Читать книгу The Undoing of de Luca - Кейт Хьюит, Kate Hewitt - Страница 5

HER eyes, he decided, were the most amazing shade of lavender. The colour of a bruise.

‘Larenz, did you hear a word I was saying?’

Reluctantly, Larenz de Luca pulled his fascinated gaze from the face of the waitress and turned back to his dining partner. Despite his growing interest in the lovely young woman who had served him his soup, he couldn’t fathom why his head of PR had brought him to this manor house. The place was a wreck.

Amelie Weyton drummed her glossy French-manicured nails on the polished surface of the antique dining table, which looked as if it could serve at least twenty, although there were only the two of them seated there now. ‘Really, I think this place is perfect.’

Amused, Larenz let his gaze slide back to the waitress. ‘Yes,’ he murmured, ‘I quite agree.’ He glanced down at the bowl of soup she had placed in front of him. It was the colour of fresh cream with just a hint of gold and a faint scent of rosemary. He dipped in his spoon. Cream of parsnip. Delicious.

Amelie drummed her fingernails again; Larenz saw a tiny crescent-shaped divot appear on the glossy surface of the table. From the corner of his eye, he saw the waitress flinch but when he looked up her face was carefully expressionless, just as it had been since he’d arrived at Maddock Manor an hour ago. Larenz could tell she didn’t like him.

He’d seen it the moment he had crossed the threshold. Lady Maddock’s eyes had narrowed and her nostrils had flared even as she’d smiled in welcome. Now her violet gaze swept over him in one quick and quelling glance, and Larenz could tell she was not impressed. The thought amused him.

He was used to assessing people, sizing them up and deciding whether they were useful or not. It was how he’d fought his way up to run his own highly successful business; it was how he stayed on top. And while Lady Maddock may have decided he was an untitled, moneyed nobody, he was beginning to think she was very interesting indeed. And possibly very…useful…as well.

In bed.

‘You haven’t even seen the grounds yet,’ Amelie continued. She took a tiny sip of soup; Larenz knew she wouldn’t eat more than a bite or two of the three-course meal Lady Maddock had prepared for them. Ellery Dunant was cook, waitress and chatelaine of Maddock Manor. It must gall her terribly to wait on them, Larenz thought with cynical amusement. Or, perhaps, on anyone. Both he and Amelie had acquired plenty of polish but they were still untitled, the dreaded nouveau riche, and, no matter how much money you had, nothing could quite clean the stink of the slum from you. He knew it well.

‘The grounds?’ he repeated, arching an eyebrow. ‘Are they really so spectacular?’ He heard the mocking incredulity in his own voice and, from the way he saw Ellery flinch out of the corner of his eye, he knew she had heard it, too.

Amelie gave a sharp little laugh. ‘I don’t know if spectacular is really the word. But it will be perfect—’ Her soup forgotten, she’d propped her elbows on the table—Amelie had never quite learned her manners—and now gestured wildly with her hands, knocking her wine glass onto the ancient and rather threadbare Oriental carpet.

Larenz gazed down impassively at the fallen glass—at least it hadn’t broken—and the spreading, scarlet stain. He heard Ellery’s sharply sucked-in breath and she dropped to her knees in front of him, reaching for the tea towel she’d kept tucked into her waist to blot rather hopelessly at the stain.

He gazed at her bent head, her white-blonde hair scraped up into a sorry little bun. It was an unflattering hairstyle, although at this angle it revealed the pale tender skin at the back of her neck; Larenz had a sudden impulse to press his fingers there and see if her fresh and creamy skin was as soft as it looked. ‘I believe a little diluted vinegar gets red wine out of fabric,’ he commented politely.

Ellery glanced up swiftly, her eyes narrowing. They were no longer lavender, Larenz observed, but dark violet. The colour of storm clouds, which was rather appropriate as she was obviously furious.

‘Thank you,’ she said in a voice of arctic politeness. She had the cut-glass tones of the English upper crust; you couldn’t fake that accent. God knew, Larenz had once tried, briefly, when he’d been sent to Eton for one hellish year. He’d been scorned and laughed at, easily labelled as a pretender, a poser. He’d walked out before he’d sat his exams—before they could expel him. He’d never gone back to another school of any kind. Life had provided the best education.

