Mary Buckham - The Makeover Mission

“Mademoiselle Rostov, welcome home.” A young woman’s voice interrupted her perusal. “It is good to have you back.”

Jane spotted a woman standing in the doorway of an adjoining room the size of a small bedroom and froze. The woman could not have been too many years younger than Jane, but she carried herself with a quiet maturity. Maturity or wariness, Jane wondered, noting that the woman’s gaze did not rise from staring at the floor, nor did the welcoming words extend to her expression. If anything she looked as though she was waiting to be rebuked.

So, Major McConneghy, Jane thought silently, what am I supposed to do now? Never having had anyone wait on her, she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to know this woman, or treat her with the same degree of familiarity as one addressed a waiter in a restaurant.

With a pithy thought regarding the major’s ancestors, she decided that when in doubt, do what felt right.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice sounded like sandpaper, “I don’t recall your name.”

The woman started before quickly glancing up. “It’s Ekaterina, mademoiselle. Ekaterina Tabruz.”

Well, either Elena should have known this woman’s name, in which case Jane had already blown things, or the king’s fiancée would never have bothered to ask. Either way it was too late to go backwards.

“Thank you, Ekaterina. It seems as if I’ve heard so many names lately that they become jumbled in my memory.” That at least was the truth. Or part of it.

“Would mademoiselle wish me to draw her a bath or turn down the bed covers for a rest?”

This having-a-maid thing was going to take some getting used to, she realized, feeling too restive for either suggestion but not wanting to cause too much suspicion on Ekaterina’s part as to why her mistress was acting out of the norm.

“Actually, Ekaterina, what I’d like is to ask a few questions.” At the other woman’s immediate look of wariness, she added, “I’m feeling very disoriented and am sure you can help me.”

“Yes, mademoiselle.” Ekaterina bowed her head and folded her hands together in front of her. Not an auspicious sign for a friendly chat, Jane thought as she wandered toward the far side of the room and a set of French doors.

Opening the doors she immediately felt better, as the pine-and cedar-scented breeze drifted in. The cries of birds beyond the fortified walls sounded like a National Geographic soundtrack.

There was a small balcony, ringed by an elaborate wrought-iron railing and, Jane noted with a quick glance down its length, obviously connected to a room just beyond hers.

“Whose room is next door?” she asked the silent Ekaterina.

“It is the major’s, mademoiselle.”

“Major McConneghy’s?” Not that the news should have surprised her, but it did.

“Yes. He asked specifically that you be given this room. For the security. If you wish to choose another room at the villa you must ask it of the major.”

Like that was going to happen.

She tried a different tactic. “The villa seems different?”

“Different?” The maid’s face looked confused, until she nodded. “Ah, I understand.”

Jane was glad somebody did, because it sure wasn’t her.

“They said it was made to look like a Swiss home but maybe not so. I can show you around the rooms to see more if the major allows it.”

Jane breathed a silent sigh of relief. So she had not previously been at the villa. Which was good news. Too bad Mister I’ll-Protect-You forgot to mention this little detail. He had given her explicit instructions about the location of everything, but they all seemed to be jumbling in her head. If she hadn’t been here before it meant she could ask questions about the layout and not be expected to know how to find her way back through the labyrinth of halls and stairways she’d traveled earlier. At last, something was going her way.

“Who else is in residence in the villa?” She remained standing at the open doorway, listening to the sound of a heavy vehicle driving over the cobblestones below her.

“Only you and the major.”

She wasn’t sure why that news made her feel both safe and uneasy at the same time. Strategically she could see why it made sense, but there was something intimate about the isolation that made her hesitate. An awareness that deep in the darkness of the night it would only be she and Gray-eyes, a wall away from each other, a world away from the rest of the universe.

“Does mademoiselle wish me to tell the major she wants different rooms?” Ekaterina asked.

“No. That won’t be necessary.” Somehow she knew anywhere in the villa would be too close to the major. Jane kept her own concerns from her tone until she turned and noticed a door in the wall. “And where does that lead?” she asked, though she’d already guessed the answer.

“To the major’s room.”

She walked toward it, aware there was now even less separating her sleeping quarters from the enigmatic major’s. Sort of like a lamb lying next to the lion’s cage, only with removable bars, she thought, reaching for the door handle and turning it.

“It’s locked.”

She hadn’t realized she’d spoken the words aloud until Ekaterina replied, “Yes, the lock is on the major’s side.”

“And do I have a lock on this side?”

The young woman shrugged. “I know of no key, but I will check if you wish.”

“There’s no need.”

Jane whirled at the sound of the dark voice behind her, felt the triple-time pounding of her heart before she registered it was McConneghy who had spoken. He dominated the now-open doorway connecting the two rooms, either in response to her rattling of the door handle, or on his own agenda.

“Speak of the devil, Major,” she said, aware of the intensity of his gaze on hers, and of how his presence dominated the room even though he remained on the threshold. “I was just wondering about a key for this door. I know I would feel much more secure.” She made sure he heard the stress on the last word. “If I knew where it was.”

“I have it.” He nodded to the maid. “You may leave us now and finish unpacking mademoiselle’s luggage while we’re at dinner.”

Jane waited until Ekaterina closed the door behind her before she spoke. “That’s pretty presumptuous and arrogant—” she began, only to be cut off as McConneghy strode into the room, closing the door as he moved.

“It’s a security issue.” He ignored where she stood as he walked through the room, looking high and low. “I need to have access to protect you. You don’t.”

“Don’t what?” She could feel the anger start to simmer inside her. Never a fan of high-handed tactics, she was even less inclined to ignore them after the day she’d already been though.

He peered beneath the lampshade on the bedside table and picked up the phone receiver. “You don’t need to access my room, thus you don’t need a key.”

“I don’t want a key to access your room,” she wanted to choke on the words. “I want one to make sure you don’t access mine.”

He spared her a glance. Quick, appraising and heated.

“I can assure you the only reason I’d use that key was if your life was in danger.”

And just what did he mean by that two-edged comment? she wanted to know, and was afraid to ask. Especially as he crossed to tower in front of her, the strength and size of him making her feel all the more vulnerable.

She checked the urge to step back and stepped forward instead. Something the old Jane Richards, the one who went to bed a librarian and expected to wake up a librarian, would never have done.

With a finger sharpened by frustration and something more, she stabbed his chest, knowing it was about as effective as howling at the moon. “Listen here, Major, if you think I can’t control my primitive urges—”