Among The Tulips. Cheryl Wolverton
doesn’t speak the language and is helpless.”
“Doesn’t speak the language?”
“She’s American.”
“Nasty Americans,” Sean muttered. “Uncultured and abhorrently uneducated when it comes to other languages and cultures.”
Victor was used to Sean’s attitude and simply ignored his friend. He switched tones and said mildly, “She needed help.”
“I say. Let me guess. The defensive tone suggests she’s another one of those stunning size threes with long dark hair and beautiful round eyes that usually end up on your arm. You just haven’t ‘put the moves on her yet,’ as you Americans would say.”
“You’d be wrong,” was all Victor was willing to reply to that blatant attempt to find out information on his guest. “And as I said, though I do find her interesting, I’m not attracted to her.” The cross around her neck still bothered him. He had expected the fire-and-brimstone lecture, the condemnation of his job and so on, but she hadn’t reacted that way. It had piqued his curiosity. So of course, that was his only interest—not her eyes or hair or anything else…
Sean gave up. “Okay, old chap. Have it your way. I’ll try to stay away the rest of the week, but expect me to show up on your doorstep ready for a game of squash and a nice swim in that indoor pool by Monday.”
Victor chuckled. “Thanks and see you then.” He reached up and disconnected the link.
He then pulled the earpiece off and placed it in a cubbyhole on the treadmill. Glancing down he saw he had less than five minutes to reach his goal and decided he’d done enough for today.
Turning off the machine, he stepped off.
Grabbing his towel and earpiece he headed toward the shower. He dropped both near the sink and stripped off his sweats and T-shirt.
Reaching into the stall, he turned on the shower and waited for the water to heat. Looking down at his abdomen he noted the injury he had received on the job he’d just finished seemed almost completely healed. A large ugly greenish yellow bruise was all that remained from where the wood had caught him unaware as it’d fallen.
Stepping into the shower he allowed the hot water to wash over him. He’d been stiff and sore this morning when he’d gotten up. Working out and then showering was making all the difference in the world.
He grabbed a bar of soap and lathered himself.
He wondered how his guest was faring.
Sean’s words about thinking he was attracted to the woman were ridiculous, of course, except that he had found her fascinating.
She’d been hurt and yet still, somehow, she’d come off sounding so innocent and sweet, so very young.
She reminded him of a young girl he’d known in school when he was still a gangly twelve-year-old. He’d been all legs and arms and the opposite sex had never been interested in him. His face had looked like a map of acne and he’d even worn glasses.
How things changed, he thought bemusedly.
Still, one young girl had become his friend back then. They’d been in Australia at the time, one of his many homes. His parents had been missionaries and had moved every few years. They never stayed in one place long.
The young girl had been sweet and had insisted that it didn’t matter what others thought. He had to listen to his heart. He had never forgotten her words.
That’s how he’d ended up in his present job.
Of course, the young lady probably hadn’t meant he should drop out of church in the process, or drift away from his parents. But when he’d chosen his career, his parents had disowned him.
And he’d gone wild in his life to prove a point to them—that he could do what he wanted and if they thought he was going to be wild and go to ruin, then he would.
Except that now he simply lived his life as he did, not in rebellion. He had no idea when the sense of rebellion had left. Or when that life started to seem normal.
Annie Hooper reminded him of another life, another time that had been quieter, a time when he could confide in friends and not worry about it appearing on the gossip shows across the globe.
Perhaps that was why he’d taken Annie in—because of a time she reminded him of. Still, there was the necklace.
When he finished washing, he stepped out of the shower and dried off. He pulled on the pair of jeans and the soft cotton top that were waiting and then combed his long hair.
Slipping in some conditioner and gel, he quickly scrunched it so it would hold the style before grabbing his electric razor and trimming his beard to keep that two-day-old look. He then brushed his teeth.
Slipping on a pair of leather loafers, he headed upstairs to start his day.
Passing the housekeeper he paused. Turning back around, he asked in Dutch, “Is Miss Hooper up yet?”
“Yes, sir. She was looking through her clothes when I left.”
“You didn’t stay with her?” he asked.
The housekeeper dropped her gaze. She was in her thirties and lived in a house about five minutes away with her husband who was the gardener here at the chateau. “She doesn’t speak the language, and she didn’t seem to want my help.”
Victor sighed. “She might not act like it, but she is pretty helpless even if she can’t understand you.”
He paused then added, “Go to the cook, ask her to write a note in English telling Miss Hooper that breakfast is ready, and I’d enjoy the company if she feels up to it. If she does, I’ll be glad to help her downstairs.” If she doesn’t want to use the service elevator, he silently added, thinking most of his guests would never be caught in the service elevator in a chateau.
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