by Mary Lyons
The main impression she’d gained was that Luke had been bored out of his mind by all the weird and strange exhibits. And if so, well, that was just too bad. It served him right for putting in an appearance where he clearly wasn’t wanted! she told herself grimly, slowly making her way down to join Betty in the kitchen. With any luck, she’d never have to see him again. And surely the passing of time would help to banish those disturbing, erotic dreams which had been giving her so much trouble?
In the meantime, it was just a case of mind over matter, she told herself bracingly. She must concentrate on dismissing the whole unfortunate series of events from her mind. After all, she had plenty of other problems to think about at the moment, and…
‘So that’s where you’ve got to!’ She glared angrily across the large old kitchen at Luke, who was quite calmly sitting at the scrubbed pine table. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘What does it look as if I’m doing?’ He grinned, taking another hefty bite from the large, thick slice of bread in his hand. ‘Thanks to wonderful Mrs Roberts here…’
‘There’s no need to be so formal—just call me Betty,’ the elderly woman urged, beaming down at him with what Angelica could only think of as a sickly, simpering smile.
‘OK, Betty.’ He grinned up at the housekeeper, who was standing beside the table carving thick slices of crusty bread from a large loaf. Turning his amused gaze on the rigidly angry girl, he added, ‘Betty has been allowing me to sample some of her delicious home-made strawberry jam. I can tell you, it’s really great!’
‘You’ve absolutely no right to be down here!’ Angelica ground out furiously. Her anger almost reached boiling-point as she saw her old nanny—the traitor!—happily cutting into a freshly baked chocolat&g cake, smothered in thick chocolate icing, which had originally been destined for the church bazaar. ‘This kitchen is definitely off-limits to the general public!”
‘Really, Angelica! Whatever has happened to your manners?’ Betty gasped, staring over at her with astonishment.
“QK, I’m plead guilty—and take the rap!’ Luke held up Ms hands in mock-surrender. ‘But in my up Ms hands in mock-surrender. ‘But in my defease I must tell you that I was nearly driven mad when you were conducting us around the house. I couldn’t resist the wonderful smell drifting upstairs from this kitchen. Because If there’s one thing I adore it’s a freshly baked chocolate cake? It takes me right back to my childhood,’ he added, giving Betty a warm smile as he sank his teeth into the succulent sponge. ‘Umm… this is terrific!’ he mumbled.
‘Oh, good—I am pleased to hear that,’ Angelica ground out sarcastically. ‘Isn’t there anything else you fancy? Some jam tarts? Or maybe you’d like a slice of lemaon sponge cake? Of course, Betty has made them for the church bazaar—but I’m sure the vicar won’t mind you scoffing the lot!’
Luke grinned and shook his dark head. ‘It’s a crime to allow this wonderful woman-a pearl among cooks—to squander her talent on a church sale. So, while I’ll write him a large cheque for the restoration fund, or whatever, I’m afraid it’s tough luck on the vicar!’
‘Oh, great! You obviously believe a large cheque can solve every thing!’
‘Yes, it generally does solve most of life’s problems,’ he drawled sardonically.
‘Now, stop squabbling, you two,’ Betty said in a firm, nanny-like tone of voice.’ And you just calm down,’ she added, turning to the girl trembling with rage on the other side of the room.
‘I’m perfectly calm!’ Angelica retorted through clenched teeth.
‘Well, there’s no need to get on your high horse, because it’s nothing but a pleasure to feed a man who appreciates good, honest food.’ Betty smiled down at Luke. ‘It certainly makes a change from those little bits of salad, which is all I can seem to get you to eat these days. And I’ve a perfect right to feed anyone I want to, in my own kitchen,’ the older woman added aggressively, before giving Luke another beaming smile.
The damned man wasn’t just hijacking her life, he was also deliberately inveigling himself into her home and family, Angelica thought bitterly, noticing that Luke had removed the smart jacket of his suit, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to display his strong, tanned forearms lightly covered with dark hair.
