Page 98 of Boiling Point
I gave a quiet laugh. “You’re probably right.”
A flicker of shared ground. Cal stepped inside, and I turned, scanning the room again. “Where are my bags?”
He crossed to the wardrobe, opened one of the tall doors, and stepped aside. My things were already inside, hung and folded with military precision. No suitcases in sight.
I blinked. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He smiled. “Welcome to Branleigh.”
Chapter 35
Callum
Ipoured just enough sherry to coat the bottom of the glass. The pale gold caught the light as I swirled it once, then took it in a single pull—a small fortification against the hours and days ahead. I let the warmth linger, then set the empty glass on the silver tray, the sound ringing soft and clear through the vacant room.
The drawing room was, as ever, regal and immaculate. The chairs and settees were upholstered to repel comfort—as stiff and unyielding as the legacy they represented. It hadn’t changed much since I was a boy, and probably never would.
The sherry clung warm and smooth to the back of my throat. I considered pouring another—slightly more generous—but thought better of it. The day would be long. The fortnight longer. I needed to pace myself if I had any hope of remaining upright, let alone sober, in a house where the temptation to fortify—or anesthetize—was as plentiful as the family’s expectations.
A sharp staccato of heels echoed down the hallway, moving with precision and purpose. I abandoned the decanter, loose and half-wild with relief, and turned toward the open doorway.
Isabel swept in like a gust of air too vivid for these walls. Her auburn hair caught the light, and her eyes—blue, bright, incisive—locked on mine. She wore a crisp blouse and dark trousers tailored to perfection. Effortless elegance, as always.
“Cal, darling! You made it!” She crossed the room in two long strides and folded me into an embrace that somehow maintained equestrian posture. She smelled of florals and leather. “I thought you might’ve lost your nerve and gone into hiding.”
“Not yet,” I said, stepping back to take her in. “But I haven’t ruled it out.”
She swatted my arm lightly. “I’ve missed you, you dreadful man.”
“You have no idea how glad I am you’re here.”
She smiled, bright and knowing, then glanced around the room. “And where’s this mysterious young woman you’ve imported? Have you frightened her off already?”
“Upstairs, freshening up,” I said, settling into one of the red velvet sofas. “We’ve only just arrived.”
“Good. That gives us a moment to conspire before she realizes how mad we all are.”
I laughed, the sound echoing off the high ceiling. “I think she’s already worked that out.”
Isabel sat in a chair across from me, her movements smooth and precise. She crossed her legs. “And how’s she handling it?”
“Brilliant, actually. Far more composed than I am. And she survived meeting Mother.”
She raised a brow. “Impressive.”
“Yes. Granted, it was only five minutes, but hopefully it’s a good sign that she’ll actually last the trip. And not run away screaming and never speak to me again.”
Isabel leaned back, studying me. “You care for her.”
“I do.”
Her gaze didn’t shift, but her voice softened. “Then let the rest of them be damned.”
I let out an unsteady breath, some tightness easing in my chest.
“Father included,” she added, rising to pour herself a sherry.
“How livid was he when I insisted on bringing her? You know he’d never admit it to me.”
