Page 56 of Perfect Liar
I tuned out the music and the conversations, then stared at a painting of William the Conqueror hanging above the bar in the billiard room, an original 1800s composition that must have cost a fortune.
A deep thrumming vibrated over the house.
Will. He called earlier to say he would fly home in the company helicopter…and once in the air, it only took about 25 minutes to get here.
I whispered behind my glass of Dom Pérignon.
“You’re late.”
He had missed dinner.
Thomas, after learning about his brother’s plans, had convinced me to dress for dinner and have drinks with him and a few of his friends.
I’d been keeping busy, trying to stay out of the way, sorting out mine and Lissie’s personal things. Before our flight to the UK, Ben and John went back to the Stonington house and boxed up clothing and whatever else they could quickly grab for us.
More importantly, I passed the time with Lissie.
We had one more secret tour to complete.
I’d missed her bright little disposition—it came back slowly, dimming now and then when she thought about Isabel.
Will had kept his promise to make sure Lissie’s well-being remained our priority. And so did his mother, Mary Hastings, and Mrs. Bates.
They showed her around the house and encouraged her to claim it as her own “castle.” She had free rein to play and discover wherever it pleased her.
Thomas’s friend cleared his throat. His name escaped me.
“So what do you think? About this place, I mean?”
“Oh. It’s beautiful,” I said.
And it was.
Eastridge was a stately eighteenth-century Georgian country house built with native stone. A recent renovation gave the family modern comfort, though the old charm of the soaring plastered ceilings, the original oak floors, and the Baroque-style wall panels remained.
Stunning original fireplaces, ancestral portraits, and other timeworn paintings graced many of the rooms.
Builders had restored the grand cantilevered staircase to its original splendor. Balusters, newels, and the graceful, winding handrail were all carved from Scottish oak. It floated above the central great hall. At the top, the landing split the first-floor corridor into north and south bedroom wings.
At ground level, a huge modern kitchen with casual dining and a family lounge extended across the back of the house.
A drawing room and formal dining room sat on the right side of the great hall while the library and the billiard room with a custom bar were on the left.
Will’s father had converted the entire basement into their training center.
I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something undefinable about Eastridge had immediately lured in Lissie and me.
And when the house was completely quiet, an odd little breeze, slight and cold, would touch my skin, raising hairs on the back of my neck and sending a chill along my spine.
The house had a mystical presence. A silent, spiritual presence. Not at all frightening. Comforting, actually.
But the only presence I sensed now was Will’s.
He’d made it home, and he stood in the arched opening with his hands in his trouser pockets and one shoulder against the wood casing.
His charged eyes locked on to mine.
I sighed, relieved and speechless, because my god he was magnificent. After staring for a minute, I pitched him a slow, flirty smile.