An Enigmatic Man

It was a beautiful room, with gorgeous mellow oak cupboards and a dark green Aga throwing out the heat that made the room deliciously warm after the cold January weather outside. A large oak work-table stood in the middle of the kitchen, and every implement a cook might need to work with hung from a rack overhead, with saucepans that gleamed with copper brightness. There was a stone-flagged floor beneath Crys’s feet, in warm browns and creams, and the chair she sat on was one of the kitchen dining set of mellow oak.

After the lack of care and the decay on the outside, this kitchen was—incredible.

‘Not what you were expecting, is it?’

Because of her utter surprise at these unexpected surroundings she had just lost her opportunity for escape, Crys realised.

She turned frowningly to look at her reluctant host. He stood silhouetted in the doorway, watching her from beneath hooded lids.

She took in his changed appearance—the overlong dark hair brushed into some semblance of order, the heavy black sweater removed in favour of a jumper of soft dark green cashmere. If the interior of the house was a surprise, then this man’s changed appearance was equally so. But, to Crys’s eyes, that didn’t make him any more approachable.

Her expression showed her puzzlement. ‘Why do you deliberately give the impression on the outside that the house is unlived-in?’ She was pretty sure it was deliberate…

He raised dark brows, moving forward to place a copper kettle on top of the Aga before turning back to face her. ‘Why do you think?’ he drawled scathingly.

He looked younger now he wasn’t looming out of the fog, and, without the bulky jumper, taller and leaner too. The face beneath the growth of beard appeared unlined. Crys put his age somewhere in his thirties. In fact, now that she could see him more clearly, there was something vaguely familiar about him…

Although no amount of feelings of familiarity could dispel the hard mockery in that dark green gaze!

Crys grimaced. ‘To keep at bay females with overactive imaginations…?’

Very white teeth showed briefly in the semblance of a grin. ‘In one,’ he confirmed with satisfaction, turning to remove the boiling kettle from the Aga. ‘Tea or coffee?’

After her terrifying thoughts of a few minutes ago—evoked by such an overactive imagination?—this man’s polite offer of a hot drink seemed slightly ludicrous. Or maybe she was the one who was ludicrous…?

‘Coffee. Thanks,’ she accepted distractedly as he took a tin and cups out of one of the cupboards, his back towards her. She reached up to remove her hat and unwind the scarf at her throat, now she was warmed by the heat of the room. ‘Er—where’s Merlin?’ she added somewhat nervously; the hound hadn’t returned with his master.

‘Off chasing rabbits, I expect,’ his owner dismissed unconcernedly. ‘I let him out of the front door a few minutes—’ he broke off abruptly.

Crys was so distracted by the comfort of her surroundings, the welcome warmth after hours of driving through cold damp fog, that for a few seconds she didn’t even realise he had stopped talking. She sat back in her chair, her eyes closed, as she began to thaw out. But she slowly became aware of a charged silence, the very air about her seeming to crackle with electricity.

She turned back to her host, colour warming her cheeks as she saw the way he stared gloweringly across the room at her. She knew what he would see, of course; long silver-blonde hair cascading silkily down her back, its colour even more startling against the black of her coat, eyes of clear grey, a light dusting of freckles over the bridge of her uptilted nose, her mouth wide and pouting, even if unsmiling at the moment.

Perhaps she had been a little precipitate in relaxing her guard enough to remove her scarf and hat…

She waited for his startled expression to change to one of recognition, steeling herself for what he would say next, her tension rising as he said nothing.

She swallowed hard, pointed chin raised challengingly. ‘Not what you were expecting either?’ She deliberately put a taunting lilt in her voice. Perhaps he hadn’t recognised her after all…?

Green eyes narrowed icily. ‘I wasn’t expecting you at all!’ he responded.

He really hadn’t recognised her!

But even if he wasn’t expecting her, someone else was, and the sooner she made her excuses and went on her way the better she would like it.

She stood up. ‘Perhaps I won’t bother with the coffee, after all—’

‘It’s made now.’ He put the mug of coffee down heavily on the table in front of her, consequently standing much closer to her than was comfortable. ‘You look cold. Drink it,’ he urged as she would have protested.

