A Vengeful Deception

On edge and apprehensive, Anna had never felt less like eating. But no doubt he was hungry.

‘Perhaps I’d better do it?’ she offered.

‘My cooking’s not that bad,’ he said drily.

‘I was thinking of your arm.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll make it a one-handed job. But before I start, is there anything in particular that you dislike?’

‘No, I like most things.’

‘I was considering a stir-fry, if that suits you? Everything comes in ready-to-use packs, which simplifies matters, and we can eat it on our knees in front of the fire.’

‘A stir-fry sounds fine.’

Having discarded the towel, he produced a bottle of sherry, a bottle of white wine and a corkscrew.

‘There is something you can do, after all. Opening bottles seems to require two hands.’

The lights, which weren’t over-bright at the best of times, flickered and went out, leaving only the firelight.

As Anna stood irresolute they flashed on again, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Firelight alone made things much too intimate for her peace of mind.

When both bottles had been opened, Gideon put the wine on one side and poured the pale amber sherry. Passing her a glass, he said, ‘I hope you like it fairly dry?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ She didn’t drink alcohol as a rule, but this seemed no time to say so.

Returning to her chair, she stretched her feet to the blaze and sipped her sherry. Covertly, from beneath long, dark lashes, she watched him assemble the ingredients for a stir-fry, and put a wok to heat on the Aga.

He was wearing a cream cable-knit sweater that emphasised the width of his chest and shoulders. His corn-coloured hair was rumpled, and a single lock had fallen over his forehead, making him look disarmingly boyish.

Which she was quite sure he was not.

He was a mature and dangerous man, and she would do well to remember that, rather than allow herself to be lulled into a false sense of security…

As the unaccustomed sherry and the warmth of the fire banished the chill from her bones, Anna began to relax and try to take a more rational view of the situation.

Though she didn’t like being stranded here alone with Gideon Strange, things weren’t really that desperate.

She had food and warmth and a roof over her head and, as she’d reminded herself earlier, he was a man of some standing, and no doubt perfectly trustworthy.

He might have kissed her under the mistletoe, but on Christmas Eve that could hardly be counted as a crime. And honesty made her admit that, had it been any other man, she wouldn’t have given the kiss a second thought.

Because he reminded her of David, and brought to life all the feelings she had worked so hard to stifle, she was tense and hypersensitive.

Which made the prospect of having to spend the rest of the evening in his company a daunting one.

But rather than let it throw her, what she must do was stay calm and unmoved. Or at least appear to.

If by any chance he did make a pass at her, she could quietly freeze him off. After all, past boyfriends had remarked with some bitterness that it was something she was good at! And though he might not relish having to take no for an answer, she couldn’t see him forcing himself on any woman.

He wouldn’t need to. A man such as he was more likely to have to fight off eager females.

It seemed strange that he wasn’t married. Perhaps he was the ‘love ’em and leave ’em’ type? Or maybe he preferred a live-in lover? She couldn’t see a man with such an aura of sexuality living like a monk.

But if he was involved in any kind of serious, long-term relationship, why had he returned home alone? Unless his partner planned to follow…

‘The best thing about a stir-fry is that it doesn’t take too long.’

Gideon’s voice broke into Anna’s thoughts and, startled, she looked up to find him by her side. He was holding a small round tray which he settled on her knees. It held a napkin, a glass of wine, a bowl heaped with chicken, prawns and colourful vegetables, and a pair of chopsticks.

He put the bottle containing the remaining wine on the low table, and a moment later, equipped with a matching tray, took his seat opposite.

Raising his glass, so the flickering flames turned the colourless wine to gold, he said, ‘Here’s to us!’

She drank dutifully.

‘A stir-fry may not be particularly appropriate,’ he admitted with a grin, ‘but tuck in while it’s nice and hot.’

Suddenly finding she was hungry after all, she needed no more urging.

For a while they ate in silence, then, picking up the bottle of wine, he leaned forward to refill her glass.

She shook her head. ‘No more for me, thank you.’

‘Sure you won’t have another glass? After all, it is Christmas Eve.’

‘I don’t think so, thanks,’ she refused politely. ‘I don’t usually drink.’

‘How virtuous of you.’

Ignoring the blatant mockery, she concentrated on her food. It was surprisingly good, and when her bowl was empty she looked up to say, ‘Thank you very much. I enjoyed that.’

