The Lost - J. D. Robb [115]
Three
Aidan’s temper was forgotten as she stared in surprise at the man facing her. She had expected to meet a frail old man, perhaps in a wheelchair, his lap covered with a blanket. That was her last memory of her stern grandfather in the years before his passing.
There was nothing frail about the man who strode across the room and offered a firm handshake. If anything, he resembled an aging lion, with a mane of white hair, a handsome Irish countenance, and a commanding presence. In his day, Aidan decided, Cullen Glin would have easily rivaled Ross Delaney as the most handsome man at any gathering.
“Aidan. Welcome to my home. Forgive me for staring.” He took a moment to compose himself. “I hope you’ll excuse my lack of manners. I got momentarily sidetracked. You’re much lovelier than your photographs.”
“Thank you.” She found herself beginning to relax in this man’s presence. “Your home is spectacular. My first glimpse of it took my breath away.”
“How refreshing.” He glanced beyond her to smile at Ross. “Isn’t she delightful?” Without waiting for a response, he turned that charming smile on her. “How are your rooms, my dear?”
“They’re grand. And, oh, that view of the gardens. I could sit and look at them for hours.”
“They’ve been at their best this season. I hope you were able to rest after that long flight.”
“I can’t remember the last time I slept so soundly.”
“Good. Good.” With his hand beneath her elbow, he led her across the room to a grouping of furniture positioned to take advantage of a cozy fire on the hearth.
Like her suite of rooms, the dining room was cavernous, with a table that could easily seat thirty or more people, and a crystal chandelier above it winking with hundreds of lights. Mahogany floors were polished to a high sheen, and softened with an enormous rug in shades of emerald and ruby and gold.
Despite the size, it felt easy and comfortable. Like the man of the house, Aidan thought, who seemed bigger than life.
Bridget entered bearing a silver tray on which stood a crystal decanter and three glasses. Cullen handed one to Aidan and took one for himself before handing Ross a tumbler of water.
“Before we begin dinner, I’d like to offer a toast, my dear. To you, for humoring an old man.” He touched his glass to hers, and then to Ross’. “And, as always, to those we’ve loved and lost.”
Aidan was caught off guard by the depth of pain she could hear in his words, and the sudden flicker of it in his eyes.
Her own loss was still too fresh, too deep. She thought of her mother, and how she would have enjoyed this.
To hide her pain, she sipped and looked away. When she looked up, he was watching her closely.
“I was devastated to learn that you’d only just buried your mother, and that you were her sole caregiver during her illness.”
She nodded, unable to speak over the sudden lump that clogged her throat.
“Thank heaven she had you. There’s nothing like family to see us through the hard times.” He glanced over at Ross, who was studying Aidan through narrowed eyes. “Those of us not blessed with blood kin create our own families. Take Ross. He’s as precious to me as any son.”
“Then you’re lucky to have him.” Unable to turn away from that icy stare, Aidan shot Ross a challenging look.
Reading her irritation, his lips quirked in a hint of a smile, further annoying her.
“Sit here by the fire and enjoy your drink, my dear.” Cullen indicated a comfortable chaise and waited until she was seated, before choosing a chair beside her.
Ross walked to the hearth to poke at the fire before turning to face them. His hand rested along the mantel, drawing Aidan’s attention to the exquisite detail of the sculpted white marble.
“That fireplace is stunning, Mr. Glin.”
“Please, call me Cullen.”
She sipped her champagne. “Has your family lived here for generations?”
That brought a laugh from both Cullen and Ross.
Seeing her arched brow, the old man explained. “In my youth, I was considered an