And, more than just making himself comfortably at home in her house, he was also busy spreading his oily charm all over the kitchen. He’d certainly managed to turn the head of her old nanny—who was all the family that she had left, now that her grandmother was dead. How could Betty be so stupid as to fall for that outrageous flattery? Angelica asked herself, almost screaming with frustration as she saw the older woman happily cut him yet another slice of rich chocolate cake.
Unfortunately it looked as if there was nothing she could do about the situation. Short of bashing him about the head with one of the large copper saucepans, there seemed absolutely no way of getting rid of the awful man!
CHAPTER FIVE
FOR goodness’ sake, girl! Come and sit down. There’s no point in standing over there like Joan of Arc at the stake,’ Betty said firmly. ‘What you need is a nice cup of tea.’
If Angelica hadn’t been feeling so cross, she might have found it amusing to be addressed by her old nanny as if she were still in the nursery. But, furious with Luke, and outraged at his invasion of her private domain, she realised that she’d temporarily lost her sense of humour.
However, after a fierce internal struggle, she could see that there was little point in continuing to try and evict this man. He was clearly intending to ignore the fact that he wasn’t wanted at Lonsdale House. Or not by her, at least. Unfortunately, it looked as though Betty—who’d always been susceptible to men with charm and a handsome facehad been bowled over by their visitor.
With a heavy sigh, Angelica shrugged before trailing slowly across the floor. It seemed that there was nothing she could do. Yet again, Luke Cunningham had somehow managed to outmanoeuvre her.
Pulling out a chair, she deliberately avoided looking at him as she sat down at the large kitchen table, covered with a red and white gingham tablecloth.
‘Our uninvited visitor may be overdosing on your chocolate cake, but he was clearly bored out of his mind by Sir Tristram’s collection,’ she told Betty sourly.
‘And who could blame him?’ the older woman retorted. ‘I reckon there must be centuries of dust on some of those curios. Besides, you know my views about that Egyptian mummy—nasty, unhygienic thing! Did you see the mummified cat?’ she asked Luke. ‘What a way to treat a poor, dumb animal, even if it was dead at the time. Disgraceful, I call it!’
He smiled and shook his head. ‘No, I’m afraid that I didn’t notice the cat. However, Angelica is quite wrong,’ he added, turning his hooded grey eyes on the stormy expression of the girl sitting across the table. ‘I wasn’t bored by all those crazy things upstairs. In fact, I was amused and intrigued by a great many of the objects.’
‘Oh, yes? You could have fooled me!’
‘But, as it stands, I’m afraid that you’ve got a fairly hopeless set-up,’ he continued smoothly, ignoring Angelica’s derisory words. ‘There are far too many articles on display, with no order or organisation to help your visitors. As for that brochure you’ve produced—I have to say that it’s absolutely hopeless!’
‘Thanks a bunch!’ Angelica ground out sarcastically. ‘Anything else you’d like to say, while you’re about it?’
‘Yes, as it happens—quite a lot,’ he drawled. ‘But maybe I’d better save it for another time?’
‘Believe me, there isn’t going to be another time!’ she snapped angrily, prevented from giving any further expression to her injured feelings by Betty, who clearly believed in getting down to the basic nitty-gritty of a situation as soon as possible.
‘Maybe your wife would like this recipe…?’ the older woman asked Luke, placing yet another slice of cake on his plate.
All those present in the kitchen were aware that the questi
on, hovering delicately in the air, had absolutely nothing to do with a recipe. Angelica almost cringed with embarrassment at Betty’s blatant attempt to discover Luke’s marital status. And she was only too well aware of his lips twitching with suppressed laughter.
‘I’d be pleased to give it to my wife,’ he said, pausing for a moment before giving a clearly false mournful shake of his head. ‘Unfortunately, I’m sorry to say that I’m not married.’
‘Oh, really?’ the older woman beamed down at him. ‘Never mind, dear, I expect you’ll soon find a nice girl to look after you.’
Angelica gave a high-pitched, scornful laugh. ‘Not if she’s got any sense, he won’t!’
