Chapter 2
Deep in the service corridors, far removed from the amber illumination of the reception, Nora Wells hurried toward the master guest suite. The twenty-five-year-old maid was a vision of gentle, understated beauty, with delicate features, fair, rosy skin, and clear, highly expressive eyes. She wore a fitted black maid dress, crisp white collar and cuffs, and a white ruffled maid headband. Her white apron was slightly rumpled from a long day of carrying heavy silver trays, her hands trembling with a quiet, suppressed anxiety.
She pushed open the heavy oak door to Walter Rowe’s suite. The sixty-eight-year-old former boss was sitting on the edge of his bed, his face pale with suppressed fury. Normally fiercely independent despite his prosthetic left leg, Walter was now entirely stranded. He was dressed impeccably in a dark tailored suit, but his left trouser leg hung empty.
"Mr. Rowe," Nora gasped, rushing forward. "I came as soon as I realized you weren't at the table. What happened?"
"That vicious viper happened," Walter growled, his American accent thick with rage. "Isadora came in here an hour ago. We exchanged words regarding my opposition to this sham of an engagement. When I took my leg off to adjust the strap, she grabbed it and walked out."
"She took your prosthesis?" Nora asked, her clear eyes widening in absolute horror. "But why?"
"To humiliate me," Walter spat, his hands gripping the bedsheets. "To show me that she controls this house now. She knows I would rather die than ask my son's men to carry me to the dinner table like a helpless infant."
Before Nora could respond, a small, sweet voice echoed from the doorway.
"Grandpa?"
Three-year-old Poppy Rowe trotted into the room. Dante’s daughter was an absolute angel, with soft curls, round rosy cheeks, and little dimples that appeared whenever she smiled. She was dressed beautifully for the holiday in a rust-red velvet pinafore embroidered with a tiny turkey, a cream knitted blouse, and miniature brown boots.
"Come here, little bird," Walter said, his harsh demeanor softening instantly as he reached out to his granddaughter.
"Auntie took it," Poppy announced, her voice punctuated with adorable toddler inflections as she hugged Walter’s waist.
Nora knelt down to be at eye level with the child. "You saw Auntie Isadora take Grandpa's leg, sweetie? Where did she put it?"
"In the dark room with the coats," Poppy explained innocently, pointing toward the front of the mansion. "She locked the door and put the key in her shiny dress."
Nora’s blood ran cold. The coatroom was directly adjacent to the grand salon where the entire syndicate was currently gathered. Isadora hadn't just stranded the old man; she had ensured that retrieving his dignity would require a public confrontation.
"Nora, fetch me the wheelchair from the closet," Walter commanded, his jaw set in a hard, unforgiving line. "I will not let that woman dictate my presence in my own home."
May you like
"Sir, if we go out there, Miss Reed will be furious," Nora warned gently, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"Let her be furious," Walter said coldly. "I am going to look my son in the eye and show him exactly who he is marrying."
