Mistress On Loan. Sara Craven
whole thing on computer,’ she said. ‘I’ll send you a print-out.’
‘It might be useful.’ He was walking beside her now. The track was narrow, and it was difficult to avoid contact with him. ‘But I’d prefer a guided tour and a detailed breakdown of the renovations process from the person responsible. You.’
She halted, lips parting in a gasp of outrage. She’d transformed the Grange for Piers and herself. Her hopes and dreams were woven intimately into the fabric of each room. Too intimately to share with an interloper. She felt as if he’d asked her to strip naked.
She said jerkily, ‘I have a better idea. Hire another design team and let them fill in the missing pieces. Although you could probably sell it as it stands, if you want a fast profit.’
He gave her a hooded look. ‘What makes you think I’m going to sell?’
My accountant, she thought. She’d telephoned him earlier—asked, trying to sound casual, what he knew about Haddon Developments.
Chay, she’d learned, was a mover and shaker. ‘His speciality,’ Mark had told her, ‘is identifying major building projects that have run into financial difficulties, buying them for bottom dollar, then selling them on after completion for megabucks. He’s good at it. Why are you asking?’
‘Oh,’ she’d said. ‘Someone was mentioning his name, that’s all.’
Mark had laughed. ‘Friend or foe?’ he’d enquired. ‘Word has it he’s a good man to have on your side, but a bad one to cross. Generally he doesn’t arouse lukewarm opinions.’
She’d said lightly, ‘Thanks for the warning.’ Adding silently, It’s only sixteen years too late.
Now, she looked back at her adversary. ‘Because that’s what you do. You move in, clean up, and move on.’
‘Not always,’ he said. ‘And not this time. Because I’m going to live here.’
‘But you can’t.’ The words escaped before she could stop them.
‘Why not?’
‘You already have somewhere to live.’ Mark again. ‘You have a flat in a converted warehouse by the Thames, and a farmhouse in Suffolk.’
‘You’ve really done your homework,’ he said appreciatively. ‘When interior design palls, you could always apply to MI5.’
She shrugged. ‘Local boy makes good. That’s always news. Even if it’s the housekeeper’s son.’
‘Especially when it’s the housekeeper’s son,’ he said mockingly.
She glared at him, and walked on. When he spoke again his voice was quiet, ‘I was sorry to hear about your parents, Adie. I know how close you all were.’
She said tightly, ‘Clearly I’m not the only one to do homework.’ And they completed the rest of the walk back to the house in silence.
Outside the side door, Adrien paused and drew a deep breath. ‘If you want to make your inspection in privacy, I can come back another day for my things.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Get them now. That is, if you’re sure you won’t come round with me.’
‘I’m certain.’
‘Don’t you want to boast of your achievements?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t feel particularly triumphant. Anyway, you’re the expert,’ she added with edge. ‘I don’t need to point out a thing.’
‘You used to like company.’
‘That,’ she said, ‘would depend on the company. I’ll see myself out when I’ve finished.’
Once inside, she headed for the stairs, and the room she’d been using. She hadn’t brought much, and her travel bag was soon packed. She was just rolling up the sleeping bag she’d been using when Chay appeared in the doorway.
‘So you chose this room?’ He looked round, brows raised quizzically as he took in the narrow camp bed. ‘I’d have thought the master bedroom was the appropriate place for the mistress. Don’t you find this a little cramped for passion? Or did Piers like you to keep still?’
Her face flamed. ‘You bastard. You know nothing about it—nothing. Piers and I were engaged.’
His glance skimmed her bare left hand. ‘Really? Well, at least you don’t have to send the ring back for—er, recycling.’
There was a silence, then she said huskily, ‘That was an unforgivable thing to say.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But so much between us, my sweet, has been unforgivable. And unforgiven.’
She snatched up the travel bag and walked towards the door which he was still blocking.
She said, ‘Will you let me pass, please?’
‘In a moment. I have a proposal to put to you.’
My God, Adrien thought. He’s going to ask me to finish the house.
Naturally, she would refuse. It would break her heart to go on working here, with all the might-have-beens. Yet—if she agreed—she could charge him a fee that would enable her to start paying her creditors. Could she really afford to turn down such a chance?
She said discouragingly, ‘Well?’
Before she could guess what he was going to do, or take evasive action, his hands had slid under the lapels of her jacket, pushing them apart, while the grey eyes made a slow, lingering survey of the swell of her rounded breasts under the clinging camisole.
He said softly, ‘Very well. Quite exquisite, in fact. You’ve grown up beautifully, Adie.’
‘Don’t call me that.’ Shaken to the core by the sudden unprovoked intimacy, she pulled away, horrified to realise that behind their silken barrier her nipples were hardening in swift, shamed excitement.
‘And don’t handle me either,’ she added, her voice quivering. ‘You have no right…’
His mouth twisted unrepentantly. ‘Not even the droit de seigneur?’
‘You bought a house,’ she said. ‘I was not included in the price. Now, let me past.’
‘Only because Piers didn’t think of it.’ His voice was reflective, and he made no attempt to move. ‘But as you’ve raised the subject, Adrien, what value do you put on your services?’
She said slowly, hardly daring to hope, ‘Are you offering to pay for the work I’ve done?’
‘That would rather depend,’ he drawled. ‘You see, it occurs to me that this house lacks something. And so do I.’
She drew a deep breath. ‘You mean that it isn’t quite finished. But it wouldn’t take much…’
‘No,’ he said. ‘That isn’t what I mean at all.’
‘Then what?’ she asked defensively, hating the way his grey gaze held hers, yet somehow unable to look away. Or walk away.
‘It needs a mistress,’ he said softly. ‘And so do I. And you, my sweet Adrien, are the perfect candidate. So, maybe we can do a deal. What do you say?’
CHAPTER THREE
SHE said thickly, ‘Is this some kind of sick joke?’
‘Do you see me laughing?’
No, she thought, swallowing. The grey eyes meeting hers in challenge were cool, direct—even insolent. The firm mouth was equally unsmiling. No—it seemed he was shockingly—incredibly—serious.
‘So you’re just adding insult to injury.’ She tried to laugh, but the sound choked in her throat. ‘Time hasn’t mellowed you, Chay.