I'm not one to let a good scone loaded with cream and strawberries go to waste, especially not just because my lips were assaulted and robbed of their coating of that cream and strawberries by a man as beautiful as he is strange.

I finish my scone and clear as much of the mess as I can from my lap, using the tissues on the coffee table. My hands still tremble slightly when I finally take my empty cup and dirty plate to the kitchen.

All is quiet in the mansion when I climb the stairs to the office. I'm relieved there is still no sign of Alaric, and I haven't run into Liam either. It's an excellent thing! I'm a little nervous about men right now. I haven't been kissed for 25 years, and now, in the span of less than 30 minutes, I've been kissed by two men. Two! One man's kiss was light and breezy, filled with sunlight and sweetness, completely non-threatening, and the other's was...

"What the hell was that?!"

Reaching the office, I hurry over to my desk and agitatedly turn on my laptop and plug my phone into the charger. It took me a while to remove the phone from my handbag because I forgot that I was using the zipper now, like a grown-up, and couldn't understand why I was struggling to find the bag's opening.

I returned my laptop to the office just before I went to the garage with Leopold this morning, but I didn't think to ask for the WiFi password. The most I can do to prepare for tomorrow is to tidy up my notes and make bullet points of what I need to investigate as soon as I can get online.

Reading on the screen is a total nightmare. The words float in and out of focus, and I'm starting to develop a headache from squinting so hard. I'll have to make that optometry appointment tomorrow and get my eyes checked, or I won't be able to do my work. In desperation, I slip the case containing my backup glasses from my laptop bag.

I keep them at hand because I have a tendency to sit on my spectacles, so whenever I get a stronger prescription, I always keep my old pair for emergencies... if the frame is not broken. It's a bit pointless to try to use them now, as my current problem does not involve a twisted frame, but I'm irritated enough to try anything.

Pulling out the old glasses, I pop them on my face, placing the new pair in the case to avoid accidents. I've been working on my spreadsheets for a while before it hits me that I'm seeing quite well with my older glasses. Much better than I did with the up-to-date prescription. Did I perhaps get the two pairs confused with each other? They do have very similar frames. That is the only thing that would make sense. I'm just pleased that I might not need an eye test after all.

I finish all the tasks I can do without going online. I don't want to hotspot from my phone and possibly use up all my data. I can see that there is a WiFi network available to connect to, and I am hopeful to have it sorted out tomorrow.

Shutting down my laptop, I remove my phone from the charger and call Professor Griffith to catch up with him. Last night, we exchanged some messages, but we need to have one of our long chats. I know he's been worried about me, and I want to set his mind at ease and tell him as much as I can about my new life without breaching the confidentiality clauses of my contract.

Feeling content after a pleasant chat with my mentor and the only father figure I've had since my grandfather passed away four years ago, I leave the office. Walking the gloomy hallways to my bedroom, it is easy to imagine myself as the mansion's only occupant. The only sounds I can hear are coming from me moving over carpets and the muted ticking of a clock whenever I pass through a hallway containing one.

Entering my wing, I pause, considering exploring more of my rooms, but it is late, and I am starting to feel quite sleepy again. I don't know why I haven't opened any of the other doors yet. I almost did this morning, but I felt uncomfortable about doing that for some reason. Perhaps I'm just fanciful, wanting to draw out the pleasure of finding new and wonderful treasures... I doubt that; I'm not that self-controlled. To be honest, I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed and slightly scared. I find all the closed doors rather daunting.

Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow, I'll explore the other rooms.

"Definitely!"

I'm pleasantly surprised to find the pyjamas I'd bled all over, washed and folded and completely stain-free in my closet. Whoever cleaned it certainly knew what they were doing, which gives me hope for my battered dress, which I drop in the laundry basket in the bathroom when I step into the shower.

With the warm water cascading over my body, washing away the tension that has been building inside me since the drive up the cliff road, I suddenly find myself giggling like a giddy schoolgirl. I vividly remember Billy's swift kiss, his warm blue eyes, his mischievous smile and, feeling flustered, I bury my face in my hands, doing a little dance, which almost causes me to slip and fall on my bottom. I'm saved from injury by the tiled wall I crash into.

"Honestly, Aubrey! Get a hold of yourself!"

It was the kind of kiss siblings might share with each other... in public... without raising any eyebrows, and yet... I cannot stop smiling like a puppet. It was unexpected and sweet. I think I might be developing a crush on Billy Doyle!

