Page 13 of Once upon a Summer Night
“She leaves for London tomorrow. I have no idea how I’m going to find her again.”
Reilly blinked in astonishment. “You knew she was headed to London tomorrow, and you didn’t press for her real name? You really like to make things hard on yourself, lad. Do you think she might be your mate?”
Colin thought back to the men he’d met who’d let their mates get away. He hadn’t been able to travel back in time and tell them of the mistake they were making, but he’d wished he could after seeing the shells of men left. None of those men had any family to live for, nor any reason to fight the battles of their clans. They became husks of their former selves as the years dragged on, unable to settle for less than their life partner. The women fared better—they usually married and had families of their own, but he wondered if they were truly happy.
Colin closed his eyes in defeat. “When I kissed her…” He shrugged helplessly. “Ry, it was as if everything in my world shifted into place.”
“Oh.” Reilly sat back and blinked a few times. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Colin replied miserably. “Oh.”
“You are flying out of here in seven hours, and you have that meeting for work tomorrow afternoon. You need to go to sleep, or at least try. There’s nothing you can do, short of calling the taxi company and getting the address.”
“Tried that,” Colin replied heavily. “They told me they would report me for stalking.”
“Ouch.”
“I’ll have to look for her after I’m done with Emsworth. She said she works at a university library in the city, and her intelligence made that, at least, believable. I’ll go to every university until I find her.” He nodded firmly. “Simple.”
“There’s more than twenty universities in London,” Reilly informed him sympathetically. “But I’ll help you. We’ll find her. And let’s look on the bright side. It sounds like you found your soul mate, and she’s Irish.”
“She’s British.”
“Honest to God, Colin, can you do nothing right?”
Colin’s answer was to down the rest of his whiskey and reach for the bottle.
Chapter 3
Colin knocked on the door of the impressive detached house in Knightsbridge. The Georgian-style home boasted an enormous, creamy, off-white facade with ornate carvings and authentic period details. Glancing up, Colin noted the five imposing floors that towered above him without any sign of wear or age sullying the exterior. Colin had to wonder at the upkeep of such an old home. As he owned an historic Queen Anne–style brownstone in Boston, he could well appreciate the work—and money—it took to maintain such a place.
The dark oak door slowly swung open, and an older gentleman greeted him with a dip of his head. “Mr. O’Rourke?”
“Yes,” Colin replied, nodding his own head in acknowledgment. “I have an appointment with Miss Emsworth.”
“Of course,” the man replied. “This way to the drawing room, please.”
Colin entered the house, his face impassive as he studied the entrance hall. The silver fleur-de-lis foil wallpaper perfectly offset the cream-colored chaise lounge, creating aneffortless air of wealth. A dark side table, topped with light granite, held an enormous bouquet of fresh, colorful flowers, giving the otherwise cold room warmth and cheer. Colin wondered if Miss Emsworth showed herself in her decorating tastes; perhaps she maintained aloofness, yet had a cheerful side? He certainly hoped she had some redeeming quality. So far, his impression of her had been less than positive.
Blackmail tended to cast one in a bad light.
Colin dutifully followed what he could only assume was the butler down the hall, into a large, sunshine-filled room. The walls were a dark colonial blue, and the ornate crown moldings were a stark white. The crystal chandelier shot rainbows across much more modern furnishings, giving the room a timeless feel. Colin was suitably impressed.
“Miss Emsworth will be with you momentarily. Please make yourself comfortable,” the butler remarked before he withdrew.
Colin’s brow furrowed. For a woman who wrote a column about class divisions, she lived a rather opulent lifestyle.
He meandered to the floor-to-ceiling windows and glanced at the small, tidy back garden. The square plot was surrounded on all sides by a tall stone wall covered with trellises. Vines crept over the wall in many places, giving a feeling of nostalgia and beauty. In the center was a water fountain, surrounded by green bushes and the beginning shoots of flowers that would bloom as summer began.
“That fountain was given to me by my late husband,” a voice with a crisp British accent said from behind him. Colin turned and got his first glimpse of the woman who threatened his livelihood. A tall woman, dressed smartly in dove-gray trousers, a deep purple blouse, and a matching gray blazer, Miss Winifred Emsworth commanded the space. Her silver hair, swept into a loose bun on top of her head, highlighted the strand of pearls around her neck and the matching earrings.
She walked towards him, her mahogany eyes on the fountain. “My Ernie had it made just for me when he sold his first company. The fountain is of a child, you see. We were never blessed with children of our own, despite how badly I wanted them. But, he gave me what he could, and I will forever be grateful for that.” She stopped next to him and pinned him with a pointed look. “And a few years after his death, I was given a most precious gift. One I’d never thought I’d receive, and had long stopped hoping for…my dear niece.”
Colin held out his hand. “Colin O’Rourke. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Emsworth.”
She grasped his hand and turned her wrist counterclockwise, bringing it towards his lips. He obliged and kissed her hand, and she waved him to the settee. “Please, have a seat, Mr. O’Rourke.”
Colin bit back a smile and instead chose one of the larger chairs. There was no way his frame would fit onto the delicate settee, and there was no way he would allow her to dominate this meeting, regardless of its location.
