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More action on the television screen, and the reporter started yelling, “Oh my God, were those gunshots?” She turned to the camera, realized the cameras were still ru
The phone rang. Sam caught the caller ID. Marcus.
So much for the beef stew.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Taylor woke flushed and lazy, and as she came to, horrified. Oh, God. What had she done?
She had a wicked headache, different than usual—harder, more insistent—almost like she was hungover. She hadn’t had that much to drink. Maybe she was coming down with something. Yes, maybe. In any event, she was glad Memphis wasn’t there. Facing him in her bed in the morning felt too familiar for where they stood in their relationship.
God. Baldwin would never forgive her.
Could she forgive herself?
She got showered and dressed. Avoided looking herself in the eye. She wasn’t proud of what happened last night. But at least now she knew. Things could be good with Memphis. Very, very good. She checked her phone, and saw that she still hadn’t gotten a call from Baldwin.
She couldn’t fit both of them in her brain right now. Maybe she could ring the bell, and ask for breakfast to be served in her room instead. She didn’t know if she could face Memphis just yet.
Grow up, Taylor, she told herself. You’re a big girl. You did it, and now you have to pay the price. Go have breakfast with the man and get it over with.
She went to the door, surprised to see the chair still leaning against it. She wondered how he could have pulled that off.
As she touched the wooden arm, it fell over with a crash. It hadn’t been wedged in at all, just leaned delicately. He must have set it there as he left, snuck out of her room before the servants were the wiser. Now that was a fancy trick.
The hallway seemed much longer than ever before. Eyes followed her. She could swear she saw the Pretender standing in the doorway of the billiards room, leaning back against the frame, one ankle hooked over the other, a toothpick in the corner of his mouth.
Blood streaming from the bullet hole in his forehead, a dark gape in his perfectly white skin.
She shook her head and looked back. The doorway was empty.
She scurried into the dining room. Memphis was alone, waiting for her.
“Morning. Everything okay?”
She nodded. Made no mention of the strange sense from the hallway, her bizarre dreams the night before, or Trixie’s late-night visit, or his follow-up. Now, in the light of day, she felt rather foolish about the whole thing—she hadn’t had a morning-after walk of shame in a long, long time.
She sat down quickly, knocking a fork onto the floor.
Good grief, girl. Get it together.
Memphis was downright cheerful. Of course he was. His nocturnal sojourn didn’t show in the least. Instead, he seemed rested and comfortable in tan cords, a white button-down and a shaggy green sweater under a dark gray fleece vest. It seemed he was back to himself. There were no shadows from yesterday’s misfire at the bridge, nor any inkling that he’d been directly responsible for Taylor’s disturbed night’s rest.
“How are you this fine day?” he asked.
She opened her mouth to answer and stopped herself. She didn’t want to share that she had her voice back. Not just yet. That was something she needed to keep inside. And to be honest, she didn’t know exactly what to say.
She had stashed her notebook in her back pocket when she left the room, a cop’s habit as much as anything, so she pulled it out.
Cat apparently has my tongue.
He laughed. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look like you were up all night.”
She shot him a look. There was no one around; he could talk about it.
Well, that’s because I was. Having the most terrible thoughts.
He didn’t rise to the bait.
“Take it easy today, okay? Jet lag can be a monster. Plan your day so you can have a nap. It will make you feel better.”
Um, yeah. Okay. He really wasn’t going to say anything. What the hell? She wasn’t even good enough for a mention? She buried her face in her teacup. This was beyond embarrassing.
She just wanted him to leave. Then she could go back to bed and sleep. Sleep would be good. She was exhausted. She’d gotten maybe a full two hours last night, in spurts. The melatonin was working; she’d have to let Maddee know. She was more tired than she’d been in years. If only it worked on headaches. And heartbreak.
She wanted to ask about the bridge. About Evan. She just didn’t know how to bring it up.
They settled into breakfast, the usual Scottish fare—this time with porridge on the side, which Taylor was surprised to find she loved, since she wasn’t a huge oatmeal fan.
Memphis finally pushed away his plate and smiled. Not the lazy, come-hither grin he was so good at, but a tight, perfunctory smile.
“You’ll be okay while I’m gone?”
She flipped to a fresh page.
Of course. Too much on my plate already. All this healing and resting to do, it’s going to be exhausting. What about you?
“I’ll be fine. Don’t let Maddee push you around. If you’re not comfortable, you just tell her to stop, okay? Same goes for anyone here on the estate. You’re to treat this as your own home, and everyone has been instructed to give you anything your heart desires.”
Don’t need anything. Pla
“Be sure you have Jacques take you ferreting for rabbits, though. That’s great fun.”
Ferreting for rabbits. Check. On the list. Anything else?
“I think you’ll do. Just make sure to stay in touch—email or text me and let me know you’re okay. I won’t be gone more than a couple of days. I’ll be back at the weekend. I’ll take you to Ben Nevis, we’ll hike up the mountain.”
Ben Nevis?
“The highest peak in Scotland. Beautiful views of the great glens.”
Sounds lovely.
“It will be. I promise. I’ve got to run now, my train is at ten. I’ll see you in a couple of days. Will you be able to find your way to your rooms?”
It’s like second nature.
He laughed, then kissed her lightly on the forehead. He let his hand linger on the top of her head for a moment. She didn’t know whether to raise her chin and invite him to kiss her lips, or pull away and cower under the table. She was no better than a schoolgirl.
She did neither, just sat there, frozen and immobile.
“Bye, Taylor.”
He was gone. She heard him banter for a few moments with Trixie, then things went silent.
Well.
She knew the Brits were a bit buttoned-down, but really. Last night deserved at least some sort of mention. Unless he hadn’t enjoyed it—no, he had. There wasn’t much mistaking that.
Maybe he wanted her to make the next move. No pressure. She couldn’t remember all the details, had she told him to never mention it again? Because that’s how he was acting. He was sometimes good at following her directions. Or maybe he was embarrassed, too?
Her range of emotions finally settled on relief. She needed to get her head on straight about this. Decide what it was she really wanted. She’d made a mistake. A big one. One that she’d felt in her bones she might make. And now that she had, well, she regretted it. Fully.
After the strangeness last night, having him gone seemed preferable. The idea of him creeping around outside at night freaked her out anyway. And that he could get into her room anytime he wanted… Yes, him leaving was for the best. She’d broach the subject of Evan and the bridge on a chat, where she could really express herself.