The Owner's Secret (A Secret Billionaire Romance Book 4) Page 8

  Getting up her nerve, she touched his hand. “Better to find out now rather than later, right? That’s what I keep telling myself. My ex was always selfish, only thinking of himself, but running off with a waitress was a gut punch.”

  “He’s one stupid dude. Plain and simple.”

  Melody glanced away, pretending to admire the flower gardens, disconcerted at the way he looked at her, but also reveling in the way he made her feel when his eyes were on her face.

  Britt cleared his throat. “As soon as we can navigate the roads, I’ll take you into New Orleans to see your grandmother. And we can survey the damage to your bookstore.”

  “That’s a very generous offer, but honestly, I can just rent a car and go myself.”

  “Where are you going to rent a car?”

  “Well … isn’t there an Avis or Hertz nearby?” Melody asked the question, but it was probably ridiculous.

  “Only at the airport in Baton Rouge. And if I’m going to drive you there, we might as well just do the extra thirty minutes into New Orleans. Besides, you’re gonna need a ton of help. We can do an assessment, schedule the insurance adjustor.”

  “The city’s going to be a mess for a long time. I’ll make a call to my insurance to see when they can even meet me there. It could be a week or two.”

  “That’s true. Meanwhile, we can do some clean-up and visit your grandmother.”

  “You’re very kind. I’d also like to see my sister in Baton Rouge, if she’s even in town. I need to text her and give her an update on Mirry. With her work schedule, we don’t see each other very often.”

  “I’m spending the rest of the day cleaning up the grounds. Go explore, make your phone calls, and I’ll find you when it’s time for dinner. Sound good?”

  “Sounds perfect.” He was so ruggedly handsome and charming that Melody had a difficult time not smiling at him all the time, even as her heart fluttered on a constant loop. She hoped it didn’t show too much. After all, she wanted to appear confident and in control and not like she was drooling over the man.

  She didn’t know him yet, but he seemed like the kind of man who would have top models wearing glittery dresses and stilettos hanging on his arms.

  A wry smile crept across her lips. She supposed glittery dresses and skyscraper heels wouldn’t be ordinary wear. That would be tight designer jeans, sheer blouses, and casually messy manes of blonde hair with big hoop earrings.

  And yet, Britt was a high school teacher! And a gardener. And an antiques dealer. Not a high-end executive with MBAs coming out his ears and making high-powered calls to mysterious people with fat bank accounts.

  The man was an anomaly. With an easy, casual manner, Britt was laid-back, which Melody loved. He wasn’t on his phone every two minutes brokering deals, talking fast, sounding important and busy.

  She liked him. A lot. So much that her head was spinning and her attraction level was skyrocketing to an all-time high of ten.

  “Everything is going to work out,” Britt said now, his voice pulling her from her musings. “Louisiana always comes through hurricanes with flying colors.”

  “The people in this state are amazing,” Melody concurred. Inwardly, she wanted to add, “Including you,” but she kept her lips tightly shut so the words didn’t accidentally spill out.

  Melody offered to clean up lunch, and a few minutes later, Britt strode across the property to the shed while she watched him through the windows.

  When she finished the dishes, Melody walked back upstairs breathing in the past two centuries of the house. The scent of mahogany and cherry wood. Lemon polish. Musty furniture with its patina varnish.

  The history that this place had seen was amazing. An American icon. A relic of this country and its history, and the changes and upheaval the South had endured and lived through.

  Earlier she had discovered the small gift shop just outside the front door—perfectly situated on the way out for the tourists who toured the house. Now, she spent an hour poking around, finally plopping a twenty-dollar bill on the register to purchase one of the books—the history of White Castle taken from the pages of the diary of the young woman whose father had built Nottingham and endure the hardships of the war during the years of 1860 through1865.

  “This’ll make great reading the next few nights,” Melody said, clutching the book as she entered the house again, heading for the portrait gallery and then on to the array of photographs she’d studied last night.

