Miranda's Mount (10 page)

Devlin exhaled. ‘Wow.’

Jumeau’s lips twitched in a smile. ‘Remarkable, Lord St Merryn.’

‘It is,’ said Jago, ‘Please take a look. Handle the weapons, if you want to.’

Devlin and Jumeau needed no further invitation, treading carefully at first then casting aside their politeness and exploring the walls and cabinets, all packed with gruesome treasure captured and looted by Jago’s ancestors over the centuries, weapons used to kill, to defend the castle and subdue people far and wide. The armoury was widely thought to have one of the finest collections of weaponry in England, but Miranda had no intention of pointing that fact out. Their visitors probably knew that anyway.

Jago stood with his back to the window with Miranda beside him. The casement was open a little and a hundred feet below the sea crashed against the rocks. She watched the visitors picking up the weapons, Devlin grinned as he rifled through the loot like an overgrown schoolboy. Jumeau coolly assessed each piece, as if weighing up its value.

Miranda
risked a sideways glance at Jago. His lips were pressed together tightly as if he wanted to give the visitors space to look at their new acquisition – or found it painful to watch them handling his ancestors’ possessions. Her heart sank as Jumeau peered at a shield and frowned. She didn’t think she could bear to watch either.

She moved closer to Jago and whispered, ‘I think it’s going well, my lord.’

Jago said nothing, keeping his eyes on the visitors.

Miranda stifled a gasp as he touched the small of her back, briefly, right on the spot where Devlin’s fingers had been. He released her almost immediately but the way he’d touched her seemed as if he wanted to erase the other man’s print – or make his own mark on her.

His breath feathered her ear. ‘If you address me as “my lord” once more, I won’t be responsible for my actions.’

Her reply sounded like her throat had been dragged over glass, her skin still burning deliciously from that brief, confusing contact. ‘What actions would they be, my lord?’

There was a clatter as Devlin almost knocked over a breastplate, then a laugh of relief. Jago smiled urbanely at Devlin. Jumeau stared up at the decorated ceiling and Devlin grinned, mouthed ‘sorry’ and replaced the breastplate. They moved towards the far end of the armoury where the cutlass rested on its stand.

‘Jago …’ she whispered.

His reply was so soft it was barely audible. ‘Behave or I’m going to tip you over the castle wall.’

‘If you sell to these sharks, I’ll gladly jump.’

‘Chilling yet still beautiful.’ Jumeau’s voice echoed round the armoury as he swung round.

Miranda half
stumbled forwards as Jago touched her again then withdrew his hand, just in time.

Jumeau stood in a shaft of sunshine in front of the cutlass. ‘This piece is exceptionally beautiful. May I touch it?’

‘Be my guest.’

The air shimmered with tension as Jumeau took the cutlass reverently from its stand. A myriad of tiny dust motes danced around him in the light. Devlin turned to watch.

‘Be careful,’ said Jago.

‘
Bien sur
.’ Jumeau held the cutlass in front of him, transfixed. The steel blade gleamed in the sun, the light glinting on the razor-sharp edge. ‘How old is it?’

‘Well over three hundred and fifty years. Legend has it that it was captured from a pirate ship called
Jacaranda
off Tortuga in 1721,’ said Jago, Miranda allowed herself a tiny smile. She still fizzed from Jago’s fingertips, still reeled with confusion and desire.

‘Three hundred and fifty years?’

‘Yes. The fifth lord took it from the skipper of the
Jacaranda
himself, so they say.’ Jago stepped forwards until he faced Jumeau. ‘And I’m afraid, he used it to decapitate the captain then threw the head to the sharks.’

Jumeau held the cutlass away from him, momentarily, as if in fear of its power then laughed. ‘A fitting end for a thief.’

‘It was.’

‘If it’s true, of course. These old stories have a way of being – how do you say? –
embellished
over the years.’

Jago smiled but Miranda could tell he was angry. Jumeau was no soft touch but how had Jago ever expected him to be?

Jumeau balanced
the sword across his hands and held it out to Miranda. ‘A magnificent but lethal weapon. I will let you return it to its rightful place.’

Miranda took the hilt and found it cool and smooth. Carefully, she rested it back on its stand. Jago caught her eye; she couldn’t read his expression properly. It was a mix of anger, sadness and challenge. Her skin prickled as she realised all three men were focused on her. She had a ridiculous urge to cover her eyes with her hands. I can’t see them, so they can’t see me. That’s what she’d done when her mother had brought home a man she didn’t like. She hadn’t liked many of them. They’d made her skin crawl as Devlin and Jumeau had done.

