by Annie West
‘Plans?’ He paused. ‘Oh, you mean about the theft?’
She clenched her hands. She wouldn’t take another swing at him, no matter how tempted. She had no intention of getting close enough again to touch him. ‘The arch air of disingenuousness doesn’t suit you.’
He shrugged. ‘And the wide-eyed air of innocence doesn’t suit you.’
She crossed her arms so he wouldn’t see how they shook. Behind her the kettle whistled and stopped but she fixed her attention on the man who held her future in his hands.
‘I intend to ensure you pay back your debt. It’s that simple.’
‘Nothing with you is simple.’
This time there was a flicker of appreciation in his smile. ‘Ah, you’re a quick learner.’
When she said nothing he finally continued. ‘I’m reopening Deveson Hall. It’s been shut since my mother’s death with no one to look after it but a caretaker for the grounds.’
Ravenna frowned. A stately old home like that needed constant attention and upkeep. Not just cleaning but maintenance and ongoing repairs. One of her mother’s jobs as housekeeper had been to know exactly who was working where on the rambling old place.
‘I’m advised it needs considerable attention.’ An undercurrent of emotion coloured his words and, to her surprise, Ravenna saw him scrub his hand around the back of his neck as if to ease sudden tension. His lips pursed and she could have sworn she read concern in his features.
It was the first indication she’d seen today that Jonas Deveson was capable of feeling anything softer than bitterness or contempt.
From the way he spoke he hadn’t mourned his father, yet the neglect of his family home moved him?
He was more complex than she’d thought. She’d pegged him as a man who cared for nothing but his own pride.
Ravenna opened her mouth to ask why he hadn’t bothered to do something about the house earlier but the answer was obvious. He’d only just inherited the place.
Piers had spent most of the last six years out of England and hadn’t visited the estate since his wife’s death. Ravenna wasn’t surprised to discover he’d decided to spend his money maintaining his lavish lifestyle rather than on the upkeep of a mansion he preferred not to visit.
‘That’s where you come in.’ Jonas’ slow smile chilled her anew. ‘As well as the renovation work, the Hall needs to be cleaned from top to bottom. Scrubbed till it shines.’
‘You want me to be part of the crew that—?’
‘Not part.’ He shook his head slowly, his smile growing. ‘You’ll be it. Personally responsible for getting the place ready for the ball I’m hosting to celebrate the Hall’s reopening.’
Ravenna couldn’t prevent herself gaping. Deveson Hall had been built centuries ago when the family employed an army of servants. It was gorgeous, precious, sprawling and the complete opposite of the low-maintenance residences being designed now. It was three floors of steady toil for the team her mother had overseen. Four floors if you counted the attics. Five with the cellars.
She had no doubt Jonas would include the cellars.
‘One person to do all that? It’s impossible!’
‘There will be builders working to fix what needs repairing. You’ll be responsible for getting the place ready to live in again.’
A flash of something showed in his steely eyes and Ravenna realised he was waiting for her to refuse, to toss away what she knew instinctively would be her only option apart from prison.
‘Is that all?’ Somehow she choked the words out.
His smile faded.
‘No. If your work is of a high enough standard then you can stay on and work off the rest of your debt as my housekeeper. That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.’
The dreadful irony of it didn’t escape her. Her mother might have escaped Jonas Deveson’s wrath but she wouldn’t. He began with putting her firmly in her place, as his servant.
Her insides twisted. She’d vowed never to be anyone’s servant after seeing the way her mother had been treated by so many employers. There were wealthy employers who believed service was akin to bonded slavery. Even the sheer hard work of a commercial kitchen was preferable.
Childhood taunts echoed in her ears. Her peers had viewed sharing a classroom with a servant’s daughter an insult. They’d made her pay for that insult.
Ravenna had thought she’d escaped all that.
It would take years to pay off the money. Yet she had no choice. She didn’t want a criminal record or a stint in prison.
She drew a breath, trying to slow her frantic pulse.
Jonas would make her time at Deveson Hall hell, but she was strong enough to cope. He couldn’t throw anything at her that was worse than what she’d already faced. She pushed her shoulders back and looked him in the eye, ignoring the sizzle of heat arcing between them.
Before she could say anything he spoke again. ‘Don’t get ideas of history repeating itself.’ His voice was glacial. ‘I don’t have a weakness for the hired help like my father.’
Her chin went up. With every word he degraded what her mother and Piers had shared.
‘That’s a relief.’ Ravenna forced the words through numb lips. ‘You’re not my type.’
His stony face tightened. Yet he said nothing as he waited for her to reject his preposterous scheme. Then he’d call in the police.
‘How could I refuse such a generous offer? You’ve got yourself a housekeeper, Mr Deveson.’
CHAPTER FIVE
THE BLEAK WEATHER did nothing to brighten Ravenna’s mood. Deveson Hall was as imposing as she recalled, sprawling across what seemed acres, its blind eyes reflecting no light on this dreary, damp day.
Ravenna shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself as the drizzle-laden wind tugged her coat.
