by India Grey
‘Soph, it’s good news.’ Jasper’s voice was jubilant. ‘Dad’s regained consciousness. He’s groggy and a bit breathless but he’s talking, and even managed a smile at the pretty blonde nurse.’
‘Jasper, that’s wonderful!’ Sophie spoke with as much warmth as possible, given what she’d just found out about Ralph Fitzroy. ‘Darling, I’m so pleased.’
‘Yes. Look, the thing is, neither Ma nor I want to leave him while he’s like this, so I was wondering if you’d mind very much if we didn’t come back for dinner? Will you be OK on your own?’
‘Of course.’ Unconsciously she found her gaze moving back to Kit. He was standing in front of the fire, head bent, shoulders tensed. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.’
‘The other thing is,’ Jasper said apologetically, ‘Ma gave Mrs Daniels the day off …’
Sophie laughed. ‘Believe it or not, some of us have evolved to the stage where we can survive without staff. Now, go and give Ralph … my regards.’
Her smile faded quickly as she put the phone down. The room was quiet again, as if it were waiting.
‘They’re not coming back,’ she said, trying to sound casual. ‘He just wanted to check we’d be OK, since it’s Mrs Daniels’ day off and I’m not known for my culinary skills.’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘Where’s the nearest Indian takeaway?’
‘Hawksworth.’ Kit turned round. His face was blank. ‘But forget takeaway. I don’t know about you but I need to get away from here. Let’s go out.’
CHAPTER TEN
IT’s not a date, it’s not a date, it’s not a date.
Sophie looked at herself sternly in the mirror as she yanked a comb roughly through her wet hair. After a walk on the beach this afternoon it had needed washing anyway. She wasn’t making any special effort because she was going out for dinner with Kit.
Her stomach dipped. Period pain, she told herself.
It would be rude not to make a little bit of effort, and, after being shut up at Alnburgh for days without seeing a soul apart from the odd dog walker on the beach, it was actually pretty good to have an excuse to liven up her corpselike pallor with blusher and put on something that wasn’t chosen solely for its insulating properties.
But what?
She stopped combing, and stood still, her mind running over the possibilities. She was sick and tired of jeans, but discounting them only left the black shroud, the vampire corset thing or the Chinese silk dress Jasper had ruled out for Ralph’s party on the grounds that it was too sexy. Tapping a finger against her lip, she considered.
It’s not a date …
Absolutely not. But she wasn’t wearing the shroud. And the corset would look as if a she were meeting a client and charging for it. The Chinese silk it would have to be.
A wave of undeniable nervousness rolled through her and she had to sit down on the edge of the bed. She was being ridiculous, getting dressed up and wound up about a dinner arrangement that was based purely on practical and logical reasons. Jasper wasn’t coming back, Mrs Daniels was away, neither of them could cook and they were both going stir-crazy from being cooped up in the castle for too long. Unlike every other dinner invitation she’d ever had, this one very definitely wasn’t the opening move in a game that would finish up in bed.
No matter how fantastic she sensed going to bed with Kit Fitzroy would be.
Stop it, she told herself crossly, getting up and slapping foundation onto her flushed cheeks. This was nothing to do with sex. That look that had passed between them in the library earlier had not been the precursor to a kiss … a kiss that would have led to who-knew-what if the phone hadn’t rung. No. It was about finally, miraculously putting their differences behind them. Talking. About her being there at a rare moment when he had needed to offload.
She sighed. The trouble was, in a lot of ways that felt a whole lot more special and intimate than sex.
Her hands were shaking so much it took three goes to get her trademark eyeliner flick right. Then there was nothing else to do but put on the Chinese silk dress. She shivered as the thick crimson silk slid over her body, pulling tight as she did up the zip.
‘It’s not a date,’ she muttered one more time, pulling a severe face at her reflection in the little mirror above the sink. But her eyes still glittered with excitement.
In the library Kit put down the folder of Inland Revenue correspondence he’d been going through and looked at his watch. Seven o’clock—his lip curled slightly—about three minutes later than the last time he’d checked.
He got up, stretching his aching back and feeling fleetingly glad that he didn’t have a desk job. He felt stiff and tired and restless; frustrated from being inside all day and surrounded by papers. That was all it was. Nothing to do with the persistent throb of desire that had made concentrating on tax impossible, or the fact that his mind kept going back to that moment on the sofa just before the phone rang.
The moment when he had been about to kiss her. Again. Only this time it wouldn’t have been because he was trying to prove anything or score points or catch her out, but because he wanted to. Needed to.
Letting out a ragged sigh, he ran his hands through his hair and down over his face.
What the hell was he doing asking her out to dinner?
He was looking after her for Jasper, that was all. Trying to make up a little for the unrelenting misery of her visit, and for boring her with his life story earlier.
Especially for that.
It wasn’t a date or anything.
Grimly he turned the lights out in the library and strode through into the hall, rubbing a hand across his chin and feeling the rasp of stubble. As he went into the portrait hall he heard footsteps echoing on the stone stairs and looked up.
His throat closed and his heart sank. He had to clench his teeth together to stop himself from swearing.
Because she was beautiful. Undeniably, obviously, hit-you-between-the-eyes beautiful, and it was going to be impossible to sit across a table from her all evening and not be aware of that for every minute. She was wearing a dress of Chinese silk that hugged her body like a second skin, but was high-necked and low-hemmed enough to look oddly demure.
