“Because I’m acknowledging that he finds you attractive? How is that an insult?”

“He’s the governor of Kentucky.”

“As if that makes a difference? He’s still a man.”

Tilting her chin up, she stared off over his shoulder. “You’ve gotten what you came for. You know the way out.”

As she went to step around him, he said, “When he tries to kiss you at the end of this party, remember that I told you so.”

“Oh, I’ll be thinking about you. But not like that.”

“Then think of me being the one at your mouth.”

FIFTEEN

As Lane walked through Easterly’s rooms, everything around him was quiet. This was rare. When you had over seventy full-and part-time staff and half a dozen family members under the same roof, usually there was someone coming and going on every level at all times.

Even that English butler was in absentia. Although that was less eerie so much as appreciated.

Outside, night was falling, the darkness easing over the land, smudging the edges of Charlemont’s extraordinary trees and the Ohio’s liquid low point with gray and black pastels.

Checking his phone, he cursed that Edward had yet to call, and to excise his unease, he opened a set of French doors and stepped out onto the terrace that overlooked the garden and the river down below. Walking over to the far edge, his loafers marked the flagstones with a sharp sound that made him think of cursing.

It seemed unbelievable that the grandeur surrounding him, the trimmed flower and ivy beds, the old stone statues, the flowering fruit trees, the pool house, the majesty of the business center … was anything other than rock solid. Permanent. Unalterable.

He thought of everything that was inside the house. The Old Masters paintings. The Aubusson and Persian rugs. The Baccarat crystal chandeliers. The Tiffany and Christofle and even Paul Revere sterling. The Meissen and Limoges and Sèvres porcelain. The Royal Crown Derby sets of dishes and countless Waterford glasses. And then there was his mother’s jewelry, a collection so vast, it had a walk-in safe as big as some people’s clothes closets.

There had to be seventy or eighty million dollars in all those assets. Well over triple that, if you counted the paintings—after all, they had three properly documented Rembrandts, thanks to his grandparents’ obsession with the artist.

The problem? None of it was in cash form. And before it turned green, so to speak, there would need to be valuations, estimates, auctions arranged, and all of that would be so very public. Plus you would have to pay a percentage to Christie’s or Sotheby’s. And maybe there would be faster dispositions with private sales, but those, too, would have to be brokered and would take time.

It was like bringing blocks of ice to a fire. Helpful, but not urgent enough.

“Hey.”

He pivoted toward the house. “Lizzie.”

As he held his arms out, she came to him readily, and for a moment, the pressure was off. She was a breeze through his hair when it was hot, the sweet relief as he put a load down, the exhale before he closed his eyes for sleep desperately needed.

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” she asked as she stroked his back.

“I don’t know.”

“We can, if you want. Or I can go and give you some peace.”

“No, I want to be with you.” And as he ran his hand up and down her waist, he just wanted to get closer. “Come here.”

Taking her hand, he led her around the corner and into the garden she had masterminded, the pair of them going past the formal greenhouse and hooking up with the brick path that led to the pool. His body heated up even further as they closed in on the changing house with its awnings and lanai, its loungers, bar, and grill. The pool itself was lit from down below, the aquamarine glow getting stronger as the last of the sun’s rays disappeared over the Indiana side of the river.

Crickets sounded, but it was too early in the season for the fireflies to come out. The enchantment of the soft, humid night was everywhere, though, a melody that was as sexual as a naked form even though it was invisible.

Inside the pool house, there were three dressing rooms, each with its own shower and bath, and he picked the first one because it was the largest. Drawing Lizzie into the sitting area, he shut and locked the door.

He left the lights out. With the pool’s glimmer coming through the windows, he could see plenty well enough.

“I’ve been waiting to do this all day long.”

As he spoke, he pulled her in to his body, feeling her against his chest, her hips on his, her shoulders under his hands.

Her mouth was soft and sweet, and as he licked his way inside, she whispered his name on a gasp that made him want to go so much further so much faster. But there were things he needed to tell her. Suspicions he feared but had to share. Plans to be made.

“Lizzie …”

Her hands went through his hair. “Yes?”

“I know this is the wrong time. On so many levels.”

“We can go back to the house to your room.”

Lane broke away and started pacing around the cramped space. Which was like someone trying to go for a stroll around the inside of a gym locker. “I wanted this to be perfect.”

“So let’s go back.”

“I wish I had more to offer you. And I will. After all this. I don’t know what it will look like—but there will be something in the future.” He was aware he was prattling on, talking to himself. “Maybe it’s that farm in your daydreams. Or a grease-monkey garage. Or a diner. But I swear, it’s not always going to be like this.”

And he’ll be divorced. Damn it, maybe he should wait?

Except no, he decided. Life felt very precarious at the moment, and he had always regretted the time they had missed. Waiting to do the right thing, to do what you wanted and needed for yourself and the one you loved, was a luxury for the lucky clueless who had not yet had tragedy in their lives.

And also he wanted to start their future away from Easterly and Charlemont right here, right now. He wanted her to know, on a visceral level, that she was a priority to him, too. Even as Rome burned, she was important, and not because she was some kind of plane ticket out of hell for him. But because he loved her and he was more than looking forward to building a life together with her.

In fact, he was desperate for the freedom he was trying to earn during this awful grind.