At the Billionaire’s Wedding Read Online Free Page B

so I know I can deliver what Jane wants. I never settle for less than perfection.”
    Harry looked less than browbeaten. “Are you full or can you find room for some Stilton?”
    “Yes, please,” she said with fervor.
    The cheese and crackers were divine with the wine and the meal concluded with a fruit compote drenched in heavy cream. Apparently low-fat was not a known concept here. Luckily for her chances of staying awake that afternoon, Harry made espresso served in exquisite demitasses while Nanny fixed herself a huge cup of instant. “That foreign coffee’s too strong for me,” she said. “I like a nice English cup of Nescafé or Maxwell House.”
    “Are you ready for the tour?” Harry asked. Instinctively she reached for her phone to check email and messages, before she remembered.
    “You said there were places I could get signal,” she said.
    “Bedrooms first?”
    “And then the public rooms and the hotel kitchen. I assume your guest won’t be fed on meals produced on that .” She nodded in the direction of the giant black stove.
    “And then the Mausoleum. A lovely spot to make telephone calls, with a view that would inspire anyone to eloquence.”
    “I’ve always heard that England is full of history but I had no idea the dead were equipped with cellular service.”
    “I told you Brampton offers all modern conveniences.”

Chapter Two
    Miss Arwen Kilpatrick had a mind like a computer and the body of a Turkish sultan’s favorite harem girl. The first Harry found enviable, the second mesmerizing, and the combination irresistible and frequently distracting from the details of bedrooms and bathrooms and room service. He was confident that the conversion of two stories of Brampton to hotel rooms satisfied the blend of country house elegance and state-of-the-art luxury for which he planned to charge his guests a fortune. But Arwen left nothing to chance. Watching her prod the mattresses and inspect chests of drawers gave him ample opportunity to examine her less cerebral virtues.
    “Why aren’t there fridges and minibars in the rooms?” she asked, bending down to peer into an empty cupboard.
    He dragged his dirty mind from an appreciation of her assets. “May I remind you that we are doing a favor to Duke Austen by opening the hotel early to please the fantasies of his historical romance writing bride?”
    “For which you will be well compensated.”
    “Of course,” Harry said. “Without mini-bars, the future Mrs. Jane Austen’s wedding guests will be able to imagine themselves in the pages of a Jane Austen novel.”
    “I saw the Keira Knightley version of Pride and Prejudice . Those Bennet girls lived in a pretty filthy place.”
    “That was Longbourn,” he said firmly. “Think of Brampton as Mr. Darcy’s house.”
    “Right, Pemberley. No mud. Will you have footmen in powdered wigs?”
    “Unfortunately, it’s hard these days to find trained staff prepared to dress that way, especially at short notice.” He didn’t add that most likely room service would be delivered by local women who would have to be talked out of Gap jeans and into maids’ uniforms. “We’re still working on finding people but I can assure you that there will be no lack of comfort. Now for the honeymoon suite.”
    Even the steely-eyed wedding planner seemed impressed by the first Lord Melbury’s rooms. In their youth, the current Melburys had furnished them like an eastern souk. All the pseudo-Ottoman drapes and pillows had been tossed out, along with the leaky hot tub. The original gilded plasterwork was restored at vast expense, and the original furniture dug out of the attic and spruced up with the most lavish pseudo-eighteenth-century materials Colefax & Fowler could provide. My Lord’s dressing room became a bathroom, complete with a brand new Jacuzzi bathtub. Arwen sat on the edge of the massive four-poster bed and tested it with a delicious bounce. “Good mattress,” she said approvingly.
    His throat