Dangerous Discovery

‘Stop it!’ Estelle placed her hands over her ears in a frantic childlike gesture. ‘Stop making me feel a hundred times worse than I already do! I know I’ve made a mistake! I know I’ve been stupid!’ She glared at him, her throat tight with misery. ‘Don’t you think I know that?’

‘Right, come on! I’ve had enough! Pack a bag. Sort through what you’ll need for tonight: clothes, things for the baby.’

‘What?’ Estelle’s eyes narrowed in confusion as Hunter pushed her unceremoniously towards the chest of drawers where half of her underclothes were dangling unceremoniously on view. ‘Stop bullying me!’ She wheeled around to face him, found herself, with a swift glance at his angry expression, up against more than she could handle. She lowered her voice, forcing control back into her body, stepping back towards the brightly stencilled piece of furniture. ‘Why have I got to pack a bag? Where am I supposed to spend the—?’ Estelle stopped abruptly as realisation dawned.

‘Yes, that’s right.’ Hunter speared her with a look that dared her to disobey. ‘You’re staying the night with me at the manor. Now, I want no arguments. I am tired and angry and as frustrated as hell. This whole evening has been an absolute waste of time from beginning to end. So just be quiet, get your things, pick up your baby and come with me.’

‘I...I can’t.’ Estelle shook her head in wild determination.

‘Of course you can. Don’t be ridiculous. This place is not fit for a pig in its present condition. It’s absolutely disgusting. Now don’t argue!’ he commanded, twisting her back around to face him. ‘Just get some stuff together—’

‘Stop ordering me around, will you?’ Estelle glared up into Hunter’s face and tried to find strength from somewhere. ‘I can’t stay the night with you—I just can’t!’ She tried to move away again but he had advanced, pinning her against the chest of drawers, so that escape was impossible.

‘Don’t look so panic-stricken; I’m not suggesting we spend the night in the same bed,’ he drawled. ‘Not even in the same room. Our kiss was pleasant, but it hardly puts us on the sort of intimate footing you are suggesting—’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ Estelle retorted, ‘and you know it! I would no more want to sleep with you than...than...’

‘Than what?’ He had moved closer still and, as she found her eyes drawn upwards to his face, she saw the slight curve at the corner of his mouth, the now familiar gleam of male predator in his eyes.

Estelle grasped a breath. She was learning; she knew what that look meant; unfortunately she wasn’t quite fast enough.

‘I don’t think it’s a good idea to be quite so provocative,’ Hunter gritted, confusing her, making her more aware of the potent male danger by stroking the edge of his finger gently, oh, so gently, along her cheek. ‘I’ve already discovered this evening that I have a penchant for childlike vulnerability. Don’t tempt my control any further. I’m aware, you see, of my additional weakness: beautiful, stubborn young women who will insist on openly insulting me, who will insist on not doing as they are told—they always were a great turn-on. Do you want to see how I show them the error of their ways, Estelle?’ He lowered his head a fraction and she felt the familiar, inexplicable jolt in the pit of her stomach. ‘Do you want to become one of the corrected?’ he murmured huskily as his mouth brushed against the trembling softness of her lips.

‘N-no!’ Estelle’s cry was a faint whisper.

It was a plea that Hunter ruthlessly chose to ignore. His mouth covered Estelle’s moist lips with potent firmness. His hands skimmed the outline of her body, coming to rest at her slender waist, holding it in a grip that was firm and full of cool possession.

‘Now I think you understand what I’m saying.’ He was raising his head at last, his glance sliding over Estelle’s flushed cheeks, her bright, startled eyes. ‘You’ll find I’m a perfect gentleman—up to a point. Even I have my limitations, just like everyone else.’ He gave a slow, satisfied smile. ‘Take no longer than five minutes. I’ll wait outside while you sort through what you need,’ he informed her briskly. ‘Call me if you want any help.’

Estelle leant against the chest of drawers for support and stared as Hunter’s imposing presence left the room. What on earth is happening? she thought dazedly. What sort of a fool’s game am I playing? She ran her tongue lightly over her tips and struggled to forget how it had felt when Hunter’s mouth had covered hers.

Oh, Connie! I’m so sorry! She closed her eyes and wondered if Hunter had simply taken what he had wanted with her too. It didn’t bear thinking about. And now here he was suggesting she go with him, stay at his house! Surely even to consider such a proposition was the height of madness!

Estelle’s eyes searched the room helplessly—she saw the mess and with a shudder of disgust turned violently away. But how could she stay here? There was no way she could face clearing up everything tonight and there was Joseph to consider, above everything else, above her own fears and needs. This place just wasn’t fit for a baby.

