Chapter Twenty-Eight

James tried not to let Andrea’s reticence pierce him too deeply. It had nothing to do with him. This was probably the first relationship she’d been involved in since Logan, and she wasn’t quite sure how to handle the idea.

So this is a relationship now?

He didn’t know exactly what this was. Certainly not what he’d intended when it began. Somewhere he’d gone from wanting to tease her from her professional demeanor to needing to learn everything about her. To make her smile. To soothe her fears. To help her forget the things that made her gaze go distant with regret and pain.

He had glimpsed the woman behind the executive, the one who could play the piano with extraordinary beauty and make a baby squeal with delight. The one who was afraid of heights but wouldn’t let it stop her from enjoying a view. The one who was strong enough to pick up the pieces of her broken life and build a new one for herself.

He knew what that all added up to. He tasted the words on his tongue. And he could say nothing, because she wasn’t ready to hear it. She wasn’t yet willing to believe a relationship could end in anything but heartache.

James felt her retreating from him, and he reached for her hand, trying to draw her back. She flinched, but she interlaced her fingers with his. That was something, at least.

“How much time do I need in order to see New York properly?”

“It all depends on what you want to do. Do you like the theater? Musicals?”

“Sure. I’ve been to some West End plays. I’d like to see Broadway. I’ll even go to an opera if you like.”

She made a face. “I can’t stand the opera. I didn’t mind playing in the orchestra; I just don’t like sitting in the audience.”

“Okay, we can scratch opera off the list. How about the ballet?”

“You don’t have to impress me. This is your vacation, remember?”

“Well, in that case, how about Madison Square Garden?”

“Basketball or boxing?”

He quirked a glance at her. “Now you’re trying to impress me.”

“I like both,” she said with a shrug.

“Aren’t you full of surprises? What else don’t I know about you?”

She thought for a moment. “I belonged to the chess club in junior high school.”

“Wow. I’d never have thought you’d be a chess whiz.”

“Why, because I’m a girl?”

“Because you’re . . . pretty.”

That elicited a hearty laugh from her. “You’re terrible. I take it you don’t play, then?”

“Oh no. I’m quite good.” James had spent half his childhood trying to beat his father, who had been an expert tactician. “I’ll prove it to you sometime.”

Neither of them wondered aloud when that might be.

They passed the rest of the three-hour drive trading tidbits of their likes and dislikes as any couple would early in their relationship. He learned Andrea liked all foods but Mexican, had tried and given up the violin before she started playing the piano, and read spy novels on the beach in the summer. He told her he hadn’t been joking about wanting to be a race-car driver as a child, but his mother hadn’t considered it a worthwhile pursuit.

“You’ve mentioned your mother a few times. What exactly does she do?”

“She doesn’t exactly do anything,” he said. “She’s a Pierce.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Heiress to the Pierce fortune. You know, shipping, banking, commercial development. Anything that makes money.”

“Oh. That Pierce family.” Andrea nodded thoughtfully. “I bet it really irritates her you’ve made a good living doing something as undignified as cooking.”

He grinned. “That it does. An unexpected benefit to the whole venture.” Another reason to like Andrea. Many women would want to know if he would inherit the family fortune, but she seemed to give it no more thought beyond what it meant about his relationship with his mother.

He didn’t say anything about their destination, wanting to see her unguarded reaction. He turned off the A96 onto a well-marked side road as they moved past Inverness proper and followed a long drive.

“Where are we going?” Andrea asked, frowning at the open land around them.

“Our hotel.” James threw her a smile. “Don’t spoil my surprise.”

A sprawling Georgian mansion loomed up before them, its manicured lawns lush and green even this early in the season. A tasteful sign identified it as the Culloden Manor Hotel.

“Jamie, my company would never approve—”

“This isn’t business. I thought your last night in Scotland required something special.” She started to protest again, but James cut her off. “Please. Let me do something nice for you. You’re a hospitality consultant; surely you’ve heard of the place.”

“I have. And I also know the tariffs. It’s too much.”

“Andrea, don’t make me convince you. You know full well a night here is not a hardship to me.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll let me pay my own way? My shoes cost more than a night here. It’s not as if it would completely ruin my budget.”

“Not a chance, my dear.” He could tell she didn’t like the idea of him footing the bill, though from the admiring glance she threw at the country house’s exterior, a fierce battle raged inside her. “If you want to go somewhere else, we can. Let me just make a few calls.”

