Lost in Love (13 page)

“I would never do such a thing.” She lowered her head, hiding her grin behind the box she’d uncovered. The happiness filled her—it was a wonder her heart didn’t burst with it.

The trip to Suncrest Park had changed everything. She felt more at peace, more hopeful, since their getaway. Since then, she’d spent every moment she had either at the warehouse or with Jackson. Heavenly didn’t begin to describe it.

She glanced at him helping her. Her father had never helped her mother with anything, not even their own children. She didn’t remember her father ever kissing her mother, much less the way Jackson kissed her—like he would perish if he didn’t have a taste of her immediately. She thought of the surprise Valentine’s picnic Jackson had arranged for her in his room and wondered if her mother had ever had anyone care enough to do something like that for her.

Portia doubted it.

Blinking away the sadness she felt for her mother, she returned her attention to the task at hand. While she’d been away, The Weasel had called to see about the tiara. She’d managed to put him off the past few weeks, but she could feel time running out.

Fortunately, most of the everyday items had been donated or tossed out, and only the valuable items and larger pieces had been brought to the auction house. She’d already catalogued the larger pieces of furniture for Meredith, sectioning off the nicer pieces for them to be incorporated into the new resort. She still had a section of boxes and chests to go through.

There were moments when she panicked that they’d thrown out the tiara, but then she assured herself they wouldn’t have. She’d found other jewelry—if whoever had parsed out the property hadn’t thrown the lesser pieces out, they wouldn’t discard the tiara.

Unless they thought it was paste.

No one would mistake the Summerhill tiara as a fake.

“I can’t believe someone would keep all this stuff,” Jackson said, shaking his head as he set aside a silver teapot.

“It’s history. It’s a sense of family and continuity.” She moved the teapot to the pile to keep. Polished it’d look stunning. Meredith would love it. “You work at your father’s company. You should be able to understand that.”

“Working at my father’s makes me understand one thing and one thing only. Insanity.” He pointed to the wooden box in front of her. “That’s pretty.”

“It’s like Russian nesting dolls. There are more boxes inside.” She took another one out and opened the lid, freezing when she saw a familiar box. It was wood, inlaid with gold and red accents that had chipped and faded with age. It looked like an innocuous box that could have housed anything from trinkets to cigars.

But it didn’t, and she knew what was going to be inside when she opened it.

She must have gasped, because Jackson said, “What is it? If it’s a stuffed squirrel, I think we should put it in Quinn’s office.”

She glanced at him as she extracted the box. “He likes squirrels?”

Jackson flashed a devilish grin. “What do you think?”

“Fortunately for Quinn, it’s not a squirrel.” The case creaked as she opened it. She held her breath, hoping it was in there—hoping her father hadn’t sold it sometime in the past.

But the overhead fluorescent lights caught the glitter of the diamonds even before the lid was completely open. She gasped again, this time in relief, when she saw the Summerhill tiara resting on the purple, satin lining.

“That’s a shitload of diamonds.” Jackson glanced at her. “Pardon my French.”

“In this case, I’d have to agree with you.” She lifted the tiara from the box, careful, reverent, holding it up to the light.

The stones glittered despite being dull from age and in need of cleaning. The curved headpiece was eight centimeters long and three centimeters at its highest point, an elaborate weaving of white gold liberally studded with diamonds. It felt remarkably light for being encrusted with so many stones. “Catherine Summerhill loved this tiara. Of all the jewelry her admirers gave her, this was her favorite.”

“That’s a tiara?” Jackson put a hand on her waist and peered over her shoulder. “It looks like a broach.”

“Some tiaras have arms that fasten in the hair, but this fastens with ribbons.” She turned it to show him where the ribbons would attach to it. “The Summerhill women used to have their portraits painted with this tiara. Lady Amelia Summerhill, daughter of the fifth Earl of Amberlin, wove the ribbons in her hair, and for the longest time when I was a child I wanted to have thick blue stripes in my hair, too.”

Jackson took the tiara from her and balanced it on top of her head. “Looks right at home on you, duchess.”

She took it off her head and resettled it in its case. “No one’s worn it in ages. Even the one Kate Middleton wore for her wedding wasn’t this ostentatious. It’ll be better in the Museum of British Peerage.”