With a heavy heart, Estelle jerked open one of the drawers and prepared to pack, praying silently that she would get through the next few hours unscathed.

CHAPTER THREE

‘YOU can use this room for tonight.’ Hunter threw Estelle’s well-packed holdall on to the enormous four-poster bed that dominated the ornate bedroom. ‘The child will have to make do with a drawer or something.’ He threw a brief uninterested glance in Joseph’s direction. ‘You can pad it out with towels; there are plenty in the bathroom, just through there.’ He indicated a door in the corner of the room with a nod of his head. ‘You know where the kitchen is should you need anything else, don’t you?’

Estelle nodded mutely, too nervous to admit that she hadn’t a clue where anything was after the endless maze of corridors they had just travelled along. ‘I’m sorry to be such a nuisance,’ she murmured as he moved towards the door. ‘Are you sure you want the bother of having me in the house?’

‘Have I read the situation wrongly?’ His words were clipped, his voice curt and suddenly irritable. ‘Do you have somewhere, someone else to go to, then?’

‘N-no. It’s just I don’t want to be...I mean...there was no need to—’

‘Save your breath, Estelle,’ he interrupted crisply. ‘We’ve been through all this before. You’re here now and it’s late. Get some sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’

Tomorrow came quickly enough. Six-thirty, to be precise. Joseph was cutting teeth and his insistent cries woke Estelle immediately.

It took several moments before she got her bearings; the grand room with its ornate hangings and impressive collections of paintings and books was so at odds with her own congested flat that for some considerable time she actually thought she was having some kind of weird dream. Then, as the depressing happenings of the night before came flooding back, she realised that the nightmare she had woken to was not in fact a nightmare at all but actual reality...

‘Oh, I’m...I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone would be down here at this hour.’ Estelle backed away to the door. Hunter was sitting at the long oak table in the kitchen, dressed immaculately in a crisp dark business suit, with a sheaf of papers at his right hand, and a coffee-pot and a cup at his left. He looked, Estelle thought, as if he had been there for quite some considerable time. Another calculation gone astray—she had counted on him being safely out of the way, tucked up, asleep in his bed somewhere, for another couple of hours at least.

‘There’s no need to run away like some startled rabbit,’ he drawled, raising his head to survey Estelle with cool, unhurried ease. ‘Come along in. I’m just about finished anyway.’

‘I...I just wanted some hot water,’ Estelle murmured hesitantly, ‘to heat up Joseph’s bottle. I...I’ll come back later; it doesn’t matter.’ She began to withdraw, but Hunter rose from the table, crossed the room and placed commanding hands on her shoulders.

‘I don’t think your son would particularly appreciate that,’ he drawled lazily, manoeuvring Estelle through into the kitchen, ‘and neither would I for that matter—the noise he’s making is setting my teeth on edge. I suggest you get some food inside him as quickly as possible before he wakes the whole neighbourhood.’

Estelle pursed her lips, averting her eyes from Hunter’s handsome face, more aware than she ever wanted to be of his touch, of the slightest pressure his fingers exerted as he led her over to the gleaming range. ‘I just wanted some hot water.’

‘Yes, so you’ve already told me,’ he murmured smoothly, leaning back in his chair to watch with glittering eyes as Estelle stood nervously before him. ‘There’s no need to keep explaining your presence. I did invite you to stay here, after all.’

‘I need a bowl too.’ Estelle tried to harden up her voice but it still sounded ridiculously nervous.

‘No problem. Look in the cupboards; I’m sure there are plenty around.’

‘I...I’ll be out of your way in a moment.’ Estelle turned, hating him for making her feel awkward, hating the fact that she cared because her hair was a mess and her T-shirt was old and she probably looked the most dreadful fright.

What on earth was I thinking of last night? Estelle thought despairingly. To come here, agree to Hunter’s suggestion. Suggestion? She shook her head, cursing silently as she remembered his forceful behaviour, the way he had taken advantage of her vulnerability.

A flush of self-consciousness flooded Estelle’s face as she became aware of the fact that his deep, dark eyes were focusing speculatively on her shapely figure. Surreptitiously she tugged at the too short T-shirt which she had slept in as usual, feeling stupidly gauche and awkward in front of his own relaxed, rugged frame.

‘Nice legs,’ Hunter murmured appreciatively, leaning back, folding his arms, taking a good long look. His lips curved into a stunning smile. ‘Slim and golden, just the way I like them. Now don’t look at me like that,’ he added, his eyes taunting Estelle as she pursed her lips angrily and threw him a frosty look. ‘What do you expect? If you will wander the house half undressed, flaunting yourself—’

‘I am not flaunting myself!’ Estelle cut in, eyes bright with irritation as she rose easily to the bait. ‘But I didn’t bring a dressing-gown with me. And anyway, I didn’t expect you to be here.’ She lowered herself carefully, clutching Joseph’s body close, desperately trying not to reveal any more of herself as she bent and hastily searched in the cupboards.