Ellery rose from the floor and, as she did so, Larenz caught a faint whiff of her perfume—except it wasn’t perfume, he decided, but rather the scent of the kitchen. A kitchen garden, perhaps, for she smelled like wild herbs: rosemary and a faint hint of something else, maybe thyme.

Delicious.

‘And, while you’re at it,’ Amelie drawled in a bored voice, ‘perhaps you could bring me another glass of wine?’ She arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow, her generous collagen-inflated lips curving in a smile that did not bother to disguise her malice. Larenz suppressed a sigh. Sometimes Amelie could be rather…obvious. He’d known her since his first days starting out in London, sixteen years old and an errand boy at a department store. She’d been working in the shop where Larenz bought sandwiches for the businessmen to eat at their board meetings. She’d cleaned up quite nicely, but she hadn’t really changed. Larenz doubted if anyone ever did.

‘You don’t,’ he commented after Ellery had walked swiftly out of the dining room, the green baize-covered door swinging shut behind her, ‘have to be quite so rude.’

Amelie shrugged. ‘She’s been arsey with me since I arrived. Looking down that prim little nose at me. Lady Muck thinks she’s better than anyone, but look at this hovel.’ She glanced contemptuously around the dining room with its tattered curtains and discoloured patches on the wall where there had surely once been original paintings. ‘Her father may have been a baron, but this place is a wreck.’

‘And yet you said it was spectacular,’ Larenz commented dryly. He took a sip of wine; despite the wreck of a house this manor appeared to be, the wine was a decidedly good vintage. ‘Why did you bring me here, Amelie?’

‘Spectacular was your word, not mine,’ Amelie returned swiftly. ‘It’s a mouldering wreck, there’s no denying it.’ She leaned forward. ‘That’s the point, Larenz. The contrast. It will be perfect for the launch of Marina.’

Larenz merely arched an eyebrow. He couldn’t quite see how a decrepit manor house was the appropriate place to launch the new line of haute couture that De Luca’s, his upmarket department store, had commissioned. But then perhaps this was why Amelie was his head of PR; she had vision.

He simply had determination.

‘Imagine it, Larenz, gorgeous gowns in jewel tones—they’ll stand out amazingly against all the musty gloom—a perfect backdrop, the juxtaposition of old and new, past and future, where fashion has been and where it’s going—’

‘It all sounds rather artistic,’ Larenz murmured. He had no real interest in the artistry of a photo shoot; he simply wanted the line to succeed. And, since he was backing it, it would.

‘It’ll be amazing,’ Amelie promised, her Botoxed face actually showing signs of animation. ‘Trust me.’

‘I suppose I’ll have to,’ Larenz replied lightly. ‘But did we have to sleep here?’

Amelie laughed lightly. ‘Poor Larenz, having to rough it for a night.’ She clucked. ‘How will you manage?’ Her smile turned coy. ‘Of course, I know a way we could both be more comfortable—’

‘Not a chance, Amelie,’ he replied dryly. Every once in a while, Amelie attempted to get him into bed. Larenz knew better than to ever mix business and pleasure, and he could tell Amelie’s attempt was half-hearted at best. Amelie was one of the few people who had known him when he was a young nobody; it was one of the reasons he allowed her so much licence. Yet even she knew not to get too close, not to push too hard. No one—and in particular no woman—was allowed those kinds of privileges. Ever. A night, a week, sometimes a little more, was all he allowed his lovers.

Yet, Larenz acknowledged with some amusement, here was Amelie thinking they might get up to something amidst all this mould and rot. The thought was appalling, although…

Larenz’s glance slid back to Lady Maddock. She’d returned to the dining room, her lovely face devoid of any make-up or expression, a glass of wine in one hand and a litre of vinegar in the other. She carefully placed the glass in front of Amelie and then, with a murmur of apology, knelt on the floor again and began to dab at the stain. The stinging smell of vinegar wafted up towards Larenz, destroying any possible enjoyment of the remainder of his soup.

Amelie hissed in annoyance. ‘Can’t you do that a bit later?’ she asked, making a big show of having to move her legs out of the way while Ellery scrubbed at the stain. ‘We’re trying to eat.’