  That particular photo in the ballroom had been haunting her ever since. She had to look at it again, but first she carried the breakfast tray down to the kitchen, then Melody opened the balcony doors to let in fresh air from the cool day. After that, she carried her muddy clothes downstairs to the laundry room that had several industrial-sized machines for all the sheets and towels that needed to be done for overnight guests.

  Choosing the small-sized load, she closed the laundry room door and took off the clothes she had gotten muddy and grass-stained when Britt pulled her off the river dike. Throwing them in, she then added her two blouses, socks and sweater, and sprinkled detergent over the small pile.

  Wearing the white bathrobe she’d found hanging in her guest room, Melody returned to the portrait gallery in the ballroom. “Now I get to go snooping.”

  Sinking into a chair, Melody picked up the photograph, preserved inside a simple oak frame. Not three seconds later, she gasped. Of course! Why hadn’t she recognized them before?

  Her breath turned ragged while her mind whirled with the impossibility of it. She had seen this photograph before—or at least a copy of it. But it had been so long ago, it had taken awhile to come back to her memory.

  A replica of this same photograph was pasted inside Mirry’s photo album from the years of her youth. This young woman with the soft dark waves looking coyly over her shoulder at the young man looking quite dapper in front of the fireplace mantle was her grandmother. And the man was Papa, Melody’s grandfather.

  Why had they been here at White Castle?

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Melody muttered in a warning voice. “Maybe they visited the plantation years ago on a tour.”

  She shook her head. No, that couldn’t be right. Nottingham wasn’t on the tour registry for historic homes until decades later than the late 1940s.

  If Mirry and Papa had taken pictures here at White Castle, they must have been acquainted with the owners. But why would the photograph still be here? Weren’t there other, more important historical photos to display?

  A fizzy sensation traveled straight up Melody’s spine. Her stomach tumbled with questions. White Castle was obviously important to her grandmother. At some point in time, she had visited. Maybe more than once.

  This was why Mirry had been so insistent that Melody come here. She’d wanted her to find this photo. She had been determined that her granddaughter learn more.

  A family mystery was right in front of her.

  Mirry was in no shape to answer questions, but she had been desperate for Melody to be here. Why, why, why?

  Melody’s cell phone buzzed, startling her out of her reverie. She didn’t remember standing up or staring across the gorgeous white tiles. She dug it out of her pocket and glanced at the text message. It was from her sister.

  Crissy: Your bookstore line is dead. Mirry’s phone says out of service. Are you alive?

  Melody quickly typed back: Sorry I’ve been out of touch. Mirry has pneumonia and in the hospital. My store is flooded. I left town. I’m in White Castle.

  Crissy: White Castle? Please tell me you’re joking. That is just too bizarre. How did you end up at that old place?

  Melody: Long story. Where are you??

  Crissy: Baton Rouge.

  Melody: So you’re actually in the state? I figured you were gone.

  Crissy: Came in just before the hurricane hit. Had to meet with my agent and lawyer to draw up pre-nuptial paperwork.

  Melody: WHAT?! You’re getting married? When
? To whom?

  Crissy: Haha! Tell you when I see you. I have a car. I’ll come to you. See you soon. Ta ta!

  Melody’s stomach sank. Her sister was coming here? She would much rather go to Baton Rouge. She didn’t want the peace of White Castle interrupted by her loud, bossy sister. She wanted to hug this house to herself. It was selfish, but she didn’t want to share it with anyone. At least not yet. Not until she figured out why Mirry wanted her to come here.

  If she were honest, she had to admit that she didn’t want to share Britt Mandeville either. Her sister would dazzle him, take over every conversation, and make everything about her.

  Melody: When are you coming???? As in imminently?

  There was no reply. Her sister was never more than twelve inches away from her phone. She was purposely being mysterious and secretive.

  “Darn you,” Melody said.

  “Me?” Britt’s voice spoke at the door to the ballroom.

