Читать книгу Bittersweet Deception - Liz Fielding - Страница 7

THE soft burble of the alarm woke her instantly and Kate lay quite still, for a moment uncertain where she was. Then, remembering, she flung back the cover and leapt from her bed. The room was as pretty in the early sunlight as it had been welcoming in lamplight, with its delicate cream and pink wallpaper and ivory lace floor-length curtains.

She pushed them back now and stared once more across the park to the serene vista of a lake and beyond it, on a slight rise, a small Grecian temple. Fullerton Hall was all so much larger than she had imagined, so much grander, and yet not the least bit daunting.

Her first impression had been of warm brick, flowers and, despite the carved stone beasts that defended the footbridge to the entrance, of welcome as the house had smiled at her, rose-pink in the dying sunshine of a fine April evening. It had quite taken her breath away.

She flexed her toes against the thick carpet, stretched and luxuriated in the simple pleasure of a hot shower without for once having to worry about the electricity bill. Then, dressed in jeans, a soft cream shirt and a fine rose sweater that reflected a blush on to her pale translucent skin, she found her way down the back stairs to the kitchen. It was warm and comfortable but Kate didn’t linger, eager instead to explore the gardens nearest to the house before beginning work.

The kitchen door led to a small courtyard paved with bricks and brightened by tubs of early tulips. A hand pump next to a covered square brick wellhead had been recently painted black, as had the wrought-iron gate let into the old brick wall almost hidden by an ancient wistaria vine.

Kate opened the gate and stepped down into the walled kitchen garden. Neat, well-raked gravel paths edged with low-growing herbs divided beds planted with early vegetable crops and tender salad plants being coaxed under cloches.

She bent to crush a few leaves of lemon thyme between her fingers, breathing in the scent. ‘This,’ she told a watchful robin, ‘is going to be this cook’s paradise.’

‘Then perhaps you’d better be a little careful what you pick if you venture into the orchard.’

Kate spun around, shock sending her pulse-rate into overdrive. Jason Warwick was standing in the gateway in the wall, and regarding her inscrutably down his long, not quite straight nose. For one brief moment she dwelt on the agreeable picture of an angry fist breaking it.

‘My name is not Eve, as you already know, and it’s the wrong time of year for apples,’ she declared vigorously as she rose, trying to ignore the athletic grace of his figure and the way his well-cut beige cord trousers clung to his hips. She concentrated on the safer area of his chest concealed under a soft wool shirt of a deeper shade. Then she averted her eyes. There was nothing safe about Jason Warwick, and it would be a grave mistake to think he was less deadly in casual clothes than in the black broadcloth and starched linen he had been wearing on their previous encounter.

‘Your name is of considerably less interest at this moment than why you’re trespassing in my garden,’ he replied evenly, but she was not deceived. He was angry.

But he had met his match. ‘Your garden indeed! I’m not the one trespassing. You are. This house belongs to Lady Maynard.’

‘Does it, now?’ The touch of amusement that twisted his lips made her vaguely uneasy but, hands on hips, she stood her ground as he towered over her. ‘You’re nearly right. But since Tisha Maynard is my aunt and this is my home, I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that.’

‘You are Tisha’s nephew?’

His eyes narrowed at her use of his aunt’s given name. ‘I don’t know what tale you’ve told my aunt to inveigle your way in here. Whatever it is, you’d better make your excuses and leave.’ He took a step forward and grasped her firmly by the arm. ‘Right now.’ He turned and began to walk back to the kitchen, his fingers digging into her flesh as she resisted.

She ignored the pressure of his fingers on her arm, only fleetingly wondering why it was possible to dislike a man and everything he stood for yet still be aroused by him. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she said. But even as the words left her lips she knew it was too horribly possible that Jason Warwick was the nephew Lady Maynard had so casually mentioned, although she couldn’t understand how anyone could be casual about owning such an obnoxious relative. Perhaps that was the reason she hadn’t bothered to mention who he was.

His face darkened as she dug her heels in. ‘Don’t make it worse by pretending not to know. What on earth do you think you’re doing here?’

