Running From the Storm (10 page)

The beneficiary, whilst wanting to get rid of the entire estate, didn’t mind if the land and the cottages were sold off piecemeal.

But Caris thought it would be a great pity, and was hoping to find a buyer who could and would keep the estate together.

‘So are they?’ Zander pressed.

‘Are you?’ she countered.

‘To my mind, breaking up the estate would be like breaking up a perfect, irreplaceable diamond.’

‘That’s exactly how I feel.’

The moment the words were out she could have bitten her tongue. As he clearly had no very friendly feelings towards her, she should have kept her sentiments to herself.

A further disturbing thought struck her: would the fact that she owned the agency make any difference to his decision whether or not to buy Gracedieu?

No, surely not? If he was really interested in the place, it was unlikely that he would allow personal considerations to influence him.

And she certainly couldn’t accuse him of lack of interest, she thought impatiently; he lingered to examine everything with a calculated deliberation that began to fray her nerves.

The first of the downstairs bathrooms had an old claw-footed bath and obsolete fittings and didn’t appear to have been used for years.

The one next door to the kitchen, however, had been especially adapted to meet a disabled person’s needs, and was quite up to date. Only the original heavy oak door had been retained, its ornate key still in the lock.

Reaching out a hand, Zander experimentally turned one of the gleaming taps and water splashed into the wash-basin.

The silence was becoming oppressive, and when he remarked on the walk-in bath and shower she was glad to explain that the previous owner had been a very old man.

‘It seems he was a bit of a recluse and extremely independent. The only person he would allow in the house was a woman from the village, who did his cleaning and his shopping.

‘Though his health was starting to fail, he wanted to stay in the home he loved without any outside “interference”, so when he could no longer manage the stairs he decided to have a wet-room put in and turn the kitchen into a kind of bedsit.’

‘I wondered what a bed was doing in there,’ Zander remarked, adding, ‘And was he able to? Stay in his own home, I mean?’

‘Yes, apparently he managed quite well for a while,’ Caris answered as she led the way across the hall and began to climb the stairs. ‘But last winter he caught pneumonia and died in hospital at the age of ninety-eight.’

Apart from their footsteps on the oak boards, the only sound was that of the storm raging outside. She was very aware of them being so alone, so isolated, cut off from the rest of the world.

She had hoped that Zander would take a more or less cursory walk through the upstairs rooms, but in spite of the chill air he seemed inclined to linger.

Growing restive, she made a determined attempt to speed things up. But, refusing to be hurried, he took his time.

When finally the tour was over and he allowed himself to be led down the servants’ stairs and back to the kitchen, Caris breathed a sigh of relief.

She couldn’t wait to get away.

Pausing only to close and latch the window she had opened earlier, she gathered up her belongings and said crisply, ‘Well, now you’ve seen over the house, would you like to take a look at the garage block?’

Prowling round the kitchen, peering into drawers and cupboards, he shook his head dismissively. ‘The garage block isn’t important; it can wait.’

‘Then shall we move on?’

‘Move on?’

‘I presume you want to take a tour of the estate?’

‘In this weather?’ His tone held incredulity.

As though to add weight to his objections, a particularly fierce gust of wind and rain beat against the casements.

‘Well, if you’d prefer to leave it for another day?’

‘I wouldn’t,’ he said categorically.

Momentarily at a loss, she asked, ‘Then what do you suggest we do?’

‘Stay here and wait until the storm’s over.’

Seized by a sudden panic, she cried, ‘Oh no, I really can’t!’

He raised a well-defined brow. ‘Does that mean you want to call the whole thing off?’

‘No, certainly not,’ she denied hastily. ‘But, as the weather’s so bad, instead of wasting both your time and mine surely it would be preferable to make other arrangements to see over the estate?’

‘It may be months before I’m back in this country; though I felt that Gracedieu might exactly suit my needs, there are other possible places on the market. But it’s up to you,’ he ended blandly.

She hesitated, more than reluctant to remain here in his company while he watched her in silence, a glint in his eye.

Finally, knowing that he held the whip hand, she agreed, ‘Then, of course I’ll stay.’

His little smile acknowledging that he knew it too, he said, ‘I thought you might.’

‘For a while at least,’ she qualified, unwilling to be browbeaten.

He gave her a quick glance but said no more.

It had been a terrible shock to find she was dealing with Zander, but now circumstances were turning the whole thing into an absolute nightmare.

Seeing the involuntary shiver that ran through her, he enquired solicitously, ‘Cold? Don’t worry; I’ll soon get the stove going.’

Not wanting him to get too settled, she objected, ‘But surely you won’t be able to. I mean … won’t everything be damp?’

‘We’ll see.’

While she hovered unhappily, he unearthed some kindling from a nearby log-basket, remarking with a prosaic tone, ‘This seems dry enough.’

She could see no sign of any matches, and she was just breathing a sigh of relief when he found a box.

He soon coaxed the kindling into life and it took only a second or two for a few small, carefully placed pieces of wood to catch fire. They were followed by a selection of split logs, and in a very short space of time the leaping flames were providing some much-needed light and warmth.

Pulling the armchairs closer to the blaze, he suggested, ‘Why don’t you come and sit down where it’s warm?’ His tone was neutral, neither friendly nor unfriendly.

Seeing nothing else for it, she reluctantly joined him by the fire.

As soon as she was seated, Zander sat down in the chair opposite and, leaning back, stretched his long legs towards the blaze and crossed his ankles.

