Celta: Heart Choice Part 6

"We'll do a FirstFamilies Ritual at next full twinmoons," Straif said.

Mitch.e.l.la goggled. She hadn't even thought of that. He appeared casual, even rough, but she'd better not forget that despite appearances, this man was very powerful. She swallowed. "Yes, that should take care of any minor problems in the Residence." Or any major ones.

Mitch.e.l.la said, "Everything I could do by muscle and labor, you could do by paying great n.o.bles or trading them favors. Why don't you?"

Straif raised an eyebrow and said drily, "Because in my case, I think they'd overcharge-or insist on equally great alliances or favors. It's not wise to be too deeply indebted to FirstFamilies Lords and Ladies."

Nodding, Mitch.e.l.la said, "I see." T'Ash had said the same.

"That leaves us with your specialty, interior design," Straif said.

"I have drawings and holos of the Residence in the past . . ."

His face tightened. "I'm sure I do, too. ResidenceLibrary," he addressed the archives of the Residence, "where are the plans, drawings, holos of the previous styles of the Residence?"

"Older records are in the ResidenceDen, the last GrandLady D'Blackthorn, your mother, redecorated just before you were born-"

"Stop," Straif commanded.

Now he appeared pale. The man was going to have to face some deep problems that he'd avoided for years. She wet her lips, crossed over to him, and put a hand on his arm. He looked down from the few centimeters that separated their heights, eyes stark.

"Perhaps you might consider a whole new style," Mitch.e.l.la said.

He jerked a nod.

Feeling more in control of the project, Mitch.e.l.la continued. "Let's take a look around, and you can tell me of your color preferences and what you like and dislike about each room."

He narrowed his eyes and studied her, as if examining her for evidence of pity. She kept her bland professional expression.

He shrugged, and Drina protested with a mew.

"Right," Straif said, and wheeled to the left. "We can view the west end first."

Drina meowed loudly, and he set her down.

As they traversed the hallways once beautiful with paint and other wallcoverings, Straif's manner subtly altered. His gliding walk showed breaks in the smooth rhythm, his voice was strained, his expression impa.s.sive.

Mitch.e.l.la recorded his comments and her own on the flexistrip, noting his tastes as well as his decisions on what furnis.h.i.+ngs to keep. Drina made cat noises that Mitch.e.l.la ignored.

The Residence itself was beautiful, with paneling that had resisted deterioration; fine moldings and discreet carvings emphasized the architecture. How Antenn would love to study this building.

She soon realized Straif wouldn't enter many of the rooms, an added difficulty. He'd waved her into the ResidenceDen with a curt order of "change it all," and she merely scanned it. It incorporated so many of his preferences that she was surprised that he hated it. But with a fast look around, she realized it showed the stamp of his father, perhaps his FatherSire, too, who had formed Straif's own tastes.

This room would hold too many memories for him. She didn't linger, but thought it would be a challenge to make Straif comfortable in the room. The natural focus of the chamber was the windows. The best way to give Straif a room that he'd enjoy was to relandscape the grounds outside the windows. She recorded everything with an image sphere.

Returning to the hall, she saw Straif studiously avoiding a large closed door opposite them. She nodded at the door. He pretended to look, but his glance slid by. He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to walk to where the main building curved into the attached wing and the stairs leading upward.

Mitch.e.l.la frowned as she thought of the floor plan she studied. "The room we didn't enter was the ballroom?"

The chamber took up a great deal of that half of the floor. Why would he dislike the ballroom?

"Yes. I won't be going in there. Ever."

That was clear enough.

"I'd like to demolish it." He marched up the stairs at a quick pace and couldn't have heard Mitch.e.l.la's smothered protest. She remembered the magnificent room now. As she watched him move swiftly up the stairs, she noted his smooth stride. With a Holly mother, no wonder the man was so graceful. From her studies she knew the Blackthorns had always been good dancers, had enjoyed giving b.a.l.l.s. Why would he break with generations of tradition?

A hideous yowl came from Drina. Back arched and hair on end, she backed away from the ballroom door. The small cat whirled and sped past Mitch.e.l.la up the stairs, ears flattened.

Nibbling her lower lip, Mitch.e.l.la realized she needed more information about her client-from whom, she didn't know. Maybe when she had dinner with Danith D'Ash tonight, they could decide whom to approach and how.

Straif waited for her at the top of the steps, face closed, and she knew that the family rooms would be worse for them all. The first few bedrooms on the second level were easily entered and discussed, they'd been guest rooms and a guest suite.

Then, in at the third room on the left, Straif stopped to stare at a door. "The Heir'sSuite," he said tonelessly.

"You are no longer the Heir," Mitch.e.l.la soothed. She was not going to ask if there was anything in the rooms that he wanted. Growing up with brothers and as a mother to Antenn, she could spot important treasures. Perhaps later, as he grew accustomed to the project and she knew him better, she could give him old items he might still like. "We can decorate the room in a manner that would welcome either a boy or a girl."

He blinked and an odd expression crossed his face, as if it was the first time he'd thought of his progeny as real children. Mitch.e.l.la ignored a twinge of pain at the thought of her own sterility.

