Читать книгу His After-Hours Mistress - AMANDA BROWNING, Amanda Browning - Страница 8

IT WAS evening when they landed, but as it was summer the sun hadn’t quite set and it was still warm. Someone had sent a car to collect them, and Ginny was more than a little surprised to find herself being ushered into a luxury limousine.

‘Somebody’s pushing the boat out,’ she murmured as she ran an appreciative hand over the soft leather seat.

‘Mother never travels in less than the best,’ Roarke explained dryly as he joined her in the back, having passed a few friendly words with the driver, whom he obviously knew well.

‘Hasn’t she heard of energy saving?’ she charged, judging that the limousine would guzzle petrol as if it was going out of fashion.

Roarke uttered a bark of laughter. ‘She never hears anything that would be to her disadvantage. Which is why she insists her children call her Marganita and not mother. The surgeon’s skill has maintained her youthful looks, which would be undermined by having a son my age.’

‘What do you call her?’ Ginny wasn’t sure whether the woman sounded likeable or not, he was painting such a dreadful picture of her. Her eyes narrowed. Just a minute, why was he doing that? It wasn’t like him at all to be so openly critical. She began to smell a rat.

That roguish smile reappeared. ‘Mother, of course. I think it’s important somebody keeps her in touch with reality.’

‘Why bother if she’s such an ogre?’ Ginny countered, definitely getting the idea that something was more than a little fishy here.

‘She’s my mother. I can’t just abandon her,’ Roarke replied carelessly, and Ginny knew she was right. She sent him a narrow-eyed look.

‘You, Roarke Adams are a twenty-four-carat fraud,’ she accused, which had him looking at her with what she could clearly see was feigned surprise.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Your family is gruesome and your grandfather is the only one you’d give the time of day? Ha! The fact that I’m here gives the lie to that. You care so much for your father you don’t want to hurt him, and as for your mother… You love every larger than life inch of her,’ Ginny declared roundly, the glow in her eyes daring him to deny it.

One eyebrow quirked. ‘Is that so?’ he said softly, and she nodded, quirking an eyebrow right back at him.

Roarke glanced away, scratching his ear. When he looked back, his expression was ruefully impressed. ‘You aren’t just a pretty face and a fabulous pair of legs, are you?’

‘I was hired for my brain,’ she confirmed, but Roarke smiled.

‘And a humdinger of a brain it is, but a mere brain didn’t see what you did. How does a woman who’s locked up in layers of permafrost get such an accurate insight into man’s deeper emotions? Sort of begs the question: were you always as frosty as you are now?’

Ginny gave him a sad look. ‘Just because I don’t choose to live my life as a high drama like your mother doesn’t make me frosty,’ she said, and received a look of high scepticism.

‘I beg to differ. A glance from those eyes of yours can deliver a serious case of frostbite,’ he drawled humorously.

‘The answer to that is to not say anything to provoke me,’ she advised, glancing out of the window and enjoying the view as the car began to circle the lake. They must be getting closer to their destination, she decided, and a tiny flutter of nerves started up inside her.

It wasn’t that she was really worried, for she was used to meeting new people, and all she had to do was be there to show Roarke’s stepmother that he was spoken for. Money for old rope, really. By Sunday evening she would be back in her own home again, and he would owe her one big favour.

All the same, the situation was just that little bit different. This was a family function and, Lord knew, she had never been a whizz at those. Doing what was expected of her, for a father who was notoriously hard to please, had been difficult. He had hated her spirit, and had done his best to crush it. That he had failed was due to her inner strength. She had refused to give in, and it had taken her along paths leading to betrayal and rejection. Her determination to be free had cost her dearly, and the memories were painful to this day.

She was distracted from her uncomfortable thoughts by the driver turning the car in through iron gates set in a wall that appeared to stretch for ever. It was a winding drive through natural forest, and Ginny wasn’t in the least surprised when they finally came out of the trees and found themselves drawing up before a large turn-of-the-century mansion. The views over the lake were spectacular.

Climbing out of the limousine, Ginny stared up at the impressive frontage. Goodness only knew how many bedrooms there were.

‘It’s not much to look at, but it’s still home to us,’ she sighed dramatically.

Roarke slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and rocked back on his heels. ‘Impressed?’ he queried, tongue-in-cheek.

‘I’m impressed by the size of the fuel bills. It must cost a packet to heat this place,’ she exclaimed in awe.

He grinned. ‘Which is why it’s the summer place. Summers are hot, so there’s no need to heat it. There’s a cool head under all that passion and flamboyance.’

She looked at him speculatively. ‘Aha, I’m beginning to see where you get your cunning from. What characteristics did you inherit from your father, other than an eye for the ladies?’