No! I'm not developing a crush or anything else on Ransford Slatherty, and I refuse to think about that kiss or unauthorised lip-cleaning service he provided.

It felt a bit like he was claiming his territory. It was a gentle kiss, but I think if siblings did that, there would definitely be raised eyebrows. The only thing sweet about his kiss was the strawberries. The kiss left me breathless, with every nerve-ending humming, and I'm disturbed by the fact that I did not even jerk away in fright and get my glasses knocked off my face. I just sat there and enjoyed it... I mean, endured it... like a willless doll. One with an extremely fast heartbeat and skin covered in goosebumps and...

"Stop it!"

Turning off the water, I jump out of the shower, towel myself dry, blow-dry my hair and get ready for bed, completely ignoring the conversation I'm yearning to have with myself. I need to forget what happened in the library, or I will lose my mind. Besides, I told Alaric that I am immune to men and their seductive ways. My willpower, in that regard, is proving to be highly disappointing so far.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, making sure my alarm is set, I glance at the brown glass bottle containing the capsules Liam gave me last night when I was on my way to my bed. There's no label on the bottle; it looks like something found in a museum. I rather like it as an object, but not as a container for non-descript medication I should take to prevent bad dreams and sleep paralysis.

I didn't dream strange things last night, and tonight, I'm quite happy, though a little over-stimulated. Sliding into the comfortable bed, I settle down on the pillows and allow my mind to run along memory lane, savouring each lovely moment I spent with Billy. I'm starting to regret not having a light dinner now that I remember all the wonderful food I tasted today, and am feeling slightly hungry again. Fortunately, I'm rather sleepy, and the cravings don't last long as I drift away into the sweet embrace of peaceful sleep.

I'm not sure how long I've been asleep when I'm stirred to wakefulness, my eyelids tearing away from each other, allowing me to peer into the dusky room. I'm sure I was awake only a minute or two ago, and yet I feel so groggy.

At first, I'm not sure what woke me. All is silent; the only light in the room is provided by the full moon lounging in the black sky outside the window. I didn't draw the curtains; I found the darkness in the room too suffocating when they were closed.

All the furniture and paintings on the walls are highlighted in silvery moonlight, and above me, floating among the shadows, I see Alaric looking down at me, his eyes iridescent reflective disks in the gloom. He seems to be hovering a few inches away, his hair trailing in an unfelt breeze around his face, intermittently tickling the skin of my cheeks.

That is why I realise that it is not Alaric. Though the man's features are similar, and the eyes, looking into mine with an intensity that is setting my heart galloping, are robbing me of my breath the way Alaric's always do, Alaric doesn't have long black hair. He wears his hair quite short.

I want to move. I want to scream.

I can do neither. All I can do is stare back into those mesmerizing eyes, aware that they are touched by a hint of sadness, a sadness I can feel as though it is my own. I've never seen myself as particularly empathetic. I do have an over-developed capacity for compassion and sympathy, but I never experience other people's emotions as though they were my own. I do now... or is it my own sadness I'm feeling?

He is beautiful.

His skin is pale in the moonlight, his hair thick and wavy, and his lips supple and soft-looking. I'm afraid, and yet I'm not. Terrified and exhilarated. I stare unblinking at the man hovering above me, close enough for me to smell a heady blend of natural aromas, setting my pulses alight. Horse, autumn breezes, pine needles, blue gums, fresh air, smoke, moonlight, and salty ocean air. I can smell it all. Taste it all.

Fear slowly starts to win dominion over my emotions, my breath escaping my parted lips in fast huffs as I try to fight the spell he is weaving around me. I try to move; I try to speak. Gasping faster and faster, my eyelids fluttering, my eyes tearing up, my nostrils flaring. The man, demon, angel or apparition is not changing his expression, not faltering, growing less vivid or present. The tips of his hair still touch my cheeks, making me shiver, wrapping me in their woodsy fragrance.

"A... Alaric," I croak, the word squeezing almost painfully from my tight throat. "Alaric."

I sit up with a scream, my heart racing, air spilling in jagged breaths from my lips while I frantically look around my room, searching for the man who seconds ago was levitating with his body parallel to mine, but there is no sign of him, and gentle sunlight is spilling through the open curtains. I jump at the jarring sound of my cell phone alarm, my confusion growing as I realise that it is morning.

"What the hell was that?!" I exclaim, and I'm sure I've said those exact words before, not too long ago. It might become my mantra in this strange place.

I dreamed it?!