She wasn’t afraid of hard work but this... She swallowed, her throat dry as the enormity of it sank in. He expected the impossible.
No sane man could expect one person to care for all that. Even if the Hall hadn’t been neglected for years it needed a team of staff. He couldn’t seriously think—
Of course he didn’t. Jonas Deveson was no fool. He expected her to throw up her hands and surrender. He wanted to watch her admit defeat before he subjected her to the humiliation of the justice system. He’d shred her of her self-respect and rub her nose in the fact she was at his mercy.
She shuddered at the memory of his merciless gaze.
Again the furtive temptation to run sneaked into her brain. But that would solve nothing. The money had been stolen and if she didn’t accept the consequences Mamma would. She was in no condition to do that. Besides, it was Ravenna who’d benefited.
She sent up a prayer of thanks that her mother was in Italy. Face to face Silvia would have known Ravenna lied when she said all was well, explaining she’d left Paris for a promising job in England.
Mamma had been so excited for her, seeing this as a chance to get her interrupted career back on track. She probably thought Jonas with his billions wouldn’t miss the money. If she guessed Ravenna had accepted her guilt...it didn’t bear thinking about. Ravenna felt sick to the stomach lying in their regular phone calls but she had no choice. She wouldn’t leave her mother to Jonas Deveson’s mercy.
Reluctantly Ravenna delved ice-cold fingers into her pocket and dragged out the key. Picking up her bag, she stepped through the weeds and up to the back door.
On the step was a carton of supplies. She ignored it as she dealt with the lock and the keypad of the state-of-the-art security system that matched the new high-security perimeter boundary.
There might be no one at the Hall but there was a full-time presence at the gatehouse security centre.
She’d been warned not to try leaving the estate lest she set off an alarm. The implicat
ion being that she was a prisoner. The shiver scudding through her turned into a full-blown shudder as she recalled the curious blaze in Jonas Deveson’s pewter-hard eyes.
‘Prisoner’ sounded Dickensian, but that was what she was.
There would be a camera trained on this door now, eyes monitoring the entrances. Apart from keeping the place safe from intruders, Jonas probably suspected her of trying to steal the antique silver.
Was that his game? To tempt her into another theft so he’d be absolutely certain she’d get a prison sentence as a repeat offender? It seemed likely.
She grabbed her bag and entered, eager for privacy.
The flagstone hall was so gloomy she flicked on the light. The place was drear and freezing, far different from her memories. The rest of the Hall had been off limits but she’d been allowed free access to the back of the house.
She made her way to the suite of rooms Mamma had used. Rooms Ravenna had called home during summer holidays. For a weak moment she let herself wish her mother were here. She could do with her trademark optimism and determination.
Ravenna pushed open the door and slammed to a stop.
The smell hit her. A pungent aroma of damp and mouse and something rotting. Her nose wrinkled as she stared at what had once been a cosy sitting room. A breeze eddied and she turned, seeing the half-closed curtains stir as air funnelled through a broken pane.
The caretaker employed by Piers hadn’t done much of a job if he’d missed something so obvious.
But the damp wasn’t just from rain soaking through the hole. It streaked the walls from the ceiling. The wallpaper had green-brown smears no scrubbing could clean.
Putting down her case, she stepped forward. Debris crackled underfoot as she headed for the bedroom. The smell was worse there and the stained walls too.
Steadfastly ignoring the sound of tiny, scurrying feet, Ravenna headed back to the corridor.
Had Jonas realised the damage was this bad? No wonder he’d looked smug as he offered her this chance.
The place didn’t need a cleaner. It needed ripping down and starting again! Except in a heritage-listed building things weren’t so simple.
It would be a nightmare to restore, she decided as she opened door after door and found similar damage. She guessed a water pipe had burst upstairs or a drain had become blocked and these rooms had borne the brunt of the damage.
It was criminal that it had been neglected. How could Piers have been so irresponsible?
She thought of the laughing, garrulous man she’d known. He’d loved Mamma as she’d loved him. Ravenna had seen it in his eyes and in his readiness to please her mother.
But she’d also seen his self-indulgence. The way he changed the subject whenever anything unpleasant cropped up. He preferred gaiety and good times to responsibility. He’d had the look of a man who’d indulged himself for decades and he’d been a connoisseur of fine food and wine—one of the reasons he’d approved her career choice.
He’d lived a life of casual luxury. According to Mamma there was only one thing he’d been firm about and that was in having nothing to do with his family or the entailed estate he’d left behind in England.
No wonder there’d been murder in Jonas Deveson’s face when he’d talked of the work that needed doing here.
Finally she came to the kitchen and hope kindled. In the grey light from the grimy windows it looked neglected rather than damaged. Ravenna released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.
At least this room was habitable. She cast a professional eye over the outdated range and badly laid out cupboards. She’d worked with worse.
The trip had exhausted her. The enormity of what faced her made her want to curl into a ball and hide.
But Ravenna had learned that the worst had to be faced. Ignoring bad news didn’t make it go away.
Imagine Jonas Deveson’s delight if she gave up before she’d begun! Squaring her shoulders, she turned and went to get the box of supplies.
