Читать книгу Bride By Friday - TRISHA DAVID - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

VERY little was said for the next hour until they came in to land at Heathrow. Too much had happened to Tess for her to continue humouring this nutcase. She was polite—but only just.

‘I’m very pleased you’re going to be an earl,’ she told him, ‘but it has absolutely nothing to do with me. If you don’t mind, I want to read. Go back to your papers and figure out how you can inherit your castle all by yourself.’

She turned her shoulder resolutely away, and ignored him.

Charles Cameron didn’t ignore her. He delved back into his documents but she was aware of him silently watching her out of the corner of his eye.

Drat the man! He threw her right off balance and she had to concentrate.

Tess had a folder full of travel documents given to her by the agent in Yaldara Bay. And instructions that scared the life out of someone who’d travelled three times to Sydney for her nursing exams and that was as far from home as she’d ever been.

Now... she had to go through Customs in Heathrow, find the Airbus office, catch the bus to the coach station-then walk about five blocks to the cheap bed and breakfast the agent had booked for her. She had a map. It was all here. Just follow the instructions.

‘I’m being met by a driver,’ Charles said in her ear and made her jump. ‘I can give you a lift.’

‘I don’t want a lift,’ Tessa said crossly. ‘Thank you. My bus fare is paid.’

‘Very efficient.’ Charles lifted her travel documents and frowned down at the page of instructions telling her where to go. ‘Backblow Street. I don’t know about my future wife staying here.’

‘Well, you go and ask your future wife where she wants to stay,’ Tessa managed. ‘Just leave me alone.’

‘But...’

‘No,’ she said flatly. ‘Please...just leave me be.’

They parted soon after landing.

Charles somehow managed to stay by her side until they hit the queue for Immigration. Then there were two queues—one for British subjects and one for aliens. To her surprise, Charles headed for the local queue.

‘I’ll wait for you on the other side,’ he said, but she shook her head resolutely. Her passage through was surprisingly swift, her luggage was the first off the conveyor belt and then she was at the Airbus terminal knowsing she need never see Charlie Cameron again in her life.

She should be relieved. She should be shaking off the memory of such a lunatic with speed. Instead, she boarded her bus feeling as desolate as she’d ever felt in her life.

It must be Christine’s death, she told herself, and the fact that she was on the other side of the world from Donald. From anyone she knew.

But as she sat on the top of her double-decker bus, heading for central London, the thought of Charlie Cameron’s gentle smile stayed with her.

He was a nut but a nice nut, she decided as she buried herself in the map showing her where to go when she left the bus. She could afford to remember him with affection.

But a tiny voice at the back of her head told her she didn’t want to remember him at all. The thought of his strong arm around her—the feel of his cashmere sweater—the sheer maleness of the man—that was what she wanted.

Oh, yeah? And the thought of being wife to the Earl of Dalston? she told herself grimly. If he’s the Earl of Dalston then I’m travelling on a flying pig. Now stop thinking about lunatics and start thinking about maps.

It took Tess an hour to find her hotel and by the time she did it was still only seven in the morning and she was exhausted.

Donald had presented her with a set of baggage wheels as a farewell present. ‘Because taxi prices are sky high and you’ll be using enough of our house savings as it is,’ he’d told her. ‘Using these wheels, you can walk pulling your things behind you. They’ll make you independent.’

Which they might have if they’d been good quality, Tess thought gnmiy. The streets were rough and the plastic wheels were weak. Tess walked a block before the first wheel buckled. Then she was left with no choice but to carry everything by hand. There wasn’t even a rubbish bin where she could dump her broken wheels. She had to carry them as well.

It was the middle of June. At home it had been crisp and cool in the beginning of winter. Here it was summer. It was too early to be hot but it was humid enough to be uncomfortable, and Tessa’s jogging suit was way too heavy. By the time she stopped outside a dubiouslooking lodging house, she was exhausted.

At least she’d made it. Primrose Place. Bed and breakfast.

Tess looked up at her lodgings with dismay. She had to stay in London for a couple of nights—she needed to see her sister’s lawyer before she went north—and accommodation in the city was expensive. Donald and the travel agent had chosen this place for her from a brochure. Surely it hadn’t looked like this in the advertisement?

The place looked just plain seedy. The last primrose to grace Primrose Place had hoisted its roots and departed centuries ago, breathing a sigh of relief as it did. All that was left was a dingy, soot-covered building. The cracked window in the front was plastered with newspaper, and a smell of stale grease hung about the front door.