Why would I have such a strange dream about Alaric? Was a kiss from two men not enough for me? I had to have fantasies about my boss too... with long hair, no less. Well, he didn't kiss me; he just... hung around a little... literally.

My heart is still beating fast, my pulses leaping, and I force myself out of bed and into the bathroom to wash my face and stare in the mirror, looking for signs, any signs, that I am indeed awake now and still me. The fact that I knock over the bottle of handwash, slap my toothbrush out of the holder it was dangling from, and bump my head on the cabinet door when I rise from bending over after picking up the toothbrush are all the signs I need to assure me that I am awake and still Aubrey Dankworth.

I'm not surprised to find breakfast waiting for me on the table when I return to the bedroom, but I'm not hungry today. My head is stuffed with cotton wool, and my eyes are bleary. I would love nothing more than to go back to sleep... but not in that bed with weird, floaty men and dreams of white-haired girls who...

The dream memory breaks up like smoke when I try to grab onto it and remember what the girl in the dream did. Something which scared me. That is all I know.

I sit at the table, feeling sad for the lovely ham and cheese quiche and the cherry tomatoes waiting on the plate, unable to entice my appetite. I'm about to drink the coffee when I notice the glass of tomato juice. I do love tomato juice with ice, salt, black pepper and Worcestershire sauce in it, and even now, I cannot resist it, though I don't think I've ever had it for breakfast before.

Still, it calls to me, and I grab the glass, gulping it down greedily, enjoying the savoury goodness. It's by far the best tomato juice concoction I've ever had. I'm shocked that I need to actively fight the urge to lick the glass clean, digging my fingers in to get every single drop I cannot reach. I stare at the ice residue, longing for more and bit by bit, my appetite returns to me, redirecting my attention to the quiche.

I seldom eat large breakfasts. At home, I would have some coffee and perhaps a slice of toast. I can understand why I was so hungry on Saturday morning. I am not sure why I devoured my breakfast yesterday morning and am now clearing my plate of everything, including the last bit of lettuce, washing it all down with coffee from the culinary gods.

I'm feeling so much better by the time I enter the office, fully dressed in a creamy blouse and floral skirt in autumn colours. Seated at his desk, with his back to the windows, Alaric glances up from the stack of papers he is working on and when his grey eyes land on my face, freezing the breath in my lungs, I'm suddenly vividly reminded of the beautiful man floating in my dream, and I take a startled step back.

"Good... yes... Mr Slatherty... morning." My brain is glitching. I need to reboot my hard drive and run a virus scan; there might be some corrupted data up there around the memory of the soft lips hovering a breath away from mine. Alaric frowns, tilting his head slightly, but he doesn't remark on my lack of linguistic skills.

"Good morning, Miss Dankworth," he says, returning his attention to his work, and I walk on tiptoes, carefully navigating the path to my desk. I don't trust myself not to cause a furniture avalanche today.

When I sit down and boot up my laptop, I realise that I have to talk to him again. I don't want to!!! I don't think I know any English today.

"Mr Slatherty?"

He turns his head to look at me, waiting for me to continue, and all I can think, gazing at his startlingly clear eyes and his perfectly sculpted lips, is: 'Please don't kiss me; I might die.' This freaks me out because his eyes narrow ever so slightly as if he heard that.

"Excuse me?"

What? Did I say it out loud? No. No, I'm sure I didn't. Is he reading my mind? Noooo.

"WiFi password," I say and hearing my voice, I am comforted by the fact that I definitely did not say those other strange words out loud. "I need to connect to some of the databases I use to find more information, and I need to be online for that."

"Capital W," he says calmly, and I have no idea what he's trying to tell me. "The WiFi key starts with a capital letter W," he clarifies when I do not respond.

"Oh!" I gasp and hastily click on the connection icon to access the field requiring the key. "W," I type, looking up at him expectantly.

"23."

"23."

"Captial F."

"Capital F."

"Lowercase h."

"Lower h."

He guides me through the rest of the key, and by the time I've finished typing 4g259 and hit enter, receiving a success message and a happily connected icon, I'm astounded that he can know such a random code by heart. I can barely remember my ATM pin, and I use it often!

"Thank you," I say a little breathlessly, and he simply nods and once more returns his attention to his work.

Honestly, how am I supposed to concentrate on my notes and typing in descriptions on the helpful antique database sites I often use when he is sitting over there so present and dark and broody?

No, he's not broody; he is thinking... deep thoughts... about finances and logistics and... yes! Politics. He is thinking about overthrowing the British government and running the world!

