London Dynasty (The Dynasties #1) - Geneva Lee Page 0,14

setting. The interior of the house was vastly different than the exterior. Everything had been remodeled into a sleek, modern mansion. Overhead a cluster of starburst chandeliers hung at varying lengths. Sliding doors were open on each side, revealing glimpses of luxurious sitting rooms, and a grand staircase waited in the center, leading to the upper levels of the home.

“I fell asleep in the car,” I confessed after I managed to get ahold of myself.

“It’s too comfortable!” she exclaimed with a laugh. “I can’t stand being driven if I’m alone, because I start to doze. But if you’re not tired, then I hope you won’t mind lunch. You can say no. I promise not to be offended.”

My stomach grumbled at the idea of food. “Lunch would be good.”

“Wonderful. I’ll let you change.” She managed to say this without a hint of judgment, but I realized then that although I was wearing a nice pair of black trousers and a simple t-shirt, I looked woefully out of place.

“Thanks,” I offered, wondering if I might be able to find my room without drawing suspicion.

“I made sure your closet was changed for the season. It seems no one got around to doing so since the fall. Of course, we’ll pick up some new pieces. I’ve been dying for a shopping partner,” she gushed.

I nodded, starting toward the stairs and hoping I hadn’t made a calculated error. Before I reach the bottom step, a ding stopped me, and I turned to see the lift doors slide open. I’d been so caught up in all the other spectacular elements of my new home that I hadn’t even noticed it. A man in a well-cut linen suit stepped out.

“Good, I caught you,” he called, his deep voice bouncing off the marble floor and booming around me.

“Giles is quite pleased you’re back, too.” She smiled warmly at him. “He’s been helping me get ready all morning for your arrival.”

“Yes, Miss Belmond,” he said, moving toward me in a businesslike clip and ignoring Iris altogether. “I have an itinerary for you to review. Perhaps, I can accompany you to your quarters.”

I flipped through the mental files I’d managed to absorb and remembered that Giles was Kerrigan’s assistant. I nodded enthusiastically at my savior. “Of course. I do have lunch with Iris, though.”

“Of course,” he repeated my own words, continuing past me on the staircase without a backward glance at either of us. “This won’t take long.”

“I’ll be in the library,” Iris said. “Take your time and get settled.”

I gulped, forcing a smile in response, and started up the stairs, toward my new life.

Chapter Eight

I caught up to Giles, who had already started down a hall, and opened my mouth, only to have him hold up a hand.

“Perhaps, we should wait,” he said. It was perfectly polite, and he was right, but I had the oddest sense of being a child told to hold her tongue at the table.

I followed him in silence, padding across plush Persian runners, past art that looked dangerously expensive until he stopped in front of a door. He turned the knob and opened it for me.

“Your rooms,” he said with the slightest emphasis.

Rooms? I managed to swallow the question since we weren’t inside and safely behind a closed door. It wasn’t a bedroom that we entered but rather a sitting room, tastefully decorated in shades of light blue. Heavy, silk drapes in icy silver were drawn, allowing the late morning light to filter into the space. A velvet couch, a small table with a stack of magazines, and two upholstered chairs were clustered around an unlit hearth. There wasn’t a spec of dust anywhere. It looked as though the occupant might have left this morning, not months ago.

“Mrs. Belmond will want you to change,” Giles said, looking me up and down with an expression that said he understood why and agreed with the request.

My gaze fell on the duffel I’d brought with me from Bexby. It had been delivered to the rooms ahead of me. I had a few outfits in there, even a nice dress. Despite what Iris had said I wasn’t certain I could literally step into Kerrigan’s shoes. Not yet, at least.

Giles followed my gaze and rolled his eyes. “Don’t even think about it. If this ensemble is any indication, nothing in that bag is suitable.”

“You don’t know—”

“Kerrigan Belmond has never worn an item of clothing that cost less than a hundred pounds,” he informed me.

My mouth formed a small O.