Ellery looked up; the vigorous scrubbing had pinkened her cheeks and her eyes now had a definite steely glint.

‘I’m sorry, Miss Weyton,’ she said evenly, not sounding apologetic at all, ‘but if the stain sets in I’ll never get it out.’

Amelie made a show of inspecting the worn carpet. ‘I hardly think this old thing is worth saving,’ she commented dryly. ‘It’s practically rags already.’

Ellery’s flush deepened. ‘This carpet,’ she returned with icy politeness, ‘is a nearly three-hundred-year-old original Aubusson. I have to disagree with you. It’s most certainly worth saving.’

‘Not like some of the other things in this place, I suppose?’ Amelie returned, her gaze moving rather pointedly to the empty patches on the wall, the wallpaper several shades darker there than anywhere else.

If it was possible, Ellery’s flush deepened even more. She looked, Larenz thought, magnificent. He’d first thought her a timid little mouse but now he saw she had courage and pride. His lips curved. Not that she had much to be proud about, but she certainly was beautiful.

She rose from her place at their feet in one graceful movement, retrieving the bottle of vinegar and tucking the dirty cloth back into the pocket of her apron.

‘Excuse me,’ she said stiffly and walked quickly from the room.

‘Bitch,’ Amelie said, almost idly, and Larenz felt a little flash of disappointment that she had gone.

Ellery’s hands shook as she rinsed out the rag and returned the vinegar to the larder. Rage coursed through her, and she clenched her hands into fists at her sides, pacing the huge kitchen several times as she took in great cleansing breaths in an attempt to calm her fury.

She’d handled that badly; those two were her guests. It was so hard to remember that, to accept their snide jibes and careless remarks. They thought paying a few hundred pounds gave them the right, yet Ellery knew it did not. They gave mere money while she gave her life, her very blood, to this place. And she couldn’t bear to have it talked about the way that callous crane of a woman had, wrinkling her nose at the carpets and curtains; Ellery knew they were threadbare but that didn’t make them any less precious to her.

She’d disliked Amelie Weyton from the moment she’d driven up the Manor’s long sweeping drive that afternoon. She’d been at the wheel of a tiny toy of a convertible and had gone too fast so the gravel had sprayed all over the grass and deep ruts had been left in the soft rain-dampened ground. Ellery had said nothing, knowing she couldn’t risk losing Amelie as her customer; she’d rented out the manor house for the weekend and the five hundred pounds was desperately needed.

Only that morning the repair man had told her the kitchen boiler was on its very last legs and a new one would cost three thousand pounds.

Ellery had swayed in horror. Three thousand pounds? She hadn’t earned that kind of money, even with several months at her part-time teaching job in the nearby village. Yet the news should hardly surprise her for, from the moment she’d taken over the running of her ancestral home six months ago, there had been one calamity after another. Maddock Manor was no more than a wreck on its way to near certain ruin.

The best Ellery could do was slow its inevitable decline. Yet she didn’t like thinking like this, couldn’t think like this, not when holding on to the Manor sometimes felt akin to holding on to herself, the only way she could, even if only for a little while.

Most of the time she was able to push such fears away. She focused on the pressing practical concerns, which were certainly enough to keep both her mind and body occupied.

And so Ellery had kept her focus on that much-needed boiler as Amelie had strolled through the house as if she owned the place.

‘This place really is a disaster,’ she’d said, dropping her expensive faux-fur coat on one chair; it slithered to the floor and she glanced pointedly at Ellery to pick it up. Biting down hard on the inside of her cheek, Ellery had done so. ‘Larenz is going to have a fit,’ Amelie added, half to herself. Ellery didn’t miss the way the woman’s mouth caressed the single word: Larenz. An Italian toy boy, she surmised with disgust. ‘This is a step—or ten—down for him.’ Her eyes glinted with malicious humour as she glanced at Ellery. ‘However, I suppose we can rough it for a night or two. It’s not like there’s anything else around here, is it?’

Ellery forced a polite smile. ‘Is your companion arriving soon?’ she asked, still holding the wretched woman’s coat. When Amelie had emailed the reservation, she’d simply said ‘and guest’. Ellery presumed this guest was the aforementioned Larenz.

