Page 54 of Quinn, By Design

“I’ll leave you two to chat.” Lucy released his arm, patted his butt, and was gone.

Niall sipped his beer, noticing Peter watched Lucy’s disappearing form.

“Cameron was proud of her, but he would have been prouder still that she pulled this off so close to his death.” Peter’s gaze swivelled back to catch Niall’s. “Don’t you agree?”

“Any granda would be proud of his granddaughter.” Niall made his brogue a little thicker.

“But I’m talking about Cameron and his granddaughter in particular.” Peter’s look grew speculative. “Lucy said you knew him well and are responsible for the exceptional restoration of an eighteenth-century Serpentine Fireplace Mantel I bought earlier this year.”

“It was a piece that rewarded effort.” Niall’s shoulders slumped as he absorbed the body blow. He’d felt like shite before tonight’s shindig, and Lucy had introduced him to a wealthy antiques collector as a furniture restorer.

“I have a few more that would reward your effort,” Peter murmured.

“I’m not free to take on new work at the moment.” Niall stared into his beer, no longer thirsty. He should have said “I’m working on an exhibition.”

“Lucy waspositiveyou had time for one or two pieces.” The man’s insistence raised the hairs on the back of Niall’s neck. “In fact, I got the impression she was canvassing for work on your behalf.”

Niall glanced across the room. Lucy appeared engrossed in conversation, then turned her head as if aware of his stare. Her tentative smile proved Peter’s claim. She’d sold his time and his skills without asking him.

“One.” He turned back to Peter.Was this what it felt like to be a kept man?Cam wouldn’t have expected him to be at Lucy’s beck and call, but the old man must have known Niall would never walk away from an obligation.

“It might take longer than you hope before you get the recognition you deserve.”

And it might never happen.

Did you factor that in, Cam, when you decided to order people to suit your bidding?

He returned his beer to a passing waiter.

Is that what Lucy wants? Me doing her bidding?

Like Cam, she hadn’t warned him about plans involving him—a gut punch.

Steady, boyo, you haven’t told her about your exhibition.

“Here.” Peter slid an embossed card from his wallet, turned it over, and wrote an address on it. “I can be free any evening this week.”

“A banker.” Niall hoped he kept the hellishness out of his voice.

“For my sins. A family tradition I was expected to follow. Pity my father didn’t own McTavish’s.” Peter’s smile was a mix of banker calculation and hopeless romantic.

“Tomorrow night. About seven.” Niall didn’t want to like the man. “One piece.”

“Ah! But I get to pick the piece.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve got a warehouse full?” Niall joked, because the thought Lucy had wanted to tie him up in restoration work indefinitely was too bleak to contemplate.

“Enough to provide a steady wage to the right person for months. My word carries weight. I could be a useful referee in your role in the McTavish Foundation.” Peter waved to someone across the room. “Until tomorrow night.”

Lucy had manoeuvred to set him up with a steady wage and a banker, spruiking Niall’srestorationskills.Praise the saints and all the little fishes.

Turning his back on the room, he pretended the Norman Lindsay etching of a female nude had his full attention, when he couldn’t see a thing. Lucy loved antiques. She’d made no secret of her preference from their first meeting. He should have pushed back when she’d asked him to restore pieces for her. Told her his plans for the next few months were set and might even benefit the foundation.

Instead, he’d let his empathy for Cam’s death dictate his actions. When he’d lost his da, he became truly helpless. He’d wanted to help Lucy, and if restoring a few pieces of furniture distracted her for even a few minutes a day from Cam’s loss, then he’d been happy to give her an escape. He hadn’t needed to talk about his own work.

Now, he was trapped in wanting to give her more.

Anna’s perfume gave him a second’s warning. An arm came around his waist, a head rested on his shoulder. “My darlin’ boyo. Why the glum face?”

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