She had no choice. She had to stay here. Her accommodation was paid.

Tess looked up and down the street. All the buildings here—a long line of terraces three storeys high—were much the same, all slightly unkempt and grubby. The street was early-morning quiet, milk bottles standing empty on each doorstep. A large black car nosed its way into the end of the street and stopped, its engine still running. Its occupants didn’t emerge.

This was like something out of a second-rate whodunmt movie.

Maybe it was because she was very much alone that she felt uneasy. Despite the heat, Tess shivered, and rang the bell fast.

The bell echoed hollowly inside, and she heard a mass of dog flesh hurling itself against the other side of the door. Hardly a welcome. All she heard was snarling.

The snarling ended with a human curse and then the door opened. Her landlord stood before her, still in the bottom half of dirty pyjamas, bald, unshaven and his flabby white chest bare.

‘What d’ya want?’

Tess caught her breath.

‘I’m...I’m booked in here.’ She held out her accommodation voucher. The man took it, kicked the dog back from behind him and sniffed as he inspected it. Then he thrust the voucher back at her.

‘This is for tonight. Come back five o’clock when the doors open. Not before.’ And he slammed the door in her face.

Tess hadn’t cried. Not once. Not when the phone call had come telling her Christine was dead. Not when Christine’s mother-in-law had told her she was crazy to come and she wasn’t wanted. Not when she’d said goodbye to Donald.

She came very close now.

She stood on the greasy doorstep and took great lungfuls of humid air and fought for control. It was seven o’clock in the morning in a strange city and she had nowhere to go.

A hand landed on her shoulder and held.

Tess yelped. There was no other word to describe the sound that came out as she jumped about six inches in the air. When she came down to land, the hand was still on her shoulder, turning her around to face whoever it was accosting her.

But Tessa Flanagan was no victim. As charge nurse at Yaldara Bay Hospital, Tessa’s reactions to emergencies were tuned to be lighting-swift-and now was no exception.

She attacked right back.

During one very boring winter in Yaldara Bay, Tess had enrolled in a self-defence course for women. Then, after an incident with a drunk in Casualty, she’d taught the same class to the junior nurses on her staff. Over and over.

Sometimes she’d wondered whether it really would work. If she was attacked, would she be so frightened that she’d freeze?

Obviously not. Her training worked a treat.

As her attacker hauled her around to face him—before she even saw who was attacking—she thumped her fist fair across his left eye. In the same instant, Tessa’s spare hand dropped and came upward fast, crunching as hard as she possibly could. Right into his private parts.

And Charlie Cameron grunted in agony, fell back and clutched himself where it hurt most.

Tess stared... and stared some more.

‘Charlie...’

‘So who were you expecting?’ Charlie managed, groaning and bent double. ‘Jack the Ripper? Hell, Tess, you’ve damaged me for life!’

‘But...’

‘You’ll have to marry me now. I’m damaged goods. You can’t return me.’

Charlie Charlie, the Earl of Dalston. Charlie, the lunatic.

It was too much. It was all too much. Tess stared down, appalled, and the world spun around her. And finally, after all this time, the tears came.

‘Oh, Charlie, I’m so sorry...’

Charlie straightened and stared. ‘Tess... what’s going on here? You hit me where it hurts most and you cry!’

‘I don’t cry. I never cry.’ It was as much as Tessa could do to make her voice work through her tears.

‘Yeah? And I’m Peter Pan.’ He groaned again. ‘Come to think of it, I might be. Isn’t Peter Pan the boy who can’t grow up? Any minute now I’ ll be back to singing soprano.‘ He winced again. He shook his head. ’I don’t believe this. You’ve interrupted the succession of the Dalston line with one fell fist, you’ve given me a black eye and you cry...’

Tessa didn’t stop. She couldn’t. And Charlie, the Earl of Dalston, pulled himself together. He groaned again, but in resignation. Somehow he made it up the steps to haul her in against his broad shoulders, and Tess wept and wept against Charlie-the-lunatic’s shirt for all of two minutes.

She soaked him. Tessa’s tears made a sodden circle against his shoulder, and she didn’t stop howling until the shirt fabric was almost transparent and she could feel the warmth of his skin underneath her cheek.

Somehow she took a ragged breath and pulled away. Charlie allowed her room to back twelve inches, but his hands held her shoulders, his face creased in concern.

‘I... I’m so sorry,’ she managed finally. ‘Really...I I don’t cry.’

