Page 5 of The Count

I gasped; the brown of his irises was so dark it almost bordered on black. His beard covered the entirety of his chin. There was a thick tuft of it under his lower lip. His moustache was well groomed, as was the short mane of hair that adorned his head. It was the color of rich dark chocolate and the sudden yearning to run my fingers through it came over me.

I ignored that.

He had the face of a man who deserved to be king, and a certain weariness in the shadows of his eyes of a man who carried the weight of the world. I knew from the talk at the office that he was in his late thirties, but the instant his gaze landed on me, I was reminded of someone much older. His handsomeness was timeless. The power radiating from him felt dangerous.

Maybe it was just that he was a rich man, and he was used to getting what he wanted. He certainly dressed that way. His suit was just as pristine as the rest of the house, the darkest black. The burgundy tie around his throat was silky, the pattern reminiscent of a gothic candelabra and it was alluringly beautiful.

I swallowed heavily. Along with the power that drew me in, there was something else. An air of seduction surrounded him, and my gaze dropped to his full lips.

I shouldn’t be thinking about kissing him. I should be focused on selling his house.

“Welcome, Jasmina,” he purred, and my heart pounded wildly in my chest. His voice was smooth as velvet. There was a slight hint of a Romanian accent, but it was very subtle. When he spoke again, I tried to pinpoint it, but it had seemingly disappeared. He didn’t introduce himself, but he really didn’t need to.

“I hope the journey from London went smoothly. I heard there were several storms along the way,” he continued. I got the unmistakable feeling that he knew that it had been a terrifying ride, even though a part of me knew it was wholly irrational to think that.

“There were,” I said simply, smiling warmly as he came down the stairs. He approached me and it was as if the shadows followed him to me.

I shook my head.

Get it together, Jasmina. Sleep deprivation is not a good look on you.

He held out his hand, taking mine and shaking it heartily. His grip was strong. I kept my expression masked, but when he released me, my hand was a little sore.

“I’m sure you’re hungry. I delayed breakfast long enough to allow for your arrival. John will bring your things upstairs while you accompany me to the dining room,” he explained. I glanced nervously at the butler who had already taken my bags in hand and was moving quietly around us. I watched him climb the stairs for the briefest moment before I turned back to the count.

He was even more impressive up close. He towered over me by more than a foot. I’d always been on the shorter side, standing at no more than five foot one. He had to be six foot three. I had to look up to his face. His dark irises sparkled with amusement as though he knew what I was thinking.

Gently, he took me by the upper arm, sliding his hand around to my upper back. There was a slight forcefulness to his guidance that I brushed aside. Dropping my eyes to the floor, I let him lead me down the hall for a bit.

Along the way, I slyly studied the beautiful tapestries and paintings that lined the walls. There were several with slightly religious connotations, but only in their depictions of the suffering and wickedness that came with sin. Many of them were clearly centuries old. One section of the hallway had a mass of portraits, all of which resembled the count in small ways, so I assumed them to be his ancestors. I didn’t ask their names. We were moving too quickly for that.

Polished silver accents were engraved into the beautifully stained wood trim that lined the halls. The walls appeared to be freshly painted, a soft creamy white that would do well on the market. There was so much character everywhere I looked.

Creating the listing for this place would be so difficult. There were so many details to note that paring them down was going to be an exercise of its own.

I would worry about that another day. For now, I was just going to enjoy everything this historical estate had to offer.

Dmitri led me into the dining room. I gasped as soon as I walked inside.

The amount of grandeur rendered me speechless. It was something out of a castle of old, almost as though the old kings had used this place only days ago to host a royal banquet, maybe announcing a wedding or the acquisition of new lands or the advent of a new alliance.

The dining table was massive, meant to host well over thirty people at a time. I’d never seen anything like it. It was made of real wood, mahogany by the looks of it. The rich stain brought out the rings of the trees the planks had been hewn from. Silver and gold inlay lined the sides.

It cost someone a lot of money a long time ago. They didn’t make anything like it anymore.

There were only two place settings: one at the head of the table and the other right next to it. The amount of covered silver platters on the table was in direct contrast to this.

He led me inside and steered me toward the seat to the right. He pulled out my chair like a perfect gentleman, and I took a seat. Only when I was settled did he push my chair in and take his place next to me.

John appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He gently knocked my hand away when I reached for one of the lid handles, uncovering it himself.

There was a smorgasbord of foods. Omelets. Crepes. Pancakes. Waffles. All things that emulated an American breakfast, which I hadn’t expected in a place like this. There were plates that were more indicative of a typical English breakfast, including beans, toast, tomatoes, potatoes, bacon, eggs, black pudding, as well as some rather delectable-looking mushrooms, but I found my gaze drawn to a plate of French toast covered in caramelized bananas that I’d only seen once before on an overseas visit to New York City.

“This is an incredible amount of food,” I murmured.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I had the kitchens make a little of everything so that you could enjoy a filling meal after such a long trip.” The count sat back as John prepared his coffee, only leaning forward to take it into his hands when the butler had finished and moved away.

“Do you see anything that you’d like?” John asked. Politely, I asked for the French toast that had caught my eye and he served me the whole plate. He asked me several questions in preparing my coffee, how much creamer, how many sugar cubes, if I wanted a dash of cinnamon on top. When I took my first sip, I had to stop myself from moaning with pleasure at the delicious brew. Sweet. Bitter. And utterly perfect.

---