The Mistress of His Manor (3 page)

Joanna kept her eyes on the coffee she was pouring. ‘Because I don’t want to be snapped up.’

‘Is that written in stone?’ He took the cup she handed him. ‘Because be warned, Joanna. I intend to know you better. Much better.’

‘Are you suggesting we become lovers?’ she said bluntly.

March drained his cup and set it down with a click. ‘No, I’m not.’

‘I had to ask.’

‘Well, now you have. And, since we’re calling a spade a spade here, I won’t pretend the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.’ His eyes speared hers. ‘But that’s not my reason for being here tonight. I came to enjoy your company, so relax. I don’t have any shortcuts to paradise in mind right now. These twins you mentioned,’ he added. ‘Since they eat here regularly, I take it neither of them aspires to a closer relationship with you?’

Joanna shook her head, kicking herself for bringing the subject up. ‘They’re like brothers. I’m very fond of them, but they irritate me sometimes, too.’

‘Because they’re men?’

‘Right.’ She smiled crookedly. ‘The only man I know who never irritates me is my grandfather.’

‘Not your father?’

‘Jack’s too dictatorial not to irritate me sometimes, but I love him just the same.’

‘Fortunate man.’ March raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘So, Joanna, where do we stand, you and I?’

She thought it over. ‘I’d like us to be friends,’ she said cautiously.

‘Then we will be. Your house is a surprise,’ he added, stretching out his long legs.

‘In what way?’

‘Because you look like modern woman personified I expected contemporary furnishings and abstract art.’

Jo chuckled. ‘Anachronism in a nineteenth century house, March. Besides,’ she added, ‘this is how the house was when it was made over to me. I helped Kate choose the paint colours and some of the furnishings eleven years ago. When I was thirteen,’ she said demurely, ‘in case you’re wondering. But the chairs and some of the other pieces in the house belonged to the aunt who left it to Kate. How about you?’ she added. ‘Is your place all minimalist and leather?’

‘God, no—anything but!’ March’s eyes fastened on hers. ‘So. Now it’s established that my intentions are honourable, when can I see you again?’

‘Next week?’

March jumped up and pulled her to her feet and into his arms. ‘This weekend,’ he said firmly, and planted a kiss on her lips. He raised his head to look into her eyes, then kissed her again. ‘Saturday. Make a reservation for two at your friend Molly’s.’

Jo nodded rather than trust her voice.

He smiled triumphantly. ‘Good. I’ll ring you to find out the details. And now I’d better leave—before you change your mind.’

‘I won’t. How about some more coffee before you go?’ she suggested, surprised by how much she wanted him to stay a while.

‘Wonderful idea,’ he said, as he opened the door for her, giving thanks that he hadn’t frightened her off by kissing her. It had been a risk worth taking.

To Jo’s relief March did not follow her to the kitchen, which gave her time to recover from the kisses which, though
brief, she could still feel like a brand on her mouth. He turned with a smile as she returned to the parlour with two mugs of coffee.

‘Your taste in literature is unexpected, Joanna.’

‘Ah, but I keep the cookbooks in the kitchen, and my romances and Georgette Heyers lurk upstairs in my little study! I enjoy a happy ending as much as any other female.’

‘I’m delighted to hear it.’ He took one of the mugs, impressed to find his coffee was black with a touch of sugar. ‘Perfect. You’re a very efficient hostess.’

‘Molly says the details are important, so I try to remember the various tastes of my guests. Not,’ Jo added wryly, ‘that it matters with the Carey twins. They eat whatever I put in front of them.’

March returned to the sofa. ‘You’ve known them a long time?’

‘Ten years or so. I met them at a very sad time in my young life, and they were a huge help.’

‘What happened?’

She looked at him for a moment. ‘Like your etchings, that’s best left until I know you better.’

‘Which,’ he informed her very deliberately, ‘you will do. And sooner rather than later—Miss Sutton.’ He grinned at her startled look. ‘I investigated your taste in poetry just now. Your name was on the flyleaf.’

‘I see,’ she said slowly. ‘Which reminds me: I still don’t know
your
other name.’

He drained his coffee mug and stood up. ‘It’s Aubrey. And now I really must go. I have a lot to do tomorrow.’

‘Back in the grafting house again?’

‘No. The weather forecast is good for the next week, which means I’m on grass-cutting detail while the weather holds.’

Jo stared at him in awe. ‘It’s your job to cut all that grass?’

‘Afraid so.’ He grinned. ‘Did you imagine I got this tan in Barbados?’

She eyed him in sudden doubt. ‘Look, we don’t have to go
to Molly’s on Saturday. There are other places to eat—I could even drive to your local again.’

