Taming the Rebel Tycoon: Wife by Approval / Dating the Rebel Tycoon / The Playboy Takes a Wife. Элли Блейк
sorry. I suppose it was a waste of your time.’
‘Not at all,’ he denied. ‘I’ve enjoyed the day.’
‘So have I,’ she admitted. Then, reminding herself that it was something she had to do, she added, ‘But I really ought to be getting back before too long. I’ve still got to find a hotel.’
Softly he said, ‘After last night I was rather hoping you’d change your mind and stay with me.’
‘Last night was a mistake,’ she told him jerkily. ‘If I hadn’t had too much to drink…’
‘And this morning?’
‘That was a mistake too,’ she insisted. ‘I should never have let it happen.’
She sounded as if she meant it and he sighed inwardly. So much for trying to make sure she stayed. He could swear she still wanted him, but for some reason she was now playing hard to get.
He wondered why she was bothering. Was it possible that she was hoping for more than just an affair? Hoping to make him keen enough to get seriously involved?
In the past he’d frequently been the target for gold-diggers and women who were trying to land a rich husband, though usually they had gone about it in a different way.
However, if that was her aim and he moved with care, it could fit in nicely with his own plans.
The only thing he couldn’t allow her was time…
When he remained silent, angry with herself for being weak enough to come, she said, ‘If you were intending to stay here, as your housekeeper seems to think, I can always get a taxi back.’
It would cost a fortune but, having got herself into this mess…
‘My dear Valentina,’ he drawled, ‘I haven’t the slightest intention of allowing you to get a taxi. If you insist on going back, I’ll take you myself.’
Uncomfortably, she said, ‘Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind?’
‘Of course I don’t mind. I’m at your disposal. But, as you came to see the castle, it would be a shame to start back without taking a look at it, so I suggest a guided tour of the place and then dinner before we think of leaving. What do you say?’
There was only one thing she could say, and she said it. ‘Thank you very much—that sounds lovely.’
‘Sure your ankle will stand it?’
‘Quite sure.’
‘Then let’s go.’
Leaving her bag where it was, she accompanied him across the hall and along a wide stone corridor.
‘It’s beginning to get dusk,’ he remarked, ‘so I suggest that, before we start the tour proper, we go up to the gatehouse, where there’s a nice view across the park to the oval lake.’
As they began to climb the spiralling stone stairway, lit by candle bulbs in metal sconces, the air coming through the embrasures felt distinctly fresh and she half wished she had her coat, which she’d left in the car along with her case.
She found the gatehouse, with its huge stone fireplace and garderobe, fascinating, and lingered there for a while imagining what it must have been like when it was occupied. Only the realisation that time was flying and there was lots more to see made her move on.
Another flight of stone steps brought them to a small, thick, studded door, from which they emerged on to the roof of the gatehouse.
Tina glanced down into the courtyard, with its huge central well, now covered with a latticework of heavy metal, and, noticing that the Porsche was no longer there, remarked, ‘Your car’s gone.’
His voice casual, Richard said, ‘Mullins must have presumed we were staying and put it away.’
Then, seeing she looked uneasy, ‘Don’t let it worry you; it’s no major problem. After dinner, when we’re ready to go, I can ask for it to be brought round. Now, come and look at the view.’
Hung with blue veils of twilight, the view across the rolling park to the faintly shimmering oval of the lake, the darkening woods and, closer at hand, Daland Tower, was beautiful.
One arm lightly around her shoulders, he pointed a steady finger. ‘Over there, through a gap in the trees, you can just catch a glimpse of the lights of Farrington Hall. The O’Connells, who live there, are our nearest neighbours.’
The name O’Connell seemed oddly familiar, but it was a moment or two before Tina recalled that it had been a Helen O’Connell who had been trying to phone Richard the previous day.
It was a lovely evening and above the western horizon, where a pinky-gold afterglow was fading into greeny-blue, a single bright star shone.
Half under her breath, she murmured the jingle she remembered from childhood, ‘Starlight, star bright, first star I’ve seen tonight…’
‘The evening star,’ Richard said. ‘Are you going to wish on it?’
‘Why not?’ she agreed lightly. ‘Though I fear my wish might be unattainable.’
‘So might mine. But nothing ventured nothing gained, so let’s give it a try.’
Folding his arms around her, he drew her back against his hard, muscular body and held her there. Then, bending his head so that his cheek touched hers, he urged, ‘Wish away.’
Knees turned to water by his nearness, and only too aware that she might as well wish for the moon, she looked up at the glittering star and silently wished that one day Richard might come to care for her.
After a little while when, rooted to the spot by the feel of his slightly roughened cheek against hers, she continued to stand quite still, he debated whether to make his move now.
Deciding the time wasn’t right, he straightened and said prosaically, ‘We’d better get on with the tour, otherwise we’ll be late for dinner.’
Like someone in a dream, she turned to walk back the way they had come.
‘Careful on the stairs,’ he warned and, an arm at her waist, guided her somewhat uncertain steps back down the stone stairway and thence to the passageway, to begin their tour proper.
Her first impression on seeing Anders had been that it was a gem of a place and that was amply confirmed as he showed her over it.
A picturesque castle with towers and turrets, secret passages and deep cellars, its own serenely beautiful little chapel with a resident priest, it was something very special. The fact that it was also a home made it rare indeed.
As they returned to the hall, glancing at his watch, Richard suggested, ‘If you’d like to freshen up before dinner…?’
‘Oh, yes, please.’
Having escorted her up the main staircase and past the minstrels’ gallery, he opened a door on the right and ushered her inside a spacious suite, with a bedroom and bathroom either side of a central sitting-room.
‘This suite was used by my parents when my father was alive,’ he told her. ‘My mother had this room as a den, to “sit and cogitate” as she put it, and deal with her correspondence.
‘That’s her escritoire.’He pointed to a small, exquisitely proportioned writing desk. ‘It was made in the reign of QueenAnne.’
‘It’s absolutely beautiful,’ Tina said, coming to take a closer look.
‘My mother loved it. Apparently as a child she was fascinated by the fact that it has a secret drawer.
‘When she came of age, her grandmother gave it to her as a twenty-first birthday present and she used it for the rest of her life.
‘After my father died, and Mother remarried, these rooms were kept for my use when