  Melody jerked her head up. He stood there, one hand leaning against the doorjamb and looking mighty fine, his hair disheveled and messy, like a young college coed.

  Melody’s pulse skyrocketed, her heart reverberating through her body like a jackhammer.

  Then she remembered that she was wearing only her bathrobe, a pair of bikini underwear, and no bra. Her face burned as she jumped up, quickly tightening the cord around her waist.

  “I’m—I—I don’t usually walk around in public like this,” she stammered.

  “Let me guess,” Britt said, smiling that beguiling grin of his. “You found the washing machine?”

  “Yes! Exactly. My muddy clothes are washing.”

  “Totally understand. Don’t be embarrassed. It’s nice to know the guest bathrobes come in handy. But what are you doing in the ballroom?”

  “Just wandering … well, actually, I found a photograph that I had to examine more closely.”

  “Which one is it?”

  He moved closer and Melody wondered if he could see the outline of her body under the robe. She hoped nothing in particular was showing more than she wanted it to. Good grief, how humiliating. Walking around like she owned the place, or was trying to get his attention? Not. Not. Not!

  Under her eyelashes, Melody watched while Britt averted his eyes from her and focused on the black and white photograph.

  “Nice picture. They’re a handsome couple. Don’t you love the styles of the forties and fifties? So smart.”

  “I completely agree. I’ve never had a favorite decade. I love them all. Well, probably beginning with the sixties and going back in time.” She gave a small laugh and wondered if she just sounded silly.

  “The house has an incredible array of historical portraits and paintings. Did you see the painting of White Castle when it was first built?”

  “I’ll have to look for that one. I purchased his daughter Cordelia’s diary. It looks fascinating. I left the money near the register in the gift shop.”

  “Great. I’m glad you found something to captivate you while you’re here.” Britt handed back the photograph. “So, Miss Melody de Lyon. Why did this particular photograph seize your attention?”

  “I’ve seen it before. I mean, I recognized it. I know it.”

  A puzzled look crossed Britt’s face. “I don’t understand. I thought you said you’d never been here before?”

  “This photograph—the woman in her hat and gloves—and the gentleman at the mantle—they’re my grandparents. I always called them Mirry and Papa.”

  Chapter 12

  Britt stared at her. “You mean your grandmother who is currently in the hospital?”

  “The very same. Mirry is the one who told me to come here. Insisted I come to White Castle. It’s practically the only thing she kept saying, all during her fever. She knew this photo was here. This house has some kind of meaning for her, and I need to find out what it is.”

  “I agree. I’ll help any way I can.”

  Biting at her lip, Melody shrugged. “But I have no idea how to begin.”

  “When the house sold the last time, all the previous contents, trunks and boxes and miscellaneous paraphernalia, were stored in the attic. It’s all still here. Easy to explore.”

  Relief flooded Melody. “That’s super convenient. Thank you so much for your help, Britt.”

  “Happy to be of service.”

  “So, um,” Melody stuttered again. “I’ll go move my clothes into the dryer and not burn your eyes any longer.”

  “Only good burning here,” he said pleasantly.

  Melody blushed. “By the way, I heard from my sister. She’s on her way here from Baton Rouge.”

  “If the roads between there and White Castle are open and cleared its less than an hour.”

  Melody gave a start. “She’ll be here any minute then!”

  Hurrying into the great hall to head downstairs, she held the robe together with both hands while Britt chuckled softly behind her. She hoped the robe didn’t make her look fat.

  “Don’t laugh!” she ordered over her shoulder.

  “I’m not laughing at you,” he called back. “Actually, I find you very sweet and funny.”

  “So glad I could amuse you, Mr. Mandeville.”

  “I mean that in every possible good way.”

  Melody let out a snort of laughter and took the stairs as quickly as possible, hoping she wouldn’t trip on her own bare feet.

  Quickly moving her wet clothes into the dryer, she added a softener sheet, shut the door and hit the buttons to start the cycle.