‘I can see that,’ he said approvingly and gave her a wry smile. ‘It’s another reason I’ve decided you should marry me. Apart from needing you for self-defence. Some of us earls employ bodyguards. I’ll just keep you around. Here. Have a handkerchief.’

There was nothing to say to that. She really did need that handkerchief.

‘Blow,’ Charlie told her. ‘And before you ask, I don’t want it back.’ His smile deepened. ‘One thing I’ve decided about being an earl, I can afford to be generous with my handkerchiefs.’

Tess sniffed, gave a watery chuckle—and blew. And blew again, while Charlie smiled down at her in gentle concern.

‘Better?’

‘Better.’ Tess emerged from his linen and gave him a wavering smile. ‘I’m sorry. What you must think...’ Her smile faded. ‘Oh, Charlie, your eye...’ She stared up at him with guilt. ‘It’s changing colour already.’

Charlie fingered his bruised face and winced. ‘No matter,’ he said nobly. And winced again. ‘They say you only feel one pain centre at a time and they’re right. Your other area of attack is of more concern. Hell, Tess, what did you think you were doing?’

‘Defending myself,’ she told him, indignation flooding back as she saw the twinkle in his eyes. Drat the man, was he never serious^? She looked down the street to where the sleek black car—a Jaguar—was waiting by the kerb. ‘It was you in the car,’ she said accusingly. ‘Waiting m the street like a gangster. You scared me to death!’

‘Yeah, well, you’re not showing any long-term damage.’ Charlie managed another heartfelt groan. ‘Whereas I just may start singing falsetto. Besides, I thought it was your fnend in the hotel who scared you,’ he said mildly. ‘Your friend with the sexy pyjamas.’

‘You saw.’ Tessa was so confused that for a minute she forgot this man was a nutcase. She thought of the pyjamas in question and gave another tearful chuckle. ‘Oh, isn’t he awful? I can’t stay here.’

‘No. You can’t stay here.’ Charlie’s hands came back to grip her shoulders. ‘That’s what I was trying to tell you on the plane. You wouldn’t listen. This address is seedy and this hotel has to be the seediest in the district.’

‘But...’ Tess took a ragged breath and steadied. And pulled away from his hands. ‘Charlie, I’ve paid for it. I can’t...’

‘You can’t have paid very much.’

‘We didn’t. But Donald says...’

‘Donald?’

‘My fiancé.’

Silence.

My fiancé. The word echoed in the silence of the street and Tess bit her lip. She’d had to say it, though. It wouldn’t do this man any harm to know there was a man in her life. A man who cared for her. But Charlie’s eyes were snapping down in a frown. He hauled up her ring finger and held it in the sunlight for inspection.

‘No ring,’ he said accusingly.

‘I don’t have to wear a ring,’ she told him, her voice just a trace unsteady.

‘It’d help. When a man’s looking out for a bride under desperate circumstances...’

‘You mean a man like you.’

‘Yes. A man who needs to be married.’

‘He wants a sign, I suppose.’ Tess glared. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Cameron, but I don’t see why I should wear “claimed” labels just for you.’

‘Doesn’t Donald believe in diamonds?’

‘We’re saving for a house,’ Tess said with asperity. She was back under control now, and growing more indignant by the minute. ‘Now, if you’ve finished the inquisition...’

‘If you were my fiancée, I’d make sure you were wearing a diamond so large every other man could see it for miles,’ Charlie told her ‘I’d be so proud. You’re gorgeous, you’re kind, and you’re a warrior maiden to boot I’d buy you an engagement ring before any bricks and mortar.’

‘Even a castle?’ Tess said before she could help herself, and Charlie had the temerity to grin.

‘Well, who knows? What price a castle?’ And then he leaned over and lifted her baggage. ‘Hell. This weighs a ton. We saw you walk into the street. Walk! What the hell were you doing walking instead of taking a cab?’ And then he sighed and held up a hand. ‘No. Don’t tell me. I know. Donald and his house saving. You know, I’ve decided to take no notice of Donald. You mock my castle and I’ll mock your Donald. Until the man comes charging to rescue you, bearing diamonds, he can be set aside of no import. I’ve decided, Tessa Flanagan, that you need a hero, and I’m it.’

‘I don’t need anything of the kind.’

‘How about an earl?’

‘I especially don’t need an earl.’

‘Well, how about a simple farmer from home?’ Charlie’s voice suddenly gentled and the eyes looking down at her were warm and direct. ‘A farmer with a flat in Belgravia, very close to here. It’s a flat with four bedrooms, one of which is a guest suite.’ And then, as Tessa’s face froze, he smiled and shook his head. ‘And yes, my intentions are far from honourable, but I’ll respect the horrid Donald by making you a promise. You’ll be absolutely safe from all harm in my house, Tessa Flanagan, for however long you stay.’