She put a hand out and touched his arm. “No. This is lovely. Thank you.”

James parked on the side of the circular drive. No sooner had they stepped out of the car than a uniformed staff member emerged from the mansion’s massive entry to greet them and carry their bags inside. Andrea followed the man up the red-carpeted front steps into the hotel’s stunning front hall.

James smiled as Andrea took in the details of the manor. He’d stayed here dozens of times, and he still couldn’t help but be impressed. Archways with original plaster detailing spanned the space, and elaborate cornices decorated the soaring ceiling. Marble fireplaces and crystal chandeliers added a luxurious touch to the reception area.

“Lovely,” Andrea said, but she wasn’t gaping as an uninitiated visitor might. He’d bet she was cataloging the architectural details, mentally dating them in her mind as if learning the mansion’s history from the layers of renovations and restorations.

“Mr. MacDonald!” Henry Black, the hotel’s manager, strode across the room, his smile bright and his hand extended. “It’s good to have you back with us.”

Black was a portly man, bald as a billiard ball but impeccably dressed in suit and tie, gold cuff links winking at his wrists. James shook his hand warmly. “It’s always a pleasure. Mr. Black, this is my colleague, Andrea Sullivan.”

Andrea smiled and shook his hand as well. “Quite a lovely hotel, Mr. Black. I was just admiring the plasterwork. Original to the current structure, I’d think. Mid- to late eighteenth century?”

“Indeed. You have a good eye, Ms. Sullivan.”

“Andrea’s a hospitality consultant,” James said. “She’s an expert in British architecture.”

“Hardly an expert.” Andrea threw him a glance, but the fact she didn’t color at the compliment made him think she was just being humble.

“Let me get your keys, and Donovan can show you to your rooms.” Mr. Black gave them what almost looked like a bow, then disappeared behind the reception desk half-hidden by columns in the corner.

Andrea looked at James with raised eyebrows. “Your colleague?”

“I thought you’d be more comfortable with that introduction.” And he couldn’t properly explain their relationship to someone else when he couldn’t define it himself. “I made your reservation under your name.”

“Thank you. That was thoughtful.”

Mr. Black returned with their keys, mechanical ones with old-fashioned brass key tags that bore the hotel’s thistle logo. “I’ve put you in room eleven, and Mr. MacDonald, you are down the hall in fourteen.”

They took their keys, said their farewells to the hotel manager, and followed the young bellhop, Donovan, up the sweeping staircase to the first floor. As grand as the structure appeared, James had always enjoyed the comfortable atmosphere of the hotel—much more like staying with friends at a country house than checking into a sterile, anonymous hotel with well-trained but impersonal staff. It was the kind of feeling he imagined for the hotel on Skye, though their place was not nearly so luxurious.

“Your mother’s family has a Georgian estate in England, if I’m not mistaken,” Andrea said.

“In Yorkshire, yes.” He shouldn’t be surprised she knew that, given her architectural background. “Designed by Robert Adam as well.”

“No wonder you like this hotel. It must remind you of it.”

“Actually I spent very little time there. My mother favored London, and of course, I preferred Scotland.”

“Your room, Ms. Sullivan.” Donovan stopped before a polished wooden door with a brass number placard and took the key from Andrea’s hand. James waited as the young man placed her suitcase inside on the folding rack and orientated her to the room’s features. She tipped him discreetly and paused in the doorway.

“We have dinner reservations downstairs at half past six,” James said. “Shall I come by for you a few minutes before?”

“I’ll be ready.”

James followed Donovan a few steps down the hall to a room on the opposite side. He dismissed the bellhop before he could go through the same routine with him. The room was less opulently decorated than the hotel’s common areas, but it was still expansive and tasteful. James spent a few minutes hanging the evening’s clothing in the wardrobe and then sank into an overstuffed wingback.

It was his last night with Andrea. The thought put a queasy feeling in his stomach. Even the prospect of visiting her in New York didn’t ease the ache of knowing he’d have to put her on a plane tomorrow and watch her fly out of his life.

What was to say she wouldn’t return home to New York, fall back into her routine, and realize this had all been a diversion, merely a pleasant interruption from the stresses and demands of a high-powered career? Meanwhile James would be left behind in Scotland, suffering another heartbreak he should have been smart enough to avoid.

No, he couldn’t accept that. Somehow he had to do something, and he had to do it tonight, before she walked away from him forever.