“Why don’t we put it away in the safe in my office, and then you can have it when the job is done?”

She blinked at him, startled by the thought of not working here any longer. “I wasn’t going to just leave.”

“Good.” He ran a hand down her neck. “Still we should keep it safe.”

“Yes.” She let him help her stand. Then she kissed him impulsively. “Thank you.”

His hands slid around her waist and he held her to him. “What for? You did the work.”

“Yes, but you gave me the opportunity.” She pictured herself delivering the tiara to The Weasel and the little plywood office she’d work out of in the museum and smiled happily. “You allowed me to find it, and it means more to me than you can imagine.”

“I don’t know, duchess.” He studied her, tracing her lips with his finger. “I think I get it. Come on.”

Portia clutched the little chest to her the entire way back to the office building, afraid to lose the tiara now that she’d found it. It was nice to have Jackson next to her. Who’d attack her with a big man in a cowboy hat holding her hand?

They walked into the building and up to the floor Waite Hotel Group occupied. Portia hadn’t been in the building since she’d come to ask for the tiara back, so she followed Jackson through the maze of cubicles to his office. She recognized it by the underwear hanging on the doorknob—pink ruffled knickers this time.

He must have noticed her staring at them, because he said, “Someone took the last two pairs I put there.”

“I see,” she murmured. “You’re rather odd, aren’t you?”

He glanced at her as he opened a cabinet and began unlocking the hidden safe. “Don’t throw stones, duchess. You’re odd, too.”

“Am I?” she asked, perking up. She’d always thought she was just boring.

“Definitely. Set your tiara in here, Portia. It’s the best spot. Only Quinn, our assistant, and I have access to this vault.”

She put the chest in the safe, and they closed it together. Sighing, she resting her head on his shoulder, melting her back into him. “I’m happy, Jackson.”

He kissed her temple, resting his face there. “Then I’m happy, too, sugar.”

Portia and Meredith were a touch late arriving at the Red Witch for the Tuesday evening ritual. Portia walked in ahead while Meredith oohed and ahhed over the quaintness of the exterior. “Sorry I’m late,” she said to Rosalind, who sat at high table in the front with Luca.

“No worries.” Her sister smiled at her. “Luca was entertaining me.”

“
Cara
.” Luca kissed her hello. “You have roses in your cheeks. Are you in love?”

“I’m cold,” she said as she began to take off all her layers. “It’s chilly out.”

Luca studied her, his eyes narrowed. “I’m not certain I believe you,
cara
.”

“It really is cold, Luca,” Rosalind said, taking a sip of her drink.

Niamh walked over with a glass of whiskey for Portia, smiling warmly. “No handsome cowboy this time?”

“I knew it!” Luca threw his arms in the air dramatically, the way only Italians could be. Then his eyes lit in appreciation as something by the entrance caught his attention. “That
testa rossa
is coming this way, and she looks like my speed.”

Portia looked in the direction he was drooling. “That’s Meredith. She’s joining us tonight.”

Luca stood quickly and gestured to his stool as Meredith approach. “
Bella
, take my seat as you’ve taken my imagination.”

Meredith blinked at him, obviously not sure how to reply. “Thank you,” she said, giving Portia a questioning look.

“Pay no attention to him,” Rosalind said with a smile. “We fed him and now we can’t get rid of him.”

“I’m Luca,” he said in a low voice, taking Meredith’s hand and clasping it in both of his. “And I’m enchanted.”

Portia rolled her eyes. “Niamh, Meredith needs a drink.”

Meredith laughed, gently extracting her hands from Luca’s clutches. “A glass of wine would be great. Red?”

“You got it, love.” Niamh sauntered back to the bar.

“Meredith, you met our friend Luca,” Portia said, “and this is my sister, Rosalind.”

They exchanged hellos as they took off their outerwear.

The pub’s door opened, and Gigi hurried in, glancing behind her shoulder as the door closed. She wore head-to-toe black, with dark sunglasses and a scarf wrapped around her head, and moved like there was someone chasing her.

Odd. Portia frowned, trying to remember a time when the great Imogen Summerhill was pressed for time. Gigi believed the world would wait for her, and she was usually right.

“Gigi, why are you dressed like a dirge personified?” Rosalind asked. “Are you practicing for a role?”