‘Perhaps you should ask your aunt, Mr Warwick, before you start flinging accusations about.’ She pulled her arm free and tugged at her sweater, then wished she hadn’t as his eyes lingered on the outline of her breasts.

‘Oh, I’ve a fair idea what you want. But if you think because I kissed you once, you’ll be a welcome addition to my household, you are mistaken. This is my family home. I share it with my aunt. When I’m here, Kate, I sleep alone.’

‘You must be glad of the rest,’ she snapped back. ‘I certainly won’t be disturbing you. I had no idea you would be here.’

He gave a short, unpleasant laugh. She knew he was tall. In the close confinement of Tisha Maynard’s kitchen, his height had commanded attention. But here, in the early-morning garden, there was something so physical about him that she instinctively stepped backwards. His hand shot out and caught her wrist, preventing her further retreat. ‘You expect me to believe that?’ His fingers tightened and he shook her slightly, like a naughty puppy. She couldn’t believe the gall of the man.

‘Is it so impossible?’ she demanded. ‘Or is your ego so inflated that you believe every woman you kiss can’t wait to leap into bed with you? Let me tell you,’ she continued, with reckless abandon and an equal disregard for the truth, ‘I’ve been kissed by men just as accomplished as you!’ His eyes gleamed and she fervently wished she had chosen her words more carefully. Her intended put-down had somehow developed into a compliment of sorts.

‘Have you, now? Well, I suggest you pick one of them out of a hat and go right back to the lucky winner. You’re not wanted here.’

‘Is that so? Perhaps you should check with Lady Maynard first. Maybe she has other ideas.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps you’d better tell me.’ It was not an invitation she felt capable of refusing.

‘Lady Maynard has just signed a six-month contract with me. And she was the one who insisted that there should be a no-break clause. She didn’t want me to change my mind.’ She paused briefly. ‘I can’t imagine why she thought I might.’

He ignored the gibe. ‘Six months?’ He frowned. ‘What on earth…?’ He made a dismissive gesture. ‘It doesn’t matter. You’ll just have to come up with some particularly heart-rending reason for leaving. She won’t stop you even if you signed a hundred no-break clauses. I promise,’ he added fervently.

‘Why should I do that, Mr Warwick? I’m extremely happy with the arrangement.’ That was true as far as it went. But Tisha Maynard, in her throwaway comment about a nephew, had not thought fit to mention who he was, or she would never have come within a hundred miles of Fullerton Hall.

‘That could change. Very quickly.’ His eyes blackened as they insolently travelled the length of her, from narrow feet encased in immaculate white trainers, by way of slender legs and a tiny waist—a figure that, dressed in jeans, might be described as boyish by the careless onlooker—to a face that certainly could not. A full, sensuous lower lip, a nose as straight as an arrow and fine grey eyes that were flashing angry warning signals that any man would ignore at his peril. But Jason Warwick wasn’t any man. He eventually arrived at the smooth coil of shining black hair that crowned her finely shaped head.

It was a look calculated to insult, to put a rocket under the blood-pressure of any woman with half an ounce of spirit, and he raised a pair of well-marked brows, inviting her response, clearly expecting an explosion that would wreck any chance of her staying. No contract was that watertight.

But he had no idea how much she needed this job. That despite her one slip from reality in his arms, she had three years of hard-won self-control to call upon.

Kate Thornley refused Jay Warwick’s invitation to self-destruct and retaliated in kind, forcing herself to return the slow, assessing examination that he had subjected her to and making very sure he understood exactly what she was doing.

She lacked his experience in these matters and therefore followed his example by beginning with his feet. They were large. Beautifully shod in hand-tooled leather, but at least a size eleven. His legs were long, and from the way the material stretched across his thighs, powerful. His hips and waist were temptingly lean and for a moment her gaze lingered, before almost reluctantly she allowed her gaze to continue over the widening chest to square, broad shoulders.

Her impulsive challenge faltered as she reached the hard, uncompromising line of his jaw and his mouth twisted into a knowing smile. As she met his eyes, her mouth dried.