‘I’m surprised you’re up so bright and early,’ Hunter murmured in conversational tones. ‘It must have been pretty late by the time you got some sleep.’

Estelle straightened up, carefully poured some hot water into a bowl and then plunged in the prepared bottle of milk that she had mercifully thought to bring from her flat with her, with a silent prayer that it would be ready before Joseph’s intermittent cries turned into full-scale howls of impatience. ‘It may be early,’ she retorted stiffly, determined not to allow his seemingly pleasant tones to have an effect on her, ‘but I don’t feel particularly bright. Early rising isn’t something I do out of choice.’

‘Tell me about it!’ Hunter murmured drily, crossing back over to the table. ‘I’m driving up to Manchester this morning on business, hoping, although I doubt whether I’ll succeed, to avoid the worst of the rush-hour traffic. Early mornings are a complete nightmare to me.’

‘I would have thought you would have been able to arrange business meetings at times that were more agreeable to yourself,’ Estelle answered snappily. ‘After all, isn’t that one of the perks of being in charge of your own company?’

‘True. But somehow it’s never really as easy as all that.’ There was a slight pause. ‘So, you’re aware then that I own my own business?’ he asked smoothly. ‘How come?’

Estelle stiffened. She could almost feel his perceptive gaze boring into her back. There was a long silence as she rapidly ran over what she had just said. Had she given too much away? No. No, it was all right, she thought, breathing an inward sigh of relief; he couldn’t possibly guess that she was almost an expert on his lifestyle, had gathered information about him with almost feverish determination from any source that she could lay her hands on ever since she had first discovered his name in Connie’s diary. ‘Oh, I...I just heard from somewhere,’ she murmured vaguely. ‘Someone in the village must have mentioned it.’ She shrugged, silently urging the hot water to hurry up and do its job, because if she didn’t get out of the kitchen and Hunter’s presence soon she would be giving all sorts of things away.

‘So you presumably know I’m in management consultancy,’ he added briskly, ‘that I have the enviable task of trying to salvage firms which are in a slow and very steady decline before they go completely over the brink into oblivion?’

‘I...think I heard something of the sort,’ Estelle mumbled.

‘What else did you hear?’ His voice was sharp as he carried his cup over to the dishwasher and stood beside her. Estelle risked a swift glance at his face and saw that his eyes held a fierce expression. ‘I’m intrigued,’ he continued, when she made no reply. ‘I haven’t been living in the village more than five minutes and it seems my misgivings are already justified; already the locals are gossiping.’ Dark brows drew together irritably. ‘When my father died earlier this year and I inherited this beautiful but rather dilapidated pile of bricks,’ he continued savagely, ‘I seriously considered selling the whole lot in one fell swoop. There’s a lot of work that needs doing to the property, new plumbing, rewiring, any amount of decorating. Oh, and a new perimeter wall, of course,’ he added with deliberate emphasis, meeting Estelle’s hurried glance with cool black eyes. ‘Perhaps I should have given in to my instincts—let someone else take care of the hassle and upheaval.’

‘Oh, but how can you say that?’ Estelle responded automatically. ‘This is such a lovely house! It’s been in your family for several generations too, hasn’t it? And you have such a wealth of treasures, such wonderful paintings. Most of them need cleaning, of course, but just in the hallway and along the stairs there are some wonderful examples of—’ Her mind swung back over the many, varied pictures she had seen in her short time here and then her gaze fell upon Hunter’s face and she bit down on her lip, halting suddenly as her eyes registered his not particularly amused expression.

‘Ah, yes, the painter!’ he drawled mockingly. ‘Am I to take it from that impassioned outburst that you know something about art, then?’

Estelle raised her chin defiantly, annoyed by the derision in his voice. ‘Yes, just a little,’ she replied crisply. ‘I studied for a while. Your father was quite a collector, wasn’t he?’ she added, unable to keep the enthusiasm out of her voice. ‘It would be such a waste of his work not to—’

‘My, my! You do seem to know quite a lot! Village gossip!’ The inflexion in his voice held disgust. ‘Such a disagreeable aspect of country life. Give me London any day; at least there your life’s your own and you can be assured of a certain degreee of privacy.’

‘It’s not such a wonderful place,’ Estelle retorted, stung by the cutting tone of his voice. ‘Intellectually and socially stimulating if you have the means to enjoy all it has to offer, but a very large, lonely and daunting place otherwise.’

‘So you’re acquainted with London?’ Hunter’s gaze sharpened further. ‘I thought you were a country girl through and through.’

