British Bachelors: Tempting & New: Seduction Never Lies / Holiday with a Stranger / Anything but Vanilla...

‘Well, that’s good news. At the moment I’m renting, which isn’t ideal, but I can’t be too choosy as I’m preparing for an exhibition in the autumn.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Then you’re really embarking on a new career?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Just returning to the life I had planned before Descent intervened. You’re surprised?’

She said quickly, ‘It’s really none of my concern.’ She pointed to the shelves. ‘All these sample books arrived for you.’

‘I haven’t time to look at them properly now. I’ll take them with me, and let you know my choices.’

She nodded and produced the envelope. ‘Also Miss Culham—Fiona—brought you this.’

She watched him open it and glance over the single sheet of paper it contained. She saw his mouth tighten, then he refolded the paper and tucked it back into the envelope.

He said, ‘So, she was here in person.’ He paused, studying Tavy’s swift flush. ‘Did she upset you?’

‘She was hardly sweetness and light.’ She bit her lip. ‘She’s got my old job at the school.’

‘That figures,’ Jago returned laconically. He gave her another, more searching glance. ‘Is it a problem?’

She looked away defensively. ‘Not really. After all I always knew I wasn’t the daughter-in-law of choice.’

‘But if that’s what you still want—hang in there. It could happen.’

She frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Patrick,’ he said. ‘And you. Plus, of course, the lovely Fiona. Because it won’t last between them. In fact, if you want, I can guarantee it.’

‘How?’

He shrugged casually. ‘By making a play for her myself.’

‘No!’ She had no idea where the word came from, or the passion that drove it but it rocked her back on her heels. While the quizzical lift of Jago’s eyebrows increased the warmth of her face to burning.

‘Really?’ he drawled. ‘So, what’s the objection?’

There was an odd note in his voice which gave Tavy the sudden feeling she was teetering on the edge of a precipice she had not known existed.

She said, stammering a little, ‘Because it would be cruel—unless you were serious about her.’ She paused. ‘Are you?’

‘Not in the slightest,’ he said. ‘Any more than she’s serious about Patrick.’

‘That’s absurd. She came back here to be with him.’

Jago shook his head. ‘She came back because she couldn’t afford her London lifestyle, and was being pressured by her parents. In order to keep her around, her father has even become a silent partner in that school, supplying her with a career and a future husband in one move.

‘He even wants to buy a piece of my land as a playing field, to save the little darlings a walk to the village. I refused his first offer. This is the second,’ he added, putting the letter in his pocket. ‘I’m seriously tempted to see how high he’s prepared to go.

‘Although he’s wasting his time and money, with me and Fiona, who has no intention of staying around once the divorce is finalised.’

‘How can you possibly know that?’

‘Something she let slip on our way to the Willow Tree that night, along with a none too subtle hint that she was available.’

His smile was charming but edged. ‘And the offer’s still there, so, if you want Patrick, all you have to do is be patient. Give him a shoulder to cry on and wait for him to see the light.’

Tavy drew a shaky breath. ‘That’s disgusting.’

‘And I thought I was being practical.’

‘But what about your...Barbie,’ she demanded, stumbling over the name. ‘Will she understand the...practicalities, when she finds out?’

‘If she finds out,’ he said calmly, ‘she’ll undoubtedly be furious with me. But it wouldn’t be the first time.’

‘I can imagine.’ She shook her head. ‘People like you. How do you live with yourselves?’

‘Money,’ he said, ‘is a great palliative.’ He paused. ‘And while we’re being practical, did you warn your father you’d be working late and he’d have to self-cater?’

She shook her head. ‘He’s playing chess tonight with a friend in the village. Supper is included.’

‘In which case, you’re having dinner with me.’

She gasped. ‘I’m doing nothing of the kind. I’d rather...’ She stopped abruptly.

‘You’d rather starve,’ Jago supplied silkily. ‘But I’m sure that would contravene some Factories Act or Child Labour ruling.’

She said sharply, ‘I’m not a child.’

‘Then stop behaving like one. We have matters concerning the house to discuss, so treat it as a business dinner. I’ve brought food with me.’

She stared at him. ‘You have? Why?’

