The Tied Man by Tabitha McGowan Read Free Book Online Page B

this vast room.  ‘Ah.  And as if on cue, here’s our final dinner guest.’  She held out her hand to lead this latest arrival forward.  ‘Lilith, I’d like to present Finn Strachan.  My companion.’ 
    My profession was to capture beauty, from The Players’ Triptych to my portrait of Rosario and her girlfriend:  people who could bring a room to a standstill simply by walking through the door.  I had grown used to the easy good looks of Nat and my eye could be caught by Gabriel James’ glamour, but I had never met anyone quite like the willow-thin young man standing before me:  Finn had the face of a fallen angel. 
    Wide, dissolute eyes the colour of moss agate gazed out from behind a long, thick fringe of muddy blond hair, and loose strands fell to frame a snub nose and sensuous cupid’s bow of a mouth that was just saved from being feminine by a square, stubborn jaw.
    The very first time I met him, Finn Strachan stole my breath. 
     
     

Finn
    ‘I’m delighted to meet you.’ I held out my hand and waited.  So far, so fucking normal.  We’d had the big introduction, designed to present me like some exotic specimen and set the scene for later that night, that week or whenever, and then we had the reaction from the guest, based on the man they wanted to see.  
    I was used to being appraised, but like a fool I had hoped that Lilith Bresson might be different, that the hellion I had watched all those weeks ago might climb out of the screen and cut through all this shit in the same way she had cut through that fat twat.  Instead, she stood and stared up at me like all the rest and disappointment set hard and cold in my stomach.
    ‘How rude of me.’  Lilith suddenly reached out and clasped my hand with both of hers.  ‘You must get this all the time – not that that’s a valid excuse.’  There was soft pressure on my palm, and she smiled so that her arctic eyes sparked with sudden warmth.  ‘Oh.  You’re the gardener.’
    I gave a mute nod.  I must have looked nonplussed, because she added, ‘Calluses.  Gardener’s hands.  So thank you for the roses – they’re beautiful.’ All said in a confident, surprisingly low voice that gave her command of the room.
    I realised then that this was the first time I had heard her speak – Blaine ’s largesse with the television had not extended to turning the volume up – and there was no mistaking Lilith Bresson’s upper class heritage, although at least her mouth wasn’t entirely stuffed with marbles like most of the fools we entertained around this table. 
    ‘S’okay.’  This time I nearly managed actual speech.  Blaine was going to kill me.
    ‘He’s not usually so tongue-tied.’ Blaine placed a light hand on Lilith’s arm and led her to the table and away from my attempts to appear human.  ‘You’ve made quite an impression on him.’
     
     

Lilith
    By the time I sat down to dinner, I was so exhausted that I felt my appetite might be gone forever.  Henry,  used to dealing with flagging houseguests, had other ideas.  He produced an exquisite meal, light enough to tempt the most fatigued palate: lobster ravioli; a summer salad grown in Albermarle Hall’s kitchen garden; tiny, bittersweet wild strawberries and thick primrose-yellow cream.  Just an hour after I had thought I might fall asleep across the tablecloth, I cleared my plate and moved on to a second helping of everything.  Finally, after I had eaten more in one sitting than I had managed all week, I pushed my spoon to one side.   ‘That was amazing.’ 
    Blaine smiled.  ‘I feel it’s so important to make my guests feel at home as soon as possible.  I trust Coyle gave you a warm welcome?’
    I searched for the right words. ‘He was very… professional.’
    ‘He normally receives better reports than that, especially from our female guests.  Was there a problem?’
    ‘No, no problem.  It’s just – well, he knows it, doesn’t he?  That whole