Crys wasn’t at all happy with his dictatorial tone. But in the circumstances, still uncertain of the man—and his mood!—she was hardly in a position to object.

He sat down opposite her at the table, looking at her expectantly as he cradled his own mug of warming coffee in large, well-kept hands.

Crys slowly sat down again, the smell of the rich coffee tantalising to her senses, she had to inwardly admit. It had been some time since her last rest stop; the coffee at the service station had been tepid and weak to say the least. Perhaps it wouldn’t do any harm to drink this mug of coffee before going on her way.

Besides, the unfriendly Merlin was outside somewhere, making it impossible for her to leave without this man’s protection. She frowned as another thought occurred to her. Perhaps that was the reason this man had put Merlin back outside…

‘An overactive imagination and a suspicious mind,’ the man pronounced, without even glancing across at her. ‘What a combination!’ He gave a disgusted shake of his head before sipping his black unsweetened coffee. ‘What comes next, I wonder…?’ he mused, glancing over at her, one dark brow raised sceptically. ‘Drugs in your drink? So that you don’t put up a fight when I carry you upstairs with the intention of having my wicked way with you?’

Crys’s cheeks coloured fiery-red at the laughter that could clearly be heard in his voice, but at the same time she glanced worriedly at the mug in front of her.

‘Tell me,’ the man continued in that deceptively pleasant voice, ‘do you watch a lot of television?’

His implication was more than obvious! But, as she had already pointed out to him, the last half an hour or so had been far from pleasant for her, either. She was the one who had found herself face to face with that growling monster of a dog and had then been confronted by a wild-looking man digging a grave—who had given every appearance of being more fierce than his dog.

Overactive imagination, indeed!

She gave him a humourless smile. ‘As it happens, I don’t even own a television!’

He grimaced. ‘Then perhaps you should.’

She didn’t seem able to win where this man was concerned! ‘I read a lot. Agatha Christie, mostly.’ She answered the question defensively before he could even ask it.

He relaxed back in his chair, watching her with dark, unfathomable eyes. ‘Then this must seem like the perfect setting for a murder to you,’ he accepted. ‘A derelict, apparently empty castle. Guarded by a fierce hound. Inhabited by a darkly unwelcoming man.’

On the surface, all of that was true, and it was what she had initially thought. But in this warmly comfortable setting, with a steaming mug of coffee in front of her, this man no longer seemed quite so formidable. She’d already deduced by his voice that he was a well-educated man, and the removal of that bulky black jumper had revealed that he wore clothes Crys was pretty sure carried exclusive labels.

As for the dog… Well, for the moment he was safely outside.

And the castle itself… Crys was sure this man’s earlier answer, concerning the obvious dereliction outside, so in contrast to its comfortable interior, had been deliberately over-simplified—had merely been an avoidance of the true answer.

This man, she was sure, was playing with her. But not in the way of an attacker with his proposed victim, more as a way of self-defence. Which begged the question—what did he have to hide?

She drew in a sharp breath. ‘Mr—I don’t believe I caught your name…?’ She raised blonde brows questioningly.

He met her gaze unblinkingly. ‘I don’t believe I gave it,’ he replied hardly.

She was well aware of that, damn him. But she had thought that good manners would— Good manners! What was she thinking of? This man had no reason to be in the least polite to her, let alone introduce himself.

A fact he was all too well aware of, if the knowing smile that now curved his lips was anything to go by!

‘Or that you told me yours,’ he added pointedly.

He was right, Crys decided stubbornly, there was absolutely no need for the two of them to be in the least polite to each other. Besides, she felt a reluctance to tell this man anything more about herself than he already knew.

She stood up, wrapping her scarf back about her throat. ‘It’s getting late.’ She looked pointedly out of the window at the increasing darkness through the foggy haze. ‘I have somewhere else to go.’

Her chances of finding Sam Barton’s home before it became too dark to see anything were pretty slim now, she realised, but she would probably be able to find a hotel somewhere, and could give Molly a ring from there.

‘If you wouldn’t mind seeing me safely to my car,’ she prompted, as the man made no effort to stand up. ‘Merlin may not take too kindly to my going outside alone.’ In fact she was sure, without this man’s presence, that she wouldn’t get any further than the door before Merlin showed his displeasure!

