Outbid by the Boss by Stephanie Browning Read Free Book Online Page A

"Let me explain."
    "No. You wait," she hissed, spitting the words at him as though they left a bad taste in her mouth. "You used your position to take advantage of me. You purposely misled me. And now you're holding me against my will.”
    She wrenched her arm from his grasp and kicked open the door with the heel of her boot. "And to think you were threatening me with fraud," she shouted back. “You will not get away with this.”
    Chas felt the blood drain from his face. Just like his father and grandfather had done so often, he had tricked a woman into doing what he wanted. How on earth could he have been such a fool?

     
    If Evelyn Weekes had been put out by their unexpected arrival, she hid it well. Taking one covert look at Sam’s flaming face and Chas’ set expression, she sidestepped what could have been an extremely awkward moment by herding them through the flagstone entrance way and into the grand hall, all with brisk murmurs of pleasure at seeing Chas back in his home.
    "This is my colleague, Miss Redfern," said Chas stiffly. He lowered the larger of Sam's two cases to the floor. "She'll be staying a few days. Helping me catalogue the antiques and silver."
    Mrs. Weekes seemed to take it in stride. “Your room is ready for you. I'll see to Miss Redfern."
    “Thank you, Mrs. Weekes,” Chas said. “If your husband is about, I’d like to have a quick word with him. Hopefully, he can recommend a good body shop in the area.” Ignoring Sam, Chas nodded to Mrs. Weekes, and then headed toward the back of his house.
    "This way, please." The housekeeper picked up the suitcase Chas had carried in from the car and started up the broad staircase toward the galleried upper floor.
    Sam sighed. What choice did she have? She could hardly run after Chas and demand to be taken to a hotel, even if there was one anywhere within miles. Resigned, she hefted her second bag and followed the sturdy figure up the stone stairs.
    The landing was large and foreboding with dimly-lit corridors heading off in three directions. “Shades of Jane Eyre,” Sam muttered, but smiled brightly when Mrs. Weekes eyebrows arched.
    “The main part of the house was built in the late eighteenth century by William Porter,” the housekeeper said. “He made a fortune as one of the new agriculturalists. But by the time, Reginald Porter, Chas’ grandfather came along, the estate had fallen on hard times. That’s when he married Eugenie Burton, Chas’ grandmother.”
    “The Burtons were in the East India trade, weren’t they?” That was all Sam knew; the Burton-Porter website contained a very short and carefully-worded family history.
    "The Burtons were always well-travelled," said Mrs. Weekes. "But the Porters had the lineage. This way." Her stiff manner relaxed as they walked the corridor. She pointed out a small study by Constable which begged for better lighting; there were several fine Victorian pastorals and a few mediocre portraits but it was the exquisite porcelain vase on a nearby table which caught Sam in its thrall. She gently touched its magnificent finish. It was as exciting as being in any of the New York showrooms. Speaking of which, she wondered what on earth was being said back at the London office.
    “There were a great many treasures in this house,” continued Mrs. Weekes. “The family always appreciated beautiful things and enjoyed a large circle of friends. When I first came to work at Porter Hall," she went on, "the housekeeper, that would have been Mrs. Betts if memory serves, always said a grand house should keep a guest room ready at all times. One never knows when the family will arrive..."
    "...or with whom," muttered Sam.
    "Precisely. And which are you, Miss Redfern?" A twinkle in the housekeeper's brown eyes softened the enquiry. "Colleague, paramour, or third-cousin twice-removed?"
    "Now that's a scary thought," laughed Sam. "Better put me down as an employee who, by rights, should have been halfway across the