“Drink this. It’s good for shock.”

“I don’t like brandy,” Anna protested.

“You don’t have to like it. This is for medicinal purposes.”

Anna drank obediently while she thought about what had happened. Although Gideon had meant to frighten her, it hadn’t just been a joke—he wasn’t that kind of man. Whatever his motives, they stemmed from something a good deal more serious. Anger? Hatred? A desire for vengeance?

LEE WILKINSON lives with her husband in a three-hundred-year-old stone cottage in an English village, which most winters gets cut off by snow. They both enjoy traveling, and recently, joining forces with their daughter and son-in-law, spent a year going around the world “on a shoestring” while their son looked after Kelly, their much-loved German shepherd dog. Her hobbies are reading and gardening and holding impromptu barbecues for her long-suffering family and friends.

A Vengeful Deception
Lee Wilkinson

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS Christmas Eve and, at five o’clock in the afternoon, already dark outside. In the old square, the carefully preserved Victorian street lamps spilled pools of yellow light on to the cobbles.

In line with the bow window of her now empty shop, Anna was stooping to nail down the lid of a wooden packing case.

An occasional glance through the uneven panes had told her that for the last half an hour or so there had been few people about in the square.

Most of the other shops, in what was something of a backwater, were already closed or closing. Only the jewellers and the expensive wine merchants, their windows glittering with tinsel, seemed set to remain open longer.

A sudden pricking in her thumbs, the certainty that someone was standing outside watching her, made Anna glance up sharply. Right on the edge of her vision, a dark figure was moving away.

Shrugging off a feeling of unease, she assured herself that it had no doubt been someone just innocently walking past.

Magnified by the bottle-glass, she could see huge, feathery flakes of snow starting to drift down. She had always loved snow, and the sight brought a touch of magic to an otherwise dismal day.

Bending again to her task, she finished knocking the final nail into the lid of the last packing case, and, putting down her hammer, looked around her with a faint sigh.

Apart from a residue of dust and packing materials, nothing was left. The shelves and the window were bare, as was the dark, cramped office-cum-stockroom at the rear of the tiny Dickensian shop.

Only the slightly musty smell of old paper, leather bindings and printer’s ink lingering on the air spoke of books and a dream that had ended.

All the most precious first editions and manuscripts had gone, collected the previous day by the agent who had bought them.

The rest of the stock had been carefully packed into cases that were scheduled to be picked up during the quiet few days between Christmas and New Year.

From the first, Anna’s long-cherished ambition to run her own specialist bookshop had been encouraged by her good friend Cleo.

Though complete opposites in both temperament and looks—Anna, tall and slim and dark, a quiet, self-contained girl, Cleo, short and plump and fair, bubbling with life and enthusiasm—the two girls had been friends since they were toddlers.

Throughout their schooldays and college years they had shared nearly all their hopes and fears, their successes and disappointments.

When Anna had finally managed to raise enough capital to rent the shop and add a few antique maps to her small amount of stock, Cleo had been as pleased as Punch.

Though a busy mother with young twins, she had given what practical help she could, and an endless supply of moral support.

But now, after many months of hard work and effort, and mainly due to lack of finance, the venture had sadly ended in defeat.

Cleo, vastly sympathetic but unable to help, had popped into the shop the previous day to lament its closure. ‘It’s a damned shame. I just wish I could help in some way but, short of winning the lottery… What will you do now?’

Anna had shrugged, trying to appear philosophical. ‘As soon as Christmas is over, start looking for a job.’

‘It shouldn’t be too difficult with your knowledge and qualifications.’

They both knew that the optimism was more than a trifle forced.

Rymington, a small, picturesque market town encircled by hills and quiet, fertile fields, was thriving and affluent. Within easy reach of London, it attracted a stream of seasonal holiday-makers. But jobs, other than in the tourist industry, were few and far between.

It was one of the reasons that had made Anna seize the chance and take over the shop on a short lease, and with what she knew to be barely sufficient capital. There had simply been no other opportunities available.

Despite that lack, she wanted to stay in Rymington where she had been born and brought up. After leaving college, a couple of years spent in London had only reinforced her dislike of big cities, and finally sent her home weary and disillusioned.

‘You were so close to making a go of it,’ Cleo had mourned. ‘If only the lease hadn’t come up for renewal.’

But it had. And the considerably higher rent that Deon Enterprises, the new owners of the complex, were demanding had been the last straw.

All that remained of the stock Anna had so painstakingly gathered together had been bought as a job lot by an agent for a private collector.

Knowing she was in a cleft stick, he had beaten her down in price and finally, in desperation, she had been forced to sell at a loss.

Her only consolation was that the sale had raised just enough money to cover her debts, including what she owed the bank, and allow her to walk away with her head held high.

The same way she had walked away from David.

No, she wouldn’t think about David. Memory Lane was just a circular route around a lingering pain.

Squaring her shoulders, Anna crossed to the mahogany counter, her footsteps echoing in the emptiness, and, pulling on her coat, picked up her shoulder-bag and the small weekend case that waited there.

When they had exchanged Christmas gifts, Cleo had asked, ‘Will you be seeing Paul over the holiday?’

‘No,’ Anna had answered firmly. ‘He wanted me to, but I said I couldn’t. I didn’t want to raise his hopes.’

‘You could do a lot worse.’ Cleo, who had introduced the pair, felt she had a vested interest. ‘I know he’s more than fifteen years older than you, but he’s a well-respected barrister, with a very nice house, and he’s not bad-looking. What more could any girl ask?’

Cleo was so happy with her own marriage that she felt sorry for anyone who didn’t share the same blissful state.

‘You do like him, don’t you?’ she persisted.

Resisting the temptation to say, not particularly, Anna agreed, ‘Yes, he’s very nice.’

‘And you like children.’

Paul was a widower with a nine-year-old daughter.

‘Yes, I like children,’ Anna admitted. ‘Sophie’s a sweet little girl. But that doesn’t mean I want to be her stepmother.’

Sighing, Cleo gave up for the time being. ‘So what are you planning to do over Christmas?’

‘Just have a nice quiet break,’ Anna said lightly.

The other girl wasn’t fooled for an instant. ‘That means you’re going to be on your own. Why don’t you come to us again? Come for the whole weekend.’

Alan, Cleo’s husband, was a quiet, rather shy man, who wasn’t fond of company.

‘Thanks, but I don’t think I will.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Cleo said, well aware of the reason for the refusal. ‘Alan won’t object.’

He might not object, because he loved his wife and wanted to make her happy, but he wouldn’t like it.

Though he’d done his best to make Anna welcome the previous year, when she had just moved back to the town, Anna had felt sure he would rather have been alone with his family.

‘And the twins will be delighted,’ Cleo urged. ‘They’ll probably get you up at the crack of dawn, but it has to be better than spending a lonely Christmas in a bedsit.’

Troubled by the thought that Cleo might only be asking her out of a sense of duty, and might secretly prefer to have her husband and children to herself, Anna said, ‘Thanks a million. But I really won’t be lonely. I’ll find plenty to do.’

