Married to a Stranger. Louise Allen
imagine what you mean.’ Callum sounded all innocence. But the man had a sense of humour, thank heavens, even if he was using it to bait her with.
Sophia tried to recall the brothers nine years ago. Daniel was usually laughing and joking. He rarely took anything seriously, except when they were together. Callum, as he had grown up, had become quieter, more intense. More private, she supposed. Or perhaps he was simply being tactful and not intruding on his twin’s courtship.
At least, he had kept out of it until that last day when he had tried to stop her tying herself to Daniel. Why had he done that? At the time she had been too hurt and indignant to puzzle over it, too distressed at Daniel’s departure to worry about what Callum thought. He had been perceptive, it seemed, and had had his twin’s best interests at heart. The love had not lasted—at least, not on her part. She could not guess at Daniel’s feelings.
She brought her mind back to the present and found Callum was taking a back lane through the woods. ‘This is charming. And mysterious,’ she added as they came out of sunlight into shade. The great beeches soared on either side; their smooth grey trunks rose like pillars in an outdoor cathedral, and the tracks that led off on either side wound their way deep into the wood.
‘I came this back way because I wanted to see if the house is still as I remember it, and this is the way we came when I was a child,’ Callum said. ‘You are going to love it or hate it, I think. It is not possible to be indifferent.’
The lane became a track, swung round to the right and opened up into a wide clearing. To the left there were views over the valley and a decent metalled carriage drive heading off to the valley road. To the right stood the house. Or, rather, there it grew, for it was hard not to think about it as anything but organic, rooted in the earth. It was built mainly of soft pinkish-red brick with a section of white stone that looked as though it might have been robbed from a ruined castle, and here and there were the signs of an oak frame, twisted with age. The roof was of clay tiles, moss-covered and irregular, and chimneys sprouted in profusion.
‘I love it.’ Sophia stared, enchanted, not realising that she had put out her hand until she found she had covered Callum’s bare fingers. He did not move away, and after a moment he curled his fingers into hers. She wished she was not wearing gloves, could feel the texture of his skin, whether he was cold or warm, sense his pulse. She gave his fingers a little squeeze, needing to share the moment.
‘I like it, too. I have only a vague recollection of it; we did not come here very often, for Great-Aunt had fallen out with Grandmama and was a trifle eccentric.’ He freed his fingers and jumped down to tie the reins to a branch. ‘Shall we see if it is as welcoming inside?’
‘You feel it? The welcome?’ That was good: they seemed to be in agreement over it. I am thinking as though I have decided. Too fast … I need more time. He is a stranger after all these years.
Callum reached to lift her from the seat, his hands hard at her waist, and she caught her breath as his eyes darkened. He let her down, slowly. Her toes brushed against his boots, her hems must have touched his thighs. Her heart thudded and she was uncertain whether it was more with nerves or desire. ‘I am down now,’ she said after a moment when he still held her.
‘On terra firma?’ His thumbs just brushed the underside of her breasts and a strange aching shiver ran through her.
‘I am not certain I have been on that since you walked back into my life,’ Sophia confessed and Callum laughed and released her.
He opened the door with a huge old key that had been left under a stone by the path and stood aside for her to enter. The house was not musty exactly; rather it smelled of old wood and fabric, faded lavender and the ghost of wax polish and wood smoke. It creaked a little as they stood there.
Somehow it swept away her jittery nerves. ‘I love it,’ Sophia repeated as they stood in the hall. ‘It feels warm, as though it wants to hug us.’ It sounded fanciful as soon as she said it, but Callum did not laugh, only looked at her a trifle quizzically.
‘Perhaps it does. It sounds almost alive. Listen. Like a ship riding at anchor,’ he murmured. ‘Shall we explore?’
They wandered through the old house, drawing back the curtains, peering into cupboards, finding odd flights of stairs that went to one room only, almost falling down the cellar steps.
Sophia caught Callum by the wrist as he peered down the precipitous, dusty steps into the dark beneath. ‘Don’t you dare go down there! Do you remember that day we played hide and seek together at the Hall and I hid in the wine cellar and you and Daniel pretended you didn’t know I was down there and locked the door?’
‘And left you to those great big hairy spiders and the mice and the mouldering skeletons that hung in chains, which is what you accused us of when we relented.’
‘Did I say mouldering skeletons?’ She tugged him firmly back into the kitchen passage and closed the door.
‘No, that’s what you were screaming about when you threw a bottle of Papa’s best crusted port at Dan’s head.’
‘You caught it.’
‘Of course,’ he said and for a moment there was something unspoken, more than just the recollection of a childhood prank. Callum had saved the port, saved his brother from a possibly serious injury and her from the consequences. ‘If you will not let me explore downstairs,’ he said, ‘I dare you to come up to the bedchambers.’
‘Why?’
‘To assess their suitability and condition.’
‘You did not want to look at them at Wellingford,’ she said.
‘We had agreed by then that we did not like the house. There was no point.’ He cocked his head to one side and studied her. ‘Are you suspicious of my motives?’
‘Yes,’ she said frankly.
‘My dear Sophia, if I was intent on seducing you I could do it as well on the drawing-room sofa, the kitchen table or here and now.’
‘You could? Is that not very uncomfortable?’ Disturbing images flitted through her imagination. Callum raised one dark brow and took a step forwards. Sophia threw up both hands. ‘Oh, no, that was not a challenge! Come along then, let us see what is upstairs.’
Finally, they arrived in a great bedchamber dominated by a four-poster of age-blackened carved wood, so high that there was a wooden stool set to help the sleeper climb into bed.
‘Well?’ Callum stood in the middle of the room, hands on hips, and studied her face.
‘I adore it,’ Sophia confessed. ‘I want it. But that is quite irrelevant; I cannot marry a man because I have fallen for his house.’
‘Liking the house is surely on the positive side of the scales. There are other reasons to marry. You would not permit me to attempt to seduce you downstairs, but this is a proper bedchamber and a very comfortable-looking bed.’
‘You are not going to seduce me!’
‘Am I not?’ Callum tossed his hat and gloves on to a chest and came purposefully towards her.
‘You are far too much a gentleman to seduce a virtuous lady,’ Sophia said with all the conviction she could muster.
‘Certainly not one I have no intention of marrying,’ he agreed.
Sophia edged around a stool. ‘But I haven’t said yes yet.’ It came out as an undignified squeak.
‘True. May I not kiss you? Are you quite certain you wouldn’t like to be kissed, Sophia?’
‘Well, yes,’ she said so promptly that he blinked. ‘Now don’t look so shocked! I am curious. Here I am at six and twenty and I have hardly been kissed, certainly not for ten years. The prospect of a good-looking man demonstrating how it is done properly is undeniably intriguing.’
‘Are you always so honest?’