He said slowly, ‘Because I suddenly decided I’d like to dine in my own home. Idiotic but true.’ There was a silence, then he added more briskly, ‘There’s a rug in the Jeep, so we’ll have a picnic. I suggest the dining room floor.’

She said jerkily, ‘No—I won’t. I couldn’t.’

‘Because you think I won’t keep my hands to myself?’ Jago sounded amused. ‘Darling, you’re my employee so anything untoward and you can sue me for sexual harassment. You’ll never need to work again.

‘Also,’ he went on, ‘there’s a lot of serious panelling in the dining room. It’s hardly the right setting for an orgy. And as you so rightly pointed out, there is Barbie to consider.

‘Anyway,’ he added piously. ‘Aren’t you expected to welcome repentant sinners back to the fold? I’m sure your father would think so.’

She bit her lip again, aware of a perilous bubble of laughter suddenly rising inside her. Even though there was nothing to laugh at. ‘But only if the repentance is genuine.’ She paused. ‘Besides, you obviously thought you’d have the place to yourself and I’m butting in.’

He said gently, ‘If you were, I wouldn’t have suggested you stay. Now I’ll go and get the food while you finish your printing.’

It seemed the choice had been taken out of her hands, thought Tavy, her disapproval—not only of his total lack of morality but also his high-handed arrogance—tempered by the realisation that her sandwich had been a long time ago and she was, in fact, extremely hungry.

She was closing down the computer when Jago called to her.

She sat for a moment, staring into space, then whispered, as she stood up, ‘I should not be doing this.’

She arrived at the dining room door and stopped, her brows lifting in sheer incredulity. ‘Candles?’

There were four of them, burning with steady golden flames in the tall silver candlesticks placed at a safe distance round the corners of the rug.

‘My predecessor sold the chandelier along with everything else, so the room needed some kind of light.’ Jago was kneeling, unpacking a hamper. ‘I bought these last week and thought—why not do it in style?’

She said shakily, ‘Why not indeed—except it’s not dark yet.’

He sighed. ‘Stop nitpicking, woman, and lend a hand.’

There wasn’t just food in the hamper. There were plates, dishes, cutlery, even wine glasses, all in pairs, strongly suggesting that he might have hoped Barbie would indeed be there.

Instead, she thought, he was settling for second best—if she even rated that highly.

Don’t think like that, she adjured herself fiercely. You’re not taking part in some competition, but just filling in time before the rest of your life, so remember it.

She watched Jago arranging the food on the rug. There was smoked trout pâté, chicken pie, green salad with a small container of French dressing, plus a crusty baguette, butter and a bottle of Chablis. While, to round off the meal, there was a jar of peaches in brandy.

He looked across at her, his smile faintly crooked. ‘Will this do?’

‘It looks wonderful,’ she said. ‘Like a celebration.’

‘That’s just how I wanted it to be.’ He drew the cork from the wine and poured it, handing her a glass. ‘To Ladysmere,’ he said. ‘A phoenix rising from the ashes.’

‘Yes,’ she said. And all because of you. She thought it, but did not say it. ‘It—it’s a special moment.’

He said softly, ‘Yes it is, and thank you for sharing it with me.’

The tawny gaze met hers, held it for an endless moment.

And Tavy felt her heart give a sudden, wild, and totally dangerous leap, as she raised her glass and echoed huskily, ‘To Ladysmere.’

CHAPTER TEN

THE WINE WAS cool and fragrant in her mouth, and she was glad of it. Grateful too for the niceties of cutting bread and butter and pâté, which gave her a chance to steady her breathing, and generally get a grip on herself.

As they ate, she said, deliberately choosing a neutral topic, ‘Sir George’s cousin. Why did he strip everything out of the place if he wanted to sell it?’

Jago shrugged. ‘From his incoherent ramblings when we met in Spain, I gather he’d given up all hope of a sale and opted for making a fast buck out of the remaining contents instead.

‘He even tried to dismantle and flog the four-poster from the master bedroom, but fortunately that couldn’t be shifted.’

‘Oh,’ Tavy said. ‘So that’s how it got damaged.’

‘Yes, but I’m assured it can be repaired and I’m having a new mattress specially made.’ His face hardened. ‘He also confided that he hoped vandals would set fire to the house so he could claim on the insurance.’