His laughter sent a trickle of pleasure down her spine. ‘Why, good looks, charm and wit, of course.’

‘Very useful,’ she drawled ironically.

‘All depends what you want to use them for,’ he countered smoothly, and she had no trouble guessing what he meant.

‘So, why isn’t your father in the hotel business?’ Ginny asked as they walked to the front door. Lawns stretched out on either side and were immaculately kept.

Roarke shrugged. ‘He’s better at spending money than making it. Fortunately, he can never spend what he has. He inherited a tidy fortune from his maternal grandmother, and has been living on the interest ever since. Oh, he isn’t a fool where money is concerned. It’s all stashed away, making more money than he could spend in three lifetimes, but it means he doesn’t have to work.’

‘So what does he do all day?’ Ginny wanted to know, frowning up at him in disapproval.

Seeing the look on her face, Roarke quirked an eyebrow mischievously. ‘I told you, he spends money,’ he said mildly, just as the door opened as if by magic.

Ginny had been going to pursue the subject, but the vision before her took the words out of her mouth. Standing deferentially in the doorway was a butler. Not just any butler, but a genuine English one from the way he wished them good evening. He could have stepped right out of that well-known series of humorous novels.

Roarke stooped down to whisper in her ear. ‘If the wind changes, you’ll stay like that,’ he said and, realising she was staring with her mouth open, Ginny closed it with a snap of teeth.

‘Is he real?’ she asked, stepping inside in response to Roarke’s hand in the small of her back.

‘The lady wants to know if you’re real, Watson,’ Roarke promptly addressed the question to the butler, much to Ginny’s discomfort.

‘Indeed I am, sir,’ Watson replied with gravity, but Ginny thought she caught the faintest of twinkles in his eyes.

‘He’s real,’ Roarke reported back, and Ginny sent him a look sharp enough to slay him where he stood.

‘Very funny,’ she growled, then gave the butler a friendly smile. ‘Take no notice of him, Watson. He has a warped sense of humour.’

‘Mr Roarke’s foibles are well known to me, miss.’

Laughing, Roarke turned back to the butler. ‘Are we the last to arrive?’

‘Of those expected today, yes, sir. Madam had dinner put back to coincide with your arrival. Cocktails will be served in the drawing room in half an hour.’

Roarke glanced at his watch. ‘We can make that. There’s no need to show us up, I know the way.’

Watson inclined his head in assent. ‘Very good, sir. I’ll have Carl bring your luggage up directly.’

The staircase was beautifully carved in wood and, climbing up it, Ginny could imagine elegant fin de siècle ladies swaying down it in their waspwaisted dresses, bent on making a spectacular entrance.

‘Has Watson been with your family long?’ The man was clearly somewhere around retirement age, but he still had a straight back and a full head of silvery-grey hair.

‘Since I was a boy. He’s had to rescue me from more scrapes than I care to remember,’ Roarke enlightened her as he ushered her down one corridor, then left into another. It was very confusing.

‘Could you draw me a map. I think I could get lost in here,’ Ginny declared wryly. ‘Has anyone disappeared never to be seen again?’

‘Not recently,’ he responded with a teasing grin. ‘Here we are.’ Stopping by a door, he opened it and pushed it wide.

It was a beautiful room, with a double bed at one end and a sitting area complete with couch and armchairs encircling a fireplace at the other. There were two large windows opposite, one giving access to a balcony, and Ginny went to look out, delighted to realise it offered a grand view of the lake. She decided she would be very comfortable here.

Turning, she found Roarke had followed her in. ‘Like it?’ He sought her approval, and she nodded, walking past him to take hold of the door.

‘It’s absolutely perfect. Now, if you wouldn’t mind leaving, I would like to clean up before dinner.’ She stared at him, urging him to go, and noticed that Roarke looked oddly discomfited.

‘I would, but there’s a problem,’ he said uneasily.

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Problem?’

He winced. ‘Something I forgot to tell you.’

Feeling uneasy herself now, Ginny was about to ask what it was when a figure appeared in the doorway. He was carrying their bags, so she identified him as Carl. What she didn’t expect was that he would deposit all the luggage on the chest at the foot of the bed and leave again, as quietly as he had arrived. Understanding was swift, and Ginny looked up at Roarke with eyes that registered first surprise, then anger. She let the door go in order to point an accusing finger at him.

‘If you think for one minute that I am going to—’ The words were abruptly cut off as Roarke closed the gap between them in no time and clamped one hand over her mouth and used the other to swing her away from the door, which he shut with a flick of his foot.

‘For the love of Mike, keep your voice down,’ he ordered in an urgent undertone, whilst Ginny glared at him over his hand.

‘Take your hands off me!’ she ordered, sounding both angry and garbled.

‘What?’ Roarke asked absently, intent on listening for sounds outside the now closed door.