‘Well, I won’t try to persuade you, but if you change your mind at the last minute, just turn up. The spare room’s ready, we’ve enough food to feed an army, and you’ll be more than welcome. Truly.’

And this morning, over her solitary breakfast of toast and coffee, her spirits at their lowest ebb, Anna had changed her mind.

Unable to bear the thought of waking on Christmas morning with no happier prospect than a day spent alone in her poky room, she had decided to go to Cleo’s after all.

Finding clean undies and several changes of clothing—the twins were expert at spreading chocolate and other sticky substances over everything—she had hastily packed what she would need before setting off for the shop.

Now, case in hand, her bag over her shoulder, she switched off the lights, ducked her smooth, dark head beneath the low lintel, and closed and locked the black-painted door behind her.

Dropping the key into her bag, she looked up at the black sign above the lopsided bow window. The gold lettering read, ‘Savanna Sands Rare Books and Manuscripts’.

The leaden feeling of failure and despair that had haunted her for weeks had gone. All she could feel now was empty and hollow.

It was still snowing, the flakes smaller and crisper, starting to stick, covering the uneven cobbles with a white blanket and swirling round the street lamps like motes swimming in the beam of a spotlight.

She pulled her coat collar around her ears and, finding the cobblestones were slippy, walked with care towards the arched passageway that led through to the car park at the rear of the old square.

Built alongside the river, it had once comprised mainly ship’s chandlers and warehouses, until a restoration scheme had transformed the complex into a tourist attraction.

After the relative brightness of the square, with its lamps and lighted shop windows, the passageway, and the long, narrow car park which lay between the backs of the shops and the tow-path, were gloomy and ill lit.

There was a scattering of vehicles still parked, but not another soul in sight. Deep patches of shadow lay between each small pool of light.

As Anna unlocked the door of her old Cavalier, a movement she sensed rather than saw made her glance up swiftly.

Through the curtain of falling snow the place appeared to be deserted, yet a sixth sense insisted that someone was lying in wait, watching her, and the fine hairs on the back of her neck rose.

Telling herself she was being a fool, that there was no one there, she tried to shrug off the feeling, but it persisted.

As she peered into the murk, a large black cat, its head turned in her direction, ran along the top of the wall and jumped over into the yard of one of the shops.

Letting out her breath in a sigh of relief, she said aloud, ‘There, what did I tell you?’

Tossing her case and bag on to the back seat, she got behind the wheel and turned on the ignition. Cold and damp, the engine took a bit of starting, reminding her that the man at the garage had said she could do with a new battery.

When it finally roared into life, she switched on the windscreen wipers and backed out carefully. Her headlights, like searching antennae, lit up the whirling snow as she turned towards the exit.

She was just picking up speed when only a few yards ahead a man’s dark figure suddenly stepped out from between two parked cars, straight into her path.

Instinctively, she braked and swerved. The wheels skidded on the snowy cobbles, and as she struggled to regain control the car slewed sideways before slithering to a halt.

Badly shaken, for a second or two she sat quite still behind the wheel. All she could think was, Thank God she’d missed him.

Or had she?

He’d been very close, and those few split seconds were just a blur. She might have caught him a glancing blow.

Peering out, she could see no sign of him and, with a sick dread that he might be lying injured, she threw open her door and clambered out.

He was slumped on the ground in a patch of deep shadow. A carrier bag, spilling its contents, was lying close by.

As she hurried over to him, to her utmost relief he began to struggle to his feet. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked anxiously.

‘Fine, I guess… Apart from some minor damage to one arm.’ His voice was deep and attractive, an educated voice with a hint of an accent she couldn’t quite place.

‘Then I did hit you? I’m so sorry.’

‘Just brushed me. Unfortunately it was enough to make me lose my footing and slip on the cobbles. I landed on my elbow.’

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ she said again.

‘You’re not to blame. It was entirely my own fault. I didn’t realise you were so close. If I hadn’t stepped out in front of you it would never have happened.’

When he’d one-handedly gathered up the carrier and its contents and moved out of the deeper shadow, she was able to make out that he was tall, at least six foot, she judged, and broad across the shoulders.

Despite being marked from their contact with the ground, his well-cut trousers and car-coat were unmistakably expensive.

His left arm appeared to be hanging useless and, concerned, she asked, ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

After making an effort to lift it, he admitted, ‘I seem to have no use in it at the moment.’

‘Perhaps you should go to the Accident and Emergency unit at—’

‘On Christmas Eve? Not on your life! No, I’m sure it isn’t serious. So long as I’m able to drive.’

‘I don’t see how you can drive in that state,’ she objected.

‘You may have a point. In which case I’d better try to find a taxi.’ Ruefully, he added, ‘I’ve been in town most of the afternoon and I haven’t seen any about, which rather suggests that they might be few and far between.’

He was right. At Your Service, the town’s main taxi firm, had recently closed down, and as yet no one had taken their place.

Still feeling she was partly to blame, despite his disclaimer, Anna offered, ‘If you like, I’ll drive you home.’

‘I couldn’t possibly put you to so much trouble.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s the very least I can do. Where do you live?’

‘On the Old Castle Road.’

Off hand she couldn’t recall any houses on that quiet, country road, apart from the Manor. But it was a while since she’d been that way, and new estates were springing up everywhere.

‘Then it really is no trouble,’ she said briskly. ‘That’s the way I’m going.’

It was true that Cleo and her family lived in that general direction, but not nearly so far out of town.

‘If that’s so, I’ll accept your kind offer… Perhaps you’ll be good enough to take this while I collect the rest of my provisions?’

As Anna relieved him of the carrier and put it in the back of her own car, he crossed to a dark-coloured Laguna parked close by.

Through the falling snow she watched him fish in his pocket for the keys, open the boot, and with one hand begin to manoeuvre a box of groceries.

It seemed he’d been shopping for his wife.

‘Let me.’ As soon as the box had joined the other things on the back seat, she invited, ‘Jump in.’

As she took her place behind the wheel, he slid in beside her and turned his head to look at her.

He saw a face of enchanting beauty. Long-lashed almond eyes set wide apart—eyes that were the colour of wood-smoke—high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a lovely mouth above a softly rounded chin. Her smooth dark hair, which was taken up in a knot, was spangled with snowflakes.

In the glare of the overhead light she saw him properly for the first time, and what she saw threw her completely.

For a long moment a sense of shock held her rigid. His sidelong glance, the shape of his head and that cleft chin, reminded her of David.

But he wasn’t really like David.

His eyes were green, flecked with gold.

David’s had been blue.

His hair, when dry, would have the bleached paleness of ripe corn, while in fascinating contrast his brows and lashes were dark.

David’s brows and lashes had been as fair as his hair.

His tanned, good-looking face was hard-boned and tough.

David’s had been boyishly handsome.

Added to that, this man must be in the region of thirty, where David had been just twenty-two at that time. A year younger than herself.

No, he wasn’t like David at all.

Yet his effect on her was just as immediate, just as intense, abruptly destroying her composure and robbing her of any self-assurance.

‘Something wrong?’ he asked.

‘No.’ Her voice shook betrayingly as she added, ‘Just for a second you reminded me of someone I used to know.’

Turning hastily away, she started the car, and, driving with care, made her way out of the car park.