‘That’s not a very nice thing to say,’ Betty told her with a frown, clearly worried that her attempts at matchmaking were going sadly astray.
‘That’s OK, I’ve a broad back,’ Luke murmured with a heavily dramatic sigh, before turning to the older woman and asking plaintively, ‘Tell me, is she always this bad-tempered?’
Betty shook her head. ‘Oh, no, she’s normally a lovely girl. But I must admit that she does seem to have been a bit emotionally upset lately.’
Oh, for heaven’s sake! Angelica was bitterly aware of a hot tide of crimson sweeping over her pale cheeks. She dearly loved Betty—but just at this precise moment she could have cheerfully murdered her old nanny! It didn’t need a swift glance at the sardonic glint in Luke’s eyes to realise that he was enjoying her embarrassment. Not to mention the fact that the insufferably arrogant, conceited man obviously believed that he was responsible for her recent emotional disturbance. An assumption that was, of course, complete and utter nonsense!
‘Do you mind?’ she snapped irritably. ‘I’d be grateful if you’d both kindly not discuss me as if I’m some sort of strange animal. And stop laughing at me, you horrid man, or I really will lose my temper!’ she suddenly found herself yelling at Luke, who was now leaning back in his chair, his shoulders shaking with amusement.
As her ears filled with the sound of her angry outburst echoing around the kitchen, and she caught sight of the expression of shock on Betty’s face, she flushed again with shame and mortification.
‘OK, I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, staring down at the checked tablecloth. ‘I shouldn’t have shouted like that.’
‘Quite right—you ought to be ashamed of yourself,’ Betty said, rubbing salt in the wound. ‘However, it’s time I had my afternoon nap. So I’ll leave you two to sort matters out. But if you must quaerral with one another,’ she added in nanny-like tones as she walked over to the door, ‘kindly have the goodness to keep your voices down!’
There was a long silence following the older woman’s departure from the kitchen, which was finally broken by Luke’s clearing his throat.
‘I think it might be a good idea to forget the past few minutes and to start again, don’t you?’
‘Yes, all right…’ Angelica muttered with a defensive shrug, avoiding his eyes as she stared blindly down at the table.
‘I’m intrigued by this beautiful, old and rather weird house,’ he continued, taking no notice of her unenthusiastic reply. ‘You obviously didn’t believe me, but I meant it when I said that I’d enjoyed looking around the exhibition.’
‘Really…?’ She surveyed him warily.
‘Yes—really,’ he smiled. ‘But, as things stand at the moment, it seems that you’ve got some serious problems. Can we agree on that, at least?’
‘I suppose so,’ she murmured cautiously, with another shrug of her slim shoulders, determined not to let Luke see that even one careless smile from him could wreak havoc with her equilibrium.
‘Right. Now, as I see the situation, you two ladies are living in this house, and opening it up to the public once a week. You also make a small charge for admission. However, since you rarely have more than a handful of visitors at any one time, this place can hardly even begin to pay its way, let alone bring you in a decent income. Am I correct?’
Angelica slowly nodded. ‘That seems to be a masterly summing-up of the present situation,’ she grudgingly admitted. ‘There is the trust fund, of course. But trying to get any money from the trustees, who have plenty of funds available, is like trying to get blood from a stone. They just don’t seem to understand that I can’t afford to pay for all the problems with the roof. I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do,’ she added with a heavy sigh.
‘Whoa—hang on a moment,’ Luke said, taking a small notebook from his jacket pocket. ‘I think you’d better explain about this trust. How and when was it formed? And who are the trustees?’
It was probably a complete waste of time, but Angelica found it a considerable relief to be able to talk frankly about her problems. And, while Luke said very little other than to ask one or two pertinent questions, he seemed to have an immediate grasp and understanding of her difficult financial situation.
‘OK, let’s see if I’ve got this right,’ he said at last, when she’d explained the historical background to the present state of affairs. ‘As I understand it, your family has lived in this house since the eighteenth century—ever since it was inherited by a distant relative of Sir Hans Sloane. Is that Sloane as in Sloane Square?’
