Page 4 of Quinn, By Design

Manly and charming, economical and practical, heroic even, with broad shoulders and the solid strength of someone who worked with his body, while his clean, sandalwood scent with its tart hint of citrus reassured. Lucy refused to be pacified. The constant parade of men through her mother’s life and bedroom during Lucy’s entire first decade had taught her the futility of relying on men. Still, she’d finished the sandwich. The largest meal she’d eaten in ... forever.

“Whisht! You’re hiding something.” She’d read the first clauses of Niall Quinn’s agreement and stalled at the words “rent free.” Henry Dawson, her lawyer, had been at his daughter’s wedding and unable to talk. He’d mentioned the changed will, Quinn as a beneficiary, and asked her to wait until they spoke. Except her rage had been liberating and propelled her straight here.

“I know nothing about a changed will,” he repeated, his voice steady, his body language unthreatening.

“You’re avoiding the question.”Again.Lucy sucked in a breath. “What do you do here?”

“That would fall into the category ofmybusiness.”

His business conducted onher property.

Something niggled at the back of Lucy’s mind. Months ago, her grandpa had bought a supply of paintings they’d never be able to shift. When she’d queried the accounts, he said he’d bought them for a friend. Later he’d taken her to an exhibition at Leopold’s Gallery. Modern, abstract art, the antithesis of Grandpa’s taste. She’d followed him around completely bemused, until he’d told her to look at the frames. Cleverly made new frames from antique timbers, each one different, each crafted to showcase the artwork.

“Grandpa bought a lot of old frames earlier this year.” Lucy hadn’t questioned his purchases after the visit to Leopold’s.

“He bought a lot of things.” Quinn’s expression gave nothing away.

“He never bought stock we couldn’t use. Until recently.” Lucy hadn’t connected the furniture restorer to the friend who wanted frames either. Grandpa could easily have made the connection for her.

“And a man’s not allowed to change his habits,” he muttered.

“Breaking the habits of a lifetime is a reason to argue diminished responsibility.” She probed more carefully. If her grandpa had deliberately kept Niall Quinn a secret, she might be making a mistake about the carpenter. Shehatedmaking mistakes.

“That’s insulting.” He looked affronted on her grandpa’s behalf.

Spreading her palms on the table, Lucy leaned forward. His gaze dropped to her hands, as if mesmerised. “Did Grandpa buy those frames to provide you with timber?”

He hesitated a fraction of a second too long.

Use that pretty Irish lilt to talk your way out of this, she thought.

“He occasionally bought frames and antique timber on my behalf. If you can’t find the repayments in your accounts, I can provide copies from mine.” The charming woodworker claimed respectable accounting habits.

“I’ll be checking all transactions for the last year. With our accountant.” The re-energizing rage that had driven her here abandoned Lucy. Until she’d found the agreement, she’d assumed the property was hers to do with as she wished. She wished to sell it and make her current financial problems disappear. She couldn’t lose the business her grandpa had spent his life building. Not after losing him.

And Niall Quinn wasn’t telling her everything about his relationship with her grandpa. Guilt, or a close cousin, had flashed across his face when she’d first accused him.

“Did Henry mention anything else?” He looked more concerned for her than guilty. A charming,disarminghunk.

“Thatwould fall into the category ofmybusiness.” She plastered a neutral expression on her face while mimicking his earlier answer. Making sure McTavish’s thrived was her first order of business.

The antiques world would be watching Lucy’s moves closely. A whisper of financial difficulties and even old friends would be eyeing her stock and attempting to poach her staff.

Her grip tightened on the Flora Danica cup. A perfect example of its type. With a saucer, it would be a valuable set. Instead, someone had made a mistake—dropped it on a hard floor, thrown it in a moment of frustration, or chipped it when washing it in one of those long-gone, unforgiving porcelain sinks.

For most people, an imperfect cup and saucer were the mistake of a moment, a regrettable accident. Any breakage reminded Lucy some mistakes can never be undone.

“I don’t want to know aboutyourbusiness.” Impatience added a rumble to his very appealing lilt, making her toes curl in her polished court shoes. “Did Henry say anything else aboutme?”

“What should he have said?” His intense scrutiny troubled Lucy because she hadn’t waited for Henry’s explanation. She’d read the agreement and welcomed the righteous indignation that had flooded her numbed brain. Accusing Quinn of being a conman was better than hiding at home missing Grandpa.

“That I didn’t ask for anything beyond my existing agreement with Cam.” His bewilderment slowed her down.

Simple mistakes had enormous consequences. Lucy’s mum and gran had died because of an instant’s inattention. With Grandpa, she’d drained her personal account, then his, before taking out a personal loan to pay for twenty-four-hour-a-day professional care for the last few months of his life. She’d made sure someone was always in the room when she visited. Not within earshot, but an objective witness to her actions should one be needed. Lucy’s mistake was not foreseeing the threat to McTavish’s. By spending their savings, Lucy risked the business her grandpa had spent a lifetime building.

“That we were friends as well as business partners,” Quinn finished quietly.

“Grandpa never said.” Blaming Niall Quinn for taking advantage of her grandpa when he’d been defenceless had been a welcome distraction from her despair.

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