The town centre was aglow with fairy lights and decorations, the shop windows bright with Christmas cheer. Around the tall tree set up in the Old Market Square, a group from the local church were singing carols and collecting for charity.

There were plenty of people still about, spilling from the shops and stores, laden down with last-minute purchases of gifts and goodies.

The falling snow, which at any other time would have been condemned as an inconvenience, added the final festive touch.

‘A picture-postcard scene.’

Her passenger’s comment echoed Anna’s own thoughts.

‘Yes,’ she agreed, and because he affected her so strongly found herself talking too much. ‘The weather has been very changeable lately. First it was unseasonably mild, then just a couple of days ago we had a severe storm with gale-force winds that did a lot of damage locally. Now this looks like being the first white Christmas we’ve had for a long time.’

‘I ordered it especially,’ he told her. ‘I love snow, and it’s been years since I saw any.’

‘Then you don’t live in England?’

‘I do now. The wanderer has finally returned.’

‘Have you been back long?’

‘A day or two.’

‘From where?’

‘The States. After I left college I spent some time travelling the world before settling on America’s Western Seaboard. Eventually, having got into computer software, I bought a house on the coast and adopted the Californian lifestyle.’

‘Sun, sea, and sand?’ Anna murmured.

‘In a nutshell.’

‘Lucky you.’

‘After a while that kind of life can pall. I found I was longing for rural England and the changing seasons. Daffodils and April showers, the smell of summer and new-mown hay, October frosts and decaying leaves, November fogs and log fires… There was nothing particular to keep me in California—my business interests had diversified and become international—so when circumstances gave me the opportunity, I decided to come home.’

He hadn’t mentioned a wife, but such an attractive man was almost certain to be married, or at least in some long-term relationship…

Collecting her straying thoughts, she asked, ‘And you regard Rymington as home?’

‘I was born and bred here.’ With deliberation, he added, ‘At Hartington Manor, to be exact.’

While keeping her eyes on the road, Anna was aware that he was watching her intently, as though he expected some reaction.

‘Hartington Manor? Isn’t that where Sir Ian Strange used to live?’

‘That’s right. I’m Gideon Strange, his son.’

Sir Gideon Strange, and presumably living at the Manor now.

His continued regard made her even more self-conscious, and her voice was jerky as she said, ‘I was sorry to hear of your father’s death last year.’

‘Did you know him?’ The question was casual.

‘No, not personally. But he’s always been well known and highly respected in the town. He did a great deal for charity and local good causes.’

‘Yes, he liked to be regarded as a philanthropist.’

There was a suggestion of bitterness in the words.

‘I’d half expected him to leave his entire estate to some deserving charity. I could picture the Manor being turned into a home for abused women or stray cats and dogs.’

Then with a quick, sidelong, mocking smile, ‘No, I’ve nothing against either abused women or dumb animals. But though it’s too small to count as a stately home, the Manor is a beautiful old place. It would have been a pity to let it go out of the family. There’s been a Strange there since Elizabethan times.’

So why on earth would Sir Ian have left it to a charity, rather than his own son?

As though in answer to Anna’s unspoken question, Gideon Strange went on, ‘I’m afraid my father and I never quite saw eye to eye…’

The judicious wording convinced her that that was an understatement.

‘His carefully nurtured public image was somewhat different from the private reality, and I’m afraid he could never forgive me for pointing that out.’

Not knowing quite what to say, Anna kept silent.

After a short pause her companion changed the subject to ask, ‘Do you belong to these parts?’

‘Yes. In just a minute we’ll be passing where I was born and brought up… There… If you can see for the snow? The row of cottages on the right of what used to be the old village green… Ours was the second from the end.’

A lump in her throat, she added, ‘I always loved Drum Cottage.’ Then swallowing hard, ‘Cleo, the friend I’m going to spend Christmas with, used to live next door.’

‘No family left?’

‘No. My parents and my younger brother died four years ago in a train crash.’

After all this time it still had the power to hurt.

As though he knew, he said, ‘Tough.’

Then, after a moment, ‘So you’re planning to spend Christmas with a friend?’

‘Yes. At first I refused the invitation. You see, Cleo’s husband isn’t fond of company, and I thought I might be intruding… But she said the spare bed was ready and she had enough food to feed an army, so if I changed my mind I was simply to turn up…’

Finding she was babbling again, Anna resolutely closed her mouth.

By now they had reached the outskirts of the town and were bypassing the new estate where Cleo and her family had a neat, semi-detached house.

Leaving the last street lamp behind them, they started to wind their way up Old Castle Hill, the headlights making a tunnel between the trees and picking up the driving white curtain of snow.

‘So where do you live now, Anna?’

‘I have a bedsit in Grafton Street… What made you call me Anna?’ she asked sharply.

There was a barely perceptible pause, before he queried, ‘Do you prefer Savanna?’

‘No… It’s always been shortened to Anna. I mean, how did you know my name?’

‘It’s on the board above your shop for all to read. Savanna Sands. Very alliterative.’

‘How did you know that was my shop?’

‘I walked past earlier this afternoon and caught sight of you through the window.’

She frowned. ‘What made you presume I was the owner? I could have been anyone.’

‘The shop appeared to be empty of stock, and you were wielding a hammer with great determination.’

Before she could point out that he hadn’t really answered her question, he went on, ‘I rather got the impression that Savanna Sands is due to close down?’

‘It’s closed,’ she said flatly.

‘The end of a business, or a dream?’

His percipience was uncanny.

‘The latter. Since I was a child I’ve dreamt of running my very own bookshop.’

‘So what happened? Not enough customers, or not enough cash?’

‘Both. Tourist trade picks up in the summer, but I couldn’t wait till then. My overdraft was stretched to the limit, the lease was up, and the new owners of the building had doubled the rent.’

‘What will you do now?’

It was the same question Cleo had asked.

Anna gave the same answer. ‘As soon as Christmas is over, start looking for a job.’

‘An assistant in a bookshop maybe?’

Stung, she said, ‘I’m a qualified librarian.’

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him raise a well-marked brow, before he murmured, ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’

‘In a town this size I can’t imagine there are boundless opportunities, even for a qualified librarian?’

Hearing the mockery behind the politely phrased question, she made a point of not answering.

‘Of course, there’s always London,’ he pursued. ‘Or perhaps you feel a big city isn’t for you?’

He had the smooth abrasiveness of pumice-stone.

‘I know it isn’t. I lived and worked in London after I left college, and I was glad to leave it.’

‘You worked in a library?’

She shook her head. ‘I had a job as a secretary.’

‘But you were still keeping your dream alive.’

Though it was a statement rather than a question, she found herself answering, ‘Yes. At weekends, and in my spare time, I went to salerooms and auctions to try and collect together enough rare manuscripts and first editions to start my own business.’

‘An expensive undertaking, even for a well-paid secretary,’ he commented drily.

‘I had some capital.’ Annoyed that she’d let herself be provoked into telling a perfect stranger so much, she relapsed into silence, concentrating on her driving.

At the top of the long hill they skirted a bare spinney, where as a child she’d gathered wild primroses, before turning on to Old Castle Road.

