself about the provenance of the art in Luc’s gallery, she wouldn’t have a death threat hanging over her.
Chapter Four
After escorting Gabe to her room, Henry poured himself more coffee and carried it to his study. The drink, infused with a hint of vanilla, soothed his nerves even before the beverage slid down his throat.
He sat in a leather chair. Gabe fascinated him. She reminded him of the women at the shelter, stoic regardless of the abuse thrust upon them. And in a testament to her mental strength, Gabe hadn’t stayed with the person who had battered her body. She’d run.
Two hours and eight graded exams later, he sensed her presence behind him and turned. She stood in the doorway, staring into the study with a half smile and her fingers tapping together. Her appearance warmed his blood from her blue jeans ripped to reveal toned thighs to her neon hair draping over her shoulder, to those piercing eyes, the color of the ocean off the coast of Santorini.
“Am I disturbing you?”
“Not in the least. Are you ready for the tour?” He stood next to her, a tiny pixie of a thing in bare feet. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder.
“Can we start in this room?” She pointed with her bandaged hand to the framed masterpiece above the fireplace.