Tavy gasped. She said hotly, ‘I’m only glad Sir George never knew how vile he was.’

‘You liked him, didn’t you?’

Outside the window, the sunset light was fading. In the massive room, the picnic rug had become a small bright island in a sea of shadows. And in the flickering light of the candles, Jago’s dark face was all planes and angles as he watched her.

It was as if they were in total isolation, cut off from the rest of the world. Not close enough to touch, yet lapped in a strange and potent intimacy.

Something was flowering deep inside her—a wish—a longing that they could stay like this for ever, his gaze locked with hers. Except that was no longer enough, because her body was stirring at the memory of his hands touching her, and her lips parting beneath his.

Pushing such thoughts away, she rushed into words. ‘Sir George? Everyone liked him. He was a dear man and so good to the village.’

‘A lot to live up to,’ Jago said lightly as he cut into the pie.

Tavy said quickly, ‘Oh, but nobody expects...’ and stopped, her face warming.

‘Nobody expects much from a degenerate ex-rock musician,’ Jago supplied drily, placing a generous wedge of pie on a plate and handing it to her. ‘Well, I can hardly blame them.’

She bent her head. ‘I didn’t mean that. It’s just that the locals were sad, I think, that Sir George didn’t have a son to come after him and hoped that Ladysmere would be sold to a family so there might be—I don’t know—a new dynasty, perhaps.’ She forced a smile. ‘Unrealistic, I know.’

‘Very. For one thing, if there were children around, the lake would need to be fenced off.’ He added softly, ‘And that would be a pity, don’t you think?’

The lake...

She was thankful he could not see how her colour had deepened. I’ll never live that down, she thought helplessly. Never.

Then took a deep breath and rallied. ‘But only for a while—until they learned to swim.’

‘A good point,’ he agreed solemnly, leaning across to refill her glass.

She said quickly, ‘I shouldn’t have any more.’

‘Why not? I’m the one who’ll be driving later.’ He grinned reminiscently. ‘And as my old nanny used to say “I can’t, cat won’t, you must”.’

‘You had a nanny?’ She tried to imagine it and failed.

He nodded. ‘I did indeed. She was a terror too. My sister and I went in fear of our lives.’

The sister was news too. The computer biography had omitted that kind of detail.

She said haltingly, ‘Do you see much of your family?’

‘You mean—are they still speaking to me?’ He sounded amused. ‘Well, yes, but currently from a distance. Becky’s married to a sheep farmer in Australia and my parents have gone out to stay with her to await the arrival of their first grandchild.’

He paused. ‘Now will you tell me something?’

He was going to ask about Patrick, she thought with dismay. Ask about her emotional state and she had no idea what to say.

She said stiffly, ‘If I can.’

‘Do you remember how this room was furnished?’

It was the last thing she’d expected and she nearly choked on the mouthful of wine she’d taken for Dutch courage.

Recovering, she said slowly, ‘Well, a huge table, of course, with extra leaves so that it could seat twenty or thirty if necessary. And a very long sideboard on the wall behind you. I think it was all Victorian mahogany.’

Jago nodded thoughtfully. ‘It sounds fairly daunting. And the drawing room?’

‘Oh, that had enormous Chesterfields and high-backed armchairs in brown leather, very dark and slippery.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I remember sitting on them as a child and being afraid I’d slide off.’ She paused. ‘Why do you ask?’

He said quietly, ‘Because I came here originally looking for a bolt-hole. But I now have other reasons to live here. And my ideas about décor are changing too.’

She remembered some of the catalogues. ‘No Swedish minimalism?’

‘Absolutely not,’ he said. ‘But no nineteenth century gloom either.’ He paused. ‘Talking of gloom, it’s starting to feel chilly.’ He slipped off his jacket and passed it to her. ‘Put this on.’ Adding, as her lips parted in protest, ‘I can’t risk my project manager catching cold.’

She nodded jerkily, draping his jacket round her shoulders, letting the meal continue in silence. When she’d finished, she put her fork down with a sigh. ‘That was totally delicious.’

‘Now try these.’ Deftly, he ladled some brandied peaches into a dish.