‘I lived there for a while, that’s all,’ Estelle informed him quietly, moving over to feel the temperature of the milk. ‘It had its attractions but...’ Her voice trailed away self-consciously. Hunter was watching her too closely; she could almost see his brain piecing the fragments of information together.

‘You were at college there? What happened? Did you have to leave when you became pregnant?’ he commented bluntly. ‘But why move here?’ he added with a slight frown, taking her acquiescence as read. ‘Do you have family in this area, then? Some connection?’

‘I used to.’ Estelle’s voice was clipped, dripping with frost. Hunter deliberately chose not to take the hint, continuing unmercifully.

‘Mother and father?’

‘No!’ Estelle replied shortly. She couldn’t risk dicing with her and Joseph’s future a moment longer. ‘Look, would you mind not giving me the third degree?’ she snapped. ‘It’s too early in the morning, and besides, my private life is my own affair. I don’t feel like discussing any of it with you.’ She swiftly tested the milk on her arm and then plunged the bottle into Joseph’s hungry, searching mouth.

‘So, it’s perfectly all right for you to gossip about me,’ Hunter commented smoothly, raising a dark enquiring brow, ‘but I’m not allowed to delve into your affairs. That’s rather one-sided, don’t you think?’

‘I have not been gossiping!’ Estelle shot back. ‘You flatter yourself if you think I’d waste an ounce of my breath discussing you with anyone!’

There was a chilled silence.

‘So inexplicably sharp,’ Hunter murmured softly. ‘Quite intriguing. You know, Estelle, your face has that same look about it as before—you remember,’ he explained with menacing softness, ‘when I caught you sneaking about in the wood. Same expression, same look of frightened intensity.’ He lifted a hand and brushed a long strand of hair away from her face, deliberately touching the skin of her cheek as he did so, deliberately testing her reactions, giving a slow, satisfied smile when she jerked sharply away. He raised dark brows and shook his head at her. ‘What is it exactly, Estelle? Care to enlighten me?’

‘Stop it!’ She frowned and felt the hot prickle of panic creeping over her skin as Hunter’s gaze forced her own into submission. ‘I...I’m tired,’ she continued determinedly. ‘I had a dreadful night’s sleep and after what happened...’

‘You coped very well.’

Estelle glared, annoyed by the smooth, silky tones. ‘There’s no need to patronise me!’ she flared. ‘I can do without that on top of everything else!’

‘You seem to be able to do without a lot of things,’ Hunter grated, his mouth hardening into a thin line. ‘Like good manners and an even temper—one that doesn’t flare up at the slightest thing! Tell me,’ he added tersely, picking up his briefcase, stuffing the papers none too tidily inside, ‘are you always this damn touchy in the mornings?’ He threw her a contemptuous look and strode over to the kitchen door. ‘I was applauding your spirit,’ he added in bored tones, turning to pierce her with an expression of complete and utter indifference. ‘After what you went through last night.’ He lifted his broad shoulders in a casual shrug. ‘Obviously I shouldn’t have wasted my breath!’ He flung open the kitchen door. ‘When you’re ready to leave, just tell Mrs McCormack—she’ll arrange for a lift back to the village. Oh, and by the way,’ he added crisply, his features hard and angular as he looked at her, ‘your front door has been fixed, I’ve left the new key to your flat on the dresser over there. If you can’t manage to pay the bill, let me know,’ he sneered. ‘I’ll settle up for you—you can look upon it as my one last gesture of patronism!’

The flat looked no better in the cold, harsh light of day, but Estelle refused to be downhearted by the state of it. I collect too much rubbish anyway, she thought, determined to look on the bright side. This will be a good opportunity to sort everything out, to begin again.

She hadn’t really changed much since Connie’s time here. Everything had happened so suddenly: the shock of her sister’s death, the grief, packing up her things, leaving college, the not so simple task of living from day to day, coping with Joseph...

She set to work, gritting her teeth against the despair that rose up to overwhelm her from time to time, struggling hard not to allow her thoughts to dwell on anything at all. Hunter most especially.

She went out with Joseph for a break at lunchtime, walking along her favourite route by the village green and the old duck pond. And she successfully managed, in between seeing to Joseph and keeping him happy, to get most of the work done.

Estelle rubbed at her aching neck. She had scrubbed everywhere with a strong solution of disinfectant, keeping her spirits up by imagining how she would redecorate, how much brighter and cheerier the place would seem after a good coat of fresh paint. But now, as she stared down at her canvases, she felt despair creep over her. The vandals had taken great pleasure, it seemed, in destroying these, her most precious possessions—the few, probably not very good paintings she had brought back with her from art college.

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