‘Jay? I thought I heard your car.’ The tap of an ebony cane across the brick courtyard and the swift scuff of paws announcing the arrival of Tisha Maynard and her rather scruffy little terrier smashed the threads of tension that had momentarily bound them like a web of finely spun glass. ‘I didn’t expect you until later, darling.’ She offered her cheek to be kissed. ‘I’m so glad you’ve introduced yourself to Miss Thornley.’ She turned to her. ‘Did you sleep well, Kate?’

‘Yes, thank you, Tisha,’ she said, conscious of Jay Warwick’s eyes burning into her. ‘My room is very comfortable.’

‘Well, if there’s anything you want, just ask.’ She turned back to her nephew. ‘I’ve managed to persuade Kate to come and run the new tearoom for us. She’s a wonderful cook and an excellent organiser. She cooked the last time you dined with me.’

‘I know. We—’ his gaze flickered over Kate ‘—bumped into one another. What new tearoom?’

‘In the conservatory. I would have told you before, but you’ve been so busy with your bid for the new radio station. Besides, you said not to bother you with the details.’

‘Miss Thornley is rather more than a detail. Surely you have more than enough staff?’

‘No one with Kate’s talent for organisation.’

‘I’m sure she has many talents,’ he said ambiguously. ‘What exactly is she going to organise here?’

His aunt, apparently unaware that his conversation was being conducted on two levels, explained what Kate would be doing. ‘So you see, Jay, you needn’t worry about a thing.’

‘Of course not. Who drew up the contract?’ he asked, casually. ‘These things need to be done properly.’

‘My solicitor handled it quite as easily as yours could have done. Just because I’m old, it doesn’t mean I’m foolish, Jay.’

His face softened slightly. ‘I never said you were foolish, Tisha…’ He did not go on, apparently unwilling to destroy her pleasure in her plans, but his aunt sensed his hesitation.

‘But?’ she demanded, a little testily. ‘I suppose you think you could have done it all a great deal better?’ Kate held her breath as for a heartbeat he seemed to weigh his own feelings against hurting his aunt.

‘Of course not.’ He avoided Kate’s eye. ‘You’re a clever woman and it’s a lovely idea.’

Mollified, Tisha Maynard smiled at them both. ‘Why don’t you take Kate for a walk around the garden before breakfast, Jay? She’s full of plans.’

‘Is she?’ He glanced at her then. ‘Then a walk it will be. Come along…Kate. I can’t wait to hear just what you have in mind.’ He held out his hand, nothing in his manner to betray the warning in his eyes as they met hers. Reluctantly she surrendered her arm to him and he tucked it under his.

The sun was higher. A blackbird was perched on the wall serenading them. Jay Warwick had given way in the face of his aunt’s eagerness for her plans, clearly unwilling to upset her by betraying his own displeasure. Everything should have been perfect. But that would have been too easy. She didn’t think he would be quite so gentle with her, and her heart was pounding furiously as she was insistently propelled along a path dissecting the formal gardens, closely flanked by the tall, dangerous figure of her nemesis.

‘There’s really no need to escort me, Mr Warwick,’ she said, finally breaking the silence. ‘I’m sure I can find my own way.’

‘I like to stretch my legs after a long drive.’ He glanced sideways at her. ‘I assure you I have no immediate plans to ravish you in the rhodedendrons.’

‘It never occurred to me that you would,’ she said. ‘Unless of course the one-to-a-bed rule only applies inside the hall?’

‘If you were considering putting it to the test, I would advise against it.’

‘You’re really quite safe, I promise,’ she said flippantly, firmly ignoring the thought that if he had been intent on ravishment, she wasn’t totally convinced that she would be able to resist him. It was infuriating.

He stopped, and she was forced to do the same. He regarded her thoughtfully, gold glints sparking in the depths of velvet brown eyes. ‘Perhaps you should be more concerned for your own safety.’ Then, ignoring her sharp intake of breath, he regained possession of her elbow and continued to propel her down a broad gravel path flanked on either side by the black skeletal shapes of ancient standard roses. This was hardly the pleasant walk in the garden that she had envisaged when she set out first thing. She attempted to shake free. But his grip was deceptively firm. ‘I wouldn’t want you to think, Kate, that because I have decided not to interfere with Tisha’s plans I am happy about them.’

