Widow - Anne Stuart [29]
“That’s for vampires, not ghosts,” she said. “And Pompasse is dead and gone. He’s not coming back to haunt anyone.”
“Not even you, Charlie? The one woman who escaped?”
She turned to look at him, a stricken expression on her face. “I don’t believe in ghosts,” she said.
“And besides, you never escaped, did you? He still owns you, body and soul. I’m going to be interested in seeing this fiancé of yours. I was figuring he had to be some up-and-coming Wall Street shark, but now I’m thinking you’d probably be looking for another Pompasse. Some randy old man who’d take care of you. Another father figure.”
“You’re disgusting, Maguire.”
“It’s one of my many charms. So is he like Pompasse? Your Henry?”
“Not in the slightest. He’s a lawyer, he’s well bred, well behaved, thoughtful, considerate, kind and restrained.”
“Doesn’t do it for you in bed, does he?”
He’d pushed her too far but the temptation was irresistible. “Go to hell, Maguire.” Her voice was fierce. “I don’t care how many governments you work for—I don’t have to put up with this.”
“How old is he, sugar? I don’t suppose you stole this one from your mum as well?”
“You can leave, Maguire. Right now.”
“On Saturday. After the committal service. I’ve got a job to do and I’m going to do it. Don’t mind me—people say I’m a royal pain in the butt. I never did learn not to speak my mind.”
“It’s never too late to master new skills,” she said sharply.
“Tell you what—you can have first crack at the bathroom while I move my stuff out of the room. Then you can settle down all safe and sound knowing that no one’s going to bother you, either from this world or the next. Okay?”
She still wanted him gone, he could see that. He had to remember that there was a limit to how far he could push Charlie Thomas. For all her desire to keep the peace, she wasn’t going to let him go too far.
“I don’t want you here,” she said in a weary voice, knowing it was a losing battle.
He knew she didn’t. But she would, sooner or later. He had three days to get her in bed, the one place where she’d have no defenses left at all, the one place where he could find out everything he wanted to know about Pompasse and his strange marriage and his kinky tastes. It was a dirty job but someone had to do it.
“I’m sorry,” he said, all false earnestness that she probably didn’t believe. “I’ll behave myself. I didn’t mean to upset you. You go on up, and by the time you’re ready for bed the room will be deserted. Unless that room gives you the willies, too? You must have slept there with the old guy as well….”
“It’s been changed,” she said. “It’s all new furniture. And no, he always came to my room. And why the hell am I telling you that?”
“You need a sympathetic ear?” he suggested.
“I need my head examined,” she shot back, suddenly fierce. “I want you out of here, Maguire. I want you to spend tomorrow getting your work done. The sooner the estate is cataloged and appraised, the better my peace of mind.”
“I’ve got to find the paintings and the journals first, love.”
“We’ll find them,” she said grimly. “I’ll help you.” She turned toward the house, dismissing him.
Before she could see his triumphant grin.
How in God’s name was she going to survive the next few days? Charlie thought desperately. Pompasse’s harem was bad enough—with Antonella’s crazy accusations and Gia’s rampant hostility. Throw Maguire on top of that volatile mix and she was ready to run screaming into the night.
Now that she was finally alone Charlie was famished. She found cold chicken and carrots in the huge steel refrigerator that Pompasse had ordered from Rome. The kitchen was deserted, and spotless, of course. Lauretta prided herself on both her cooking talent and her cleanliness, and Charlie had learned everything from her. She sat at the scrubbed table, eating the cold chicken and gnocchi with surprising relish. It seemed like years since she’d been hungry.
Lauretta