  “Drat!” She still had no clean clothes to wear. She should have told her sister to come later this evening. It was almost dinner time actually, and Melody had planned to help Britt with the meal. He shouldn’t have to do all the work for an uninvited, unwanted house guest.

  Maybe she should camp out here in the laundry room until they were dry. Britt could amuse her sister in the meantime. Except, thinking of the two of them spending an hour together sent a burn of envy up her throat.

  Her sister was gorgeous and sophisticated and Melody was the boring bookworm who spent her time on a computer ordering stock for the store, reading glasses perched on her nose.

  It would also be nice to have more than one pair of jeans and a couple of t-shirts. Wading through chest-high dirty water had discouraged wearing anything nicer, of course—and how was she to know she’d meet the most intriguing man of her life?

  Well, she could sit here in the laundry room for an hour or more, after all, jeans took time to fully dry and they were horrible to put on damp, or she could tough it out and go upstairs.

  She could always hide in her room and ask Britt to delay dinner until she was fully clothed, too.

  But with her sister coming, she might as well bite the bullet. She and her two sisters had often run around the house half-dressed and she and Britt had already had a deep conversation about the old photograph while she wore the terry-cloth robe. Might as well move forward and convey the news about Mirry. Her sister deserved to know what was going on, and perhaps she’d give Melody a ride to New Orleans so she wouldn’t have to be beholden to Britt.

  Trudging up the stairs again, Melody crossed paths with Britt right on cue. Inwardly groaning, she put on a fake smile nevertheless.

  “I’ll help you with dinner as soon as the dryer is done, okay?”

  “I don’t mind starting it. Leftover chicken in a casserole sound good? I also have fresh makings for a salad.”

  “Perfect, but I really want to help. You didn’t expect me here when you have so much to do on the property right now.”

  Britt looked her straight in the face. “You are not an imposition. Honestly, it’s nice to have company.”

  “Well, get ready for crazy when my sister gets here.”

  “I look forward to meeting her.”

  Melody gave a faint smile, staring into the spectacular ballroom. A sudden daydream shot through her mind. She and Britt were dressed up in evening clothes and dancing the waltz
to a three-piece string quartet.

  She’d never forget how powerful his arms were around her when he snatched her back from the river and gathered her close. Protecting her. Afraid for her. The scent of his musky skin, the brush of his sandpaper jaw against her cheek when they fell to the soggy lawn.

  Her mind kept returning to those few moments when their bodies were locked together, and the gentleness of his voice when he asked if she was okay.

  She wanted more of that—more of him—but it was a fool’s dream. She was not the kind of girl a man like Britt Mandeville fell for.

  A knock at the door sounded and Melody jumped. Her sister was here.

  “I’ll get it, Melody,” he said. “Just in case it’s the electric meter guy,” he added in a tease, throwing a glance over his shoulder at her.

  She laughed, covering her mouth. “How chivalrous of you.”

  Studying his form as he crossed the foyer, Melody let out a sigh as her heart tugged.

  He pulled open the heavy front door and Britt took a sudden, startled step backward. “What in the world!”

  Melody hung back until she heard her sister splutter as she walked inside, staring between Britt and Melody. “Well, well, well, what have we here?”

  Moving forward, Melody gave an uneasy laugh. “What are you talking about?”

  Her sister stared daggers between Britt and Melody, one hand on her hip, her legs long and curvy in her short skirt, a red handbag slung over one shoulder. “Look at you in your bathrobe. That’s disgusting. Where are your clothes?”

  “Um, in the dryer?”

  “What’s going on, little sister? Cheating behind my back with my fiancé?”

  “What are you talking about, Crystal?” Melody demanded.

  Crystal spun on her high heels. “Don’t be stupid, and don’t play dumb, Mel.”

  Britt turned to Melody. “Crystal is your sister?”

  “Of course. Who else would she be?”

  Crystal began to laugh, throwing her head back. “You mean you didn’t know Melody is my sister, Britt, darling?”