‘Probably not,’ her reluctant host acknowledged dryly.

Crys held her breath as she waited for his next move. If he stood up to see her safely to her car, then all the misgivings she had had where he was concerned were simply her overactive imagination, but if he made no move—

She gave a nervous start as the telephone on the wall began to ring shrilly in the silence of the kitchen, her hat falling to the floor in her agitation.

‘It’s only the telephone,’ the man drawled derisively as he stood up, green eyes glittering with laughter now.

At her expense, Crys knew. But driving in the fog for several hours had already strung her nerves out to breaking point. This unexpected encounter with this man and his gigantic dog had done nothing at all to ease her tension!

‘I know what it is,’ she snapped, before bending impatiently to pick up her hat, her face slightly red from the exertion as she straightened to find him still watching her. ‘Aren’t you going to answer it?’ She frowned as he continued to let the telephone ring. ‘It could be important.’

He shrugged unconcernedly. ‘It could be.’

The monotonous ring of the telephone began to grate on her already frazzled nerves. ‘Well?’ she said sharply.

He tilted his head, listening, finally giving a terse nod of his head as the telephone was abruptly silenced.

‘There now,’ Crys said with satisfaction.

‘Twelve rings before ringing off.’ He nodded.

‘Twelve…? But—’ She broke off as the telephone began to ring again.

‘Twelve rings, ring off, then ring again, and it’s family,’ the man told her moving to pick up the receiver.

Crys frowned at this explanation. She couldn’t have said how many times the telephone had rung before it had stopped, hadn’t been aware that this man was counting them, either.

‘And if it’s not twelve rings before ringing off?’ she found herself asking dazedly.

He put one large hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone, his expression grim. ‘Then it doesn’t get answered,’ he replied economically.

What a strange, strange man, Crys decided with a barely perceptible shake of her head. He lived in this crumbling castle in what appeared to be complete solitude, except for a dog half the size of a horse, chose to answer his telephone only when he was sure the call was from a member of his family, obviously finding any other contact from outside his solitary world a complete intrusion—and yet at the same time he felt enough compassion at the death of a wild dog to dig it a grave in ground that had been frozen for weeks.

Enigmatic hardly began to describe such behavior. He was completely beyond Crys’s comprehension—

‘Is it okay if I answer this now?’ He held up the receiver with his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Or do you have any other questions that need answering before I do?’ He quirked mocking brows.

Once again Crys felt that flush in her cheeks. ‘Go ahead,’ she invited dryly, turning away from the mockery in his gaze to move listlessly about the kitchen.

She would have liked to be able to leave altogether while he took the call, but she was still too all aware of the slavering Merlin patrolling outside. Besides—

Crys came to an abrupt halt in her aimless meandering, suddenly arrested by something this man had said on the one side of the conversation she could hear.

‘Just cut out the excuses, Molly, and tell me exactly when you do expect to get here?’ he barked impatiently. ‘The day after tomorrow?’ He obviously repeated the answer he received. ‘And exactly what am I expected to do with your guest until you do decide to put in an appearance?’ he added exasperatedly.

Crys was staring at him now, eyes wide with disbelief. Molly. He had named his caller as Molly!

‘Very funny,’ he retorted scathingly at the reply he received, shooting Crys an irritated look as he realised she was openly listening to the conversation. ‘Look, Molly, this was not part of the deal. I agreed to letting you bring this Chris here for a few days on condition you kept the parents off my back over Christmas—yes, I know you did that by inviting them to New York to stay with you. But that doesn’t alter the fact that you can’t just expect to dump this man on me while you— What did you just say?’ He became suddenly still, appearing all the more menacing because of that stillness.

Crys gave a wince, well able to imagine what Molly had only just informed him.

He had named his caller as Molly. And she lived in New York… It was too much of a coincidence for Crys to be wrong in the conclusion she had come to.

This man—unbelievable as it might seem!—had to be Sam Barton. Molly’s brother. And until a few seconds ago Sam had thought Molly was bringing a man called Chris to stay with him for a few days. She was sure he was no longer under that particular misapprehension!