‘Tomorrow we’ll stick with traditional Christmas fare—turkey, stuffing, and all the trimmings. I even remembered to buy cranberry sauce,’ he added triumphantly.

When she said nothing, he quirked an eyebrow at her. ‘Don’t you think congratulations are in order?’

‘I expect to be gone by tomorrow morning.’ Her voice was unconsciously edgy.

‘Listening to that wind howling, and the snow beating against the windows, I shouldn’t bet on it. I remember a similar blizzard when I was a boy,’ he went on reminiscently. ‘Because the drive dips in several places, and the contours of the land encourage drifting, we were snowed in for several days. Still, if we are snowbound, we’ve plenty of food and drink and a good supply of logs, so there’s nothing to worry about. We’re lucky, really.’

It was pretty much what she’d told herself earlier, but hearing him sound so glib and self-satisfied touched her on the raw.

Suddenly, he started to chuckle.

It was a deep, attractive sound that at any other time would have made her want to laugh with him. Now, she protested stiffly, ‘I really don’t see anything to laugh at.’

‘You’re not sitting where I am. If you could see your face!’

Her grey eyes sparkling with anger, she pointed out, ‘It’s all right for you. You’re at home, where you want to be.’

‘Do I take it you’d sooner be sitting alone in a bedsit? Or inflicting yourself on a family who may not really want you?’

Cheeks burning, Anna wished, not for the first time, that she hadn’t told him so much. She wasn’t usually so forthcoming. It had been sheer nervousness that had made her babble on.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said after a moment. ‘That wasn’t particularly kind.’

She grasped the nettle. ‘No, but it doesn’t stop it being true.’

‘Actually, I doubt if it is. Put it down to pique on my part, because I’m very happy with the way things have turned out.’

When, flustered, she said nothing, he went on, ‘If you were born and bred here, you must have plenty of close friends?’

‘After I left school I was away at college for three years, and then I lived in London for two. I lost touch with most of them.’

‘Well, if there’s nothing spoiling, so to speak, I don’t see why you’re so desperate to get away. I know that at the moment the Manor has a distinct lack of creature comforts, but I was hoping you might have enough spirit to be able to regard being marooned here as fun, a kind of adventure…’

That was how she would have regarded it, had the man been any other than himself.

But she could hardly tell him that.

Eyes gleaming between those fascinating long lashes, he went on with mock sympathy, ‘But I guess the whole thing must be terribly unnerving, especially when the lights keep going out—’

As though on cue, the lights flickered and dimmed, before brightening again.

‘—and you’re stranded in the dark with a man you know absolutely nothing about. A man who could be anything or anybody…’

Well aware by now that she was being teased, she smiled and said, ‘It’s not quite that bad. After all, I know you’re Sir Ian’s son, and the new master of Hartington Manor.’

‘Well, now you’re satisfied that I pose no threat—’

‘I didn’t say that.’ The words were out before she could prevent them.

Green eyes alight with laughter, he glanced at the mistletoe, which he’d hung from a hook on the beamed ceiling. ‘Ah! Well, perhaps if I burn the mistletoe?’

It was clear that he’d noticed her reaction to his kiss. But then an experienced man such as he could hardly have failed to.

Blushing furiously, she said, ‘I hardly think it’s necessary to burn it.’

‘You mean if I just refrain from making use of it?’ He sighed deeply. ‘A pity, really, as it’s the festive season. Still, if that’s what it takes to make you feel happy and secure… Now, would you like anything else to eat? Fruit? Cheese? Christmas cake?’

‘Nothing else, thank you,’ she said primly.

‘Then I’ll make some coffee.’

While he filled a cafétière and set a tray with sugar, cream and fine bone-china cups, she thought about what had just been said.

In an odd sort of way, bringing things into the open had eased the tension and created a more friendly atmosphere.

His whole attitude had shown clearly that any problem had been on her side. But then she’d known that from the start. It had been her reaction to him that had made things so uncomfortable…

‘If you’d be so kind…?’

Glancing up, anticipating his need, she pulled the small table into place.

Sliding the tray on to it, he asked, ‘How do you like your coffee?’

‘A little cream, please. No sugar.’

She noticed he took his own black, with neither cream nor sugar.

While they drank, they sat staring into the leaping flames and listening to the sizzle of snowflakes falling down the chimney on to the burning logs.

The silence had become easy, almost companionable, and the prospect of spending the rest of the evening in his company was no longer quite so daunting.

When their cups were empty, Gideon asked cheerfully, ‘Now, what shall we do until bedtime?’

