‘You know I didn’t play one of the Bennett sisters,’ hissed Cassie, giving Eve a filthy look, but her mother only smiled.
‘Mrs Bennett, perhaps?’ she suggested, enjoying the moment. ‘You’d be unlikely to be cast as an ingénue, if that’s the term they use these days.’
‘So, did you and Mr Romero spend much time in Paris, Cassie?’ Eve asked quickly, realising her grandmother wasn’t about to back off, and this time Cassie seemed grateful for her intervention.
‘Just a few days,’ she said. ‘But Jake promised to look me up the next time he was in London,’ she added, giving him a forgiving look. ‘And that was six months ago, wasn’t it, darling?’
‘Something like that.’ Eve noticed that Romero didn’t respond to Cassie’s frequent endearments. But she was taken aback when he turned to her. ‘And my name’s Jake. Or Jacob, if you prefer.’
‘Yes.’ Aware that all eyes were on her now, Eve was forced to be polite. ‘Yes, right.’ Then, dragging her gaze away from his disturbing face, she managed to smile at her grandmother. ‘Um—I’ll go and see how Mrs Blackwood is getting on. Is there anything I can get you?’
‘Yes, you can get me another drink,’ said Cassie at once, holding out her glass as Eve got to her feet. ‘I’ll have whisky, if there is any.’ She glanced at her mother. ‘Your choice of wine isn’t to my taste.’
‘Nor are your manners to mine, Cassie,’ retorted Ellie, and Eve wished now that she hadn’t offered to go and see how the housekeeper was coping. There was an ominous atmosphere building in the room, and she dreaded what her grandmother might say next.
‘I’m not a child, Mother.’ Everyone must have noticed that the honeyed ‘Mummy’ had given way to the chillier term. ‘And I don’t like red wine, as it happens. But you knew that.’
‘I’d forgotten,’ declared her mother blandly. ‘Your visits here are so infrequent, Cassie. I can’t be expected to remember everything.’
Cassie’s lips tightened, and Eve guessed she was biting her tongue. She must know better than anyone that it would be unwise to antagonise her mother when there was a guest in the house. Particularly when that guest was someone she wanted to impress.
In the hope of avoiding any further argument, Eve set Cassie’s empty glass on the tray. Then, keeping her back to the room, she managed to sneak the whisky bottle off the tray and into the cupboard below. Swinging round on her heels, she said, somewhat breathlessly, ‘I’m sorry. There doesn’t appear to be any whisky here, Cassie. I expect there’s a new bottle in the kitchen. Why don’t you come and get it?’
The face Cassie turned to her was hardly friendly. Eve was sure the words, Why don’t you get it? were hovering on her lips. But politeness—or common sense—won out, and with a muttered, ‘Excuse me,’ to Romero, she pushed herself to her feet and flounced across the room to join Eve at the door.
She waited until the door was firmly closed behind them and they’d put the width of the hall between them and the library before speaking again. But when she did, her words were hard and accusatory.
‘What do you think you’re playing at?’ she demanded. ‘I saw the bottle of whisky on the tray when Mrs Blackwood was pouring us all a glass of the poor excuse for claret my mother insists on serving. Don’t think I didn’t see you spirit it away into the cabinet. I’d be surprised if anybody missed it.’
Eve’s lips twisted. ‘I should have known that nothing I did would please you,’ she said flatly. ‘And here I was thinking I was saving your sorry ass!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Are you for real?’ Eve stared at her. ‘Don’t you realise your mother is just waiting for a chance to explode this myth you’ve created about yourself? You’re a fool if you think she’s forgotten—anything.’
‘With your connivance, no doubt.’
Eve shrugged. ‘If you want to think that, I can’t stop you.’
‘Well, what else am I supposed to think?’ Cassie balled one fist and pressed it into the palm of her other hand. Then, less aggressively, she said, ‘She wouldn’t say anything.’ A beat. ‘Would she?’
‘If you persist in baiting her, I don’t know what she might say,’ replied Eve honestly.
‘But she’s baiting me!’ Cassie made a sound of frustration. ‘Am I expected to take whatever she wants to give without defending myself at all?’