The lights of Rymington, below them now and to their left, had vanished, blotted out by the falling snow. It was coming faster now, the wipers having a job to keep the windscreen clear.

Glancing to the right, Anna glimpsed the old red-brick wall of the Manor. The darkness and the conditions made it difficult to judge distances, but they couldn’t be too far away from the main gates.

Apparently reading her thoughts, her companion broke the silence to say, ‘Only a hundred yards or so to go. You’ll see the entrance in a moment.’

Just as he spoke, the headlights picked it up.

Anna had only ever seen the tall, wrought-iron gates closed. Now they stood wide open.

As she drove carefully through them and up the long, winding, unlit drive between tall trees, she remarked, ‘The weather seems to be getting worse. I expect your wife will be relieved to see you back.’

‘What makes you presume I’m married?’

‘Well…with all the shopping and everything…’

‘Even poor bachelors have to eat.’ He was undoubtedly laughing at her.

A shade stiffly, she said, ‘Of course.’

Through the snow the headlights picked up the bulk of a house and flashed across dark windows. It appeared to be deserted.

But of course it couldn’t be. A place the size of Hartington Manor was bound to have staff.

Yet, if there were servants, why had he been doing his own shopping?

She brought the car to a halt, and, remembering his injured arm, asked, ‘Can I help with the groceries?’

‘I’d be grateful if you would.’

Turning off the engine, she made to clamber out.

‘May I suggest that you wait here for a moment while I open the door and put on some lights? Normally the security lights would have been working, but the storm you mentioned earlier put an electricity substation out of action. We do have an emergency generator, but unfortunately it has only a very limited capacity.’

He retrieved the carrier, and she watched him walk through the snow to the house. Awkward, one-handed, he held the bag tucked beneath his arm while he felt in his pocket for the key and opened the door.

A moment later, the hall lights and a lantern above the door flashed on.

Switching off the car lights to save the battery, Anna lifted out the box and followed him into the house.

Shouldering the door shut against the snow blowing in, he led the way across a high, panelled hall, and into a large kitchen with a flagged floor and a massive inglenook fireplace.

In front of the hearth, where a log fire was already laid, were a couple of easy chairs and a small, sturdy table.

Beneath a deep shelf that held a gleaming array of copper saucepans and kettles was an Aga, which threw out a welcoming warmth. Around it, fitted in with care, marrying the old to the new, there was every modern convenience.

The only things missing seemed to be servants.

Anna put the box down on a long oak table and turned to the door.

‘Before you rush off,’ Gideon said, ‘I’ve a proposition to put to you.’

Watching her freeze, he added sardonically, ‘Oh, nothing improper, I assure you. It’s simply this: you’re in need of a job, and I’m in need of an experienced secretary-cum-librarian.’

Wondering if this was his idea of a joke, she looked at him warily.

‘Let me briefly explain. The internet gives me all the access I need to world markets, and enables me to buy and sell goods, services, whatever… So as soon as I’m properly established here, I intend to run my various business interests from home… Hence the need for a secretary.’

‘And a librarian?’

‘Hartington Manor has a very fine library, as you may well know.’

She half shook her head.

‘But for a while now it’s been somewhat neglected. I’d like to see it put in order and properly catalogued. With regard to salary, I thought something in the region of…’ He named a sum that no one in their right mind could have turned down.

When she merely stared at him, he added, ‘I hope you see that as reasonable?’

The slight edge to his tone made her wonder if he was waiting for some sign of gratitude or enthusiasm.

Before she could find her voice, however, he went on, ‘If you accept the post, I’d like you to start work straight after the holiday.’

There was a silence in which the confusion of her thoughts was barely contained.

Then, feeling the need to say something without committing herself, she asked the first thing that came into her head. ‘How big is the library?’

‘Quite large by private standards.’ He dangled the bait. ‘Why don’t you have a look?’

She took it. ‘I’d like to.’

Even if she didn’t accept the job, the opportunity to have a quick look at the Manor’s library was one she couldn’t miss.

‘Then please feel free.’

He made no immediate move to take her and, somewhat at a loss, she waited.

It appeared that his thoughts were straying, because it was a few seconds before he said, ‘If you come with me, I’ll show you where the library is.’

He led her back across the hall, past an imposing central staircase on one side of which—rather incongruously, she thought—stood a large brass gong, and, opening one of the double oak doors at the rear, switched on the lights.

‘I’m afraid it’s not very warm in here. The central heating is electric, so at the moment it’s not working.’

Casually, he added, ‘You could probably do with a hot cup of tea? I know I could, so I’ll go and put the kettle on while you take a look around.’

With a little smile, he closed the door quietly behind him and left her to it.

CHAPTER TWO

THE library was a high, handsome room, with a large stone fireplace and mullioned windows. On every wall there were shelves from floor to ceiling, filled with an array of books that delighted Anna’s heart.

At first glance everything seemed to be well cared for. She could discern none of the neglect that Gideon Strange had mentioned.

In one corner was a little pulpit-staircase. It was made of dark oak and beautifully carved; a polished handrail supported by banisters followed the spiral of the steps.

She went over to it and found it moved easily on hidden castors. Slipping off her boots, she climbed the smooth treads and found she could reach the top shelf of books with ease.

Working here would be a pleasure.

But did she want to work for Gideon Strange?

One half of her wanted to very much, but the sensible half warned against it.

Perhaps because of a fancied resemblance to David, there was a physical attraction that made being with him disturbing, to say the least. But could she afford to turn down a chance that, had her prospective employer been anyone else, she would have jumped at?

Perhaps if she asked for a few days to consider his offer? By the time Christmas was over she might feel differently, be able to face the thought of working for him with equanimity.

But who was she trying to fool? He was too charismatic, too strong a personality, altogether too dangerous for her peace of mind.

Though she’d only seen him relatively briefly, that tough, handsome face, with its breathtaking charm and more than a hint of arrogance, was etched indelibly on her mind.

The green eyes, long and narrow and heavily lashed; the chiselled mouth—oh, that mouth!—firm and clean-cut, a fascinating combination of strength and sensuality.

Rather like David’s, but with added maturity.

No, she was wrong. David’s mouth, while charming, had totally lacked that strength. It might even have been a little weak.

To her great surprise she realised that David had suddenly become shallow and lightweight compared to Gideon Strange…

Which only stiffened her resolve to refuse his offer. Having been badly burnt once had made her wary. He had the kind of explosive sexuality that made her want to run, and keep running…

A soft patter of snow being dashed against the windows drew her attention. The plum velvet curtains were open, and through the darkness pressing against diamond-leaded panes she could see the white flakes scurrying past.

It seemed the wind was rising.

If she didn’t leave quite soon she might have difficulty getting back to Cleo’s, where everything was light and bright and modern, and the only books were dog-eared paperbacks jostling for space on chipboard shelves.

She descended the steps carefully, put on her boots and, after switching off the lights, hurried back to the kitchen.

The shopping had been unpacked and the thick folk-weave curtains drawn across the windows. A bunch of mistletoe with gleaming white berries lay on the draining board.