‘I did get the hint of a feeling that you weren’t too happy.’

‘I believed I had scotched this particular bee in her bonnet. Presumably that’s why she chose to go behind my back. She is a stubborn old woman and can’t bear not to get her way. Clearly things are too far advanced to stop without causing her a great deal of distress. So be it.’ He glanced at her. ‘How long have you been here?’

‘I arrived last night.’

‘I see. Then you have very little time. I hope your much-vaunted powers of organisation are more than myth, because the house is opening in less than two weeks.’

‘I know.’

‘Well, it will keep you fully occupied. Not that there are many opportunities to flirt with the dinner guests here.’

Only the whiteness above her lip betrayed the effort it was taking Kate to keep her voice even, her expression bland. ‘Perhaps I can have your assurance that the dinner guests won’t flirt with me? Even those that live here?’

For a moment she thought she had taken him by surprise but he recovered so quickly that she couldn’t be certain. ‘At Fullerton Hall, Kate, I make the rules.’

She gave a little gasp. ‘I have a few of my own and top of the list concerns—’

‘You really are not in any position to dictate terms,’ he interrupted, ‘if there’s a no-break clause in your contract.’

‘Top of the list,’ she repeated, furiously, ‘concerns…’ This time there was no interruption, just the sudden certainty that she was about to make an utter fool of herself.

‘Well?’ he prompted, impatiently.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Insisting that he promise not to kiss her in the kitchen, or anywhere else for that matter, might just put ideas into his head regarding the simplest way to rid himself of her.

‘This way, Kate.’ He pushed open a pair of ornamental gates flanked by high formal yew hedges and guarded by a bronze wolf with a hungry leer. Jay patted the beast affectionately and then stepped through and on to the grassy path. Kate hesitated and he looked back.

‘“Enter these enchanted woods, you who dare.” Do you dare, Kate?’

She regarded him levelly. ‘What could there possibly be to fear, Mr Warwick?’

In answer, he took her arm and led her along a narrow path knee-deep in bluebells. ‘It’s the possibility of danger that makes life interesting, Kate.’ There was a resolute intensity about the man. ‘We all need to take risks, or how will we know we are alive?’

He stopped and glanced down at her and frowned slightly. His arm was still linked in hers, holding her close on the narrow path, and above the heady scent of the flowers she could smell the warmth of his body, good cloth, leather. Every nerve-end was tingling, polarised by his presence, drawing her under his spell. Each moment this close to him was a risk and he was right. She could never remember feeling quite so vividly alive.

He continued to regard her for a moment with a slightly puzzled expression, then abruptly glanced at his watch. ‘It’s time to start work, Kate. You can begin by cooking me some breakfast.’

‘You’d better take me back, then, Mr Warwick. I can’t have you passing out from hunger in “these enchanted woods”. It would be too bad if you were spirited away by a passing fairy.’

‘There are things far more dangerous than fairies in the woods, Miss Thornley. Innocent-looking young women who look as if butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths, for one.’

Kate felt the hot colour burning her cheekbones. ‘How do you like your eggs?’ she demanded, finally managing to wrench her arm from his. Presumably because he was no longer interested in holding it.

‘Cooked,’ he said, and smiled slightly. ‘And on a plate, in case you had any more unconventional plans for them.’ He opened the door for her and followed her into the kitchen. ‘I’ll eat in here. With you.’

Kate wrapped herself in an apron and went into the pantry for a bowl of eggs. ‘Cooked on a plate,’ she muttered angrily to herself. Kate put some bacon in a pan and placed it on the Aga rather firmly. Damn Jay Warwick, she thought angrily to herself, then applied herself to the task of providing the wretched man with breakfast. She added a couple of rashers of bacon to the pan. The early morning walk had sharpened her appetite and she smiled ruefully.

At least if she was eating it would give her something to do with her hands. Strangling the world’s favourite bachelor wouldn’t win her any friends on a jury. The door opened behind her but she made no indication that she heard, instead giving her total attention to the perfect execution of her eggs.

‘That smells good.’

‘I’m a very good cook.’ She dished up the food and placed it on the table, marvelling at the steadiness of her hand. She met his eyes.