Eve moved towards the passage leading to the kitchen. ‘I can’t answer that. I suppose it rather depends on how much you want your—guest—to know about you.’
Cassie’s mouth tightened. ‘Are you threatening me?’
‘No!’ The look Eve cast over her shoulder was incredulous. ‘Why should I threaten you? I don’t care what you do, do I? How you conduct your life means nothing to me.’
Cassie scoffed. ‘Little Miss Prim,’ she said contemptuously. ‘I wonder if my mother has any idea of the kind of life you were living before she arrived like a fairy godmother to whisk you away.’
‘She knows,’ said Eve, and without waiting to see if Cassie was going to follow her she pushed open the door into the reassuring light and warmth of the kitchen.
‘Does she?’ Cassie came after her, evidently deciding that if she couldn’t torment her mother, she would torment Eve instead. ‘Well, don’t talk to me as if you’re Goody Two Shoes! We both know you’d do anything to get a man like Jake to support you.’
Eve gasped. She was used to Cassie speaking as if Mrs Blackwood was just a cipher, but this time she’d gone too far. ‘You’re wrong,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve never prostituted myself to get any man, Cassie. And unless you’re prepared for me to expose all your dirty washing, I suggest you back off!’
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS still dark—and cold—when Jake got out of bed. The heating hadn’t kicked in yet, and he padded across to the windows to look out on a grey world, with only the silvery trace of a rime frost to soften the outline of the trees in the paddock.
He’d slept alone, much to Cassandra’s annoyance. He knew one of the reasons she’d invited him here was because she wanted their relationship to advance to another stage. But he wasn’t interested in that, and the fact that her mother had arranged for them to have separate bedrooms showed that she didn’t approve of them conducting any illicit dealings under her roof.
She’d even phoned him on his mobile, evidently deciding it was too cold to brave the chilly corridors of the house when she couldn’t be sure how he’d respond. Cassandra didn’t like taking no for an answer.
A flicker of light in the yard below caught his attention. His room overlooked the back of the house, and as he watched he saw a figure detach itself from the building and head off towards the cluster of barns and outbuildings that were just visible in the gloom.
Eve.
Her tall, slim figure was unmistakable. Dressed in jeans and a bulky sweater, the thick braid of dark hair swinging over her shoulder, she moved with an unconscious grace that stirred an unwilling awareness inside him. Which was crazy. She wasn’t beautiful in the way Cassandra was beautiful. Her features were too irregular, her mouth too wide, her nose too long. Yet she possessed an almost exotic allure that pointed to a Latin ancestry, and there was a wealth of knowledge in her smoky grey eyes. He’d found himself wanting to bring a smile to those full, sultry lips, to feel her warmth enveloping him instead of that argumentative old woman she worked for.
He hadn’t succeeded. Not yet, at least. For some reason she’d taken an instant dislike to him, and try as he might he couldn’t get her to relax. She’d been forced to be polite to him during the rather tense supper Cassandra and her mother had created, but he’d been conscious of her disapproval all through the meal.
He pulled a wry face. He would have to do better, he thought, without really understanding why he should want to. Nevertheless, he turned swiftly from the window and went into the adjoining bathroom. Leaving his shower until later, he had a quick wash, cleaned his teeth, and ran his damp hands over his hair. That wou
ld have to do for now, he decided, and with a grimace at his reflection he returned to the bedroom.
Pulling on his oldest pair of jeans, he shivered a little as the cold fabric encased his warm skin. Then, grabbing the cashmere sweater he’d worn the night before, he thrust his arms into the sleeves and jerked it over his head.
He left his room a couple of minutes later. He’d hooked his leather jacket over one shoulder, and his trainers made little sound as he strode along the upper landing. Downstairs, he hesitated in the chilly hallway, not absolutely sure which way to go. But then he remembered the direction Eve had been coming from the night before and, taking a chance, he headed along the corridor that he hoped might lead to the back of the house.
He was right. Or at least partly so. When he opened the door at the end of the corridor, he found himself in the kitchen. The housekeeper, who had just been about to take a tray of freshly baked rolls from the oven, looked round in surprise, and Jake guessed he was the last person she’d expected to see.
