Bittersweet Deception

Instead Kate had held her by the shoulders, looked her straight in the face and made her a promise. ‘You won’t have to leave, my love. It would have been great to have had some of your fees paid, but we’ll manage.’ How, she didn’t know. But manage they would, even if she had to take in washing. Her sister’s brilliant smile was reward enough.

She glanced around her now. She hadn’t told her sister about the offer she had received for the flat from her neighbour whose sister wanted to live close by. Until now there had been no point. And it would be a wrench to part with the home they had shared for three years. But with Sam away at dance school for more than half the year, it was ridiculous to keep it. They could manage with something much smaller.

And if she took the job at Fullerton Hall, she would have no expenses for at least six months. Breathing space. The first in a long time. And time to decide on the way forward. She wouldn’t be losing touch entirely. She would still have her column in the London Evening Mail. Maybe she would even have a little time to think about the cookery book she had been collecting ideas for ever since she could remember. She picked up the telephone. There was no point in keeping Lady Maynard waiting for her answer. She would go to Norfolk as soon as Sam’s Easter holidays were over.

It was their last night in the flat. Sam was already packed for school and, apart from essentials that she couldn’t manage without, her own belongings were boxed up to be stored with their furniture.

Kate had cooked a special dinner and now they were draped lazily over the sofa, while Sam zapped through the televison channels looking for something interesting. She paused on a chat-show and for a moment there was a close-up of the host, laughing at something his guest had said. Then the camera panned and suddenly his face was there, in front of her. Jason Warwick. And every nerve-ending jerked to attention.

It was two weeks since the dinner party but almost instinctively her hand flew to her lips. Then he smiled, not as he had smiled at her, but with warmth and humour, and she gave a soft groan of anguish.

The man had held her for a few brief moments, but in that time he seemed to have imprinted himself somehow on to the surface of her skin. Even remote, untouchable like this, her body vibrated to him, and if she put out a hand she must surely be able to push back the thick dark lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead…

Sam said something, but she barely heard; her eyes were fixed upon the screen, wondering that so brief an encounter could unleash such powerful emotions. Emotions she had locked firmly away when she had taken on the responsibility of providing for her sister. When David had issued his ultimatum and it seemed that her life had come to an end.

He hadn’t been like Jason Warwick. David was fair, blue-eyed with an almost irresistible charm. Almost. But when it hadn’t worked, that last evening they spent together, when teasing and tender kisses wouldn’t move her, she had seen a different side of him. The cold, hard practical man. And she had learned her lesson well. All her love was reserved for Sam these days. They had each other, and while her sister needed her that would be enough.

And practical David had turned his blue eyes and his charm in another direction and was married within the year to a girl with parents who could provide financial support for his business, and no burdensome younger sister whose passion for dancing drained away every spare penny. A younger sister who could dance like an angel but whose hearing had been gradually deteriorating since the car accident that had killed their parents.

That had been three years ago, and no one had been able to reach her since. Until a bored, cynical man, with the reputation for breaking the heart of any girl foolish enough to let him, had decided to teach her a lesson and kissed her until, like some latter-day fairy-tale prince, he had brought every frozen emotion painfully back to life. She shivered a little. She had never liked fairy-tales.

Kate’s grey eyes narrowed as she regarded her tormentor. ‘Do you think he practises his smile in front of a mirror?’ she wondered out loud, her mockery a desperate attempt to destroy his power to disturb her. ‘You know, Sam, like a dancer limbering up at the bar? Twenty smiles suitable for old ladies.’ She tried on a patronising smile to amuse her sister. ‘Twenty serious expressions enlivened by a twitch of the mouth, like so. Twenty…’ She blinked angry with herself for allowing him to get under her skin, but not quite able to resist watching him. Then she coloured self-consciously at her sister’s knowing smirk.

The chat-show host smiled slyly at his guest. ‘Come on now, Jay,’ he urged with his deceptively mild Irish lilt. ‘Own up. You don’t really expect to find a woman these days who’s prepared to conform to your oft-vaunted ideals?’

The camera closed in on him. How it loved the moulded bones of his face, she thought, as he raked long fingers through that unruly lock of hair. He regarded his inquisitor intently.