‘Yes, he’ll be here for dinner,’ Amelie informed her idly. She turned around in a slow circle, taking in the drawing room in all of its shabbiness. ‘Good heavens, it’s even worse than the photos on the website, isn’t it?’ she drawled, and Ellery forced herself not to say anything.

She’d chosen photographs of the best rooms for her website, Maddock Holiday Lettings. The conservatory, with throw pillows carefully covering the threadbare patches on the sofa and the sunlight pouring in, bathing the room in mellow gold; the best bedroom, which she’d had redecorated with new linens and curtains.

It had set her back a thousand pounds but she’d been realistic. You couldn’t charge people to sleep on tattered sheets.

Still, Amelie’s contempt of her home rankled. This venture, letting the Manor out to holidaymakers, was new, and Amelie, in fact, was only the second guest to actually come and stay. The other had been a kindly elderly couple who had been endearingly delighted with everything. They’d appreciated the beauty and history of a house that had stayed in the same family for nearly five hundred years.

Amelie and her Italian lover just saw the stains and the tears.

‘And they’re making a few more while they’re at it,’ Ellery muttered under her breath now. She pictured the scarlet splash of red wine on the Aubusson once more and she groaned aloud.

‘Are you quite all right?’

Ellery whirled around; she’d been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t heard the man—Larenz—enter the kitchen. He’d arrived only a few minutes before dinner had been served and Ellery hadn’t really had time to greet or even look at him properly. Yet she’d seen enough to form an opinion: Larenz de Luca was not the toy boy she’d expected. He was much worse.

From the moment he’d arrived, Amelie had flirted and fawned over him, yet Larenz had been impervious and even indifferent to the attentions of the gorgeous, if rather emaciated, Amelie, and every careless or callous remark or look had grated on Ellery’s nerves, which was ridiculous because she didn’t even like Amelie.

Yet she hated men who treated women like playthings just to be enjoyed and then discarded. Men like her father.

Ellery forced such negative thoughts away and nodded stiffly at Larenz. He lounged in the doorway of the kitchen, one shoulder propped against the frame, his deep blue eyes alight with amusement.

He was laughing at her. Ellery had sensed it before, when she’d been scrubbing at the stain. He’d enjoyed seeing her on her knees, working like a skivvy in front of him. She’d seen the smile curl the corner of his mouth—his lips were as perfectly sculpted as a Renaissance statue’s—and the same smile was quirking them now as he watched her pace the kitchen.

‘I’m perfectly fine, thank you,’ she said. ‘May I help?’

‘Yes, you may, actually,’ he returned, his voice a drawl with only a hint of an Italian accent. ‘We’ve finished the soup and we’re waiting for the next course.’

‘Of course.’ She felt colour flare in her face. How long had she been wool-gathering in the kitchen while they waited for their meal? ‘I’ll be right out.’

Larenz nodded but he didn’t move, his eyes lazily sweeping over her, assessing and dismissing all in one bored glance. Ellery could hardly blame him for it; she was dressed in a serviceable black skirt and a white blouse with a sauce stain on the shoulder, and the heat from the kitchen was making her sweaty. Still, his obvious contempt aggravated her, and was so typical of a man like him.

‘Good,’ he finally said and pushed off from the doorframe, disappearing back into the dining room without another word.

Ellery hurried to check on the chicken simmering on the stove. Fortunately, the tarragon cream sauce hadn’t curdled.

Back in the dining room, Amelie and Larenz sat unspeaking. Larenz looked relaxed, sprawled in his seat, while Amelie seemed tense, drumming her nails once more, the little clicks seeming to echo through the silent room. She had, Ellery saw, caused another divot in the ancient tabletop.

Amelie had barely touched her soup but Ellery saw, to her satisfaction, that Larenz had completely cleaned his bowl. As she reached for the empty dish, he laid a hand on her wrist, shocking her with the unexpected touch. His skin was warm and dry and it sent a strange, not unpleasant, jolt right down to her plimsoll-encased toes.

‘The soup was delicious,’ he murmured, and Ellery jerked her head in the semblance of a nod.

‘Thank you. Your main course will be out shortly.’ Nerves caused her hands to tremble and the bowl clanked against his wine glass as she took it, making her flush and Larenz smile lazily.

‘Careful. You don’t want to spill another glass of wine.’