‘Mr Romero!’ she exclaimed, pausing uncertainly. But then, realising she had to complete her task, she hurriedly set the tray of rolls on the scrubbed pine table and closed the oven door. ‘Can I help you?’
Jake gave her a rueful grin. He hadn’t expected to encounter anyone else either. ‘I—er—I was going to take a walk,’ he said a little lamely. ‘I wanted to get out back of the house.’
‘Ah.’ Mrs Blackwood pushed the rolls a little further onto the table. ‘Well, you can come through here, Mr Romero.’ She gestured towards another door. ‘That leads to the bootroom. You’ll see another door through there that leads outside.’ She paused. ‘But are you sure you want to go out so early? It’s very cold.’
Jake could believe it. He was glad he’d brought his jacket with him. ‘I’ll be okay,’ he assured her. He nodded at the rolls. ‘New bread! I can’t wait for breakfast.’
‘You can take one with you, if you like,’ offered Mrs Blackwood shyly, and, although Jake was impatient to get going, he couldn’t refuse her.
‘Great,’ he said, selecting one with a golden crust. Then, after taking a bite, almost burning his mouth in the process, he grinned again and made for the door.
Outside, he discovered that she hadn’t been joking. It wasn’t just cold, it was freezing, and ramming the rapidly cooling roll between his teeth, he swiftly shouldered into his jacket. Then, after fastening the buttons, he removed the roll again and set off in the direction he’d seen Eve heading.
It didn’t take long to reach the stable yard. Low buildings occupied two sides of a cobbled courtyard, with the black bulk of a barn dominating the other. And it was from the barn that he could see light emanating. It filtered out, a golden finger penetrating the half open door. If he’d been further way he wouldn’t have seen it, the light swiftly swallowed by the lowering shadows.
He doubted she’d be pleased to see him, but he crossed the yard anyway, still munching on the crusty roll as he rounded the door.
Eve was in the process of forking clean straw onto a handcart. She’d pushed the sleeves of her chunky sweater up to her elbows, and as she bent towards the bales stored against the wall of the barn the back of her jeans exposed a delectable wedge of skin at her waist. But she didn’t seem to feel the cold. Obviously what she was doing was keeping her warm, but he couldn’t help wincing when she jabbed the fork particularly viciously into the stack.
‘Ouch,’ he said softly, and had the doubtful satisfaction of seeing her reaction. He’d startled her, there was no doubt about that, and a becoming wave of colour invaded her pale cheeks.
She straightened automatically. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded, and once again he could hear the barely suppressed impatience in her voice.
‘I thought I’d take a look around,’ he replied easily, finishing the roll and dusting the crumbs from his hands. ‘What are you doing? I thought Cassandra said her mother had sold all the horses.’
‘All but one,’ said Eve shortly. And then, because she resented his impression that he could ask her anything he liked and she’d meekly answer him, she countered, ‘Where’s Cassie?’
Jake shrugged, propping his shoulder against the wall of the barn and putting most of his weight on one leg. ‘In bed, I guess,’ he responded, unbuttoning his jacket and warming his fingertips beneath his arms.
Eve’s fingers tightened round the shaft of the fork. She couldn’t help noticing that by opening his jacket he’d exposed the fact that his tight-fitting jeans were worn in all the most intimate places. The fabric clung lovingly to his shape, soft and textured, and she wondered why a man who apparently had an unlimited income would want to wear something so old.
She’d hardly been aware of how she was appraising him until her eyes returned to his face and encountered his. He’d been watching her, and in an effort to show that he hadn’t fazed her she muttered, ‘Don’t you know?’
Jake’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t I know what?’ he queried innocently, and her momentary spurt of defiance faltered.
‘Don’t you know where—where Cassie is?’ she said, lifting her shoulders in a dismissive gesture. ‘I’d have thought you would.’
‘What you mean is, you thought we’d be sleeping together, right?’ he suggested mildly, evidently enjoying her confusion. ‘Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I slept alone.’ His eyes darkened. ‘Very well, as it happens.’ Which wasn’t entirely true.