And he made a signal to the man behind the wheel of the car. The lid of the car’s luggage compartment flipped up and he heaved Tessa’s bag into it.

‘But...I’m not coming with you,’ Tessa stammered.

‘Where are you going, then?’

‘I don’t know. Anywhere!’ Tess looked wildly around the deserted street, but there were no warm and welcoming little cafés within sight. No more hotels. Nowhere she could go and dump her gear.

So what would she do? Would she sit on her suitcase right here and wait until five o‘clock? Or drag her belongings along to Christine’s lawyer?’

Charlie watched the doubts flit across her face and he lifted a hand and touched Tessa’s cheek with a gentle finger.

‘There’s little choice here, Tess,’ he said softly. ‘You can trust me. I swear.’

Tess looked up at him. His eyes were crinkled and kind and absolutely direct.

‘I don’t trust you. How can I? You’re nuts,’ she managed. ‘Do you really have a flat in London?’

‘I really do and it’s quite close,’ he assured her.

‘And it’s yours?’ she asked.

‘It was my uncle’s. Now it seems that it’s mine.’

Tess bit her lip. ‘That must mean your uncle, the twelfth earl.’

‘Clever girl,’ he said approvingly. ‘You’ve worked out the family tree. Now...do you want to trust me?’

Tessa didn’t. She badly didn’t want to trust him. There was something about Charlie Cameron that said she should steer as far away from this man as possible. Lunatic or not, he left her feeling as if her feet weren’t quite steady on the ground.

But the street was sordid and empty, her baggage was heavy and her feet hurt. There were blisters on her palms from carrying the weight this far.

And this man was her only link with home.

What was the worst that could happen here? That he take her to this imaginary castle, lock her with his harem of slaves and keep her for his own personal pleasure?

She looked back at her hotel and her creepy landlord was peering over the newspaper in the front window He was scratching his flabby white chest and scowling, and she just knew that any minute he’d rush out and order her off his filthy front step, or set the dog on her.

She looked up at Charlie and her fear receded. Maybe there was something to be said for harems, after all.

Charlie’s house wasn’t quite a harem but it was a lot closer to a palace than anywhere Tess had ever been before. She’d sat silently in the rear seat of the Jaguar while the driver negotiated London’s early-morning traffic, and ten minutes later they had pulled up outside a place Tess could only describe as a mansion.

She gazed out in astonishment. The house was gleaming white stone, three storeys high, with Gothic columns at the entrance and a vast, overwhelming front door.

‘Before you get the wrong idea, only the top floor’s mine,’ Charlie said quickly, seeing her jaw drop. ‘And there’s no garden. We use the square over the road.’

The square. Tessa turned to see. On the other side of the road was a park, filled with mature trees, lush green lawns and immaculately groomed gardens.

‘There’s ten houses with access,’ Charlie said apologetically. ‘We have to share.’

‘Oh, poor you,’ Tess managed.

‘We bear it,’ Charlie told her, and he grinned. ‘We earls live in hard times. Come on in. Henry will bring in our gear.’

Henry. Tess looked doubtfully at the man in the front seat. He was in his sixties, dapper and trim and dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform. Henry hadn’t said a word the whole time she’d been in the car.

‘This isn’t a hire car?’ she asked cautiously.

‘Well, no. I guess it’s mine. Or it might be mine.’

‘Might?’

Charlie spread his hands. ‘Tess, this is my uncle’s home, my uncle’s chauffeur, my uncle’s lifestyle. He’s left it all to me—conditionally.’

‘Conditionally?’

‘On me being married by the time I’m thirty,’ Charlie told her. ‘That’s in six weeks. So you see why I’m so interested in ladies who don’t sport engagement rings?’ And he gave her his most engaging smile. ‘Now, are you coming into my parlour, said the spider to the fly, or am I leaving you to London’s tender mercies out here on the street?’

He slid his long form out of the car.

There was nothing for Tessa to do but to follow.

The house was as breathtaking as its facade.

The entrance hall was vast, and the lift whisked them to the third floor in silent opulence. The lift was bigger than Tessa’s bedroom at home. Tess was almost too flummoxed to speak.

The lift drew to a silent halt, the doors slid wide and Charlie Cameron was welcomed to his world.