‘Perhaps I’d better start by washing up.’

He shook his head. ‘We have a dishwasher when there’s sufficient electricity to run it. I meant what shall we do by way of entertainment? There’s television, of course, but the living-room is bound to be as cold as charity, and I’m not sure that the generator will take the strain.’

Anna shook her head. ‘I don’t care much for television. I’ve always preferred books.’

‘I’m with you there! Well, if it’s books you want, there are certainly plenty of those. Apart from the library itself, my father half filled the study with his own personal collection of first editions.’

‘Really?’

‘Though I’m not particularly knowledgeable on the subject,’ Gideon added levelly, ‘it’s an interest I share. So if you’d care to see the collection some time, I’ll be happy to show you.’

The offer was made casually, but she answered with undisguised eagerness, ‘Thank you. I’d like that.’

‘As you may imagine, going through catalogues and suchlike took up a great deal of time; that’s why Mary Morrison became his secretary.’

‘I’d no idea that your father was a collector,’ Anna remarked.

Just for an instant she saw a look that might have been angry disbelief on Gideon’s face, then it was gone.

‘You astonish me,’ he said coolly. ‘I’d always presumed it was common knowledge, at least among the people who knew him reasonably well.’

‘As I said earlier I didn’t know him personally. I just knew of him.’

‘All the same,’ Gideon persisted, ‘as you and he were presumably competitors in the same market, I would have expected you to have at least heard his name mentioned in that connection.’

Wondering why it mattered, why he was making an issue of it, she shook her head. ‘Not necessarily. You see, if it becomes known that a wealthy collector is interested in a certain item it can push the price sky-high, so a lot of the more serious collectors find it better to buy through an agent rather than get involved on a personal level.’

She couldn’t tell whether she’d convinced him or not. His face was expressionless, his green eyes hard and opaque as jade, hiding his thoughts.

After a moment, he shrugged and admitted lightly, ‘That makes sense, I suppose. Buying and selling is business, whatever commodity is involved.’

She was pleased that finally he seemed to have accepted what she’d told him.

Still the puzzle remained—why had he looked as though he disbelieved her in the first place? What possible reason could she have for lying about a thing like that?

CHAPTER THREE

ALL at once a log slipped and rolled on to the hearth in a shower of bright sparks. Gideon got to his feet and used a large pair of tongs to replace it.

Having resumed his seat, he gave her a lopsided smile that did strange things to her breathing and pulse rate before remarking, ‘Now, after getting sidetracked, suppose we continue with our discussion?’

Wits scattered, she said vaguely, ‘Our discussion?’

‘If you remember, we were trying to decide on our evening’s fun. We’ve just dismissed television, so that rules out two possibilities…’

‘Two?’

He gave a sideways glance at the mistletoe, then watched with undisguised amusement while the colour rose in her cheeks.

Gritting her teeth, she asked as evenly as possible, ‘Are there any playing cards? Or a chess set, perhaps?’

‘There used to be, but I’ve no idea whether they still exist.’ His face suddenly wintry, he went on, ‘The only games my father enjoyed playing were with women… Or rather with a succession of girls, most of whom were young enough to be his daughter.’

Catching sight of her expression, he commented, ‘You look surprised.’

‘I am.’ Without thinking about it, she had always presumed that Sir Ian was the epitome of respectable upper-class morality.

The green eyes pinned her. ‘Then you had no idea?’

Shaking her head, she said, ‘No.’

‘Now it’s my turn to be surprised. Though he was always very careful to be discreet, more often than not that kind of thing gets about, and mud sticks, especially in a small town like Rymington.’

Again she shook her head. ‘I’ve never heard a word breathed against him.’

Gideon shrugged, and changed the subject to query casually, ‘How much of Hartington Manor have you seen?’

Wondering why he was asking when he knew quite well, she answered, ‘The hall, the kitchen, and the library.’

‘You haven’t seen the rest of this wing, or the older part?’

‘No. I didn’t know there was an older part.’

‘It’s quite spooky,’ he said with relish. ‘There are sliding panels and a secret passage. I’ll show you round if you like. It’s just the sort of thing to do on a dark and snowy Christmas Eve.’

Anna found herself wondering if he was trying to wind her up. Or had he perhaps, in his youth, read too many adventure yarns?

Perhaps her expressive face gave away what she was thinking, because he grinned at her and added, ‘Then we’ll come back and sit round the fire and tell each other true-life ghost stories.’

