“Well, it’s been a long day,” I announce, walking back into the empty room.
Hmm. The throw lies haphazardly over the back of the sofa, the cushions askew.
Maybe he carried Lulu to bed?
Noticing the light spilling out into the other hallway, I cross the room. It’s coming from the dining room. As I stick my head through the open door, Carson looks up.
“Want one?” Standing at the open drink’s cabinet, he reaches into an old-fashioned silver ice bucket, depositing a cube of ice into his glass.
“You put ice in there?”
“There’s a machine.” He taps the bottom of the cabinet with his shoe, and I find myself frowning. It’s a beautiful piece of furniture, Art Deco. Maybe burr walnut. “It’s supposed to be used.” He twists his glass. “Can I tempt you?”
He already knows the answer to that. As for the drink, I shake my head.
“Is there a reason you’re hovering in the doorway?” He rests his elbow on the top of the cabinet, the picture of ease.
“You put Lulu to bed,” I assert.
“Was that not okay?”
“No. It was just a surprise. She didn’t give you any trouble?” Lulu can be super crabby when she’s woken from a snooze.
He shakes his head. “I was sleepily instructed to wish her good night in the vein of, bonne nuit, mon petit chou.”
“It’s just a little thing we do.” I struggle to hold in my smile along with the admission.
“Night light was duly switched on, Norman tucked in beside her, but brushing either her teeth or her hair was beyond my capabilities.”
“Those are beyond a Norland nanny’s capabilities. It’s a posh school for nannies,” I add as his brow quirks. “Caregivers to royalty and the like. They wear uniforms and look very serious.” I’m babbling . . . and apparently walking deeper into the room, much to Carson’s obvious pleasure.
“Are you going to tell me about your date?” He motions to a couple of imposing chairs placed on either side of the black marble fireplace, another Art Deco original. The ebony-coloured dining suite is a grand affair to seat a dozen, at least. A hooped base, one side houses a bench with some kind of furry rug, the other chairs with backs shaped like clouds. Around the room, several sconces are lit, making the large room seem snug. I find myself perched on the end of my seat by the fireplace as Carson settles back in his, bringing his right ankle over his knee, his glass dangling carelessly from his fingertips.
“I told you, it was good.”
“That’s not exactly what you said. He talked too much, and he was a sloppy drinker.”
“You were paying attention.” I duck my head, hoping to hide not my smile but how delighted I sound.
“I always pay attention when it comes to you. You know that. Just like you know those aren’t the details I’m interested in.”
“Do I?” My retort wavers with mirth.
“Was he a sloppy kisser, too?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
He tried. I swerved.
“I want it to be.”
“What are you smiling at?” I ask, a little exasperated. This man and his million smiles drive me slightly loopy. Or maybe that’s just his mouth. Because even just looking at it makes me lose brain cells.
“Because I want it to be my business and my business alone. And because he didn’t kiss you.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, you didn’t have to. I can just tell.”
“Okay, Houdini,” I mutter in return. Well, he did make my new knickers disappear. I consider them as collateral damage, and I’m disinclined to ask for them back. “And actually, speaking of tricks, I have something to thank you for. Sorry, I got that wrong. I meant I’ve got something to punch you for.”
“Really?” He chuckles.
“Yes, because my darling daughter borrowed something quite particular from you and wore it to school on her wrist.”
“You’re gonna punch me because she wore one of my watches to school? Please don’t tell me it was the Patek Phillipe Chronograph,” he says, pressing his hand to his face.
“Is that the silver one?” It’s a decent guess because a good number of the watches in that drawer are.
“With the black strap,” he almost groans.
“No, it wasn’t that one. In fact, what she borrowed is worn a little south of the wrist. Maybe even sometimes adjacent to it.” I give a little shrug. “And speaking of wearing, I do hope it was brand new.”
He looks back at me, his expression completely blank. “You’re gonna have to spell it out for me because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I’m not going to say it. How can I without turning the colour of a beetroot? Instead, I change tack. “You know how you have a watch drawer in your closet?” Carson nods. “It’s a bit unusual. Not everyone has a watch drawer.”
“No,” he agrees. “Some people prefer to keep their watches in a safe. Some in a bank.”