"That's a good idea."

Drina sniffed at the bottom of the door and wrinkled her nose, then made a little sound in her throat.

Straif actually smiled. "Drina says it smells like boy-sounds like she doesn't much like boys."

Mitch.e.l.la chuckled. "She's a prissy cat, I don't imagine she does." Since it didn't seem like they were going to open the door, she urged Straif on with a little tap against his back.

But his steps lagged. Tension rose from him as they drew even with the next door on the left, the one in the middle of the corridor. Straif flicked his fingers at the intricately carved lintel, the heavy door. "The MasterSuite," he said.

Drina hummed in approval, walked around the door, stretched up on the door flexing her claws to give it her scent. The door swung wide on a dark-paneled room, and Straif turned abruptly away. A muscle twitched in his jaw as if even the small glimpse was too much for him to bear.

He whispered. She looked at him. "What did you say?"

"I didn't say anything." When he met her eyes, his gaze fixed on her face, ignoring the open door behind her.

Mitch.e.l.la rubbed her temples. "I could have sworn you said something." She frowned in concentration. "Something about finis.h.i.+ng the MasterSuite first so you can take your proper place in the Residence."

Straif looked startled, then arched a sandy eyebrow. "The Residence was talking to me on a private channel that takes less energy than general audio. Interesting that you can hear it. Probably because you have an affinity with homes due to your profession."

Her pulse picked up pace. Another strange and unusual thing, mental connection with a sentient house. How did she handle this? With a professional smile she said, "My Flair isn't great, and T'Ash Residence hasn't deigned to speak with me, but if T'Blackthorn Residence wishes to I'll make every effort to be receptive on all levels." This job was becoming a lot of work.

She glanced inside the MasterSuite, and her chest tightened. The furnis.h.i.+ngs were in good condition; obviously the Residence had tried to keep this suite in the best condition possible with its limited technology-spells.

Everything was in place as if Straif's father had just left and might return. Mitch.e.l.la swallowed hard and shut the door.

Drina was having a conversation with Straif that included whining and tail-las.h.i.+ng from her and firm statements from him. He stood with hands on hips, and Mitch.e.l.la had no doubt they communicated mentally, too.

"Yes, I said I'd convert the Heir'sSuite playroom for you, and it would be the first one redone, but I've reconsidered."

Drina huddled into herself, looking small and pitiful, then raised huge blue eyes to Straif.

His face hardened. "I won't be staying in the MasterSuite. You'll be up here all alone."

Mitch.e.l.la saw the flash of calculation in the cat's eyes and wondered if Straif had, too. Drina rose and flowed to Straif and rubbed against his boots, purring loudly. Or Mitch.e.l.la guessed it was loud for Drina. Pinky purred much better.

Along with Drina's blandishments, Mitch.e.l.la felt an odd tickling in her ears and mind that corresponded with a faint thickening in the atmosphere around her. She strained all her senses and caught the whisper of the Residence.

"-you are T'Blackthorn, it is best that you live in the MasterSuite."

"I'll consider it." Straif strode down the hall. With a little smile, Drina hurried to catch up with him. Mitch.e.l.la was determined to draw up a redecorating scheme immediately for the MasterSuite. The cat and house would convince Straif to live in the rooms.

Several meters along the corridor, he indicated another door. "The MistrysSuite." His tone was expressionless, but dread radiated from him. She took his arm companionably, ready to move him away from pain. "We agreed the MistrysSuite should be decorated by your HeartMate."

He didn't budge, but stared at the heavy door, intricately carved with symbols of the Blackthorns: The Blackthorn tree was in the center and in each corner was a carved image of a wolf.

Inhaling deeply, he met Mitch.e.l.la's eyes, his own darkening with emotion. "My mother's rooms. The suite will need to be cleaned. The . . . the furnis.h.i.+ngs inventoried. Stored." His body vibrated under her hand. "I haven't been in there since my mother died. Since everyone else died."

That shocked her. Definitely time to calm the client, get him moving away.

His eyes went a little wild as he looked down the hallway. "My sister's suite is next."

Time to get him downstairs where the rooms weren't quite as personal. Maybe. Everything indicated that he'd walked away from the house-the Residence-as a very young man. Everything was just as the last living occupants had left it. It was a privileged person who could just leave things behind for years.

To her right was the staircase down to the grand hall. Mitch.e.l.la prodded Straif and finally got him turned away from the closed doors and moving down the stairs. Drina helped by keeping pace and purring.

Nevertheless, Mitch.e.l.la wanted her guess confirmed, wanted to know what to expect when she entered the rooms she hadn't seen. "Did you have anyone-ah-go through the house, ready it for your long absence?"

"Does it look as if I did? No. I let the Residence take care of itself. I don't know if T'Holly or D'Holly, my maternal relatives, came here at all after-afterward."

"I'll check with them." Somehow she'd find the nerve to talk to the leaders of the FirstFamilies. Perhaps she could learn of past events from them, too.

If the place wasn't a FirstFamilies estate, she'd have gently advised him to move. No chance of that. So the best thing to do was to completely redecorate. She discarded her first plan of bringing the Residence exactly back to the recorded holos. That wouldn't be a blessing for Straif. It wouldn't make him comfortable.