‘Absolutely not. It’s too far for you at that time of night.’ He moved closer. ‘Joanna, I swear I can spring for dinner for two with no problem—even at your friend Molly’s establishment.’

She flushed. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you, March.’

‘But you did,’ he said promptly. ‘You wounded my male pride. So kiss it better, please.’ He took her in his arms and tipped her face up to his. ‘Just a nice, friendly kiss between friends to say you’re sorry.’ But when their lips met the kiss heated to a long way short of mere friendly before he finally released her.

‘Thank you again, Joanna,’ he said, in tones very different from his usual lazy drawl. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Drive safely.’

J
OANNA
cleared away in thoughtful mood. So he was March Aubrey. While he thought she was Joanna Sutton. Which she had been—at one time. But to explain would mean taking March into confidences about her adoptive parents. Far too personal with someone she’d known such a short time. Perhaps she should go back to Arnborough Hall Nurseries and make a few discreet enquiries before she got too involved. Because involved she was likely to be if she went on seeing March Aubrey on a regular basis. She hadn’t been kissed like that in a long time. Or ever.

Jo gave a sigh of relief later as she slid into the beautiful sleigh bed which had been part of Kate’s legacy from her aunt who, though single all her life, had probably not, according to Kate, been a maiden aunt. Definitely not, thought Jo, stretching. A bed like this was made for lovers. Which was why she made sure no male guest ever laid eyes on it. But the sudden thought of sharing the bed with March Aubrey was so unsettling she arrived at Logan Development next morning with shadows under her eyes.

‘The gardener kept you out late last night?’ said her father affably.

‘No,’ she said with truth.

‘Did you have a good meal?’

‘Yes.’ Also truthful. ‘How’s Kate this morning?’

Jack’s eyes, rimmed with darker marks of fatigue than hers, met hers unhappily. ‘She’s very tired. A man feels so bloody helpless at times like this—not to mention guilty. Which,’ he added hastily, ‘is hardly something to discuss with my daughter.’

‘Jack,’ she said gently. ‘Stop worrying. Loads of women have babies in their forties these days.’

‘I know, but because it’s
my
woman it doesn’t help.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘All right. Let’s get to work. What’s first up in the diary?’

The diary was full and the day was hectic. Jo was glad. It helped keep her mind off March. But only temporarily. When she got home a van marked with the logo of Arnborough Hall Nurseries was parked near her house. A young man emerged from it, eyeing her hopefully as he held out a giant sheaf of flowers.

‘Miss Joanna Sutton?’

‘Yes.’ More or less.

‘These are for you.’

‘How lovely. Thank you.’ Jo let herself into the house as the van drove away, eager to read the card tucked into the blooms.

With my thanks. Until Saturday. March.

As if she needed reminding. Jo eyed the extravagant bouquet in disapproval, hoping March had been given a discount at the nurseries for something so pricey. It was also a long way for delivery, which added to the expense. She must make it plain on Saturday that extravagant gestures like this were unnecessary. A text to say thank you for the meal would have done. Jo arranged the flowers in a tall ceramic pot, set the spectacular result on the floor under the parlour window, and then sent a text of thanks to March, before hurrying upstairs to exchange her office suit for jeans and sweatshirt. After that it was straight back out to drive to Mill House and play with Kitty, then take
over bathtime duty while their parents enjoyed a peaceful predinner drink together.

‘Mummy’s going to buy a baby soon,’ announced Kitty, when Jo was helping her into her pyjamas.

Oh, boy. As far as Jo knew the subject hadn’t been mentioned to Kitty before. ‘How wonderful,’ she said brightly, lifting her onto her lap. ‘You’ll like having a baby brother or sister.’

‘Mmm.’ Kitty sighed as she snuggled close. ‘But I can’t choose.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Jo carefully, smoothing the dark curls. ‘Either one will be lovely.’

‘That’s what Daddy said. Will you read me a story?’

‘Of course I will. The one about the little bear?’

‘I wish I’d gone with you on Sunday,’ said Kate later, over supper. ‘But it’s such a trek to Arnborough. I’ve never been to the new garden centre there—nor, oddly enough, to the Hall itself. Is it worth a visit, Jo?’

‘Definitely. Fabulous old house, dreamy gardens—you’d love it. I’m going back myself some time, to see the bits I missed. I got there too late to see everything.’

‘Because she took so long to choose your pansies,’ Jack told his wife. ‘We were about to send out a search party by the time she got back.’

‘I wasn’t that long,’ protested Jo, laughing. ‘And you must admit they were first-class plants, Kate. They look fabulous in those stone troughs.’

