Love in Fantasy (Skeleton Key) (13 page)

I’m a little taken back by the thoughtful gesture. “Thank you, Iris. These are incredible.” I silently give Wilhelm props for this plan, grateful these eleven ladies are getting their happily ever afters.

She sighs and stands. “I’m off to work. The rest of these were requested to complete a collection in a library I’m going to catalogue.” She reaches for the box of books, but before she can lift it, I quickly grab it. “Let me help you,” I suggest. She nods her thanks, and I follow her to the parking lot and set the box in the trunk. Just before I close it, I toss Wilhelm in with the books.

Iris is watching me when I straighten back up. “You’re good for her,” she muses.

“So you’ve all been telling me,” I respond dryly. “Now, if only I could get Pippa to admit she agrees with this opinion.”

“She will,” she divulges. “Pippa has always maintained that she wouldn’t marry until later in life. And then, you come along and upset the balance. All of the sudden, she wants things she was convinced she didn’t. You and I both know; no one is more stubborn than Pippa.”

I shake my head in exasperation. “You’re right, with one exception,” I inform her.

A smile plays around the corners of her mouth and her eyes twinkle. “Why do you think we’re rooting for you? If anyone can tame the shrew, it’s you, Petruchio.” She laughs and opens the driver’s door, giving me a wave as she gets in, then drives away.

Returning to my office, I look through the books and find
The Scarlet Pimpernel
,
Pride & Prejudice,
Little Women
, &
Jane Eyre
. All four novels are about strong, independent, courageous women, but I wonder if Pippa realizes that in the end, they each settled down as wives and mothers, having found men who treasured those qualities rather than stifling them. I chuckle at Iris’s joking comparison to the Shakespeare play. No, Pippa isn’t a shrew, she’s full of fire and it’s one of the things I love most about her. I don’t want to tame her; I simply want her to be mine.

When I get home, I change and head down to my den, light a fire, and pour myself a drink. I stare into the flames and brood. Every moment I’m not with her, I miss her.

Meanwhile. . .

Iris’s Fantasy

I
ris walks up the front steps of the old castle, holding the heavy box of book precariously in her arms. Apparently, it used to belong to a Duke or something, but now it’s owned by some mysterious guy nobody knows much about. At the top, she glares at the doorbell, wondering who the hell still had a pull-down ringer? Without available hands, she stares at it, hoping The Force or a magic fairy will ring it for her. She’s not about to set this precious box of books on the ground; who knows what could happen. Sighing, she presses the box against the door, bringing up her knee to help support it so she can free up one limb.

Never attempt a career in the circus, your balance sucks
. Finally, she’s as stable as she’s going to get, so she gingerly removes a hand and reaches up towards the handle—fa-thud! Iris goes flying forward when the door suddenly swings open and lands hard on the floor. The box of books is heavy and the stupid thing simply falls to the ground, completely unharmed.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!”

Iris winces as she crawls to her knees and looks up at the owner of the apologetic voice. An older woman, probably the housekeeper, since the owner is single, holds out her hand to help Iris up.

“Thank you,” she says as she grasps the proffered hand.

“No need to be sorry. It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” she assures her with a smile. Once she’s on her feet, she squats down to try and lift the books back up. Getting leverage under the heavy box is much harder when it’s not elevated, and she blows out a breath in frustration. The woman goes to the opposite side and they attempt is together, successfully hefting it up after a few tries.

“You must be Iris,” the woman guesses, her countenance cheerful and welcoming. Having only dealt with the grumpy owner of the castle on the phone, Iris perks up at the pleasant reception. The woman is short and plump, rounder around her middle than anywhere else, with graying hair, pulled into a soft bun, curly strands escaping around her face. “I’m the housekeeper, Mrs. Kettle.”

Iris barely suppresses a snort of laughter as her mind conjures up images of talking tea pots. “Yes, I’m Iris,” she manages to say with a straight face.

“Great!” Mrs. Kettle (stop laughing!) beams. “Follow me and I’ll take you to the library.”

They traverse through several halls, turning here and there, until they reach a set of elaborately carved, wooden doors, stretched from floor to ceiling. Mrs. Kettle turns the knob and to Iris’s surprise, the heavy door opens smoothly and silently. She crosses the threshold and comes to a standstill, taking in the majestic library with awe. The ceiling rises up at least two stories, and three of the four walls are floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, with a catwalk splitting them in half, reached by a single spiral staircase to the right of the entrance. The fourth wall is completely made of tall, narrow windows with comfortable couches and chairs in front of them, creating little “conversation nooks.”

Mrs. Kettle chuckles. “I had the same reaction the first time I visited this room.”

Iris finally regains her faculties and sets the box on the nearest sturdy surface, with a grunt.

“There is an intercom system installed,” Mrs. Kettle explains and points to a small panel on the wall next to the door.
They installed an intercom but haven’t upgraded the doorbell?
Iris mentally rolls her eyes at the thought.

“If you need anything, I’ll be in my office, near the kitchens. Don’t hesitate to call me.” She hands Iris a key and adds, “Here is a key to a side door.” She points to an exit directly behind the stairs that Iris hadn’t noticed at first. “Come and go to the library as you like, I know this will be a time-consuming project.”

“Thank you,” Iris says gratefully. Mrs. Kettle smiles brightly and nods before leaving the way they came. Looking around, she analyzes the structure of the room and breaks it into chunks, deciding to tackle it from left to right, working her way through until it’s done. This job is going to take weeks and weeks to accomplish, but it’s what she does and she can’t help being excited about it. Grabbing paperwork and her tablet from the box, she sets to work.