‘I have never made a secret,’ he said, with perfect seriousness, ‘of my belief that women have two functions in life. One is in the kitchen. The other in bed.’ The camera switched to the audience as it roared its approval, the men in agreement, the women apparently in hope. He acknowledged them with a slight bow. ‘As you see, they don’t object to either occupation.’

‘Oh, God,’ Kate said faintly. She felt suddenly quite sick.

‘Which do you consider the most important, Jay?’ his host prompted with devilish glee.

Jason Warwick’s face split to reveal a row of strong, white teeth. ‘I find the two combine quite naturally.’ He looked straight into the camera and Kate felt his eyes were focussed only on her and she moaned softly. ‘There seems to be an affinity between food and sex…’

There was a sudden stillness in the studio. The Irishman cleared his throat. ‘Are you telling us that you’ve found a woman who can cook?’ Getting no immediate answer, he added wickedly, ‘As well?’ He glanced at the audience, milking the laughter. ‘It must be serious, then?’

A flash of irritation crossed Jason Warwick’s face, but he quickly recovered himself, lounging back in his chair, a quixotic smile firmly in place. ‘Serious? My dear fellow, when have I ever been serious about anything?’

The other man laughed. ‘Not about women, that’s for sure. Are you going to tell us who she is?’ Kate, white-faced, held her breath.

‘No.’ In close-up she could see the fine line etched into his cheek that might have creased when he smiled. He wasn’t smiling now. ‘She knows who she is. Don’t you, Kate?’

Kate made a small sound in the back of her throat and Sam screamed with laughter. ‘Kate Thornley, I do believe you’ve been keeping secrets. Did the gorgeous Jason Warwick creep up behind you when you were up to your elbows in the dishwater? Is that why you can’t take your eyes off him?’

Aware that her face had gone a sickly, betraying white, she rubbed her cheeks. The teasing remark had been just a little too close to the truth for comfort. ‘I don’t wash up, Sam. People who can afford to hire me have machines to wash the dishes.’ She forced a smile. ‘Isn’t it time you were in bed? It’ll be a long day tomorrow.’

Sam disappeared into the kitchen for some milk and Kate turned once more to stare at the screen. Why had he done that? Used her name? It left her feeling exposed. She stood up and snapped the off button. She would be glad to get away to Norfolk. Flat and peaceful, and two hundred miles away from Jason Warwick.

CHAPTER TWO

THE soft burble of the alarm woke her instantly and Kate lay quite still, for a moment uncertain where she was. Then, remembering, she flung back the cover and leapt from her bed. The room was as pretty in the early sunlight as it had been welcoming in lamplight, with its delicate cream and pink wallpaper and ivory lace floor-length curtains.

She pushed them back now and stared once more across the park to the serene vista of a lake and beyond it, on a slight rise, a small Grecian temple. Fullerton Hall was all so much larger than she had imagined, so much grander, and yet not the least bit daunting.

Her first impression had been of warm brick, flowers and, despite the carved stone beasts that defended the footbridge to the entrance, of welcome as the house had smiled at her, rose-pink in the dying sunshine of a fine April evening. It had quite taken her breath away.

She flexed her toes against the thick carpet, stretched and luxuriated in the simple pleasure of a hot shower without for once having to worry about the electricity bill. Then, dressed in jeans, a soft cream shirt and a fine rose sweater that reflected a blush on to her pale translucent skin, she found her way down the back stairs to the kitchen. It was warm and comfortable but Kate didn’t linger, eager instead to explore the gardens nearest to the house before beginning work.

The kitchen door led to a small courtyard paved with bricks and brightened by tubs of early tulips. A hand pump next to a covered square brick wellhead had been recently painted black, as had the wrought-iron gate let into the old brick wall almost hidden by an ancient wistaria vine.

Kate opened the gate and stepped down into the walled kitchen garden. Neat, well-raked gravel paths edged with low-growing herbs divided beds planted with early vegetable crops and tender salad plants being coaxed under cloches.

She bent to crush a few leaves of lemon thyme between her fingers, breathing in the scent. ‘This,’ she told a watchful robin, ‘is going to be this cook’s paradise.’

‘Then perhaps you’d better be a little careful what you pick if you venture into the orchard.’

Kate spun around, shock sending her pulse-rate into overdrive. Jason Warwick was standing in the gateway in the wall, and regarding her inscrutably down his long, not quite straight nose. For one brief moment she dwelt on the agreeable picture of an angry fist breaking it.

