At Blade's Edge - Lauren Dane Page 0,3

true. Your home in Las Vegas is full of antiques and you haven’t broken any of them.”

A white stone townhouse similar to most in the neighborhood. It didn’t scream money. It murmured class and elegance because screaming money was crass.

The black lacquer front door was bookended by large ceramic planters with the Stewart crest on them. Each one of them had a manicured shrub/bush/tree thing. It slid open silently to reveal a man in his midfifties wearing a fantastic gray suit.

He smiled before bowing low and straightening in one, graceful roll. “Ms. Summerwaite, welcome. I’m Betchamp, the house manager. Please, do come inside.”

She’d been in Clive’s penthouse in Las Vegas, an antique filled showplace with stellar views. But there was a certain glitziness about it that didn’t fit him entirely.

This was quiet elegance. The wood floors gleamed, as did the stairs of the curved, wrought iron staircase. Rather than a tight spiral, it was a lazy curve upward two more floors.

Sensual.

“This is magnificent,” she told Betchamp.

“Would you like a tour as I show you to your rooms?” he asked, clearly pleased by her compliment.

“Yes, I would. Thank you.”

“The house was built in 1827 for Scion Stewart by his father as congratulations for being elevated to Penultimate.”

Clive had been essentially in the next in line seat for a Scion position for nearly two centuries. And The First had given him North America. The new world for the new Scion. Neither was all that new as things went, but Rowan knew Theo saw the poetry in such a move.

“This is the formal receiving room.” He pushed open gleaming wooden doors to expose a lovely sitting room in cream and navy.

Most rooms with the word formal attached to them were anything but inviting or comfortable. But the room managed to be warm and intimate while retaining the overall flavor of the house.

The receiving room connected to a gorgeous, very masculine, wood paneled library and office.

“This is Scion Stewart’s library and office. All the networks in the house have been set for your use. He urged me to reiterate that this was your home too and he expected you to make use of it.”

“He’s bossy that way,” Rowan said before she even thought. But before she could apologize for her snark, Betchamp chuckled.

“Alice told me you were a pleasant surprise. She was correct.”

Rowan nearly smiled at the mention of Clive’s personal assistant.

Betchamp led them through a living room that had a grand piano in a far corner. Comfortable clusters of chairs and couches spread through the room. A lot of windows for the abode of a Vampire. But Clive loved to look at the stars, even if he couldn’t have the sun.

The kitchen was a cook’s dream with loads of counter space and top of the line appliances.

“My wife, Elisabeth, is the cook and daytime house manager. She’ll be up to serve you breakfast or whatever you desire during the daylight hours. She popped round the market but should be back shortly.”

He led them up the back stairs. “Master suites are here on this floor. They just finished the remodel the day before yesterday.”

He pushed the door open to reveal a light yellow room with comfortable furniture and classic touches. “This is your sitting room. Your bedchamber is to the left.” He opened that door. More of the pale yellow, only this had a more French country feel with blue accents.

It hit her as she stood there. Clive had done what he said he would. A shared space but her own as well so she could move about freely while he was at daytime rest.

The colors and decoration were feminine. Elegant. Beautiful lines to all the furniture. Not a single overly fussy thing.

Clive knew her so much better than she gave him credit for.

He led her back through the sitting room to a larger space. Couches, a television, music, bookshelves. A casual, comfortable place she and Clive could be together in before he went off to rest for the day.

Opposite to Rowan’s bedroom, Clive’s bedchamber was sumptuous. Mahogany furnishings, plush bedding the color of deep amber. Quiet, calm. The perfect place to rest and be left alone.

Quickly Betchamp showed off the rest of the townhouse, including the mews house, which was a British way of saying guest house, where Clive had an office put together for her as well as a living space for David.

“Clive’s very thoughtful,” David said once they’d been left alone and told dinner was ready whenever they desired.

Yes, that he