I'm startled out of my stupidity by a soft scoffing sound coming from Alaric and hastily drop my gaze to the large screen on my desk when he glances at me with a slight frown between his mesmerizing eyes.

What? I didn't do anything! I didn't say anything. Reaching out, I drag the base of my screen, blocking my face from Alaric's view. There, that is so much better; I have a wall to hide behind now.

"Good mornin'!"

Great, now I cannot see who entered the room and have to move the screen again, so I can be surprised by a man holding a printed document in his hand. He looks somewhat out of place in this kingdom of ethereally beautiful, enigmatic men. He is simply too human-looking to fit in.

Though a bit young, this is my kind of man...

No, that didn't sound right. I merely mean that the man entering the office has the same kind of scholarly air as my grandfather and his friends. His brown hair is short and neatly combed, and his hazel green eyes, behind humble glasses, are bright and alive. When he looks at me, my breath doesn't get tangled somewhere between my third and fourth rib, and my stomach remains calmly in position.

He is handsome and seems friendly but not seductive, enticing or alluring. I like him... as much as one could like a person at first sight. Though he fits in nicely with the décor, he seems out of place in Slaughtaverty Manor, like an alien... same as me.

"Good morning, Mr O'Neill. Please meet Aubrey Dankworth," Alaric says in that stuffy, formal way of his, nodding towards me. "Miss Dankworth, this is my assistant Diarmuid O'Neill."

When Billy said that Alaric's assistant was his close friend, I expected him to be the same kind of warm, outdoorsy type, but though he is unshaven in a very civilized and neat way, Diarmuid is clearly not the outdoorsy type at all. He is also not as relaxed and easygoing as Billy. Well, at least not right now; he seems to be rather tense.

Diarmuid O'Neill

"Pleased to meet you, Aubrey," he says, hurrying over to my desk, grabbing my hand when I stand, giving it a firm yet gentle squeeze in greeting before he lets it go again. My grandfather always said you could tell a lot from a man's handshake. For the life of me, I cannot remember what those things were, though. I just know that this handshake would've met his approval.

"Look, I'm terribly sorry about the mix-up," Diarmuid says, stepping into the space between Alaric's and my desks from where he can look apologetically at both of us. "I don't understand it at all," he says, raising his hands, palms up, shrugging. "I know I thought Miss Dankworth was the most qualified for the job, but I also understand that given the circumstances... I knew..." He pulls his face into a grimace, searching for the right words. "My point is I did not include Aubrey's CV in the collection of printouts I left on yer desk to choose from, Sir. I did not even print it."

Alaric is not responding; there is also no sign of anger, disapproval or accusation on his face; he is merely looking at his assistant. Diarmuid might as well be talking about the weather.

"When ye brought me her CV, telling me that this is the candidate ye wanted to hire, I thought ye found it in the e-mails and decided to risk it... changed yer mind about hiring a man specifically... and printed it yerself."

Risk it? I have no idea how to feel about that. Why would hiring me be a risk? The seduction garbage? Or do they, despite all indications to the contrary, actually believe women to be less capable?

No! Diarmuid said he thought I would be the best candidate, even though he knew I was a woman.

"I didn't know ye weren't aware she was a woman; identification documents were included in her CV." He waves the document he's holding and pages through it. "Here-."

He is about to show a page to Alaric but stops, frowning in confusion and then flicks it over to look at another page.

"The printer was serviced not that long ago... I don't... I'm sorry," he finally sighs, his shoulders sagging as he lifts the pages for Alaric and me to see what was clearly a printer malfunction of stripes and half-printed pages. "All the other pages printed fine. I'm really sorry. Sure look."

"It is what it is, Mr. O'Neill; do not distress yourself about it anymore," Alaric says in his calm, husky voice. "Were you able to get hold of Simon Lambert?"

"Yes, I finally got through to him late Friday evening," Diarmuid says, rolling the print-out into a tube. "I've set up a meeting for Thursday."

Okay, that seems to be over now. I sit down, frowning at my screen. So, I am here because of a printer freak-out and an accidentally printed CV. Awesome! Well, at least I can pride myself in the fact that I was appointed based purely on merit and my abilities and not just because they needed to fill some kind of prescribed quota. I'll feel pretty good about myself every few minutes when I'm not completely horrified about this!