‘Your glass is empty,’ Ellery returned tartly. She hated that he’d seen how he affected her—and why should he affect her? He was incredibly attractive, yes, but he was also an arrogant ass. ‘I’ll refill it in a moment,’ she added, and turned back to the kitchen.

Dumping the dishes in the sink, Ellery hurried to serve the plates of chicken, sauce and the roasted new potatoes she’d left crisping in the oven. Quite suddenly, she felt utterly exhausted. She had an entire weekend of catering meals—and enduring Amelie’s snide remarks and Larenz’s speculative looks—ahead of her, yet all she wanted was to go upstairs and hide under the covers.

Behind her, the boiler clanked mournfully and Ellery gritted her teeth. She had to bear it. The only other option was to sell Maddock Manor, and that was no option at all. Not yet, at least. The Manor was the only thing she had left of her family, her father. Sometimes, as impossible and irrational as she knew it was, the Manor felt like the only thing that validated who she was and where she had come from.

She was keeping it.

Two hours later, Larenz and Amelie had finally retired upstairs. Ellery scraped the remains of their meal—Larenz had finished both his main course and a generous slice of chocolate gâteau, while Amelie had barely touched any of it—into the bin and tried to ease the persistent ache in her lower back. What she really wanted was a long soak in a very hot bath, but the repair man had already told her that such a venture would push the boiler past its limited endurance. She’d have to settle for a hot-water bottle instead, which had been her companion most nights anyway. Now that it was late October, the cold stole into the Manor and crouched in corners, especially in the draughty, unheated room where Ellery slept.

Sighing, she stacked the rinsed plates in the dishwasher and mentally ran through her to-do list for breakfast. Part of the weekend package was a full English fry-up, yet she was quite sure Amelie Weyton ran only to black coffee in the mornings.

Larenz, on the other hand, probably required a hearty breakfast that he’d tuck into with relish while never putting on an ounce. Quite suddenly, Ellery found her mind wandering upstairs, to the best bedroom with its antique four-poster—the new silk hangings had eaten up most of her budget for the room’s redecoration—and the birch logs she’d laid in the hearth that morning. Would Larenz light a fire so he and Amelie could be cosy in bed together, the flames casting dancing shadows over the bed and their entangled bodies?

Or perhaps they would have another source of heat—she imagined them there, among the pillows and blankets, Amelie’s limbs twined around Larenz, and felt a sudden dart of completely unreasonable jealousy.

She could not possibly be jealous. What was there to be jealous of? She despised the pair of them. Yet even as she asked herself this, Ellery already knew the answer. She was jealous of Amelie having someone—anyone—but especially someone as attractive and, face it, as sexy as Larenz de Luca. She was jealous of them both, and the fact that neither of them would be alone tonight. Like she would.

Ellery sighed. She’d been living at Maddock Manor, attempting to make ends if not meet, at least glimpse each other, for six long, lonely months. She’d made a few friends in the village, but nothing like the life she’d once had. Nothing like the life she wanted.

Her university friends were all in London, living the young urban lifestyle that she’d once, ridiculously, enjoyed. Even after only half a year it seemed as faded and foggy as a dream, the kind where you could only remember hazy fragments and surreal snatches. Her best friend, Lil, was constantly urging her to come back to London, even if just for a visit, and Ellery had managed it once.

Yet one weekend in the city didn’t completely combat the loneliness of living alone in an abandoned manor house, day after day after day. Ellery shook her head in an attempt to rid herself of such useless thoughts. She was acting maudlin and pathetic and it annoyed her. She couldn’t visit London right now, but she could at least ring her friend. She imagined telling Lil all about the horrible Amelie and Larenz and knew her friend would relish the gossip.

Smiling at the thought, Ellery resumed stacking the dishwasher and wiping the worktops. She had just finished and was about to switch off the lights when a voice made her jump nearly a foot in the air.

‘Excuse me—’

Ellery whirled around, one hand to her chest. Larenz de Luca stood in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the door. How had she not heard him come in again? He must, she thought resentfully, be as quiet as a cat. He smiled sleepily, and Ellery noticed how deliciously rumpled he looked. His hair, glinting darkly in the light, curled over his forehead and was just a little ruffled. He’d shed his suit jacket and tie from earlier and had unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt; Ellery could glimpse a stretch of golden skin there, at the base of his throat, that made her suddenly swallow rather dryly.