Still wearing his jacket, and looking even taller and broader than she remembered, Gideon Strange was putting tea things on a tray. His fair hair, she noticed, was a little rumpled and quite wet.

Glancing up, he said easily, ‘Ah, there you are. The tea’s already made.’

Just the sight of him, the sound of his voice, told her that she hadn’t been mistaken about his intense attraction. Well, she wouldn’t be caught in that trap again. She had shed too many tears over David to want to repeat the experience.

‘Thanks, but I really haven’t time,’ she said briskly.

His tone studiously casual, he refused to take no for an answer. ‘Just a quick cup before you go. You must be more than ready for one.’

She was, but anxiety to escape, to get on her way, was her prime consideration.

‘Milk and sugar?’ he asked politely.

‘Just a little milk, please.’

Seeing him fumble one-handed to open a four-pint plastic bottle of milk, she said, ‘Let me.’

Watching her deftly undo the top, remove the seal and half fill a jug, he said reflectively, ‘I could do with you staying until I get the use back in this blasted arm.’

‘But surely you can’t be on your own here?’

Without answering, he poured out two cups of tea and, handing her one, suggested, ‘Why don’t you sit down for a minute?’

Remaining standing, she protested, ‘You must have servants? I mean, in a place this size…’ Her voice tailed off helplessly.

‘In the normal way of things there’s a full staff, of course. But the Manor hasn’t been occupied since my father died. Only Mary Morrison, who was my father’s secretary, and her husband Arthur, who used to be the chauffeur, stayed on. They’ve lived here since before I was born, so they regard it as their home—’

‘But if your father’s secretary still lives here, why do you need to engage another one?’

Without a flicker of an eyelid, he answered, ‘Because Mary is turned sixty and looking forward to a quiet life rather than a full-time job.’

When Anna said nothing further, he went on, ‘The Morrisons haven’t had a holiday this year, and they wanted to go up to Scotland to spend Christmas and New Year with Arthur’s sister. I wasn’t expecting to be back in time for Christmas, so I told them to close up the house and go ahead.’

More than a little surprised by his long-winded explanation—it didn’t seem to be his style at all—she asked, ‘Then there’s no one else here?’

‘No, indeed.’ With soft emphasis he added, ‘We’re quite alone.’

His words seemed to hold more than a hint of satisfaction, and she felt a sudden disquiet. She’d been on edge from the start, but this was different.

Repressing a shiver brought on by apprehension, Anna warned herself not to let her imagination run riot.

Yet something in his manner, and the knowledge that they were quite alone, was far from reassuring. It must be a good half-mile to the road, and a great deal more than that to the nearest house…

Resolutely pushing away that alarming thought, she reminded herself firmly that Gideon Strange was the son of a well-respected baronet, and the new owner of Hartington Manor.

Of course he posed no threat, had no designs on her. Why on earth should he? She was just a stranger who, because of the circumstances, had given him a lift home, and to whom he’d offered a job.

If there were any more personal feelings, they were on her side… Which was why she’d decided not to accept his offer.

As though he could see into her mind, he said, ‘I take it you’ve come to a decision?’

‘Y-you mean about the job?’ she stammered. ‘Well, I…’ Then, chickening out, knowing it would be a lot easier to say no from the other end of a telephone, she lied, ‘I—I’d like a chance to think it over, if you don’t mind.’

His green eyes glinted. ‘I actually meant about staying here. Don’t you think, as we’re both on our own, that it would be nice if we were to spend Christmas together?’

Trying to believe he was teasing, she answered as lightly as possible, ‘Thanks for the offer, but I couldn’t possibly stay.’

Finishing her tea as quickly as she could, she put her cup back in the saucer with a little rattle, and, striving to sound casual, remarked, ‘Cleo will be wondering where on earth I’ve got to.’

Dark brows lifted a fraction. ‘I understood you to say she wasn’t expecting you?’

Cursing herself for telling him so much, Anna said weakly, ‘She knows me well enough to be certain I’d change my mind. Now I really must be going. They eat about seven, as soon as the twins have gone to bed…’

‘Well, if I can’t persuade you to stay,’ he murmured regretfully, ‘I’ll see you to the door.’

At that instant the lights flickered and went out.

Anna’s gasp was audible.

‘Don’t worry.’ In the darkness, Gideon’s voice sounded unconcerned. ‘It’s the generator. I’m afraid it’s on the blink. If you stay where you are for a moment, I’ll find a candle.’

Just as he finished speaking, the lights flashed on again, brilliant after the momentary blackness.

With a feeling of relief she hurried out of the kitchen and, trying belatedly to look as if she wasn’t escaping, crossed the hall to the front door.

Though she’d had several seconds’ start, and Gideon didn’t appear to be moving quickly, he was there before her.

His back to the dark wood, blocking her way, he said, ‘Let me know about the job, won’t you?’

‘Yes… Yes, I will.’

‘Oh, just one more thing…’

She paused and looked up at him. Close to, he dwarfed her five feet seven inches, and his shoulders seemed as wide as a barn door.

He lifted his right hand over their heads and, before she could react to the sprig of mistletoe he held, bent his head and kissed her on the lips.

For a few endless seconds she stood transfixed while that firm mouth covered hers, making her heart race and her head spin. Then, jerking away as though she’d been scalded, she brushed past him and pulled open the door.

She was shocked to find everywhere was white-over and a full-scale blizzard had started to blow. Snowflakes gusted in, swirling round their heads like handfuls of icy confetti.

‘I think it would be extremely unwise to set off in conditions like these,’ Gideon advised evenly.

Panic-stricken at the thought of having to stay, she insisted, ‘I’ll be all right, really I will. I don’t have too far to go.’

Disturbed, almost shocked by the effect of that relatively innocent kiss, she knew wild horses would have had a job to keep her there.

‘Well, do take care.’

Ducking her head, she made her way through the driving white curtain to the car.

Standing in the doorway, Gideon called after her, ‘Goodnight, Anna, and a merry Christmas.’

Somehow she managed, ‘Thank you, and the same to you.’

Slamming the car door behind her, she fastened her seat belt and felt for the keys which she’d left in the ignition.

Though the lights came on feebly, proving it wasn’t the battery, the engine flatly refused to start.

‘Try it without the lights,’ Gideon shouted, appearing at the car window.

She tried repeatedly, without success and with growing desperation.

Opening the car door a crack, he remarked cheerfully, ‘It doesn’t seem to be firing.’

Endeavouring to speak calmly, she asked, ‘Is there anything you can do?’

‘I’m sorry to say I don’t know much about machinery.’ Humorously, he added, ‘When I tried tinkering with the generator I only seemed to make matters worse.’

In an odd kind of way his answer surprised her. She had put him down as a man who would be able to deal with almost anything.

‘You don’t have another car, I suppose?’ She was clutching at straws.

‘I’m afraid not. All the family cars were sold after my father died.’

Freezing snow was blowing in, settling on her hair, making her shiver. ‘Then it will have to be a taxi.’

‘I doubt if any taxis will continue to run in these conditions.’

‘It’s quite likely that the main roads will still be clear. Please will you phone for me?’

‘Sorry. That isn’t possible.’

‘Why isn’t it possible?’ she asked sharply.