Carefully, she said, ‘I’m afraid I don’t know any true-life ghost stories.’

‘No personal experience? You’ve never actually met a ghost?’

‘Not to my knowledge. But then that’s hardly surprising, considering where I’ve lived. You can’t expect any self-respecting ghost to bother haunting a tiny three-bedroomed cottage or a bedsit.’

‘Yes, I can quite see it might cramp their style. Whereas a place of this size…’ He paused, waiting for her to ask.

Widening her eyes, she obliged. ‘You mean Hartington Manor has a real live ghost?’

He gave a pained frown. ‘I can see you don’t take the matter seriously.’

‘Should I?’

‘Oh, definitely. We can’t have Sir Roger upset.’

‘Sir Roger?’

‘Sir Roger Strange. But I’ll tell you all about him later… Now, are you game?’

‘I suppose so,’ she agreed a shade doubtfully. There was something about his manner, the glint in his eye, that she didn’t altogether trust.

‘Then let’s get started.’ He got to his feet and offered a hand to pull her up.

Pretending she hadn’t seen it, she rose obediently.

‘It’s bound to be cold,’ he remarked, ‘so we’d better have our coats.’

He lifted Anna’s down and held it one-handed while she slipped it on, before shrugging into his own jacket. ‘And we’ll need a candle and some matches to take with us.’

Wondering what he was up to, she asked, ‘But surely the lights will work?’

‘Oh, yes, if the generator holds out. But not all the house has been modernised, so we’ll need the candle for later.’

Trying to sound merely practical, she asked, ‘Wouldn’t it make more sense to go when it’s daylight?’

‘What, and spoil the fun?’

‘I think you’re trying to scare me.’

Instead of denying it, he asked, ‘Am I succeeding?’

‘No,’ she said firmly.

Collecting the matches, he dropped them into his jacket pocket. Then, while she watched with growing misgivings, he crossed to the huge dresser and picked up a beautifully ornate candlestick.

Made of black wrought iron, it was fashioned in the form of a dragon standing on clawed feet, while its tail curled to form a handgrip and its raised wings and open mouth held the candle.

‘Perhaps you wouldn’t mind carrying it for the moment?’ he asked politely.

She took it from him and found it was surprisingly heavy.

‘Now, shall we start in the basement?’ He turned to lead the way.

They went through a small door at the end of the hall and descended a flight of worn stone steps. There was a wide stone passage which branched off into a series of storerooms and sculleries.

Opening the door into a large, stone-flagged room, Gideon told her, ‘This used to be the kitchen, while the present kitchen was once the servants’ hall.’

Peering in, Anna saw deep stone sinks, a scrubbed oak table flanked by massive dressers and, in the huge fireplace, an old iron spit, big enough to roast a whole ox.

It was so cold their breath made a white vapour on the air, and she wasn’t sorry when he switched out the light and moved on.

At the end of the passage, another flight of steps led up to the main living quarters. A peep into the various rooms showed they were elegantly furnished, with beautiful wall-papers, ornately plastered ceilings, and everything necessary to gracious living.

‘As you can see this part of the house has been altered and brought up to date as much as possible, without spoiling the old place. It used to be quite comfortable, and no doubt will be again when the heating’s working,’ he added dryly.

‘On the floor above, apart from the Morrisons’ self-contained flat, there are seven bedrooms and various bathrooms, but there’s nothing much of interest, so I won’t take you upstairs until we go to bed.’

His words were innocent enough on the surface, but there was something, some nuance, that made every nerve-ending in her body tighten.

‘This archway leads through to the East Wing,’ he went on smoothly. ‘It hasn’t been lived in for donkey’s years, and it’s by far the most interesting. There’s neither gas nor electricity, so this is where we’ll need to light the candle.’ Taking it from her, he went on, ‘The matches are in my right-hand pocket, if you’d be kind enough to fish them out.’

Feeling in his pocket seemed somehow so personal that Anna had to brace herself to do it.

Judging by the mocking gleam in his eye, he knew exactly how she felt, and was enjoying her discomfort.

As she stepped closer, she fancied she could feel the warmth emanating from his body, and shivered in response.

The box located, she struck a match and lit the candle he was holding. She was annoyed to find that her hand shook.

‘Something bothering you?’ he asked innocently.

Hurriedly blowing out the match before it burnt her fingers, she replaced the box in his pocket, and answered, ‘I’m cold.’ It wasn’t a complete lie.

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