Ginny chose a more direct method of communication, and the business end of her heel connected with his shin.

‘Ow!’ he exclaimed, releasing her to rub at the damaged area.

Stepping out of reach, Ginny folded her arms wrathfully. ‘I said, take your hands off me,’ she repeated for his benefit, and Roarke straightened up. ‘Why didn’t you tell me we would be sharing a room?’ she demanded to know.

‘Because I forgot,’ he growled back.

She laughed incredulously. ‘You forgot? You can’t seriously expect me to believe that?’

Grey eyes glowered at her. ‘Right now, I don’t care what the hell you believe. The truth is I forgot. I use this room when I’m alone or when I’m not, and you aren’t the one I was supposed to be with. The arrangements were made ages ago, remember?’

Some of the initial anger drained out of her at his explanation, but that didn’t mean she was happy with the situation. ‘OK, you forgot, but that doesn’t mean I intend to share this room with you, Roarke.’

Satisfied that there was no serious damage, Roarke abandoned his examination of his shin and gave her a blunt look. ‘You’re going to have to.’

That set her nostrils flaring. ‘I don’t have to do anything!’ she declared, bringing a mocking smile to his lips.

‘The woman in my life shares my room, and so far as this family is concerned you are the woman in my life. Get used to it. You’re staying here.’

Ginny would have given anything to be able to counter his argument, but she could not. She had agreed to play a part, and apparently that meant sharing this room with him. That being the case, she was going to lay down some ground rules right now.

‘OK, so we share the room. We don’t share the bed. You can sleep on the couch,’ she ordered coldly, and that brought a glint of amusement back to his eyes.

‘Sure you don’t want me to sleep in the bath?’ he mocked, and she returned the smile with saccharine.

‘Don’t tempt me!’ she threatened, and went across to the bed to pick up her case. ‘Before I get changed, is there anything else you’ve forgotten and would care to tell me about?’

He shrugged, hands busying themselves with the buttons of his jacket, which he removed and tossed on to the bed along with his tie. ‘Nothing springs to mind,’ he declared, starting on the buttons of his shirt.

Ginny found herself staring as if hypnotised. For reasons she couldn’t afterwards explain, she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the movement of his fingers. It was only when they paused near his waist that she blinked and looked up—to find him watching her with a wicked glint in his eye.

‘Want to help?’ he invited in an ever so slightly husky voice.

Realising what she had been doing, and how it would be perceived, Ginny felt a wave of heat storm into her cheeks. ‘You’ve been undressing yourself long enough to know what you’re doing,’ she responded tautly, swinging on her heel and heading for the nearest door.

Opening it, she came to a halt. It wasn’t the bathroom. She closed her eyes, waiting for the remark that was bound to follow. He didn’t keep her waiting long.

‘You can use my dressing-room if you like, but yours is the other side of the bed, and the bathroom is to the right of the fire,’ Roarke said in that friendly, helpful way that made her want to commit serious bodily harm.

Bracing herself, Ginny turned and met eyes dancing with amusement. ‘Thank you,’ she gritted out through her teeth, and followed his directions to the other side of the room. Once safely inside the bathroom, she shot the bolt and leant back weakly against the door.

Oh, God, she had just made a complete and utter fool of herself. And why? Because she had been unnerved by finding she had been staring at him whilst he began to undress! What on earth had made her do that? She groaned aloud. He would never let her live it down. She just knew in her bones that he would be throwing it in her face from now till kingdom come.

To cap it all, she was having to share the room with him. Sometimes life was darned unfair. Thank goodness she had thought to bring a robe with her, for, although it was made of some silky material, it covered her from neck to toe. She wouldn’t have to swan around in next to nothing in front of him.

With that grateful thought, Ginny set her case down on top of the laundry basket and drew out the two-piece she would wear that night. It didn’t take her long to wash off the dust of travel and refresh her make-up, then slip on her stockings and shoes. Finally, she reached for the two-piece. The skirt was simple, black and clingy, whilst the top had a beadwork pattern all over it that glittered in the light and was held up by two thin straps. Ginny had a feeling that Roarke’s mother always dressed for dinner, so the evening wear would not be out of place. She ran a brush through her hair, gathered up her belongings and let herself back into the bedroom.

Roarke was already dressed in a dinner suit, and Ginny was compelled to acknowledge once again that she’d rarely seen a man who looked better formally dressed. Probably because he was at home in formal clothes. Mind you, she also had the idea that he would look equally good in informal clothes. Because if Roarke Adams was nothing else, he was a man who was comfortable with who and what he was. It was probably one of the main reasons he was so attractive to women. Women always appeared to go for men who were sure of themselves. Roarke had…the only phrase that really said it all was that old one—savoir-faire.