‘Because the phone isn’t working. The gales blew down several trees, which in turn brought down the line…’ He was having to shout, the wind whipping away his words. ‘I gather it will be after Christmas before they get round to mending it.’

‘Haven’t you got a mobile phone?’ Most people had these days. Though of course he was newly over from the States…

Opening the door fully, he said, ‘Yes, I hired one. But unfortunately I wasn’t thinking, and I left it in my car.’ Then, briskly, ‘Now, may I suggest you come back inside, before we both freeze to death?’

For one mad moment she toyed with the idea of setting off on foot, until common sense reminded her that it must be something in the region of five miles back to where Cleo lived.

It would be unwise, to say the least, to attempt to walk that far at night and in a raging blizzard, wearing high-heeled fashion boots.

Fate, it seemed, was against her.

Seeing nothing else for it, she clambered out.

‘I expect you’ll be wanting these.’ Reaching over, he used his right hand to gather up her bag and case from the rear seat, then leaned against the car door to close it.

Head down against the driving snow, her teeth clenched to stop them chattering, Anna followed him back to the house.

The air inside felt almost as cold as the outside, and a drift of snow, blown in through the partly open door, powdered the dark oak floorboards.

Using his foot to shut the door behind them, Gideon remarked, ‘As I said earlier, the central heating isn’t working, so with an Aga that runs on either gas or solid fuel, the warmest place in the house is the kitchen.’

He led the way back there and, putting her belongings on an old settle, shrugged out of his wet jacket and hung it on one of a row of large, wooden pegs.

‘Let me.’ Having one-handedly helped her off with her coat, he hung it beside his own, before finding a couple of towels. ‘Better dry your hair. You don’t want to catch a chill.’

He rubbed his own head then, leaving the towel hanging around his neck, crossed to the huge fireplace, both sides of which were stacked with kindling, split logs and sawn-off branches the size of young trees.

Anna dried her face. Her cheeks felt stiff and frozen, her ears were numb, and she could tell her nose was red.

While she removed the pins and rubbed her long, dark hair, she watched him take a match from the box, strike it with a flick of his thumbnail, and crouch on his haunches to light the kindling.

Then, his right hand flat on the stone hearth, he leaned forward to blow the faltering flame into life.

She noticed that he wore a heavy gold signet-ring on his fourth finger, before her eyes were drawn to his handsome profile.

Once again she saw a sneaking likeness to David.

But while David’s profile had been just as handsome, it had had nothing of the ruthless quality that this man’s possessed.

Using both hands to pull back her still damp hair, she knotted it loosely in the nape of her neck, while a shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with the cold.

What on earth was she going to do, stranded here alone with this disturbing stranger?

Her practical streak pointed out that there wasn’t much she could do. Somehow she would have to pull herself together and make the best of things. At least until the blizzard stopped.

But even if it did stop she wouldn’t be able to leave until morning, and the thought of having to spend the night here was a nerve-racking one, to say the least…

Glancing up, he said sardonically, ‘There’s no need to look quite so scared. I only turn into a werewolf at full moon.’

She was hoping he couldn’t see the colour that his words had whipped into her cheeks, when he added, ‘Come and get warm by the fire.’

Chilled to the bone, needing no more urging, Anna went over to stand in front of the huge fireplace where the logs were blazing merrily and already starting to throw out a comforting heat.

Watching him use his right hand to pull up an easy chair for her, Anna felt a sudden shame that she’d thought only of herself and not of him. His elbow must have taken a nasty knock, and if the life was starting to come back into it he might well be in considerable pain.

‘Would you like me to take a look at your arm? If you have a first aid box, it’s possible there may be some liniment, or something that would help to ease any—’

‘I’m sure you’d make a charming nurse,’ he broke in smoothly, ‘but it really isn’t necessary. It will no doubt be good as new by morning. Now, I propose we have an aperitif, while I rustle us up something to eat.’

On edge and apprehensive, Anna had never felt less like eating. But no doubt he was hungry.

‘Perhaps I’d better do it?’ she offered.

‘My cooking’s not that bad,’ he said drily.

‘I was thinking of your arm.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll make it a one-handed job. But before I start, is there anything in particular that you dislike?’

‘No, I like most things.’

‘I was considering a stir-fry, if that suits you? Everything comes in ready-to-use packs, which simplifies matters, and we can eat it on our knees in front of the fire.’

‘A stir-fry sounds fine.’

Having discarded the towel, he produced a bottle of sherry, a bottle of white wine and a corkscrew.

‘There is something you can do, after all. Opening bottles seems to require two hands.’

The lights, which weren’t over-bright at the best of times, flickered and went out, leaving only the firelight.

As Anna stood irresolute they flashed on again, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Firelight alone made things much too intimate for her peace of mind.

When both bottles had been opened, Gideon put the wine on one side and poured the pale amber sherry. Passing her a glass, he said, ‘I hope you like it fairly dry?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ She didn’t drink alcohol as a rule, but this seemed no time to say so.

Returning to her chair, she stretched her feet to the blaze and sipped her sherry. Covertly, from beneath long, dark lashes, she watched him assemble the ingredients for a stir-fry, and put a wok to heat on the Aga.

He was wearing a cream cable-knit sweater that emphasised the width of his chest and shoulders. His corn-coloured hair was rumpled, and a single lock had fallen over his forehead, making him look disarmingly boyish.

Which she was quite sure he was not.

He was a mature and dangerous man, and she would do well to remember that, rather than allow herself to be lulled into a false sense of security…

As the unaccustomed sherry and the warmth of the fire banished the chill from her bones, Anna began to relax and try to take a more rational view of the situation.

Though she didn’t like being stranded here alone with Gideon Strange, things weren’t really that desperate.

She had food and warmth and a roof over her head and, as she’d reminded herself earlier, he was a man of some standing, and no doubt perfectly trustworthy.

He might have kissed her under the mistletoe, but on Christmas Eve that could hardly be counted as a crime. And honesty made her admit that, had it been any other man, she wouldn’t have given the kiss a second thought.

Because he reminded her of David, and brought to life all the feelings she had worked so hard to stifle, she was tense and hypersensitive.

Which made the prospect of having to spend the rest of the evening in his company a daunting one.

But rather than let it throw her, what she must do was stay calm and unmoved. Or at least appear to.

If by any chance he did make a pass at her, she could quietly freeze him off. After all, past boyfriends had remarked with some bitterness that it was something she was good at! And though he might not relish having to take no for an answer, she couldn’t see him forcing himself on any woman.

He wouldn’t need to. A man such as he was more likely to have to fight off eager females.

It seemed strange that he wasn’t married. Perhaps he was the ‘love ’em and leave ’em’ type? Or maybe he preferred a live-in lover? She couldn’t see a man with such an aura of sexuality living like a monk.

But if he was involved in any kind of serious, long-term relationship, why had he returned home alone? Unless his partner planned to follow…

‘The best thing about a stir-fry is that it doesn’t take too long.’

Gideon’s voice broke into Anna’s thoughts and, startled, she looked up to find him by her side. He was holding a small round tray which he settled on her knees. It held a napkin, a glass of wine, a bowl heaped with chicken, prawns and colourful vegetables, and a pair of chopsticks.