Angelica nodded. ‘Sir Hans Sloane was an amazing man. A very rich physician, and doctor to both Samuel Pepys and Queen Anne, he travelled all over the world collecting plants and fossils, coins, books, ancient statues and manuscripts. In fact when he died, aged ninety-three, his collection formed the basis of what is now the British Museum.’
‘So the relative was left this house, and also some of the minor pieces from Sloane’s collection which weren’t considered good enough for the British Museum. And then what?’
‘Well, nothing much, really,’ she shrugged. ‘The house stayed in the family through various generations, until they all died off, leaving only a wealthy young orphan, Angelica—after whom I’m named. She married Tristram Lonsdale, but died soon after giving birth to their only son. So Sir Tristram became a very rich man, even before he’d begun making his own fortune as a painter.’
Luke frowned. ‘I’ve now got a picture of the background. But, without actually going through the accounts with a magnifying glass, it seems there must be plenty of money in the trust fund.’ He shrugged. ‘Trustees can sometimes be difficult, of course. But in this case I can’t really see the problem.’
‘There was no problem until my grandmother died,’ Angelica told him sadly, before relating the troublesome situation which had arisen over her shared inheritance. ‘Unfortunately, no one can seem to find any trace of the lady—a Mrs Eastman, who apparently lives in America. So the trustees have got the whip hand over me. They can’t actually kick me out of the house, but they can—and do—make my life very difficult. If only I could get together with the missing lady, we could maybe break the trust. Or at least make sure that there isn’t a problem about essential repairs.’
Luke’s figure had become very still, staring down in deep concentration at the notes he’d made on the pad of paper in front of him.
‘That still doesn’t solve your problem with the layout and management of the collection upstairs,’ he said at last. ‘I really wasn’t trying to tease you, or to be unkind,’ he added with a sympathetic smile, ‘but it truly is a mess and needs to be totally revamped.’
‘Yes, I know it does,’ she admitted, suddenly feeling hopelessly weak and breathless at the unted warmth of his smile. ‘In fact, we really need an experienced curator to bring the museum up to date. But I haven’t a hope of paying anyone a salary at the moment.’
‘Hmm.. I’ll have to give your problem some considerable thought,’ he said, making more notes on the pad before slipping it back in his pocket.
Realising that she hadn’t explained her extra problems with Lady Marshall, Angelica was just about to do so when he glanced down at his watch and announced that he would have to leave. ‘I’m sorry that I can’t stay any longer,’ he murmured as she led him bac
k up the stairs and across the hall towards the front door. ‘However, don’t worry. I’m sure that I can come up with a solution to your difficulties.’
Although it had been therapeutic to be able to talk to Luke about her problems, Angelica was now beginning to realise that she might have made a grave mistake.
While it had been very kind of Luke to listen to her tale of woe, there was clearly little or mothing he could do about the situation. So what was the point of remaining in contact with the man? Especially when she found his strong, masculine aura and arrogant self-possession so overwhelminglly daunting.
Let’s face it, she told herself roughly, you’ve no idea how to cope with this man. A man who had only to term his cool grey eyes in her direction to have her either spitting with fury or swept by an inexplicable, crazy desire to throw herself into his arms.
Suddenly panic-stricken at the direction her thoughts were taking, Angelica was grateful for the subdued lighting in the hall, hoping that it would hide the hot, hectic flush she could feel sweeping over her pale cheeks. Placing a trembling hand on the latch of the front door, she took a deep breath and turned to face Luke.
‘Thank you for being so kind, and having the patience to listen to my small—er—minor worries,’ she muttered awkwardly.
‘On the contrary, they are neither small nor minor. And I shall certainly do what I can to help you find a solution to your problems.’
She gulped nervously at the firm resolve underlying his words. ‘I… I’m sure that you mean well, and I really don’t want to seem ungrateful, but I can’t see any point in your becoming involved. I mean, there’s nothing you can do, and…well, it just seems a complete waste of your—er—valuable time,’ she added lamely.