“I didn’t want to be bothered by anyone tonight.” Their younger sister left her sunglasses and scarf in place but took off her coat as she kissed Luca. Then she turned to Meredith. “You’re new. I’m Imogen.”

“The actress,” Meredith said, squinting at Gigi’s disguise.

“Tonight I’m just a Summerhill,” her younger sister said blithely.

“Got it. Pleased to meet you.” Meredith studied them all. “You all look so similar.”

“Wait till you meet Bea, Vi, and Summer,” Portia said. “Titania probably looks like us, too, but we haven’t seen her in so long that I can’t say for certain.”

“Vi isn’t coming. Her bastard husband was supposed to take Chloe, but he flaked.” Rosalind gave her a telling look. “Summer had to work late, and Bea had to go out of town tonight.”

Portia glanced at Luca, whose face fell for a brief second before he masked his disappointment. Luca flirted like a madman, but she was fairly certain it was just an affectation. Other women may capture his imagination, but she wondered if her sister Bea hadn’t caught his heart.

Love was such a funny thing. She ran her fingers over her necklace as Niamh brought Meredith’s wine and a martini for Gigi. She waited until the bartender left to ask, “How do you know when you’re in love?”

Imogen swirled the olives in her martini. “The real question is, how do you know it’s love and not the plague?”

Rosalind grinned. “Jaded much, Gigi?”

Their younger sister shrugged. “I speak from my own experience.”

Luca took Gigi’s hand. “If only my heart were free, and then I’d show you the beauty of pure love.”

Gigi patted his hand. “You’re a dear for your selflessness.”

Shaking her head, Rosalind returned her attention to Portia. “Who is he?”

Portia glanced at Meredith. What was the proper etiquette for dating someone you worked for? Maybe she shouldn’t say anything? “He’s just a man I met.”

Meredith fiddled with the stem of her wine glass. “I wouldn’t mind hearing how you know when you’re in love, either. If someone here has any insight.”

“It sounds corny,” Rosalind started, “but the first time I saw my fiancé Nick I felt as though I was jolted awake. And then when I kissed him—”

“
You
kissed
him
?” Gigi raised her eyebrows. “Impressive initiative, sister mine.”

“Thank you.” Rosalind smiled modestly. Then she faced Portia and took her hand. “You’ll know when it’s love. In your heart, you’ll know. There won’t be any questions.”

She nodded. The thing was, she did know, and knowing was terrifying.

Chapter Seventeen

The intercom buzzed, and his assistant’s cool voice said, “Mr. Joe Nelson for you, on line two.”

Jack cursed under his breath. He hadn’t returned his partner’s calls. He was tempted to tell Delia to take a message.

Better to bite the bullet, he decided, picking up the line.

Nelson didn’t even give him a chance to say hello. “Where the hell are you, Waite?”

“In London.” Jack rolled his shoulders, trying to dislodge the tension in his back. His partner’s obvious frustration added to his own, and that didn’t help matters.

“What are you doing in London?” Joe Nelson yelled into the line. “You were supposed to meet me in New Mexico today.”

Nelson was a yeller. A little agitation or excitement and Nelson’s volume went up a couple decibels. Jack knew this—he’d partnered in several deals with Nelson over the past eight years since they’d been introduced. But today he wasn’t in the mood for the theatrics, because he knew just as well as Nelson that he needed to be in New Mexico.

And yet, part of him was happy to be in London. A large part of him. He was enjoying Portia. If he hadn’t have come to London, he wouldn’t have met Portia, and that would have been a tragedy.

He liked her.

Which made everything that much more frustrating, because he knew he needed to be in New Mexico, but here he was.

He’d just have to try harder. To Nelson, he said, “Look, I sent you an email explaining that I had business in London. But I’m available by phone and email. Send me the results for the water testing and call me if you need anything. I’ll look everything over and then we’ll discuss it.”

“You like to be hands-on to get a feel for the venture.”

Jack shook his head. “You usually give me crap over that. You always say I rely too much on feeling rather than facts.”

“So what? It works,” Nelson pointed out. “We always make money on your instinct.”

“My instincts tell me the water purification is a good deal.”

“But you haven’t seen it in action,” his partner protested.