‘Oh.’ Eve swallowed. ‘Well—good.’ She turned back to her task and attacked the straw with renewed vigour. ‘I have to get on.’
He straightened. ‘Let me help you.’
Eve’s lips parted and she stared at him with disbelieving eyes. ‘I—don’t think so.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you—’ She moistened her lips before continuing awkwardly, ‘This is a dirty job.’
‘So?’
‘So—I’m sure you don’t want to get all hot and sweaty.’
‘I get hot and sweaty all the time,’ he told her drily. And then, because he could see what she was thinking, he added, ‘I meant working on boats, of course.’
‘I know that.’ Eve’s face felt as if it would never be cool again.
‘Okay.’ His grin said he didn’t believe her. ‘I just didn’t want you to get the wrong impression.’
Eve pursed her lips. ‘I think that’s exactly what you did want me to do,’ she muttered, barely audibly. She sighed. ‘Look, why don’t you go for a walk and let me finish this?’
‘Because I want to see this horse you’re doing all this work for,’ replied Jake, taking off his jacket and flinging it over a rusting oil drum. He came towards her and took the fork from her unresisting fingers. ‘See, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?’
Eve took a deep breath and stepped somewhat reluctantly aside. ‘Cassie’s not going to like it,’ she warned, and Jake turned to give her a knowing look.
‘Do you care?’ he said, beginning to fork straw onto the cart with surprising energy. ‘You know, I’m gonna enjoy this. I’ve been sitting on my butt for far too long.’
Eve thought about voicing another protest, but then what he’d said distracted her. ‘I thought you were used to manual labour.’
‘I am.’ Jake loaded the fork and tossed its contents onto the growing pile on the cart. ‘But for the past six weeks I’ve been trailing around Europe checking on orders, arranging contracts, and generally pushing a pen for most of the day.’
Eve hesitated. She badly wanted to know if Cassie had been with him, though why that should be of any interest to her she couldn’t say.
‘Don’t you have an assistant who could handle the grunt work for you?’ she asked, and Jake straightened, flexing his back muscles as he gave her a narrow-eyed stare.
‘Why don’t you ask right out whether Cassandra accompanied me?’ he said, massaging his spine with a grateful hand. ‘That’s what you mean, isn’t it? Has Cassandra’s mother given you the job of finding out what my
intentions are?’
‘No!’ Eve was indignant. ‘And whether or not Cassie went with you is nothing to do with me.’
‘Okay.’ His hand moved from the small of his back to rub the flat muscles of his stomach, and Eve’s breath hitched when he accidentally pulled up the front of his sweater and a cloud of night-dark hair spilled into the gap. The pull of an attraction that was as unwelcome as it was primitive swept over her, and she had turned hurriedly away when he said, ‘Well, for your information, then, Cassandra stayed in London.’
‘Whatever.’ Eve didn’t look back. Squaring her shoulders, she said, ‘In any case, that’s enough straw. If you want to see Storm, it’s this way.’
She slipped out of the door and Jake pulled on his jacket, feeling vaguely irritated that she was treating him so offhandedly. What had he said—or done, come to that—to warrant the cold shoulder she was presently giving him? No, scrub that, he amended shortly. She’d been giving him the cold shoulder ever since he’d got here, and he didn’t like it.
Deciding that if she wanted the handcart, she could fetch it herself, he buttoned his jacket and followed her outside. The skies were lighter now, but it was just as cold, and he pushed his hands into his jacket pockets as he trudged across the cobbled yard in her wake.
The stables were amazingly warm. Considering only one animal was in residence, he’d expected it to be only marginally less frigid than the barn, but it wasn’t. Unless the company had something to do with it, he thought caustically. Obviously Eve preferred the horse to him.
Storm was stabled at the end of the row. He’d evidently heard them coming and was neighing a welcome as they reached his stall. A solid-looking chestnut, the animal had a distinctive flash of white between his eyes. Intelligent eyes, too, Jake noticed, as it nuzzled Eve’s pockets for sugar or some other treat.
Eve pulled out a small apple and let Storm take it from her hand. He crunched away happily, showing surprisingly good teeth for his age. In Jake’s opinion he wasn’t a young animal, but he looked strong and well-muscled.
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