She sensed Sam’s emerald gaze on her now, as an unpalatable thought obviously occurred to him, so she deliberately kept her own eyes averted from what she knew would now be his hard, accusing ones.

This was awful! Worse than anything she could ever have imagined!

This man was the older brother Molly so adored!

Crys had agreed, very reluctantly, after Molly’s constant badgering of her, to spend a few days with her at the Yorkshire home of her older brother. But Molly was warm and bubbly, extremely caring—was probably the best friend Crys had ever had—whereas this man—Molly’s brother, Sam!—on their short acquaintance, appeared to have none of those attributes!

‘No, Molly.’ Sam was talking dryly to his sister now. ‘I will not frighten your friend away by doing my Heathcliff impression. Yes, I’ll tell her how sorry you are not to be here when she arrives. Yes, I’ll make her welcome.’ Impatience entered his voice now. “‘Be kind to her”…?’ he repeated slowly, green gaze openly taunting at the colour that had entered Crys’s heated cheeks. ‘What do you think, Molly?’ he derided.

Crys inwardly panicked. It wasn’t a question of what her friend thought; she already knew for herself that kindness was not necessarily a natural part of this man’s nature.

‘I’ll do my best.’ Sam suddenly chuckled, a pleasantly husky sound.

Although not particularly so to Crys. This man had terrified the life out of her the first time she saw him, had been alternately caustic and mocking since that time; there was no way she could agree to stay here alone with him for a couple of days while she waited for Molly’s belated arrival!

She stepped forward. ‘Could I—?’

‘Yes, Molly, I will remember to tell Chris how sorry you are. Talk to you later,’ Sam firmly finished, before replacing the receiver, his gaze challenging as he turned back to Crys.

Crys stared back at him with widely apprehensive eyes. Knowing he was Molly’s brother, after all, had done nothing to alleviate her apprehension…!

CHAPTER THREE

CRYS mentally shook herself. ‘That was Molly on the telephone, wasn’t it?’ she said heavily.

His mouth twisted derisively. ‘Very astute of you—considering I called her by her name several times!’

Crys decided to ignore Sam Barton’s obvious sarcasm—it simply wouldn’t help the situation if she lost her temper with him. Although…she wasn’t sure anything could improve the immediate situation!

‘And you’re her brother, Sam,’ she said evenly.

Although two people more unalike Crys couldn’t imagine! Molly was small and red-haired, with warm brown eyes, a gamine and beautiful face, and one of the friendliest natures Crys had ever known. Sam Barton was none of those things!

‘A regular Einstein, in fact,’ he drawled.

Despite her earlier resolve, Crys felt her anger towards this man rising, her cheeks hot with the emotion. This situation was already bad enough, without his unwarranted sarcasm!

‘Mr Barton—’

‘Sam will do,’ he cut in. ‘I take it you’re Chris? Short for?’ he prompted at her nod of confirmation.

‘Crystal,’ she supplied reluctantly, considering the question quite inappropriate in the circumstances.

That hard green gaze raked over her mercilessly, from her tiny feet, her obvious slenderness, to the tip of her silver-blonde head.

‘It figures,’ he finally drawled insultingly.

‘Why does it?’ she came back sharply.

He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘You look as if the slightest thing might snap you in half.’

‘Looks can be deceptive,’ she returned, with pointed reference to his remark earlier concerning Merlin’s docility.

‘Touché.’ His mouth twisted into a humourless smile, that hard gaze once again raking over her with complete disregard for the fact that he was being extremely rude.

Crys was well aware of the fact that she had lost a considerable amount of weight due to the strain of the last year. Her small frame, along with her diminutive height—only a little over five feet—gave her an air of fragility that might otherwise not have been there. Her face was thin, cheekbones prominent beneath haunted grey eyes, jawline finely visible. Only the fullness of her mouth remained the same.

She had hoped that this few days in Yorkshire with Molly might help to alleviate some of that strain—but only a few minutes’ acquaintance with Molly’s older brother had shown Crys that wasn’t going to happen!

‘Well, Crys, it looks as if you don’t have somewhere else to go, after all,’ Sam taunted.

That was what he thought! ‘I take it, from what was said, that Molly isn’t going to be here for a couple more days?’