She couldn't imagine living in a home that wasn't comfortable. The energy vibrations would warp the individual and perhaps the Residence itself. Even Drina was affected by the tour. Her step had been nearly prancing as she started; now she lifted and put her paws down as if they hurt.

Once on the first floor, Straif looked around and grimaced. "I thought to use the cook's apartment as a living s.p.a.ce for now. It's at the far end of the west wing." He shrugged.

Drina sat on the toe of one of his boots, lifted her small head, and mewed.

Straif scowled. His lips thinned. Finally, he sighed. "The Residence can clean the Heir'sSuite playroom for you."

The faintest voice sounded in Mitch.e.l.la's head. "There was once a Famdoor from the hall to the playroom. I will dissolve the barrier and open it again," said the Residence.

Both Drina and Straif nodded. They obviously heard the Residence, too, and much better than Mitch.e.l.la. Ah, well, they were both more Flaired than she.

Drina rose to her feet, angled her body in a long stretch, and trotted back up the staircase.

Mitch.e.l.la chuckled. "So, as long as the scent of boy is removed from the playroom she will be happy to live there."

Straif grimaced. "I haven't had Drina as a Fam for very long, but I think she expects perfection." He shrugged again, but his voice sounded lighter. "She'll no doubt supervise the cleaning." He gestured to the left. "I've found a sitting room that can serve as a base of operations. Our contract is there, with the terms we discussed."

His hand slid down to clasp her fingers, and she realized with a flush of heat that she'd been touching him far too much, too casually, as if he were more of a friend than a client. Her nerves s.h.i.+vered as she became intensely aware of the strength and warmth of his fingers around hers, the callouses on his hand, the tingle of Flair he transmitted to her skin.

Her breath came shorter, and she steadied it. They walked to the room in silence, but now that she experienced the attraction to him again, she could only think of his body, how their steps matched. How they might match in bed.

He stopped at a door midway down the corridor and opened it to a dark purple room. Mitch.e.l.la flinched at the sight of heavy velvet curtains coated with grime and frayed upholstery. At her reaction, Straif dropped her hand. Her lips thinned in irritation at herself. Nothing to do but act grandly.

Mitch.e.l.la swept into the purple parlor before him. It was far too dim for Straif's need to appreciate her. Just the simple walk down the corridor with her, the sensual heat and movement of her body beside his, had distracted him from painful memories and set his mind on the future.

With a wave of his hand and a murmured Word he sent the drapes opening, and watched with a wince as several dropped to the floor in heaps. The windows were filthy, as if they were covered with some sort of sc.u.m. Racking his brain, he couldn't think of the proper spell to clean them.

She stood in the middle of the room, hands on hips, surveying it. "Are the standard housekeeping spells in effect?"

Before he could answer, the Residence replied with surprising eagerness. "Yes, Gentlelady Clover."

Mitch.e.l.la hesitated, cleared her throat. "Is that you, GrandHouse T'Blackthorn Residence?"

"Yes, Gentlelady Clover. I have communicated with T'Ash Residence. It is most pleased with the results of your skills. It has shown me your work." The Residence sighed. "It brags. It is still a very young Residence, no more than two decades old."

Straif enjoyed the blush that enhanced Mitch.e.l.la's beauty. "My thanks for your kind words, Residence." Her smile made Straif forget the state of the room, drew him to her.

"Clear windows," Mitch.e.l.la said. The room darkened into blackness for an instant, there was a swish, and a moment later the gla.s.s of the windows sparkled. Light seemed to dance into the room, and Straif felt a corresponding lift in his spirits.

Striding over to a small desk, Mitch.e.l.la scanned the contract and nodded, but didn't sign it.

Mitch.e.l.la turned the desk from facing the windows to facing the inside of the chamber. Then she sat, set the contract aside, and pulled out a writing tablet and drawstick. She glanced at him, that professional smile on her lips.

Straif vowed to turn that smile into something more sultry before she left the room. He wondered if she was trying to make him feel awkward. It wasn't working. He prowled to the twoseat at right angles to the desk, sat, and stretched out his legs. He found himself steepling his fingers as his father had been wont to do in his ResidenceDen. The image brought less pain than it had the night before.

Mitch.e.l.la leaned forward, her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s s.h.i.+fted and caught his focus. She huffed a breath. "GrandLord T'Blackthorn, may I have your attention?"

"Oh, you do. You certainly do." He didn't bother to mask the huskiness in his voice, the attraction in his gaze. He smiled slowly. "Call me Straif."

She nibbled her full bottom lip. Another immediate goal entered his mind. He'd taste those lips before she left. "Straif, then. I need to ask you a very important question."

Six.

Straif met Mitch.e.l.la's gaze. "Yes, what is your very important question?" He wished it would have something to do with them and s.e.x, but figured she'd stay on the painful topic of his Residence.

"You're very sure that you don't want to restore the rooms of the Residence as they were. You wish everything to be different-to follow your own taste?"

Just as he'd thought, nothing about exploring each other intimately. Her question was tough. He should think about it, but he didn't want to. He never wanted to see some rooms as they once were.