‘Don’t they just! Grandpa put them in for me.’ Kate shot a look at her daughter. ‘So, are you seeing this gardener of yours again?’

‘Yes. Saturday. I’ve made a reservation at Molly’s.’

‘So Molly gets to meet him before we do,’ commented Jack. ‘You’d better bring him here some time, too, so we can look him over.’

‘No,’ said Jo flatly.

‘Why not?’ asked Kate mildly. ‘Are you ashamed of us?’

‘No, of course not.’ Jo got up to collect plates. ‘You’re just not up to it right now, Kate. Besides, if he comes here and sees this place, and the penny drops about Logan Development and so on, it could embarrass him.’

‘Or,’ said Jack with edge, ‘he might think he’s landed in the honey pot.’

Jo glared at him. ‘Always a possibility. Either way, I won’t be inviting him home to meet the family any time soon. Thanks just the same.’

Jo couldn’t get her father’s words out of her head when she was in bed that night. March, who lived in a ‘sort of flat’, had been impressed enough by her place. Heaven knew how he’d react to huge, spacious Mill House, which Jack had restored so magnificently that articles on it featured in magazines. Jo sighed. She wanted March to like her for herself, not for any expectations he might think she had. She’d been down that road before. She tossed and turned restlessly as she remembered how quick he’d been to veto a return visit to the Arnborough Arms. He obviously didn’t want her back on his home ground, either.

It was a trying week. Jack’s honey pot syndrome occupied her so much that at one stage Jo even considered ringing March to cancel. But then she’d have to explain why. To her surprise—and mounting disappointment—she heard nothing from March all week. When he finally rang her on the Friday evening she tensed, sure he was about to pre-empt her and do the cancelling himself.

‘How are you, Joanna?’ he asked.

‘A bit weary. End of the week and all that. How about you?’

‘Very tired of grass. Aren’t you going to congratulate me?’

‘On what?’

‘For waiting until now to ring you. Are you impressed by my restraint?’

‘Yes,’ she said, laughing, suddenly so happy to hear that deep, drawling voice she didn’t care why he liked her as long as he did. ‘Deeply impressed.’

‘Did you miss me?’

‘Yes.’

There was silence for a moment. ‘I wonder,’ he said slowly, ‘if you realise how that makes me feel.’

‘Pleased, I hope.’

‘Massive understatement.’

‘That’s nice. I booked with Molly by the way,’ she added. ‘Seven-thirty for eight.’

‘Good. I’ll be with you at seven.’

‘Do you have more grass to cut before you come?’

‘No, thank God. Hand weeding tomorrow.’

‘No day off after all that grass?’

‘Not a chance. Nor do I want one. The time would drag too much until I see you again. What will you do with your Saturday morning?’

‘Kate has insisted that Jack play a round of golf with Grandpa tomorrow, to de-stress, so to make sure he does that I’ll keep her company and play with Kitty—who now knows about the baby. I think she hankers after a little sister.’

He chuckled. ‘How about you?’

‘I just want a healthy baby and my mother in good shape.’

‘Amen to that! Goodnight, Joanna.’

‘Goodnight, March.’

Next day Jo played with Kitty for most of the morning, as planned, then ate the sandwich lunch Kate made for them. When Jack and her grandfather arrived, Jo put up with more teasing about her date, then drove off to do some food shopping, and took a detour on the way home to have a word with Molly. The restaurant was ideally situated, halfway along a sidestreet of exclusive shops, with a solitary initial ‘
M
‘ in gold on
the glass door. Having timed her visit until well after the lunchtime rush, Jo smiled at the handsome man who came hurrying to greet her.

‘Molly in the back?’

‘As always.’ Angelo kissed her on both cheeks. ‘You are very beautiful today, Joanna.’

‘Thank you, Angelo. So are you.’

He grinned and kissed his fingers to her as she went through to the spotless kitchen, where Molly Carter was directing her minions through preparations for the evening’s menu like a general readying troops for battle. She looked up with a broad smile.

‘Hi! So who are you bringing here tonight, then, love? Is it a celebration? Don’t tell me you’re marrying one of the twins!’

Jo shook her head, grinning. ‘I’d have to marry both of them, and I don’t think that’s allowed. It’s not a celebration tonight. Just dinner for two.’

‘I know that!’ said Molly impatiently. ‘But is your date a man?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Do I know him?’

‘I shouldn’t think so. I don’t know him that well myself.’

Molly checked the stock one of her crew was making, then looked up at Jo, her eyes narrowed. ‘Nice?’

‘Very. So I want something special. What have you got?’

