A Villain for Christmas (The Holyoake Christmas Series, Book 2)

Dair Offscreen

The next day she arrived at the Hall unusually early, mostly because, unlike all the previous years since Billie had returned to Fleckney, her morning started with her Aunts banging at her door and barking orders. They'd sent her back to her extension to change thrice; and once her appearance was finally somewhat approved, Billie was seated at the kitchen table where a generous breakfast was already waiting for her. Billie suspected that most of the ingredients in her feast were chosen for their 'special' qualities, such as the bachelor's button flowers floating in Billie's tea, and cloves and coriander in Aunt Sophia's scones. Afterwards, they sprayed her with Delia's concoctions, shoved a thermos with one of Phee's teas into Billie's hands, and when the door closed behind her, she thought she heard some chanting on the other side. Billie huffed, decided to allow them their delusions, and headed to Nidhogg.

Olofsson took her shabby coat, and Billie pressed a massive folder she'd prepared for Bondarenko, to her chest.

"The guests haven't come down yet, Ms. Harewicke," the butler announced. Billie shrank under the gaze of his icy blue eyes. "Would you like to wait for them in the Yew sitting room, or would you like me to show you to–"

"Is that the witch girl?" Bondarenko's voice rang somewhere on the mezzanine. "I need to ask her a few questions. Archie, go catch her before Eric beats you to it!"

Billie now knew what the characters felt in Hitchcock's films. There was no escape; all she could do was to stay frozen in place, awaiting her fate. A door opened somewhere above them; and Billingley's head, crowned with gorgeous chestnut waves, popped up. He leaned over the balustrade and flashed her a charming smile.

"Ms. Harewicke! Morning! I've been sent to usurp you!" His melodious baritone with its impeccable Queen's English pronunciation sounded most appropriate in the opulent decor. "Please, join me for breakfast. Please?"

"Um–"

Billingsley was already making his way down the grand staircase. The dark denim made his endless legs seem even longer. A thin navy blue jumper hugged his athletic torso; sleeves were pulled up, baring his artistic wrists and his forearms. He must have done some physically demanding part recently; he was significantly more muscular than she remembered him from six years ago. At the time Billie would've said that his appearance didn't matter, only his talent on the classic theatre stage; but at the moment, she had to admit that she did notice his physique - and, decisively, she much preferred his pasty beanstalk look of the past. He seemed too much of the Hollywood variety now: the light tan, the perfect teeth, the sculpted body. Henry Tilney couldn't possibly possess such pronounced thighs!

Still, the man was simply breathtaking.

"Morning," Billie squeaked.

She was forced to pretty much drop her head back, which in itself was most common for Billie; but it was virtually impossible to maintain a contact with his famous 'mesmerising, ever-changing' green-blue eyes.

"We're being spoilt," he said with a laugh. "Nothing is better than a full English, and it's served the traditional way!" He made an inviting gesture towards one of the side doors, letting her pass. "Shall we?"

His other hand hovered near her lower back, without actually touching her. She'd seen him show similar consideration when posing for photos with his fans.

"I'm not hungry! I mean, I've already– I've had– b-breakfast– h-home–"

Billie blinked frantically, as if literally blinded by his star quality.

"A cup of tea, perhaps?" His eyebrows jumped up, forming an apologetic, almost begging expression. "Just to keep me company. Julia rarely eats breakfast, and I'm not quite sure where the rest are."