‘I know. Sit down and eat your breakfast.’ He pulled out a chair for her. He had capitulated so suddenly that she didn’t quite believe it, and she hesitated. He regarded her steadily for a moment, then shrugged. ‘If Tisha wants a teashop in the conservatory, Kate, she shall have it, but you’re up against a deadline and you don’t know your way about. It will take our combined efforts to make it work.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought you have much time to spare for such minor details.’

‘In this case, I shall have to make the time. As soon as we’ve had breakfast we’ll look at the conservatory and work out exactly what has to be done.’

They spent an hour in the conservatory and the time flew by as Jay listened intently to her ideas, his lateral manner of thinking offering solutions that might never have occurred to her.

‘What are you going to do now?’ he asked, as they made their way back to the kitchen in search of coffee.

‘Write a shopping list and then let my fingers do the walking.’

‘Don’t you think you should consider a little market research?’

‘Market research?’

‘I normally employ a company to do it for me, but in this case I’m sure we could manage it between us.’

‘And what will it entail?’

‘A look at the opposition. There are a couple of tearooms in Oulton Market. I have to go out but I’ll pick you up here at about a quarter to four.’

‘But…’ He had already moved on. She hurried after him. ‘Why don’t you take your aunt?’

‘My aunt employed you to advise her and, since you are being paid handsomely for your expertise, I intend to take full advantage of your knowledge. Now if you’ll excuse me I have some phone calls to make. I won’t be in for lunch.’ He didn’t wait for her reply and she was left standing open-mouthed in the hall.

Catching sight of herself in a mirror, she shut her mouth quickly. ‘Watch it, Kate,’ she warned her reflection, and pulled a face at herself.

But in the event it hadn’t been quite as bad as she had expected. Jay Warwick had a first-class business brain. His meteoric success in the cut-throat world of television was testament to that. And having made his decision to let her stay—and she was in no doubt that if he had wanted her to go he would have found a way to get rid of her—he had obviously decided to establish a reasonable working relationship. In the interests of keeping Tisha happy. She took herself off to the pantry to make an inventory of baking tins. It was a soothing, monotonous job, requiring total concentration.

‘You’re very quiet, Miss Thornley.’ Jay Warwick changed gear as the road straightened and glanced across at her.

‘I didn’t realise I was expected to provide witty conversation as well as cook.’

‘Only if you feel up to it.’ He approached a tricky stretch of road and gave it his full attention and so missed the infuriated glance she threw at him. The road narrowed as it approached the small town of Oulton Market and Jay was forced to wait for a slow-moving tractor before he could park in the market square. Before she could release her seatbelt he was round the car and opening the door for her.

‘Now,’ he said, briskly, ‘We have the Copper Kettle and Martha’s Kitchen to choose from.’ He indicated two tearooms that gleamed at one another across the square. ‘Or should we try both?’

‘Oh, in the interests of market research I’m sure we should. Although it might look a little odd.’

‘And since presumably we’ll have to eat something, it could also prove rather fattening.’

She allowed her eyes to drift down his lean figure. ‘I don’t think so. Unless you’re trying to tell me that you run five miles a day and play squash three times a week?’

‘I get the feeling you would relish the idea of my suffering, Kate. But you’re quite right, I’m naturally skinny.’

‘Fishing for compliments won’t work with me, Mr Warwick. You already know what a very attractive man you are.’

‘You’re getting careless. That was almost a compliment.’

‘Was it? I can assure you it wasn’t meant to be.’

He was thoughtful for a moment. ‘I begin to see why Tisha was impressed so with you. Which reminds me that she asked me to pick up a prescription for her.’

As they walked across the square to the chemist, Kate became increasingly aware that they were the centre of attention.

‘You’re attracting rather a lot of interest,’ she said, finally.

‘Not me. These people have known me all my life. You’re the one arousing local curiosity. You’re not quite my usual style, you see, so I’m afraid you’ll be the subject of ill-informed speculation over dinner-tables throughout the parish tonight.’ The idea did not appear to amuse him.