‘You’re not having any?’

He shrugged. ‘I suspect the alcohol content. And, as I said, I have to drive.’

‘To Barkland Grange?’

‘No, I’m spending tonight in London. After that—elsewhere.’

Returning, she thought, to a life she could only guess at, and which, for so many reasons, it hurt her to contemplate. The sweet richness of the peaches suddenly tasted sour.

She got to her feet saying briskly, ‘Then you’ll want to get on the road.’

‘Later,’ he said. ‘After I’ve taken you home.’

‘Oh, no.’ She heard the alarm in her voice, saw his brows lift, and temporised. ‘I mean—the walk will do me good. And I have things to do here before I leave.’

‘Such as?’

She said feebly, ‘I left a window open upstairs.’

‘Then go and close it while I pack up.’ He saw her hesitate and added quite gently, ‘Boss’s orders, Octavia.’

In the master bedroom, she went to the window and stood for a moment, trying to control the renewed tumult of her pulses.

Because something had changed between them down in that candlelit room. Something she could neither explain nor dismiss, but which terrified her. Because for a moment she had found herself wanting to say the unbelievable—the unutterable ‘Don’t leave me.’ Or, even worse, ‘Take me with you.’

When perhaps what she really meant was ‘Take me...’

What’s happening to me? she wondered, drawing a quivering breath. I must be going crazy.

She closed the window, securing the catch and stood for a moment staring at her reflection, his grey jacket rendering her ghostlike in the glass. She moved her shoulders under the fabric slowly, almost yearningly, as if trying to catch some trace of him, a fragment of memory to treasure, before reaching down for a sleeve and lifting it to her face.

For ten heartbeats, she held it to her cheek, before brushing it softly across her lips.

Then she slipped off the jacket, and draping it decorously over her arm, she went downstairs, where Jago would be waiting to drive her back to the Vicarage and safety.

It was a silent journey and Tavy was thankful for it. Because she knew she did not trust herself to speak.

I’m tired, she insisted silently. That’s why I feel so confused and stupid. Tomorrow I’ll be back on track. Become myself again instead of this creature I do not—dare not—recognise.

Jago drove up to the Vicarage’s front door and looked up at the dark house.

‘Your father doesn’t seem to be back yet. Shall I come in with you? Make sure everything’s all right?’

‘There’s really no need,’ she said quickly, fumbling for the handle on the passenger door. ‘What could possibly happen in Hazelton Magna?’

‘You tell me,’ he drawled. ‘It was you about to call the emergency services earlier.’

She said defensively, ‘Ladysmere’s a big house. Someone might think there was stuff worth stealing.’ She paused, adding stiltedly, ‘Goodnight—and thank you very much for the meal.’

Pure schoolgirl, she thought, vexed and was not surprised to hear faint amusement in his voice as he replied, ‘It was my pleasure.’

And my pain, she thought, her nails digging into the palms of her clenched hands as she stood alone in the darkened house, listening to the Jeep driving away. But didn’t people say pleasure and pain were two sides of the same coin?

And realised suddenly how much she would have given never to know that.

* * *

The first thing she saw when she arrived at the house next morning was the erstwhile picnic rug draped over the back of her chair. Biting her lip, she folded it carefully and put it at the back of a shelf, out of her line of vision. Start, she thought, as you mean to go on.

She went to the kitchen, filled the kettle and put it to boil, then put water in the small glass vase she’d brought from the Vicarage, before taking a pair of scissors from her bag and going into the garden.

‘Lovely day,’ said Ted Jackson, appearing from nowhere. ‘Another heatwave coming, they reckon.’

‘Well, we can always hope,’ Tavy returned, making for a bed of early roses in an array of colours from soft blush to crimson, and snipping a few buds.

‘Cheering the old place up, even when there’s no furniture?’

In spite of herself, Tavy found she was glancing up at the first floor windows. ‘Not all the rooms are empty,’ she said.

‘Upstairs, maybe.’ He paused. ‘You were working late last night?’

‘Well, yes.’

He nodded. ‘Jim forgot his tea flask and when he came back for it, he saw lights.’ His smile was almost cherubic. ‘He wondered, but I told him it must be that.’

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