‘Did I frighten you?’ he asked, and she thought his accent sounded more pronounced. It was probably intentional, Ellery thought with a twinge of cynical amusement. He did the sexy Italian thing rather well, and he knew it.

‘You startled me,’ she corrected, sounding as crisp and buttoned-up as the spinster schoolteacher she was for the children in the village. She gave him her best teacher’s glare and was satisfied to see him inadvertently straighten. ‘Is there something you need, Mr de Luca?’

Larenz cocked his head, his heavy-lidded gaze sweeping over her as it had earlier that night. ‘Yes, there is,’ he finally said, still in that sleepy yet speculative voice. ‘I wondered if I could have a glass of water.’

‘There are glasses and a pitcher in your room,’ Ellery replied, and heard the implied rebuke in her voice. Larenz heard it too, for he arched his eyebrows, his mouth quirking—Ellery couldn’t tear her gaze away from those amazing lips—and said, ‘Perhaps, but I prefer ice.’

Somehow she managed to drag her gaze upwards, to those blue, blue eyes that were so clearly laughing at her. She managed a stiff nod. ‘Of course. Just a moment.’

She felt Larenz’s eyes on her as she went to the chest freezer and rifled through the economy-sized bags of peas and chicken cutlets.

‘Do you live here alone?’ he asked, his tone now one of scrupulous politeness.

Ellery finally located a bag of ice and pulled it out, slamming the lid of the freezer down with a bit more force than necessary. ‘Yes.’

She saw his glance move around the huge empty kitchen. ‘You don’t have any help?’

Surely that was obvious, considering how she’d cooked and waited on them tonight. ‘A boy from the village mows the lawns every now and then.’ She didn’t want to admit just how alone she really was, how sometimes the house seemed to stretch in endless emptiness all around her so she felt as tiny and insignificant as one of the many dust motes filtering through the stale air. She really needed to ring Lil and get some perspective.

Larenz raised his brows again and Ellery knew what he was thinking. The lawns were bedraggled and rather overgrown; she hadn’t had the money to pay Darren to mow recently. So what? she wanted to demand. It was nearly winter anyway. No one mowed their lawns in winter, did they?

She dumped the ice into two glasses and thrust them at Larenz, her chin lifted. ‘Will that be all?’

His mouth quirked again as he glanced at the glasses—Ellery realized she’d assumed Amelie wanted ice too—and then he took the glasses, his fingers sliding across hers. The simple touch of skin on skin made Ellery jerk back as if she’d been scalded. She felt as if she had; she could still feel the warmth of his hand even though he was no longer touching her.

She hated that she reacted so obviously to his little touches—his intentional little touches, for there could be no doubting that he did it on purpose, just to see her jump. To enjoy how he affected her, for wasn’t that the basic source of power of a man over a woman? And here she was, hating Larenz de Luca yet still in his thrall. The thought made Ellery’s face flame with humiliated aggravation.

Larenz’s mouth curled into a fully fledged smile, lighting his eyes, turning them to a gleaming sapphire. ‘Goodnight, Lady Maddock.’

Ellery stiffened. She didn’t use her title—worthless as it was—and it sounded faintly mocking on Larenz’s lips. Her father had been a baron and the title had died out with him. Her own was no more than a courtesy, an affectation.

Still, she had no desire to continue the conversation so she merely jerked her head in acceptance and, with another sleepy smile, Larenz turned around and left.

Suddenly, in spite of her best intentions to have him walk away without another word, Ellery heard herself calling out, ‘What time do you eat breakfast?’

Larenz paused, glancing at her over his shoulder. ‘I usually like to eat early, although, since it is the weekend…would nine o’clock be all right?’ His lips twitched. ‘I’d like to give you a bit of a lie-in.’

Ellery glared at him. The man could make anything sound suggestive and even sensual, and she certainly didn’t need his consideration. ‘Thank you, but that’s really not necessary. I’m an early riser.’

‘Then perhaps we’ll watch the dawn together,’ Larenz murmured and, with a last wicked smile that let her know he knew just how much he was teasing—and even affecting—her, he left, the door swinging shut behind him with a breathy sigh.