‘All my food is special,’ retorted Molly. ‘But the sea bass is exceptional, and the saddle of lamb had such a good slug of gin in the marinade the meat will melt in the mouth.’ She frowned. ‘Why don’t you cook a meal for him yourself? Lord knows I taught you well enough.’

‘I did that last week. Beef Wellington.’

‘Showy, but reliable. Did he like it?’

‘He certainly ate a lot of it.’ Jo hesitated. ‘The thing is, Moll, he thinks my name is Sutton, and for now I want him to keep thinking that. So has Angelo booked me down as Logan?’

Molly eyed her quizzically. ‘What are you playing at, my girl?’

‘I’d just rather my date didn’t know I was Jack’s daughter—for a while, anyway.’

‘Ah! You want to be loved for yourself, not Daddy’s cash. All right. I’ll brief Angelo and ask him to reserve one of the parking spaces outside. Now, tell me, how’s Kate?’

By the time the doorbell rang that evening, prompt to the minute at seven, Jo had changed her dress once, her earrings twice, and persuaded herself that she would be happy in the redsoled black shoes which added five inches to her height and a touch of glamour to last year’s little black dress. She took in a deep breath, then opened it to smile at March, who was even browner of face than before, but with hair newly trimmed, and impressive in a formal dark suit.

‘Good evening, Miss Sutton.’ He gave her a comprehensive look from head to toe and bent to kiss her on both cheeks. ‘You look delectable.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, and closed the door. ‘I really must thank you again for the flowers. They were very extravagant, but I won’t scold you this time.’

He frowned as he followed her into the parlour. ‘You don’t like flowers?’

‘Of course I do, but you shouldn’t have gone to such expense. A text to say thank you would have been quite enough.’

He looked down his nose at her with hauteur, which was not, she saw with dismay, meant as a joke. ‘Enough for you, possibly, but not for me. I was simply expressing my appreciation.’

‘Oh, dear, I’ve offended you again.’

‘Yes.’ He moved closer, the hauteur heating to a predatory gleam. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’

She backed away. ‘If I kiss you better I’ll ruin all my hard work!’

‘Which would be a shame.’ He ran a finger down her cheek. ‘Apply the necessary balm later. When I bring you home.’

‘I’ll consider it. Would you like a drink?’

He shook his head. ‘I’ll save myself for a glass of wine over dinner. Does your friend Molly keep a good cellar?’

‘Her front-of-house man sees to that side of the business. The restaurant has quite a name for its wine list.’

‘Then, if my lady is ready, shall we?’ March smiled at her, and Jo smiled back, amazed, now, that she had even thought of cancelling their evening.

Outside, March handed Jo into an E-type Jaguar so far from its first youth it was almost a museum piece.

‘You’ve had this a long time?’ she commented as they headed for town.

‘Since I was old enough to drive.’ He patted the steering wheel. ‘Temperamental sometimes, but I love her just the same. Now, give me directions, please.’

March was impressed when he saw the reserved sign in a parking place right outside the restaurant.

‘So you’ll be able to keep an eye on her all evening,’ teased Jo as March helped her out.

‘Certainly not. I shall be keeping my eye—both eyes—on you,’ he assured her as they entered to a warm welcome from Angelo.

‘Joanna,
cara
!’ He gave her his usual double kiss.

‘Hi, Angelo, this is March Aubrey.’

‘Good to meet you,’ said March, holding out his hand.

‘Piacere,’
said Angelo, shaking it enthusiastically. ‘Welcome.’ He led them to one of the twin bay windows, and seated Joanna with a flourish at the last unoccupied table in the buzzing restaurant.

‘I shall send someone to give you menus, but do not order drinks. Champagne waits ready chilled for you. On the house, with Molly’s compliments,’ he added.

‘How lovely—do thank her for us,’ said Joanna.

‘VIP treatment,’ commented March, impressed, as Angelo went off to summon a waiter.

‘Partly because I used to work here,’ Jo informed him. ‘And partly to impress the first-time customer who’s paying tonight.’

‘Is that still worrying you, Joanna?’

‘No. So stop looking down your nose at me.’

He grinned and sat back as a waitress put a carafe of water on the table, slid menus in front of them and then gave way to a waiter bearing champagne in an ice bucket. March looked on with approval as the man held the cork and twisted the bottle, and achieved a perfect wisp of smoke instead of a loud pop.

‘What do you recommend, Joanna?’ asked March, when they were left to study the menus.

‘I’ve never eaten any meal here that was less than delicious,’ she told him, fervently hoping that tonight would be no exception.

Eventually they both chose crab soufflé tarts to start, followed by the gin-tenderised lamb, and as they sat back to enjoy their champagne Angelo appeared with an
amuse bouche
—a liqueur glass of iced tomato consommé.