Iris is so engrossed in her tasks, she doesn’t notice how late it is once she calls it quits. Standing from where she was hunched over on a table doing paperwork, she puts her hands on her lower back and leans in a deep stretch, groaning at her stiff muscles. Her eye catches on the container of books she brought with her and she moseys over to unpack them and stack them neatly on the table. When the box is empty, she glances inside to make sure she got everything and notices a small object at the bottom, glowing with a muted blue light.

Retrieving it, she realizes it’s a skeleton key and examines it thoroughly, wondering how it got into her possession. She’d have to make the rounds with her clients and see if someone lost it. Placing it in her pocket, she looks around for her purse so she can leave only to remember she’s let it in the car.
Shit.
This means her keys are locked inside. Along with her phone.
Excellent.

A look at her watch confirms how late it is (just after midnight), and she plops down in a chair to figure out what to do. She really doesn’t want to disturb the household, but she doesn’t much like the idea of spending the night in the library, either. Mrs. Kettle had brought her snacks earlier, but her rumbling stomach makes it clear it’s been too long; she wants real food.

Grimacing, Iris heads to the intercom and searches for the button which will buzz in Mrs. Kettle’s office. It’s possible she’s still up and working in there, right? But, nothing happens. Iris waits another minute before trying one more time, and when there is still no response, she curses. Spending the night in the library it is. However, she needs to find a bathroom and maybe she could find her way to the kitchen and scrounge up some food.

She twists the knob on one of the double doors leading into the house only to find it locked.
Luck be a lady, my ass, Blue Eyes. Luck is a bitch.
A vibration in her pocket reminds her of the key hidden in there, and she snags it with a finger, taking it out. The blue glow is even more pronounced now, and it’s buzzing in a low hum. She feels as though the key is telling her to use it on the door. Smacking her forehead, she admonishes herself for letting her imagination get away from her.

The feeling grows stronger, and she figures, why the hell not? There is no one there to know she decided to follow the instructions of an inanimate object. Inserting the key into the lock, she rotates it until she hears a click, then tries the handle again. This time, it opens, except . . . this isn’t the hallway she’d seen before. It’s the only door from the library to the house, though. She blinks a couple of times and shakes her head.
I must be deliriously tired.

The impressive gold and cream foyer is like nothing she’s ever seen before and it certainly doesn’t fit the timeline of this castle. There is another set of doors across from her, made of carved, gold brushed material. The details of the room draw her in to inspect them closer. She grabs the key before taking a turn about the space but, when the gets back to where she started, the library doors are no longer there. Okaaaaaay.
Am I on an episode of one of those prank shows?
With eleven sisters, and their natural instinct to rile each other up, it certainly wouldn’t surprise her. The key starts up again and she figures it wants the same thing it did before. Sidling up to one of the doors, she bends to peer at the lock and sees a little carving depicting the key she holds in her hand.

She unlocks and opens the door, ready for another big surprise. Instead, she finds herself in the hallway she’d expected to find when she first stepped from the library.
Well, that was anticlimactic.
Her imagination is clearly limited, she thinks, reminding herself that’s why Pippa is the novelist.

Getting back to her original goal, she wanders a few minutes until she finally discovers a powder room. After using the bathroom and washing her hands, she heads back out on her little journey. Navigating through the house is confusing, and she is starting to not only despair of ever finding the kitchen, but of not being able to return to the library. Ah ha! She finally peeks in a random doorway and sees the beautiful sight of a refrigerator. Practically skipping over to it, she opens it and grins at the shelves full of fresh fruit.
Score!

“Who the fuck are you?” a gruff voice booms, causing Iris to scream and drop the orange in her hand when she jumps about a foot.

“Um. . .” She’s at a loss for words as she stares up at the biggest man she’s ever seen, into searing blue eyes, almost hidden by his overgrown, dark-blond hair and scraggly beard. He looks like a beast or a Yeti. Never having been a fan of scruff, Iris is floored when she’s hit by a wall of lust. “Iris,” she blurts out.

“The book girl?” he asks.

Iris frowns. “If you mean the art expert you hired to catalogue and appraise your library, then yes.”

The Yeti’s facial hair twitches. There is too much of it for her to get a read on his expression, but she could almost swear she sees amusement in his eyes until they narrow suspiciously. “Why aren’t you in the library? Better yet, what are you doing in my fucking house this late?”

Annoyed by his attitude, she considers making a snide comment but decides it would take too much brain power for being after midnight and simply not worth it. So, she settles on the blatant truth. “I locked my keys and phone in my car and I didn’t want to disturb anyone. I was going to stay in the library until morning when I could ask about calling someone to come take care of it. But, I’m hungry.”

“You’re stuck here.” It’s a statement, not a question.

Iris responds anyway, “No, I—”

“—You’re stuck here,” Yeti repeats, cutting her off. Before she can make any kind of a comeback, he closes the gap between them, lifts her by the waist as though she weighs nothing, and deposits her on a counter top. When he lets go, she’s tingling from where his hands had been on her body. “Stay.”

Iris gasps in outrage. “You can’t just tell me to stay. I’m not a dog!”

His eyes do a slow perusal of her from head to toe, the blue of his eyes practically glowing with heat. “No, you’re not. You’re all woman.” His gravelly voice has lost the angry edge, leaving a rough, sultry sound that she can practically feel abrading her skin. In the most delicious way.

Her stomach chooses this moment to grumble again and he points the finger of one large hand at her. “Don’t move.” Much to her annoyance, she doesn’t. Her stupid body has evidently short-circuited her brain. She sits and watches as he moves about the kitchen; removing a pan, eggs, vegetables, and other ingredients. She rubs her tired eyes as she watches him, convinced she is seeing things that aren’t there when it looks as though a plate is handed to him, rather than him reaching in and pulling it out. The stove lights on its own and she scrutinizes the walls, looking for a button like the ones that ignite a fireplace.