‘Mr Charlie!’ A stout lady, aproned, motherly and beaming goodwill, bustled forward to greet Charlie before he’d stepped out of the lift. ‘Oh, it’s so good to have you home.’ And she enveloped as much as she could of him in an enormous bear hug.

To which Charlie responded in kind. He lifted the little lady high, swung her round so her feet didn’t touch the floor, kissed her soundly and then set her down on the marble tiles. He grinned down at her dimply figure and sighed.

‘It’s good to be here, Mary.’ Then he turned to Tess.

‘Mary, this is Miss Tessa Flanagan. Tessa, this is Mrs Henry Robertson but she only answers to Mary. Mary, Tessa’s from home and she needs a bed. Henry and I found her stranded with her suitcase in Backblow Street and we couldn’t just leave her there, now could we?’

Mary’s bright eyes took in Tessa from the toes up. It was a fast, cursory glance, but it appeared Tess passed inspection. It seemed that this was no stately home with dress requirements to match.

‘Oh, of course you couldn’t,’ Mary said warmly. ‘Backblow Street? What on earth were you thinking of, letting your friends go there, Mr Charlie? It’s a filthy place. Miss Tessa can have the blue room, if you think that’s suitable.’ Then she stared, for the first time focussing properly on Charlie. ‘Mr Charlie, what on earth have you done to your face?’

‘It’s a modern equivalent to a love bite,’ Charlie told her, grinning wickedly at Tess. ‘And that’s not the half of it, Mary. If I told you the full damage, you’d be shocked to the core. Just look after Tess and don’t give her any lip.’

Mary’s eyes widened. She looked from Tess to Charlie and back again—but finally decided she wouldn’t get anywhere with enquiries. She obviously knew Charlie well.

She shrugged and smiled. ‘Well, no matter. You’re always getting yourself into some scrape or another, Mr Charlie. Now, would you like time to wash before you have breakfast?’ she asked Tess. Once again, that kindly, perceptive appraisal. ‘Oh, of course you would, child. In fact, what you look like you need, Miss Tessa, if you won’t take this personally as I’m sure you won’t, is a long, hot bath, up to your neck in bubbles. Does that sound good?’

Good. Good!

Tessa’s face said it all, and Charlie chuckled behind her. ‘Take her away, Mary, and soak her. I’ll look after myself.’ He turned away to go left down the hall but Mary stopped him with a hand on his arm.

‘I’ve put you in your uncle’s room,’ she said softly, watching his face. ‘I thought...’

Charlie’s smile faded. He stood looking down at Mary for a long, long moment. Then he sighed.

‘This is going to be hard, Mary.’

‘It is.’

Charlie closed his eyes. When he opened them, his face was grim. The twinkle had disappeared entirely.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Let’s start this now.’

Tessa’s bath was glorious. The bedroom itself was sumptuous, with plush white carpet, a vast, canopied bed and blue and gold curtains over a wall of windows which looked over the square and the rooftops of London beyond.

The en suite bathroom had the same fantastic view, and the bath—which could have accommodated three of Tessa—was amazing.

‘It’s a shame to bathe at night because you need to close the curtains or turn off the Light if you’re not to shock the neighbours,’ Mary told her as she handed her an armload of bath towels. ‘But the good thing about English summer is our lack of night-time. Enjoy your bath, lass.’ And she left her to soak.

Tess soaked. And soaked.

It was the first quiet time Tess had had since she’d heard of Christine’s death. It was the first time her responsibihties and need for organization had eased. The shadow of Christine’s death receded, with the image of Charles Cameron superimposing itself on her thoughts. Tess lay back under the foam, stared up at the ornate plasterwork on the high ceiling and wondered just what she had got herself into.

The image of Charlie Cameron as a lunatic was fading. Henry and the maternal, perceptive Mary seemed dependable and trustworthy, and they formed a respectable backdrop for the man. Tess was almost starting to believe in the earldom. And the castle. Almost.

‘Surely he doesn’t seriously expect to get married in six weeks?’ she asked the ceiling. ‘But then...to lose all this if he doesn’t...’

It was too hard. She drifted in and out of her bubbly haze until Mary’s call pulled her back to reality.

‘That bathwater’ll be getting cold, lass. You pull on a bathrobe and come for breakfast’

A bathrobe.

Tess looked about her warily. She didn’t want to put on her soiled jogging suit again but...

There was a thick white bathrobe hanging from the door. Tess towelled herself dry and examined it with caution.

It was a gorgeous garment. It wrapped completely around her with heaps to spare and came down to her toes. The white towelling was absolutely plain except for a rich purple letter embroidered on the breast pocket.