Ellery counted to ten, and then on to twenty, and then she swore aloud. She waited until she heard Larenz’s footsteps on the stairs—the third one always creaked—and then she reached for the telephone. It was late, but Lil was almost always ready for a chat.

She picked up on the second ring. ‘Ellery? Tell me you’ve finally come to your senses.’

Ellery gave a little laugh as she brought the telephone into the larder, where there was less chance of being overheard in case Larenz or Amelie ventured downstairs again.

‘Just about, after tonight,’ she said and Lil laughed, the pulsing beat of club music audible from her end.

‘Thank heavens. I don’t know why you shut yourself away up there—’

Ellery closed her eyes, a sudden shaft of pain, unexpected and sharp, slicing through her. ‘You know why, Lil.’

Lil sighed. They’d had this conversation too many times already. No matter how many times Ellery tried to explain it, her friend couldn’t understand why she’d thrown away a busy, full life in London for taking care of a mouldering manor. Ellery didn’t blame Lil for not understanding; she barely understood it herself. Returning to Maddock Manor when her mother had been preparing to sell it had been a gut decision. Emotional and irrational. She accepted that, yet it didn’t change how she felt, or how much she needed to stay. For now, at least.

‘So what happened tonight?’ Lil asked.

‘Oh, I have these awful guests,’ Ellery said lightly. Suddenly she didn’t feel like regaling Lil with stories of Amelie and Larenz. ‘Completely OTT and high maintenance.’

‘Throw the tossers out, then,’ Lil said robustly. ‘Take a train—’

‘Lil, I can’t. I have to stay here until—’ Ellery stopped, not wanting to finish the thought.

‘Until the money runs out?’ Lil filled in for her. ‘When will that be? Another two weeks?’

Ellery managed a wobbly laugh. ‘More like three.’ She sighed, sliding to the floor, her forehead resting on her knees. ‘I know I’m mad.’

‘At least you admit it,’ Lil replied cheerfully. ‘Look, I know you can’t come now, but you are due for a visit. That manor is bringing you down, Ellery, and you need someone to bring you up.’ Her voice softened. ‘Come back to the city, have fun, have a real relationship for starters—’

‘Don’t,’ Ellery warned with a sigh, even though she knew her friend was right.

‘Why not? It’s not like you’re going to meet a man in the bowels of Suffolk, and you don’t want to die a virgin, do you?’

Ellery winced. Lil was her best friend, but sometimes she was just a bit too blunt. And she’d never really understood how—or why—Ellery had kept herself from the messy complications of sex and love for so long. ‘I’m not looking for some kind of fling,’ she said, even as an image—a tempting image—of Larenz flitted through her mind, his tie loosened and his hair tousled…

‘Well, how about a girls’ weekend, then?’ Lil suggested.

‘Now that sounds lovely—’

‘But?’ Lil interjected knowingly. ‘What’s your excuse this time, Ellery?’

‘No excuses,’ Ellery replied a bit more firmly than she felt. ‘I know I need to get away, Lil. I nearly lost my temper with these idiot guests and it’s just because I haven’t been anywhere or done anything but try to keep things together here—’

‘Then next weekend,’ Lil cut her off kindly, for Ellery knew she sounded too emotional. Felt too emotional. She didn’t like showing so much of herself, being so vulnerable, not even with Lil, and her friend knew it. ‘You don’t have any guests booked then?’

‘Not hardly.’ She injected a cheerful note into her voice. ‘This lot’s only my second. Thanks for chatting, Lil, but I can tell you’re out on the town—’

A peal of raucous laughter sounded from Lil’s end. ‘It doesn’t matter—’

‘And I’m exhausted,’ Ellery finished. ‘I’ll talk to you later.’ After she’d disconnected the call, Ellery sat there, the receiver pressed to her chest, the manor house quiet and dark all around her. She could hear the wind blowing outside, a lost, lonely sound.

The phone call had made her feel a bit better, and she was definitely going to go to London next weekend, but in the meantime this weekend—with its two guests—still yawned endlessly in front of her. Sighing, Ellery rose and replaced the telephone before heading to bed.