* * *
‘What’s the meaning of these?’ Jonas let the pile of bills flutter onto his PA’s desk.
Unflappable as ever, Stephen turned from his computer. ‘You said anything to do with Ms Ruggiero or Deveson Hall should come straight to you.’
‘But this?’ He poked a finger at the top invoice. ‘Glazing?’ He stirred the pile. ‘Boiler repairs? Why are they coming here?’
He should have known she’d find a way to niggle at him, reminding him of her presence even though she was out of London. She should be busy scrubbing the Hall from top to bottom, too exhausted to do more than worry if he might change his mind and hand her to the police. Instead she had the temerity to interrupt him at work.
Jonas shoved aside the fact that she’d been interrupting him ever since Paris. Too often he relived the cinnamon-scented sweetness of her skin and the arousing sound of her sighs as he tasted her.
The tightness in his belly exacerbated his anger.
‘Explain!’
Stephen looked at him in surprise and Jonas realised he’d raised his voice. He never raised his voice. Ever. His calm was renowned.
The only exception had been in Paris. With Ravenna Ruggiero.
He palmed the back of his neck, massaging tight muscles. What was it about her that made him lose it?
Before he could apologise Stephen spoke. ‘The building project manager has been held up in Singapore. He can’t start yet. I sent you a memo about it two days ago.’
He had, and Jonas, wanting only the best on the delicate job of restoring his family home, had preferred to wait a little longer to get the best in the business.
‘But this?’ He picked up another bill. ‘Twenty mouse traps? What on earth is she doing?’
‘Fighting a plague?’ Stephen grinned.
Jonas rifled through the invoices again. He’d thought he could leave her to stew in her own juices for a while. But without anyone to supervise her... ‘Clear my diary from tomorrow. I’m going to Deveson Hall.’
* * *
Jonas stood at the bottom of the wide front steps, a curious, hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach.
It yawned wider as his gaze crossed the weeds choking the gravel and sprouting in the litter edging the stone steps. An ornamental urn leaned drunkenly near the front door and a couple of window panes were haphazardly boarded with rough planks and even, if he wasn’t mistaken, cardboard.
The emptiness in his belly became an ache and then a hard churning that riveted him to the spot. His nape prickled and something snaked through him. A searing hot sensation that wound tight around his vital organs, squeezing mercilessly till the force of it threatened to poleaxe him.
Emotions, turbulent and powerful, rose in a potent, poisonous brew.
Six years since he’d been here.
Six years since his mother took her life and his father—
Jonas clamped a lid on those thoughts, horrified at what he felt.
For six years his life had been satisfying, productive, with challenges, triumphs and pleasures. There’d been no place for emotions in his ordered, busy world.
He didn’t waste time on regrets or any other pointless feelings that might distract him from his purpose. Instead he’d focused on moving forward, taking the company to even greater success.
He dragged in a slow, sustaining breath.
That was better. He had himself in hand now.
But that moment of sickening weakness, of horrible vulnerability disturbed him.
For six years there’d been nothing like it. Nothing to shake him to the core of his being. Not until Ravenna Ruggiero. Her theft, her brazen guilt, the conflicting mix of sensations she’d aroused, had unsettled him.
She was to blame.
It was as if she’d opened the sluice
gates on a dam of emotion he’d walled up long ago.
He didn’t like it one bit.
Another reason to have his revenge and be done with her. Surely now, seeing the magnitude of the task facing her, she’d admit defeat. There would be no more flashing eyes, no sassy comebacks, no dredging up unwanted responses.
Jonas firmed his lips and strode up the stairs.
The past hit him in a rush as he opened the massive door. A sense of long-forgotten familiarity, of childish memories and days gone by.
Of homecoming.
His hand tightened on the old wood as he fought back emotion.
There was nothing welcoming about the dimly lit room. Frigid air misted his breath as he surveyed the vast, lifeless space. Jonas absorbed the scent of dust and old wood, his gaze raking the darkened recesses, as if expecting the spectres of his past to rise up before him.
With a huff of self-disgust he strode to a window and yanked back the wooden shutters. Light spilled across the worn flagstones to the foot of the massive staircase. Overhead the shadowy beams of the high vaulted ceiling were just discernible.
Another few paces and another window, and another. Till the great hall, once the heart of the house, was revealed in its grimy glory. No sign anyone had been here in years. It looked soulless despite the faded tapestries and ancient furniture.
Jonas flung open the doors into a drawing room. More modern than the Hall, this had a fine Regency fireplace, decorative plasterwork and a massive mirror that reflected the wraith-like forms of furniture concealed beneath dustcovers.
Temper rising, he yanked open more shutters and curtains. Daylight revealed no evidence of recent habitation. His hands were grimy from the dust everywhere.
Damn it! Was she even on the premises?
He strode from room to room, letting doors slam wide to reveal neglected spaces of damp, dusty decay.
By the time he’d stalked back to the great hall that strange, unsettling feeling was gone. Instead anger burned bright and hard.