‘I imagine you’re referring to your famous weakness for leggy blondes? Surely they don’t get invited to Fullerton Hall? The sleeping arrangements are somewhat restricted. And I would have thought they preferred to stay a little nearer the bright lights.’

‘Would you?’ He pocketed the prescription and turned an expressionless gaze upon her. Then a touch of derision touched his smile. ‘The fortitude of some girls would probably amaze you. They’ll do anything to get on television. Even sleep alone.’ She swallowed hard as he took her arm and headed for Martha’s Kitchen. Apparently satisfied with the impression he had made, he handed her a menu. ‘What can I offer you?’

Kate had not needed to look at the menu, using it only as a shield to recover her composure. ‘A scone, please with fresh cream and raspberry jam.’

‘Is that all?

‘For the purposes of market research, Mr Warwick, it will do well enough.’ The waitress brought their tea. ‘I’ll pour, shall I? I don’t imagine you’ve had much experience with all those willing ladies eager to pander to your every whim.’

He bared his teeth at her as she poured two cups of tea. The waitress returned with their scones and Kate considered the offering.

Jay took the cup she handed to him and raised an enquiring brow as she broke the scone open, sniffed it, then pushed the plate away. ‘Well?’ he asked, slightly startled by this performance.

‘This is a mass-produced scone. It could be purchased in a packet in any supermarket and will last for days.’

‘Isn’t that good?’

Kate propped her elbows on the table and leaned her face on her hands. ‘That is a matter of opinion, Mr Warwick. But it isn’t what Tisha has in mind, and if this is the kind of stuff you’re prepared to offer your customers you certainly don’t need me.’

Jay Warwick regarded her over the edge of his teacup. ‘I thought we’d already established that.’

Kate stiffened. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’ she said, furious with herself for being lulled into a false sense of security. If she was the one to crack, his aunt could hardly blame him.

He produced a note and, dropping it on the table, rose to his feet. ‘How long do you think you will be able to stand it?’

‘As long as you can dish it out,’ she retorted.

His smile was grudging. ‘Have you seen enough? Or should we check up on the Copper Kettle?’

‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Mr Warwick. At Fullerton Hall, as I’m sure you already know since you seem to be quite bright, you’ll have a captive audience. And this place, at least, offers no incentive to escape.’

‘That was nearly another compliment,’ he said, a little brusquely, opening the car door for her. ‘Aren’t you afraid it will go to my head?’

Kate glanced up at him as she tucked her seatbelt into place. ‘I’m sure an ego as large as yours can handle it.’

His eyes darkened and she saw with a sudden shock that she had made him angry. ‘Damn you,’ he said, and shut the door with rather more force than was necessary and turned away.

‘Jay!’

He narrowed his eyes against the slanting sun and cursed softly under his breath. ‘Hello, Mike.’

‘I didn’t realise you were home.’ A man, a little above average in height and with soft brown hair, hurried across the square towards them. He glanced in the car at Kate and then, pointedly, at Jay.

Jay performed perfunctory introductions. ‘Kate Thornley, Mike Howard.’

Mike offered Kate his hand through the window. ‘Hello, Kate,’ he said warmly, his eyes riveted on her face.

She took the proffered hand and found it held firmly. ‘Hello, Mike,’ she said and swallowed a smile as a warning shadow crossed Jay Warwick’s face.

‘Miss Thornley is organising the catering at the house,’ he said coolly. ‘We’re opening in a couple of weeks.’

‘You’ve decided to go ahead, then?’ Admiration lit the other man’s eyes as he regarded Kate. ‘Quite an undertaking. When’s the big day? I shall certainly make an effort to be there.’ He had addressed himself to Kate, but it was Jay who answered.

‘It will be advertised.’ He made an impatient move and Mike Howard reluctantly surrendered Kate’s hand.

‘I’d better let you get on, then. I’m sure you’ve a lot to do. I’ll see you again soon, Kate.’

She smiled rather more warmly than she might normally have done as he waved and walked away across the square.

‘He’s the estate agent for the National Trust in this area,’ Jay told her, as he climbed into the driving seat. ‘In case you wanted to make a note.’ There was something about the way he said it that made her look up.

‘I might,’ she said.