‘My name is not Eve, as you already know, and it’s the wrong time of year for apples,’ she declared vigorously as she rose, trying to ignore the athletic grace of his figure and the way his well-cut beige cord trousers clung to his hips. She concentrated on the safer area of his chest concealed under a soft wool shirt of a deeper shade. Then she averted her eyes. There was nothing safe about Jason Warwick, and it would be a grave mistake to think he was less deadly in casual clothes than in the black broadcloth and starched linen he had been wearing on their previous encounter.

‘Your name is of considerably less interest at this moment than why you’re trespassing in my garden,’ he replied evenly, but she was not deceived. He was angry.

But he had met his match. ‘Your garden indeed! I’m not the one trespassing. You are. This house belongs to Lady Maynard.’

‘Does it, now?’ The touch of amusement that twisted his lips made her vaguely uneasy but, hands on hips, she stood her ground as he towered over her. ‘You’re nearly right. But since Tisha Maynard is my aunt and this is my home, I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that.’

‘You are Tisha’s nephew?’

His eyes narrowed at her use of his aunt’s given name. ‘I don’t know what tale you’ve told my aunt to inveigle your way in here. Whatever it is, you’d better make your excuses and leave.’ He took a step forward and grasped her firmly by the arm. ‘Right now.’ He turned and began to walk back to the kitchen, his fingers digging into her flesh as she resisted.

She ignored the pressure of his fingers on her arm, only fleetingly wondering why it was possible to dislike a man and everything he stood for yet still be aroused by him. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she said. But even as the words left her lips she knew it was too horribly possible that Jason Warwick was the nephew Lady Maynard had so casually mentioned, although she couldn’t understand how anyone could be casual about owning such an obnoxious relative. Perhaps that was the reason she hadn’t bothered to mention who he was.

His face darkened as she dug her heels in. ‘Don’t make it worse by pretending not to know. What on earth do you think you’re doing here?’

‘Perhaps you should ask your aunt, Mr Warwick, before you start flinging accusations about.’ She pulled her arm free and tugged at her sweater, then wished she hadn’t as his eyes lingered on the outline of her breasts.

‘Oh, I’ve a fair idea what you want. But if you think because I kissed you once, you’ll be a welcome addition to my household, you are mistaken. This is my family home. I share it with my aunt. When I’m here, Kate, I sleep alone.’

‘You must be glad of the rest,’ she snapped back. ‘I certainly won’t be disturbing you. I had no idea you would be here.’

He gave a short, unpleasant laugh. She knew he was tall. In the close confinement of Tisha Maynard’s kitchen, his height had commanded attention. But here, in the early-morning garden, there was something so physical about him that she instinctively stepped backwards. His hand shot out and caught her wrist, preventing her further retreat. ‘You expect me to believe that?’ His fingers tightened and he shook her slightly, like a naughty puppy. She couldn’t believe the gall of the man.

‘Is it so impossible?’ she demanded. ‘Or is your ego so inflated that you believe every woman you kiss can’t wait to leap into bed with you? Let me tell you,’ she continued, with reckless abandon and an equal disregard for the truth, ‘I’ve been kissed by men just as accomplished as you!’ His eyes gleamed and she fervently wished she had chosen her words more carefully. Her intended put-down had somehow developed into a compliment of sorts.

‘Have you, now? Well, I suggest you pick one of them out of a hat and go right back to the lucky winner. You’re not wanted here.’

‘Is that so? Perhaps you should check with Lady Maynard first. Maybe she has other ideas.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps you’d better tell me.’ It was not an invitation she felt capable of refusing.

‘Lady Maynard has just signed a six-month contract with me. And she was the one who insisted that there should be a no-break clause. She didn’t want me to change my mind.’ She paused briefly. ‘I can’t imagine why she thought I might.’

He ignored the gibe. ‘Six months?’ He frowned. ‘What on earth…?’ He made a dismissive gesture. ‘It doesn’t matter. You’ll just have to come up with some particularly heart-rending reason for leaving. She won’t stop you even if you signed a hundred no-break clauses. I promise,’ he added fervently.