Even that humourless smile disappeared now. ‘You take it correctly,’ he confirmed grimly. ‘The rehearsals for the film she starts shooting next month have run over schedule,’ he explained briefly, before picking up his empty mug and moving to pour a refill. ‘Want one?’ he offered belatedly.

‘No, thank you,’ she returned primly, aware that his lack of manners in not offering her more coffee before was probably due to the fact that he spent most of his time here alone—that he wasn’t used to catering to the needs of a guest. It wasn’t a feeling she, personally, intended altering for him, either! She was also aware that, as an actress, Molly had a schedule often disturbed in this way. It was one of the reasons they had decided to drive up separately to Yorkshire. ‘As Molly can’t make it for a while, I think it would be better—’ for all of them! ‘—if I—’

‘I hope you aren’t going to suggest booking into a hotel,’ Sam rasped, shaking his head. ‘Molly would never forgive me if I allowed you to do that.’

Now it was Crys’s turn to give a humourless smile. ‘And I’m sure that would bother you!’

‘As a matter of fact—yes, it would,’ he replied firmly. ‘Molly is very dear to me.’ His voice was husky now. ‘She’s—special. And any friend of hers is welcome here,’ he added with finality.

Crys silently agreed with him about Molly being special. The two girls had met at boarding-school ten years ago, when Molly had joined the lower sixth in preparation for taking her ‘A’ Levels. For anyone else, a change of school at such a delicate time might have resulted in feeling lost and out of place, but Molly’s nature was such that she quickly made herself at home wherever she was. The two girls had quickly become fast friends, spending most of their time together during school term.

Curiously enough, though, they had never visited each other at home during the holidays… If they had, Crys would already have known that she felt most uncomfortable in the presence of Molly’s brother who was twelve years older!

‘Unless I’m mistaken, you were under the impression that Molly’s friend Crys was a man?’ she asked.

‘Molly was most insistent that I be nice to this particular friend. It was important to her that this Chris should feel welcome. It was a natural assumption to have made, in the circumstances.’

Crys felt a glow of warmth at her friend’s obvious care for her comfort. Although that didn’t change the fact that Sam Barton had now been presented with a female friend rather than the male he had been expecting, or that Molly’s arrival had been delayed for a couple of days…

‘That was kind of Molly,’ she accepted. ‘Although her unexpected absence does change things rather—’

‘Because you’re a woman and not the man I was expecting?’ He frowned darkly. ‘Why does that change anything?’

Surely that was more than obvious, even to a man who chose to live as out of touch with the world as this one did? Oh, not that Crys felt in the least prudish about the fact that they would be a man and woman staying alone here for a few days. Despite her earlier imaginings, this man hadn’t given the least indication that he found her in the least attractive, let alone anything else. It was just that he was so obviously somebody who preferred his own company—possibly with the exception of Molly’s—that having a complete stranger foisted on him for a couple of days simply wasn’t on.

Besides, though Molly had always talked about her older brother in glowing terms, there was something decidedly odd about a thirty-eight-year-old man living reclusively in the wilds of Yorkshire in a castle that was deliberately made to look derelict on the outside but was the height of luxury inside!

Added to which, Crys didn’t feel in the least comfortable with him—would find it absolute purgatory to have to spend days alone here with him.

‘It really is very kind of you to make such an offer, Mr Barton—’

‘The name is Sam,’ he rasped. ‘And I’m sure, even on such brief acquaintance—’ his mouth twisted derisively ‘—that you are well aware that kindness is not a predominant part of my nature!’

Oh, yes, she was aware, all right, had believed him earlier when he’d threatened to drop her if she screamed.

She shook her head. ‘Nevertheless—’

‘Look, as you pointed out earlier, it’s getting late, and the light’s fading fast,’ he cut in briskly. ‘I need to go outside for a while and—and finish what I started. Why don’t you make yourself at home here for an hour or so and we’ll talk about this again when I come back?’

Yes, he would have dropped her earlier, Crys had no doubt, but she reminded herself that he also had enough compassion in him to give a decent burial to a stray dog he had found dead this morning…

‘Pour yourself another coffee,’ he invited lightly, ‘warm yourself next to the Aga. And we’ll see how you feel about things later. Okay?’