As for Jago. He was part little boy, part very grown-up man. She wanted to look after him and guide him in the right direction and also give in and make love with him. His touch on her back had been … tender, possessive and tentative. Adventurer or robber? She just wasn’t sure which he was and she couldn’t afford to find out.

She checked her watch, alarmed to find her fingers trembling. ‘You know. I think it’s time we went for coffee. Lady St Merryn will be waiting for us in the library.’

Her ladyship was already at the door when they arrived, clearly having heard their tread on the stone steps. Jago introduced the men to his mother. She smiled briefly but Miranda knew her too well to believe she was even remotely happy to see them. And yet, if she wasn’t fully behind the deal, surely she would never have agreed to it?

Jago opened the door for them. ‘Please do go in. I need a quick word with Miranda,’ he said to Jumeau.

‘Won’t you be joining us?’ asked Jumeau.

‘I’m incredibly sorry but I’ve just had a message to say I’m needed urgently in the visitor centre,’ said Miranda, before Jago could speak.

The
door shut and he and Miranda were left alone.

‘What message?’ he said with a glare. It was all she could do not to laugh. Glaring made most people just look barking mad but being pissed off suited Jago. A few frown lines and weariness made him look older and more serious. She could almost believe he had depth to his character; that he’d suffered. Miranda had an insane urge to back him against the wall and push her tongue down his throat. Or was that hysteria taking over? What a bizarre morning. She felt like Red Riding Hood showing the wolf round Granny’s cottage.

‘I’ve done my duty for today,’ she said.

‘You did a bloody good job of trying to put them off, thank you very much!’

‘No need for thanks, it was a pleasure.’

‘And a lie. We don’t have dry rot and rising damp.’

‘I only pointed out some of the drawbacks to the place.’

Jago looked her up and down and folded his arms. ‘I think they’re already aware of those.’

Did he mean her? She didn’t care. She remembered the warmth of his hand on her back again and a shiver of desire rippled through her ‘You weren’t exactly friendly to them either.’

His eyes
lingered on her. Was he going to apologise for touching her? Explain why he did it? Tell her it was inappropriate behaviour and he should be ashamed? She didn’t want to hear those words. She wanted to let him know that touching her was highly appropriate and that she wanted more of it. A lot more.

And she hated herself for her weakness.

‘I know this is difficult, Miranda. I do understand,’ he said with unexpected gentleness.

‘You’d better not keep your visitors waiting,’ she said and left him alone in the corridor.

Ironically,
a genuine radio call from the offices had Miranda scuttling down to the quayside where she almost ran into Ronnie.

‘Wow, you look hot. Not in that way, of course.’ Ronnie grinned. ‘You’re not my type despite what some of the villagers think.’

‘I’ve guessed that by now.’ Miranda smiled. She knew that Ronnie’s Amazonian physique had people making assumptions. Living on the Mount wasn’t exactly the place to meet a wide variety of single, available people, let alone a man who could measure up to a six feet tall, ex-prison officer with cropped hair and a nose ring. Miranda pushed her hair out of her eyes. A few strands had escaped her ponytail. ‘I’d better get changed into my uniform.’

‘Why the civvies, anyway?’

‘Oh … we had visitors.’

Ronnie
folded her arms. ‘I saw. That exotic-looking suit is hot in every way. Who was it?’

Here we go
. ‘He’s called Pierre.’

‘Pierre? You have to be kidding? Frenchmen aren’t really called Pierre, are they?’

Miranda laughed, mostly with relief. ‘I don’t think French mothers quite understand the irony. He’s a business acquaintance of Jago’s. They came to see the Mount and offer their … opinions.’ At least, that wasn’t a fib but guilt swirled through her. She desperately hoped Ronnie wouldn’t ask her what the men wanted, she wasn’t sure she could lie straight out. And why, she thought with sudden anger, should she even try?

Ronnie blew out a breath. ‘Wow. Has Jago decided to grow up and run the place at last?’

‘I don’t know anything else. I just gave them a tour.’ Was it possible to actually die of guilt? thought Miranda.

Ronnie’s radio crackled. ‘Yes? What? Oh, for God’s sake, not again.’

‘What’s up?’