I do not think that the fact that Ransford is a womanizer is why Alaric wanted to hire a man. Something truly disturbing might be going on here. Every time I close my eyes for longer than a second, my brain is flooded by visions of a beautiful man with floating dark hair and desperate eyes. Visions so strong, I can feel a blush creeping hotly up my neck and flush my cheeks, my heart rate speeding up.

"Excuse me?" Alaric says, and when I lift my eyes from the screen, I realise he is speaking to me, giving me a questioning look.

Did I make weird sounds?

"I... uhm... I was wondering where your desk is, Mr O'Neill. Am I not taking up your space? As Mr Slatherty's assistant, you probably should be sitting here rather than me." I was wondering about that. Honest!

"Oh, heavens no! It would drive me off me nut!" Diarmuid exclaims, and when Alaric tilts his head, giving him the kind of shrivelling look he'd been blessing me with since I met him, Diarmuid giggles a high, nervous little laugh that almost causes me to laugh too. "I don't... I mean... Sure look," he clears his throat and avoids looking at Alaric by looking at me instead. "Me office is next door."

I wonder if there's room in there for me too. Daring to look at Alaric, I am surprised to see his lips quirk with amusement. The silence is saved from becoming awkward by Leopold entering with a tray carrying a couple of cups.

"Coffee, Miss Dankworth," he says those flirty words that get me every time, and I gratefully accept it from him. "I placed yours on your desk, Mr. O'Neill."

"Cheers, Leopold," Diarmuid says, and he must love coffee as much as I do because he basically runs from the office to go drink it.

I watch Leopold place a cup on Alaric's desk, exchanging a few words with him before leaving the office. It is some type of tea; the aroma I caught when Leopold brought my coffee was slightly fruity and floral. I could not place it, but it was quite pleasant. I would not mind wearing it as perfume.

"Will you come with me, please, Miss Dankworth?"

I look up to see Alaric standing near the door, looking expectantly at me. I've finished my coffee and was happily layers deep in search results, updating my findings and generally enjoying myself. The passing of time was completely lost on me.

Go with him? Am I allowed to say no?

"Of course," I obediently rise from my seat and leave the office with him.

He leads me down the stairs and, in the foyer, surprises me by heading to the kitchen. If he weren't in such a hurry, I would've braked to a startled stop, seeing people scurrying around, peeling vegetables, stirring things in pots and unpacking the dishwasher. All of them politely greet us as we pass. None of them appear to be ghosts, and quite a few are female. So...

Alaric acknowledges their existence by nodding his head and saying good morning, and then he leads me out the back door into the section of the grounds bordered by the drop into the ocean. Now, I'm a little concerned that he might've decided to throw me off the cliffs and bury me at sea to be rid of his troubles.

I change my mind about that when I - mesmerized by the breathtaking view of dark cliffs plummeting to the ocean stretching to my left and right and a vast sky ready to meet me if I continued walking straight ahead - don't watch my feet, step on a stone and lose my balance. He grabs my arm, keeping me from falling, but nearly gives me a seizure.

He missed a very good opportunity right there. Though we're not close to the edge, we're close enough for him to have been able to turn my fall into a tragedy by helping me along with a swift kick. I jump a little when he turns his head to look at me, that frown I've seen so many times this morning - slightly amused, slightly confused, a little bit irritated - gathering between his eyes. I offer him a radiant smile in exchange for that frown, and the irritation disappears while the confusion grows.

"Are you quite alright, Miss Dankworth?"

"Me? Yes, yes... quite alright, thank you, Sir," I squeak, relieved when he resumes walking, leading me to what appears to be the stables.

Oh, dear! Are we going horseback riding? I'm wearing a skirt!

I'm relieved when he veers off the paved path to the stables, taking a branch to the left where a stone building with a large double door waits. It might've been a small barn years ago, but I am surprised to find a dark grey vehicle inside when he opens the doors. Some kind of pickup truck.

"It has four-wheel drive, which is helpful on these roads," he tells me, and when I blink at him, he puts his hand in his pants pocket and withdraws a key chain, which he holds out to me. "I'll tell you if I need to use it, which doesn't happen often. Please don't drive at night, during storms, or when it's misty."

I take the key, slowly realising what he is doing, and now the radiance of my smile is genuine and not just to annoy him. "Thank you," I mutter, completely taken off guard by this kind gesture.

True to tradition, he merely nods his head, turns and walks away, leaving me standing there, stunned into silence.

"I have wheeeels!" I squeal, apparently not stunned enough to be quiet for long, and clearing my throat and straightening my skirt, I close the doors and hurry after Alaric.

Work first, drive later!

~~~