He put the bottle containing the remaining wine on the low table, and a moment later, equipped with a matching tray, took his seat opposite.

Raising his glass, so the flickering flames turned the colourless wine to gold, he said, ‘Here’s to us!’

She drank dutifully.

‘A stir-fry may not be particularly appropriate,’ he admitted with a grin, ‘but tuck in while it’s nice and hot.’

Suddenly finding she was hungry after all, she needed no more urging.

For a while they ate in silence, then, picking up the bottle of wine, he leaned forward to refill her glass.

She shook her head. ‘No more for me, thank you.’

‘Sure you won’t have another glass? After all, it is Christmas Eve.’

‘I don’t think so, thanks,’ she refused politely. ‘I don’t usually drink.’

‘How virtuous of you.’

Ignoring the blatant mockery, she concentrated on her food. It was surprisingly good, and when her bowl was empty she looked up to say, ‘Thank you very much. I enjoyed that.’

‘Tomorrow we’ll stick with traditional Christmas fare—turkey, stuffing, and all the trimmings. I even remembered to buy cranberry sauce,’ he added triumphantly.

When she said nothing, he quirked an eyebrow at her. ‘Don’t you think congratulations are in order?’

‘I expect to be gone by tomorrow morning.’ Her voice was unconsciously edgy.

‘Listening to that wind howling, and the snow beating against the windows, I shouldn’t bet on it. I remember a similar blizzard when I was a boy,’ he went on reminiscently. ‘Because the drive dips in several places, and the contours of the land encourage drifting, we were snowed in for several days. Still, if we are snowbound, we’ve plenty of food and drink and a good supply of logs, so there’s nothing to worry about. We’re lucky, really.’

It was pretty much what she’d told herself earlier, but hearing him sound so glib and self-satisfied touched her on the raw.

Suddenly, he started to chuckle.

It was a deep, attractive sound that at any other time would have made her want to laugh with him. Now, she protested stiffly, ‘I really don’t see anything to laugh at.’

‘You’re not sitting where I am. If you could see your face!’

Her grey eyes sparkling with anger, she pointed out, ‘It’s all right for you. You’re at home, where you want to be.’

‘Do I take it you’d sooner be sitting alone in a bedsit? Or inflicting yourself on a family who may not really want you?’

Cheeks burning, Anna wished, not for the first time, that she hadn’t told him so much. She wasn’t usually so forthcoming. It had been sheer nervousness that had made her babble on.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said after a moment. ‘That wasn’t particularly kind.’

She grasped the nettle. ‘No, but it doesn’t stop it being true.’

‘Actually, I doubt if it is. Put it down to pique on my part, because I’m very happy with the way things have turned out.’

When, flustered, she said nothing, he went on, ‘If you were born and bred here, you must have plenty of close friends?’

‘After I left school I was away at college for three years, and then I lived in London for two. I lost touch with most of them.’

‘Well, if there’s nothing spoiling, so to speak, I don’t see why you’re so desperate to get away. I know that at the moment the Manor has a distinct lack of creature comforts, but I was hoping you might have enough spirit to be able to regard being marooned here as fun, a kind of adventure…’

That was how she would have regarded it, had the man been any other than himself.

But she could hardly tell him that.

Eyes gleaming between those fascinating long lashes, he went on with mock sympathy, ‘But I guess the whole thing must be terribly unnerving, especially when the lights keep going out—’

As though on cue, the lights flickered and dimmed, before brightening again.

‘—and you’re stranded in the dark with a man you know absolutely nothing about. A man who could be anything or anybody…’

Well aware by now that she was being teased, she smiled and said, ‘It’s not quite that bad. After all, I know you’re Sir Ian’s son, and the new master of Hartington Manor.’

‘Well, now you’re satisfied that I pose no threat—’

‘I didn’t say that.’ The words were out before she could prevent them.

Green eyes alight with laughter, he glanced at the mistletoe, which he’d hung from a hook on the beamed ceiling. ‘Ah! Well, perhaps if I burn the mistletoe?’

It was clear that he’d noticed her reaction to his kiss. But then an experienced man such as he could hardly have failed to.

Blushing furiously, she said, ‘I hardly think it’s necessary to burn it.’

‘You mean if I just refrain from making use of it?’ He sighed deeply. ‘A pity, really, as it’s the festive season. Still, if that’s what it takes to make you feel happy and secure… Now, would you like anything else to eat? Fruit? Cheese? Christmas cake?’

‘Nothing else, thank you,’ she said primly.

‘Then I’ll make some coffee.’

While he filled a cafétière and set a tray with sugar, cream and fine bone-china cups, she thought about what had just been said.

In an odd sort of way, bringing things into the open had eased the tension and created a more friendly atmosphere.

His whole attitude had shown clearly that any problem had been on her side. But then she’d known that from the start. It had been her reaction to him that had made things so uncomfortable…

‘If you’d be so kind…?’

Glancing up, anticipating his need, she pulled the small table into place.

Sliding the tray on to it, he asked, ‘How do you like your coffee?’

‘A little cream, please. No sugar.’

She noticed he took his own black, with neither cream nor sugar.

While they drank, they sat staring into the leaping flames and listening to the sizzle of snowflakes falling down the chimney on to the burning logs.

The silence had become easy, almost companionable, and the prospect of spending the rest of the evening in his company was no longer quite so daunting.

When their cups were empty, Gideon asked cheerfully, ‘Now, what shall we do until bedtime?’

‘Perhaps I’d better start by washing up.’

He shook his head. ‘We have a dishwasher when there’s sufficient electricity to run it. I meant what shall we do by way of entertainment? There’s television, of course, but the living-room is bound to be as cold as charity, and I’m not sure that the generator will take the strain.’

Anna shook her head. ‘I don’t care much for television. I’ve always preferred books.’

‘I’m with you there! Well, if it’s books you want, there are certainly plenty of those. Apart from the library itself, my father half filled the study with his own personal collection of first editions.’

‘Really?’

‘Though I’m not particularly knowledgeable on the subject,’ Gideon added levelly, ‘it’s an interest I share. So if you’d care to see the collection some time, I’ll be happy to show you.’

The offer was made casually, but she answered with undisguised eagerness, ‘Thank you. I’d like that.’

‘As you may imagine, going through catalogues and suchlike took up a great deal of time; that’s why Mary Morrison became his secretary.’

‘I’d no idea that your father was a collector,’ Anna remarked.

Just for an instant she saw a look that might have been angry disbelief on Gideon’s face, then it was gone.

‘You astonish me,’ he said coolly. ‘I’d always presumed it was common knowledge, at least among the people who knew him reasonably well.’

‘As I said earlier I didn’t know him personally. I just knew of him.’

‘All the same,’ Gideon persisted, ‘as you and he were presumably competitors in the same market, I would have expected you to have at least heard his name mentioned in that connection.’

Wondering why it mattered, why he was making an issue of it, she shook her head. ‘Not necessarily. You see, if it becomes known that a wealthy collector is interested in a certain item it can push the price sky-high, so a lot of the more serious collectors find it better to buy through an agent rather than get involved on a personal level.’