‘Some idiot’s tried to smuggle a peacock out in his rucksack and got halfway along the causeway. I’ll have to go and deal with it. By the way, Reggie says the drains are blocked by the harbourmaster’s office. Can you get the handyman out to them fast or there’ll be a right stink in this hot weather.’

Ronnie started to walk out then turned back with a worried face. ‘Oh and there’s just one more thing.’ Miranda’s stomach did a flip. Was this going to be a Columbo moment? Was Ronnie going to ask her about the sale? If so, she would have to tell Ronnie. She couldn’t go on like this.

‘Theo
Martin phoned while you were up at the castle. He said he wanted to talk about the arrangement for the Festival of Fools but he’d call back when you were here.’ Ronnie grinned. ‘If you want my opinion, I definitely think he fancies you.’

‘I don’t want your opinion,’ said Miranda, secretly glad of any distraction that took her mind off the morning’s events

‘Well, I must go. Peacock smuggler to catch.’ Ronnie dashed off to deal with the bird thief.

Peacock smuggling, drains and Fools. Oh the glamour, Miranda thought. Yet it was
her
glamour. The Mount, with all its quirks and problems, might only be a job but she had felt needed here; not an unwanted inconvenience, like she’d felt at home.

She walked back to her cottage, locked the door and leaned against it. Not only had she practically lied to Ronnie about Southcastle but she’d put up completely no resistance when Jago had seemed to start flirting with her in the armoury. If ever he’d had a way of distracting her and making her complicit in his plans to sell the Mount that had been it. She’d melted like a bloody snowflake on a bonfire. She knew there was a connection between them – not so much of a connection but a dangerous spark – but what he wanted to use it for, she didn’t know. Maybe he was clever enough to use her animosity towards Southcastle – by playing up to it and pretending he shared it, he’d got her to engage with him and now she was doing his dirty work with the staff, or rather not doing it by not telling them anything.

Wearily, she walked upstairs to the bathroom. Stripping off her clothes she stood naked in front of the wardrobe mirror. Her skin was flushed, her hair limp in the heat. She twisted round, as if there might be a mark left by Jago’s fleeting touch. She imagined his fingers resting at the base of her spine and slipping lower down the back of her skirt to cup her bottom. She closed her eyes.

‘Bugger.’

It was crazy to
think in this way about Jago, not to mention masochistic. Yes, she fancied him, along with half the population, probably. He was knicker-wettingly sexy and he was going to hurt her badly if she carried on like this. She stepped into the shower cubicle and slid the door back so hard it rattled. She turned on the shower and gasped as chilly water blasted down. It hurt but it focused her mind. She had to get on with the plans for the Festival of Fools and when she got back in the office she’d call Theo.

A few days later,
Miranda put down her office phone and punched the air. ‘Yes!’

Ronnie glanced up from writing her daily report. ‘What’s up? Won the lottery?’

‘No, but I’ve just booked the Fishermen’s Choir to sing at the Festival of Fools. They had a last-minute cancel lation.’

Ronnie rolled her eyes. ‘Rock and roll. The grannies will be chucking their thermals at them.’

Miranda giggled. ‘Don’t laugh. The older visitors will love them; they were on
Strictly
last week.’

‘I rest my case. Can’t you get Rage Against the Machine? Or Ozzy Osbourne? Then again, Ozzy would probably run off with one of the grannies.’

‘Our funds won’t run to it; we’re getting the choir at a reduced rate as it is. But there’s lots of other entertainment. I’ve booked jesters, fire-eaters, a storyteller, scrimshaw carvers and a bouncy castle.’

‘Great.
If
you’re five years old.’ Ronnie grinned to let Miranda know she was being wound up. ‘Did you call Theo Martin back?’

‘I
might have.’

‘And?’

‘He and the crew are bringing the inshore lifeboat over to the island for the Festival. The kids will love that.’ In fact, Theo had been very helpful and friendly, obviously delighted that the Lifeboat Station would benefit from the proceeds of the day. He’d promised that his crew and their supporters would turn out in force to support the day.

‘Only the kids?’ asked Ronnie.

‘Ronnie, give me a break. I don’t know Theo that well.’

‘But you like him.’

‘He’s nice, yes.’

‘Nice?’

‘OK. He’s probably the best-looking guy in Nanjizal and I love him to bits – along with everyone else, from the toddlers to the grannies.’