Upstairs, Larenz took his two glasses, the ice cubes clinking against each other, and walked past Amelie’s door. She’d taken the best bed for herself—of course—and Larenz knew the only way to enjoy such comfort was to share it. When they’d gone upstairs together, Amelie still chattering on about how perfect this wreck of a house would be for the launch of Marina, Larenz had known with a certain weariness that the moment was coming.

And so it had, with Amelie pausing in the doorway of the best bedroom, giving him a kittenish little smile that might have amused him once, but now just annoyed him.

‘It’s awfully cold in here, you know,’ she said in a husky murmur.

‘You could ask Lady Maddock for a hot-water bottle,’ he replied dryly, stepping back from Amelie’s open doorway just so she got the message.

She did, smiling easily. That was one good thing about Amelie; she caught on quickly. ‘I’m sure she’s using it for herself,’ she replied. ‘It’s probably the only thing that ever shares her bed,’ she added with that touch of malice Larenz had never really liked.

‘Well, at least you have lots of covers,’ he replied lightly. From her open doorway, he caught a glimpse of an ornate four-poster piled high with throw pillows and a satin duvet. It looked a good deal more comfortable than the spartan room he’d had to settle for.

Still, he wasn’t even tempted. Especially not when his mind—and other parts of his body—still recalled the way Ellery Dunant’s violet eyes had flashed at him, the way she’d jerked in response to his lightest touch. She wanted him. She didn’t want to want him, but she did.

He turned back to Amelie, the friendliness in his voice now replaced with flat finality. ‘Goodnight, Amelie.’ He turned away and walked to his own bedroom without looking back.

Back in his own room now, Larenz grimaced at the faded wallpaper and worn coverlet. Clearly, Lady Maddock had not got around to redecorating the other bedrooms.

He put aside his glass with the precious ice—it had been no more than a pretext to see Ellery Dunant again—and pulled the covers down from the bed. A gust of wind rattled the windowpanes and Larenz felt the icy draught. He grimaced again. What on earth was Ellery Dunant doing in a place like this? Clearly her family had fallen on hard times, but Larenz couldn’t fathom why she didn’t sell up and move somewhere more congenial. She was young, pretty and obviously talented to some degree. Why was she wasting away in the far reaches of Suffolk taking care of a house that looked about to collapse around her ears?

Shrugging the thought aside, Larenz began to undress. He normally slept in just his boxers but it was so damned cold in this place he decided to leave his shirt and socks on, making him look, he suspected, rather ridiculous.

He doubted Ellery Dunant’s room was properly heated. He pictured her in a white cotton nightdress, the kind that buttoned right up to her neck, a pair of fuzzy slippers on her feet, clutching a hot-water bottle. The image made his lips twitch in amusement until he found his mind leaping ahead to the moment when he unbuttoned that starchy nightgown and discovered the delectable woman underneath.

She’d been affected by him; there could be no denying that. Larenz recalled the way her skin had felt, as soft as silk and faintly cool. Her fingernails, he’d noticed, had been bitten to the quick. She was undoubtedly worried about finances; why else would she be renting out this decrepit place?

He knew just how to take her mind off such matters.

He stretched out in bed, wincing at the icy sheets. Again, he found himself imagining Ellery there with him, warming the sheets, warming him.

And he could warm her…He would take great pleasure in thawing the ice princess, Larenz thought, folding his hands behind his head. Sleep seemed a long way off. From outside he heard a telltale creak of the floorboards and hoped it wasn’t Amelie making a last-ditch effort. Surely she had more pride than that; their working relationship was too important to throw away on an ill-conceived fling.

His mind roved back to Ellery. He wondered whether she was pining away for some prince while she waited in her lonely manor. Was she hoping for some would-be knight to rescue her? Well, he was no knight or prince, not in the least. He was a bastard through and through and there was surely no way Lady Maddock would consider him as husband material for a second, which suited him fine.

But as a lover…? Larenz smiled and settled more deeply into the bed.

Then he heard the floorboard creak again, past his room, and the sound of a door closing somewhere at the other end of the hall. It must have been Ellery, on her way to bed.

Larenz stretched out, trying to make himself more comfortable despite the rather lumpy mattress and the coldness of the room. Had Ellery walked past his room on purpose? Was she curious? Longing?

He hoped so, because he had just decided that she most definitely needed to be seduced.