She couldn’t tell whether she’d convinced him or not. His face was expressionless, his green eyes hard and opaque as jade, hiding his thoughts.

After a moment, he shrugged and admitted lightly, ‘That makes sense, I suppose. Buying and selling is business, whatever commodity is involved.’

She was pleased that finally he seemed to have accepted what she’d told him.

Still the puzzle remained—why had he looked as though he disbelieved her in the first place? What possible reason could she have for lying about a thing like that?

CHAPTER THREE

ALL at once a log slipped and rolled on to the hearth in a shower of bright sparks. Gideon got to his feet and used a large pair of tongs to replace it.

Having resumed his seat, he gave her a lopsided smile that did strange things to her breathing and pulse rate before remarking, ‘Now, after getting sidetracked, suppose we continue with our discussion?’

Wits scattered, she said vaguely, ‘Our discussion?’

‘If you remember, we were trying to decide on our evening’s fun. We’ve just dismissed television, so that rules out two possibilities…’

‘Two?’

He gave a sideways glance at the mistletoe, then watched with undisguised amusement while the colour rose in her cheeks.

Gritting her teeth, she asked as evenly as possible, ‘Are there any playing cards? Or a chess set, perhaps?’

‘There used to be, but I’ve no idea whether they still exist.’ His face suddenly wintry, he went on, ‘The only games my father enjoyed playing were with women… Or rather with a succession of girls, most of whom were young enough to be his daughter.’

Catching sight of her expression, he commented, ‘You look surprised.’

‘I am.’ Without thinking about it, she had always presumed that Sir Ian was the epitome of respectable upper-class morality.

The green eyes pinned her. ‘Then you had no idea?’

Shaking her head, she said, ‘No.’

‘Now it’s my turn to be surprised. Though he was always very careful to be discreet, more often than not that kind of thing gets about, and mud sticks, especially in a small town like Rymington.’

Again she shook her head. ‘I’ve never heard a word breathed against him.’

Gideon shrugged, and changed the subject to query casually, ‘How much of Hartington Manor have you seen?’

Wondering why he was asking when he knew quite well, she answered, ‘The hall, the kitchen, and the library.’

‘You haven’t seen the rest of this wing, or the older part?’

‘No. I didn’t know there was an older part.’

‘It’s quite spooky,’ he said with relish. ‘There are sliding panels and a secret passage. I’ll show you round if you like. It’s just the sort of thing to do on a dark and snowy Christmas Eve.’

Anna found herself wondering if he was trying to wind her up. Or had he perhaps, in his youth, read too many adventure yarns?

Perhaps her expressive face gave away what she was thinking, because he grinned at her and added, ‘Then we’ll come back and sit round the fire and tell each other true-life ghost stories.’

Carefully, she said, ‘I’m afraid I don’t know any true-life ghost stories.’

‘No personal experience? You’ve never actually met a ghost?’

‘Not to my knowledge. But then that’s hardly surprising, considering where I’ve lived. You can’t expect any self-respecting ghost to bother haunting a tiny three-bedroomed cottage or a bedsit.’

‘Yes, I can quite see it might cramp their style. Whereas a place of this size…’ He paused, waiting for her to ask.

Widening her eyes, she obliged. ‘You mean Hartington Manor has a real live ghost?’

He gave a pained frown. ‘I can see you don’t take the matter seriously.’

‘Should I?’

‘Oh, definitely. We can’t have Sir Roger upset.’

‘Sir Roger?’

‘Sir Roger Strange. But I’ll tell you all about him later… Now, are you game?’

‘I suppose so,’ she agreed a shade doubtfully. There was something about his manner, the glint in his eye, that she didn’t altogether trust.

‘Then let’s get started.’ He got to his feet and offered a hand to pull her up.

Pretending she hadn’t seen it, she rose obediently.

‘It’s bound to be cold,’ he remarked, ‘so we’d better have our coats.’

He lifted Anna’s down and held it one-handed while she slipped it on, before shrugging into his own jacket. ‘And we’ll need a candle and some matches to take with us.’

Wondering what he was up to, she asked, ‘But surely the lights will work?’

‘Oh, yes, if the generator holds out. But not all the house has been modernised, so we’ll need the candle for later.’

Trying to sound merely practical, she asked, ‘Wouldn’t it make more sense to go when it’s daylight?’

‘What, and spoil the fun?’

‘I think you’re trying to scare me.’

Instead of denying it, he asked, ‘Am I succeeding?’

‘No,’ she said firmly.

Collecting the matches, he dropped them into his jacket pocket. Then, while she watched with growing misgivings, he crossed to the huge dresser and picked up a beautifully ornate candlestick.

Made of black wrought iron, it was fashioned in the form of a dragon standing on clawed feet, while its tail curled to form a handgrip and its raised wings and open mouth held the candle.

‘Perhaps you wouldn’t mind carrying it for the moment?’ he asked politely.

She took it from him and found it was surprisingly heavy.

‘Now, shall we start in the basement?’ He turned to lead the way.

They went through a small door at the end of the hall and descended a flight of worn stone steps. There was a wide stone passage which branched off into a series of storerooms and sculleries.

Opening the door into a large, stone-flagged room, Gideon told her, ‘This used to be the kitchen, while the present kitchen was once the servants’ hall.’

Peering in, Anna saw deep stone sinks, a scrubbed oak table flanked by massive dressers and, in the huge fireplace, an old iron spit, big enough to roast a whole ox.

It was so cold their breath made a white vapour on the air, and she wasn’t sorry when he switched out the light and moved on.

At the end of the passage, another flight of steps led up to the main living quarters. A peep into the various rooms showed they were elegantly furnished, with beautiful wall-papers, ornately plastered ceilings, and everything necessary to gracious living.

‘As you can see this part of the house has been altered and brought up to date as much as possible, without spoiling the old place. It used to be quite comfortable, and no doubt will be again when the heating’s working,’ he added dryly.

‘On the floor above, apart from the Morrisons’ self-contained flat, there are seven bedrooms and various bathrooms, but there’s nothing much of interest, so I won’t take you upstairs until we go to bed.’

His words were innocent enough on the surface, but there was something, some nuance, that made every nerve-ending in her body tighten.

‘This archway leads through to the East Wing,’ he went on smoothly. ‘It hasn’t been lived in for donkey’s years, and it’s by far the most interesting. There’s neither gas nor electricity, so this is where we’ll need to light the candle.’ Taking it from her, he went on, ‘The matches are in my right-hand pocket, if you’d be kind enough to fish them out.’

Feeling in his pocket seemed somehow so personal that Anna had to brace herself to do it.

Judging by the mocking gleam in his eye, he knew exactly how she felt, and was enjoying her discomfort.

As she stepped closer, she fancied she could feel the warmth emanating from his body, and shivered in response.

The box located, she struck a match and lit the candle he was holding. She was annoyed to find that her hand shook.

‘Something bothering you?’ he asked innocently.

Hurriedly blowing out the match before it burnt her fingers, she replaced the box in his pocket, and answered, ‘I’m cold.’ It wasn’t a complete lie.

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