‘D’.

D for Dalston?

If this was all a hoax then it was some elaborate setup, Tess decided. But...Charlie as an earl? Charles Cameron wasn’t like any earl Tess had ever met.

Tess made a silly face at herself in the mirror, grabbed a comb from her handbag and attacked her washed and tangled curls with force.

Yeah, well, exactly how many earls have you met before, Tessa Flanagan? she asked herself. Heaps and heaps? Or only one? An earl called Charlie. And he’s waiting for you at breakfast. So put some clothes on and go and find him.

Easier said than done. Her clothing had disappeared. Tess came cautiously out into her bedroom to find no sign of her baggage.

There was a pair of soft, fit-all slippers by the bed—also engraved with D. Tess slid them on and padded out into the hall. She was feeling stranger and stranger.

As if she really were in a harem.

‘Any minute now a slave or two will pop out, perfume me and cart me off to the master,’ she said grimly.

‘Hey, I’d like that!’

Tess swung around like a scalded cat. Charlie was standing at the door of the room opposite, dressed in a bathrobe identical to hers.

The master himself. And he’d heard what she had said.

Tess blushed scarlet from the toes up.

‘You don’t need a slave to perfume you. You look cuter than I do in that thing,’ Charlie complained, ignoring her blush. ‘It isn’t fair.’

She might look cuter—but Charlie looked staggeringly male. Charles might be wearing an identical bathrobe to Tessa’s, but on him it looked completely different. The robe only came to Charlie’s knees. His brown legs emerged beneath like solid trunks.

Because the robe didn’t have quite the capacity to wrap round Charlie’s much larger body, his chest was bare to the waist. His chest was tanned, muscled and coated with deep black hair—just like the hair on his head which, wet from his shower or bath, was clinging in damp tendrils across his brow. The strands were just touching the bruise across his eye. Tess hauled back on an almost irresistible urge to brush the strands back. To soothe the hurt...

Ridiculous! She kept her hands strictly to herself.

‘I...I couldn’t find my clothes.’

‘Nor I, mine. If I know Mary, we’ll get them cleaned and pressed whether we want them cleaned and pressed or not.’ Charlie grinned his slow, lazy smile that did funny things to Tessa’s insides. ‘Last time I came here I brought my Dnzabone—the coat I use for mustering cattle back home. It’s useful when I go up north and don’t want to stay indoors. Mary attacked it with force. When I got back to Australia, I was the only cattleman in the country wearing a Drizabone with a starched collar!’

Tessa’s strain eased as the image made her grin. Drizabones were standard wear for Australian farmers—huge, brown waterproof coats that were only valued after they’d been worn in by hard work and grime. To wash one was almost sacnlege. And to starch it...

Charlie chuckled with her and the strain eased some more.

There was a wonderful smell wafting from the end of the hall and Charles was leading her toward it. He held open the door for Tess to precede him, and she brushed against his long body as she passed. Towelling against towelling...

He was so big and so male and... And his feet and legs were bare. And the strain came flooding back! Tess was having all sorts of irrelevant thoughts about what would happen as those bare legs stretched upward...

Good grief! The way she was thinking she almost deserved to be a slave. And she was engaged to Donald!

She fought her mounting colour and tried to concentrate on what was before her. That wasn’t hard. The dining table was groaning under a pile of food.

The table itself was vast, built to seat a dozen or more. The room was ornate and gilt and...

‘And too damned formal for words,’ Charlie growled. ‘What’s wrong with the kitchen, Mary?’

‘You know you only use the kitchen when you come here by yourself,’ Mary told him. ‘Your uncle always uses... used... the dining room.’

‘Well, that’s one way I don’t have to follow in his footsteps.’ Charlie pushed open the double doors. Beyond the dining room lay a kitchen, warm and fragrant with cooking, the vast Aga stove along the far wall a welcome in itself. Infinitely more comfortable than the ornate dining room. ‘We’ll eat in here.’

‘But I’m baking bread.’

‘Then Tess and I will watch you bake as we eat. Not that you need to bake for weeks by the look of this lot.’ He lifted a plate from the table and sniffed m delight. ‘Singing hinnies. Mary, now I know I’m back.’

‘Home,’ Mary said softly. ‘You’re home, my lord. Where you belong.’

‘Mary...’

‘Your place is right here now,’ she told him and her voice grew a little stern, as though she were a nanny reminding a child of his duty. ‘You’re the Earl of Dalston now, my lord. Whether you like it or not.’