‘Why should I do that, Mr Warwick? I’m extremely happy with the arrangement.’ That was true as far as it went. But Tisha Maynard, in her throwaway comment about a nephew, had not thought fit to mention who he was, or she would never have come within a hundred miles of Fullerton Hall.

‘That could change. Very quickly.’ His eyes blackened as they insolently travelled the length of her, from narrow feet encased in immaculate white trainers, by way of slender legs and a tiny waist—a figure that, dressed in jeans, might be described as boyish by the careless onlooker—to a face that certainly could not. A full, sensuous lower lip, a nose as straight as an arrow and fine grey eyes that were flashing angry warning signals that any man would ignore at his peril. But Jason Warwick wasn’t any man. He eventually arrived at the smooth coil of shining black hair that crowned her finely shaped head.

It was a look calculated to insult, to put a rocket under the blood-pressure of any woman with half an ounce of spirit, and he raised a pair of well-marked brows, inviting her response, clearly expecting an explosion that would wreck any chance of her staying. No contract was that watertight.

But he had no idea how much she needed this job. That despite her one slip from reality in his arms, she had three years of hard-won self-control to call upon.

Kate Thornley refused Jay Warwick’s invitation to self-destruct and retaliated in kind, forcing herself to return the slow, assessing examination that he had subjected her to and making very sure he understood exactly what she was doing.

She lacked his experience in these matters and therefore followed his example by beginning with his feet. They were large. Beautifully shod in hand-tooled leather, but at least a size eleven. His legs were long, and from the way the material stretched across his thighs, powerful. His hips and waist were temptingly lean and for a moment her gaze lingered, before almost reluctantly she allowed her gaze to continue over the widening chest to square, broad shoulders.

Her impulsive challenge faltered as she reached the hard, uncompromising line of his jaw and his mouth twisted into a knowing smile. As she met his eyes, her mouth dried.

‘Jay? I thought I heard your car.’ The tap of an ebony cane across the brick courtyard and the swift scuff of paws announcing the arrival of Tisha Maynard and her rather scruffy little terrier smashed the threads of tension that had momentarily bound them like a web of finely spun glass. ‘I didn’t expect you until later, darling.’ She offered her cheek to be kissed. ‘I’m so glad you’ve introduced yourself to Miss Thornley.’ She turned to her. ‘Did you sleep well, Kate?’

‘Yes, thank you, Tisha,’ she said, conscious of Jay Warwick’s eyes burning into her. ‘My room is very comfortable.’

‘Well, if there’s anything you want, just ask.’ She turned back to her nephew. ‘I’ve managed to persuade Kate to come and run the new tearoom for us. She’s a wonderful cook and an excellent organiser. She cooked the last time you dined with me.’

‘I know. We—’ his gaze flickered over Kate ‘—bumped into one another. What new tearoom?’

‘In the conservatory. I would have told you before, but you’ve been so busy with your bid for the new radio station. Besides, you said not to bother you with the details.’

‘Miss Thornley is rather more than a detail. Surely you have more than enough staff?’

‘No one with Kate’s talent for organisation.’

‘I’m sure she has many talents,’ he said ambiguously. ‘What exactly is she going to organise here?’

His aunt, apparently unaware that his conversation was being conducted on two levels, explained what Kate would be doing. ‘So you see, Jay, you needn’t worry about a thing.’

‘Of course not. Who drew up the contract?’ he asked, casually. ‘These things need to be done properly.’

‘My solicitor handled it quite as easily as yours could have done. Just because I’m old, it doesn’t mean I’m foolish, Jay.’

His face softened slightly. ‘I never said you were foolish, Tisha…’ He did not go on, apparently unwilling to destroy her pleasure in her plans, but his aunt sensed his hesitation.

‘But?’ she demanded, a little testily. ‘I suppose you think you could have done it all a great deal better?’ Kate held her breath as for a heartbeat he seemed to weigh his own feelings against hurting his aunt.

‘Of course not.’ He avoided Kate’s eye. ‘You’re a clever woman and it’s a lovely idea.’

Mollified, Tisha Maynard smiled at them both. ‘Why don’t you take Kate for a walk around the garden before breakfast, Jay? She’s full of plans.’

‘Is she?’ He glanced at her then. ‘Then a walk it will be. Come along…Kate. I can’t wait to hear just what you have in mind.’ He held out his hand, nothing in his manner to betray the warning in his eyes as they met hers. Reluctantly she surrendered her arm to him and he tucked it under his.

