Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“It will hold,” Brand said gently, and reached across Harrington to save and exit the program on his desktop, before carefully closing the laptop lid. “When you’re this tired and you’ve not eaten, you’ll make mistakes. Come. I’ll take you home.”
Harrington looked as if he might argue, but then he nodded, sighing heavily and dragging to his feet. “You’re right. We can finish in the morning.”
“Indeed,” Brand replied, and bent forward in a bow, gesturing toward the door. “After you.”
The young Master was subdued, on the drive home. Brand watched him in the rear view mirror; Harrington leaned his elbow against the windowsill and stared out the window, his expression withdrawn, fingers curled against parted lips that never said a word. Brand had the feeling that today had been a bit of a wake-up call. Perhaps the young Master had had an inkling of the work ahead of him—hence seeking Brand’s assistance—but today had truly driven home the enormity of it. The reality of it, too.
And particularly, the reality of the circumstances that had brought him to this point.
Brand made a mental note to schedule a visit to the hospice center in the young Master’s diary in the next few days.
It was, after all, part of his job to see to all aspects of his Master’s well-being.
At the house, Brand barely put the car into Park before Harrington was out of the backseat and heading for the path toward the pool house.
“Young Master,” Brand called softly, then bowed and nodded toward the front door to the main house.
Harrington faltered, his expression falling briefly, before settling into resigned defeat. “…right. Of course.”
Brand kept a respectful distance as he trailed Harrington into the house and toward the darkened open kitchen, where he shrugged out of his suit coat, draped it over one of the stools ringing the kitchen island, and rolled his sleeves up.
“I’ll have your supper together in less than twenty minutes,” he said, pulling the massive double-doored refrigerator open—only for Harrington to duck under his arm, reach inside, and snare one of over a dozen bottles of champagne before turning and stalking down the hall.
“Don’t bother,” drifted back, the line of Harrington’s shoulders tense.
Brand sighed, watching him go until he was just a shadow vanishing into the night-locked hallways of white stone arches and lightless niches.
“As you wish, young Master,” he murmured.
Then promptly uncorked every last remaining bottle of champagne in the refrigerator, and poured them out in the stainless steel sink.
Satisfied, he draped his coat over his arm and retired to his chambers.
He would take on the liquor cabinet in the morning, if he had to.
His rooms adjoining the master suite had their own entrance, as well as the entrance accessible through the young Master’s rooms. Brand lingered in the hallway outside his door, listening to the sounds of the young Master moving around the spacious grand suite, noise reckless and worrisome but at least he was there. The shadows crossing the faint light seeping beneath the door gave no hint as to what he was doing, but as long as he wasn’t destroying the place then Brand would let him be.
The rooms had just been refurbished.
He’d hate to make more work for the housekeeping staff.
He let himself into his own suite—smaller than the rooms he’d originally been assigned, but he didn’t need much. Like the rest of the house the décor itself was a study in neutral colors and minimalism, making the most of even small spaces with delicate touches, much of the furniture made of reclaimed wood and Brand’s bedframe itself a thing of delicately contoured and sanded driftwood in a weathered shade of gray. He stripped down, folding his suit away for a proper steam cleaning later, and replaced it with a pair of loose pajama pants before settling into the cool, comfortable linens to sleep.
Only to sigh as his feet slipped over the foot of the queen-sized bed.
Another item for tomorrow, perhaps. A larger bed.
He would deal, otherwise.
Tucking himself on his side so he could draw his legs up, Brand set his alarm for four in the morning, slipped his phone into the charger he’d left on the nightstand, and let himself drop off into sleep, sliding easily into the dark.
Until the door creaked open, faint enough that he almost slept through it—but over twenty years of listening for his Master’s slightest need keyed his senses to high alert immediately. He tensed, opening one eye, but didn’t move, just listening. A light tread, one he was beginning to recognize as Harrington’s; bare feet, he thought, against cool stone. Then another creak as the door closed, the sound of a latch clicking so slowly it could only be an attempt at silence, secrecy.
Then the hiss of cloth and skin on sheets, a feather’s weight pressing into his bed.