He appeared to be quite comfortable, relaxed, but she could sense an underlying tension that told a different story, and the green eyes fixed on her were clouded with sombre thoughts.

Though she tried her hardest not to look in his direction, her furtive gaze was drawn irresistibly to his face.

He was as handsome as ever, those long, heavy-lidded eyes just as fascinating, while above a fine black polo-necked sweater his hair looked even fairer than she remembered.

Yes, he was the same, yet not the same. The carefree young man she had known was gone. Now he appeared older and there were lines of strain beside his mouth that hadn’t been there three years ago.

She found herself wondering what had caused them.

There was so much between them that had been left unsaid. With mingled feelings of trepidation and inevitability, Caris waited for him to speak, to bring up the past. To ask the question she was dreading having to answer.

But the seconds ticked away and still he said nothing, merely watched her.

Totally unnerved by that brooding scrutiny, she sought for a safe topic of conversation. But the silence stretched between them, dangerous as a minefield, and try as she might she could think of nothing to say or any way to defuse the situation.

All at once the storm raging outside and the tension inside took her back to Owl Lodge and that first night when, reluctant to go to bed, she and Zander had been sitting by the fire in silence …

The tension, a sexual one, had been almost tangible until the storm that had been threatening all evening finally broke, snapping like an overstretched rubber band.

Rain began to drum on the roof and beat against the windows, while drops falling down the chimney hissed as they hit the burning logs.

Jumping to his feet, Zander exclaimed, ‘Hell! I forgot to close the car roof.’

Pulling on his damp shoes and an oilskin that hung behind the door, he hurried out into the darkness.

He returned quite quickly, the oilskin gleaming in the lamplight, his hair darkened by the wet drops of rain running down his face.

‘Everything all right?’ she asked,

‘Not too bad, considering. Though it’s a bit wild out there.’

Hanging up the oilskin, he fetched a towel to rub his hair and dry his face before resuming his seat by the fire and leaning back at his ease, his eyes half-closed.

With his thick, curly lashes almost brushing his hard cheeks, his hair slightly rumpled, his lips a little parted and a golden stubble adorning his chin, he looked incredibly sexy.

In spite of all her efforts to stay unmoved, Caris’s breathing grew laboured and her pulse-rate quickened as she imagined those beautiful, sculptured lips touching hers …

‘Penny for them.’

Flustered by the intent way he was studying her face, she found herself blushing furiously.

‘Sorry,’ he apologized, proving he didn’t lack sensitivity. ‘I didn’t mean to stare. But you looked so …’ He broke off.

Knowing that her nose was shiny and the thick braid hanging over one shoulder must look schoolgirlish to a sophisticated man like Zander, she said, ‘I imagine I look an absolute fright.’

He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

‘Then what
would
you say?’ she asked, without really thinking.

Smiling, he told her, ‘That you look utterly enchanting, seductive, sweet and sensuous, like a woman who’s longing to be made love to …’

Panic bringing her to her feet, she said jerkily, ‘I’m starting to feel really tired now, so I think it would be better if I went to bed after all …’

Realizing that she was babbling, she broke off abruptly, biting her lip.

He rose too, his face straight, his eyes devilishly amused. He queried, ‘Alone?’

‘Alone!’ she croaked.

‘Of course—if you’re
sure
that’s what you want?’

‘Yes, I’m sure. But, as I’m nowhere near as tall as you, it would make more sense for me to sleep on the couch.’

‘I won’t hear of it.’

‘But I
want
you to have the bed,’ she insisted. ‘Otherwise I’d feel guilty.’

He shook his head decidedly. ‘The only way I’m prepared to sleep in the bed is if you want to share it with me.’

Seeing on her expressive face the return of her previous panic, he said carefully, ‘I meant platonically. I’m not trying to take advantage of the situation, and I’m noted for my self-control.’

It was her own self-control she didn’t trust, rather than his, but she could hardly tell him that.

‘So, as soon as I’ve seen you safely tucked in, I’ll retire to my couch.’

With a slight sigh, he added, ‘Though I frankly admit that I want you more than I’ve ever wanted any other woman …’

Somehow she found her voice. Struggling to sound both amused and dismissive, she said, ‘I bet you say that to any girl who comes along.’

‘I won’t deny there have been other women, but the way I feel about you is different, unprecedented. The instant I set eyes on you, you affected me strangely, touched my heart …’

He took a step forward, his voice low and intense. He murmured, ‘Though I didn’t really know you at all, I felt as if I did. As if, somehow, I’d always known you.’

I know you too,
she thought.
I know you as if you were part of me.

But he was going on. ‘You delight me, enchant me, and I’ve thought of little else but taking you in my arms and making love with you …’

Gently he laid the flat of his hand against her cheek, and with a little murmur she turned her mouth into his palm. His other hand came up to cup her face and then his mouth was moving against hers.

Their first kiss, a kiss they had both been waiting so long for, was a slow and gentle brushing of lips, but it said far more than either of them could have put into words at that moment.

When he finally drew back, she was flushed and euphoric, and a glance at his face showed that everything she was feeling, he was feeling too.

The realization was overwhelming, and it sent a charge like electricity running through her. Lips a little parted, she swayed towards him.

With a hand at the back of her head, he drew that lovely face to his. Then his mouth was on hers once more, tasting, enjoying, lingering seductively, as though he could happily spend the rest of his life just kissing her.

The quiet joy of it, the warmth and sense of belonging, the sweetness and passion, wound silken ribbons of need around her heart.

Clearly he felt the same, because the romance and chasteness of his previous kisses flared into desire and sensuality.