The sun was higher. A blackbird was perched on the wall serenading them. Jay Warwick had given way in the face of his aunt’s eagerness for her plans, clearly unwilling to upset her by betraying his own displeasure. Everything should have been perfect. But that would have been too easy. She didn’t think he would be quite so gentle with her, and her heart was pounding furiously as she was insistently propelled along a path dissecting the formal gardens, closely flanked by the tall, dangerous figure of her nemesis.

‘There’s really no need to escort me, Mr Warwick,’ she said, finally breaking the silence. ‘I’m sure I can find my own way.’

‘I like to stretch my legs after a long drive.’ He glanced sideways at her. ‘I assure you I have no immediate plans to ravish you in the rhodedendrons.’

‘It never occurred to me that you would,’ she said. ‘Unless of course the one-to-a-bed rule only applies inside the hall?’

‘If you were considering putting it to the test, I would advise against it.’

‘You’re really quite safe, I promise,’ she said flippantly, firmly ignoring the thought that if he had been intent on ravishment, she wasn’t totally convinced that she would be able to resist him. It was infuriating.

He stopped, and she was forced to do the same. He regarded her thoughtfully, gold glints sparking in the depths of velvet brown eyes. ‘Perhaps you should be more concerned for your own safety.’ Then, ignoring her sharp intake of breath, he regained possession of her elbow and continued to propel her down a broad gravel path flanked on either side by the black skeletal shapes of ancient standard roses. This was hardly the pleasant walk in the garden that she had envisaged when she set out first thing. She attempted to shake free. But his grip was deceptively firm. ‘I wouldn’t want you to think, Kate, that because I have decided not to interfere with Tisha’s plans I am happy about them.’

‘I did get the hint of a feeling that you weren’t too happy.’

‘I believed I had scotched this particular bee in her bonnet. Presumably that’s why she chose to go behind my back. She is a stubborn old woman and can’t bear not to get her way. Clearly things are too far advanced to stop without causing her a great deal of distress. So be it.’ He glanced at her. ‘How long have you been here?’

‘I arrived last night.’

‘I see. Then you have very little time. I hope your much-vaunted powers of organisation are more than myth, because the house is opening in less than two weeks.’

‘I know.’

‘Well, it will keep you fully occupied. Not that there are many opportunities to flirt with the dinner guests here.’

Only the whiteness above her lip betrayed the effort it was taking Kate to keep her voice even, her expression bland. ‘Perhaps I can have your assurance that the dinner guests won’t flirt with me? Even those that live here?’

For a moment she thought she had taken him by surprise but he recovered so quickly that she couldn’t be certain. ‘At Fullerton Hall, Kate, I make the rules.’

She gave a little gasp. ‘I have a few of my own and top of the list concerns—’

‘You really are not in any position to dictate terms,’ he interrupted, ‘if there’s a no-break clause in your contract.’

‘Top of the list,’ she repeated, furiously, ‘concerns…’ This time there was no interruption, just the sudden certainty that she was about to make an utter fool of herself.

‘Well?’ he prompted, impatiently.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Insisting that he promise not to kiss her in the kitchen, or anywhere else for that matter, might just put ideas into his head regarding the simplest way to rid himself of her.

‘This way, Kate.’ He pushed open a pair of ornamental gates flanked by high formal yew hedges and guarded by a bronze wolf with a hungry leer. Jay patted the beast affectionately and then stepped through and on to the grassy path. Kate hesitated and he looked back.

‘“Enter these enchanted woods, you who dare.” Do you dare, Kate?’

She regarded him levelly. ‘What could there possibly be to fear, Mr Warwick?’

In answer, he took her arm and led her along a narrow path knee-deep in bluebells. ‘It’s the possibility of danger that makes life interesting, Kate.’ There was a resolute intensity about the man. ‘We all need to take risks, or how will we know we are alive?’

He stopped and glanced down at her and frowned slightly. His arm was still linked in hers, holding her close on the narrow path, and above the heady scent of the flowers she could smell the warmth of his body, good cloth, leather. Every nerve-end was tingling, polarised by his presence, drawing her under his spell. Each moment this close to him was a risk and he was right. She could never remember feeling quite so vividly alive.