Read Online The Promise by Fayrene Preston - Free Book Online Page B

was beauty. Dominating the entry hall was a huge marble center staircase with a Tiffany stained-glass window of a peacock gracing its first landing. Above her, flower-shaped light fixtures hung on forty-foot chains from the two-story vaulted ceiling. And as a complement to the splendor and grace, harp music floated out of a nearby room, wandered in and out of the thin green leaves of the palm trees that filled the comers, and whispered across the works of art on the walls. Wide-eyed with admiration, she took everything in.
    She and the manager reached the fourth floor by a private elevator tucked beneath and behind the grand staircase. There, Winston Lawrence led her to the end of a long, wide hall and ushered her Into a suite.
    “Mr. Deverell uses these rooms when he is with us. The suite at the other end of the hall is set aside for Mr. and Mrs. DiFrenza. The staff and I are hoping they will soon be bringing the young master for his first visit.”
    She blinked. “You mean their new baby?”
    “Yes. SwanSea will be his one day, you know.” It was a different way of thinking, she realized, and one in which she had had no experience. Winston Lawrence was gazing expectantly at her.
    “In which bedroom would you like Peter to place your things?” he asked.
    “Uh, which bedroom does Mr. Deverell normally use?”
    “The one to your left.’”
    “Then I'll take the other."
    “Very good,” he said, his only expression one of a willingness to please. He motioned to Peter, and the young man vanished through a cream and gilded door with her luggage. “The staff is at your disposal, Ms. Graham. Please let us know if there is anything we can do to make your stay more enjoyable.”
    “Thank you very much,” she said, feeling a wild desire to tip him but knowing it wouldn’t be proper. She would be extra generous with Peter, she decided, but several minutes later when she tried, she met with refusal.
    “We do not accept tips from the Deverells and their guests,” he said with a smile. “Have a nice day.”
    And then she was left alone, feeling slightly shell-shocked by the place that would serve as her home for the next two weeks.
    Gazing around her, she saw the sitting room of the suite was done in green, burgundy, and blue. French doors that opened out onto a terrace banked a marble fireplace carved with fluid, arabesque lines.
    Out of curiosity, she made her way to the bedroom Winston Lawrence had said Conall used, and peeked in. A massive sleigh bed sat in the center of the room, covered by a royal purple spread with accent pillows of Chinese blue, deep green, burgundy, and red. A wrought-iron grapevine with leaves and twisting stems grew across the width of the wall above the bed. Springing from this fantasy grapevine were lights of different shapes and sizes, hanging like exotic blossoms. An oil painting commanded a second wall, its subjects a bare-breasted woman and the sea. The woman was partially dressed in red and gold flowing, diaphanous veils, and her long hair streamed sinuously out to blend with the sea and the veils.
    The colors of the room were rich, muted, its texture sumptuous, sensual, and luxurious, its ambience unbearably erotic. She quickly left, crossed the sitting room, and opened the door to the bedroom she had chosen for herself.
    This room had been done in the same colors as the other, only softer and with a sheen of iridescence. The oak and mahogany bed had been crafted with a flower-patterned marquetry of ash, satinwood, sycamore, and holly inlays. Stacked atop the lavender satin bedspread were pastel aqua and plum velvet pillows.
    On a large bedside table, ten iridescent lilies, gold laid over green, drooped from gilt bronze stems—the lamp unmistakably the work of Louis Comfort Tiffany. A pearly opalescent vase filled with fresh cut orchids graced a dresser. Frieze figures of nude women encircled the vase.
    The whole suite seemed to cocoon her in eroticism. It was just the art nouveau