Her footsteps slowed. She was looking at him, her expresion uncertain, and it struck him that she was waiting for his reaction.
Swiftly he cleared his throat, rubbing his jaw again to unclench it. ‘You look … great,’ he said gruff ly. He’d been about to say beautiful, but stopped himself at the last minute. It seemed too intimate.
‘I’m way overdressed.’ She’d come to a standstill halfway down the stairs and turned around, preparing to bolt back up again. ‘I didn’t really have anything else, but I can put on jeans—’
‘No.’
The word came out more forcefully than he’d meant and echoed off the stone walls. Her eyes widened with shock, but she didn’t move.
‘You’re fine as you are, and I’m starving. Let’s just go, shall we?’
He took her to a restaurant in Hawksworth. Tucked away in a small courtyard off the market square, it had a low-beamed ceiling, a stone-flagged floor and fires burning in each of its two rooms. Candles stuck into old wine bottles flickered on every table, throwing uneven shadows on the rough stone walls. Thanks to these it was mercifully dark and Sophie felt able to relax a little bit in her too-smart dress.
‘You were right,’ she said brightly, studying the menu without taking in a single thing on it. ‘It is good to be away from the castle. And it’s good to be warm, too.’
The maître d’, recognising Kit, had shown them to the best table in a quiet corner of the far room, next to the fire. Its warmth stole into Sophie’s body, but somehow she couldn’t stop herself from shivering.
‘Alnburgh hasn’t quite lived up to your expectations, then?’ Kit asked dryly as he studied the wine list, and Sophie remembered that journey from the station in the back of the Bentley when she’d seen the castle for the first time.
‘Let’s
just say I’m a big fan of central heating. When I was little I used to think that I wouldn’t mind where I lived as long as it was warm.’
Oh, dear, that was a stupid thing to say. She looked down, picking bits of fossilised wax off the wine bottle candle-holder with a fingernail and hoping he wouldn’t pick up the subject of when she was little. The last thing she wanted to talk about was her childhood.
Actually, come to think of it, there were quite a lot of things she didn’t want to talk about. Or couldn’t. She’d better not drink too much or she’d be letting skeletons, and Jasper, out of the closet by dessert time.
‘So where do you live?’ he asked, putting the menu down and looking at her directly.
‘Crouch End.’ Beneath his gaze she felt ridiculously shy. ‘I share a flat with a girl called Jess. Or I did, but then I went to Paris for two months for the Resistance film and when I got back her boyfriend had moved in. I guess it might be time to look for somewhere else.’
‘Would you move in with Jasper?’
She shook her head, suppressing a rueful smile as she imagined Sergio’s reaction if she did. ‘I love Jasper, but it’s not—’
She stopped as the waitress appeared; a slim, dark-skinned girl who slid a pencil out of her casually piled up hair to take their order. Sophie, who couldn’t remember a single thing from the menu, spotted linguine on the specials board behind Kit and ordered that, cursing herself almost instantly for choosing something so inelegant to eat.
No sooner had the waitress sauntered off with catwalk grace than the maître d’ brought a dish of olives and the wine, pouring it into glasses the size of goldfish bowls with a great deal of theatre. Sophie’s pulse went into overdrive as the incident in the wine cellar came rushing back to her. Looking away, she felt her cheeks flame and wondered if Kit was remembering the same thing.
When they were alone again he raised his glass and said, ‘Go on.’
She made a dismissive gesture, deliberately choosing to misremember where she’d got up to. Jasper was probably one of the subjects best placed on the ‘Avoid’ list.
‘So anyway, I’ll probably be flat-hunting when I get back to London, unless I stick it out at Love Central until I find out if I’ve got the vampire film role, because that’ll involve about four weeks’ filming in Romania …’ She picked up her glass and took a huge mouthful, just to shut herself up. The glass was even bigger than she thought and some of the wine dripped down her chin, reminding her even more painfully of the port.
‘Is it a big part?’
Kit’s voice was low. In contrast to her he was utterly relaxed, his face impassive in the firelight. But why wouldn’t he be relaxed? she thought despairingly. He didn’t have a thumping great crush to hide, as well as most of the truth about himself.
‘No. Lots of scenes but not many lines, which is perfect—’ She looked up at him from under her lashes with a grimace of embarrassment. ‘The only downside is the costume. My agent is always sending me scripts for bigger parts, but I don’t want to go down that route. I’m quite neurotic enough as it is.’
Aware that she was babbling again, she picked up an olive, putting it in her mouth and sucking the salty oil off her fingers while she steadied herself to continue. ‘I love what I do now,’ she said more slowly. ‘It’s fun and there’s no pressure. I’m not trained or anything and I just fell into it by chance, but it means I get to travel and do interesting things, and pick up the odd useful skill too.’
The waitress arrived and set plates down between them before sauntering off again.
‘Such as?’
Kit’s eyes were heavy-lidded, dark-lashed, gleaming.
Sophie looked down, knowing for certain there was no way she was going to be able to eat linguine when her stomach was already in knots. She picked up her fork anyway.
‘Let me see … Archery. You never know when you might have to face an invading army with only a bow and arrow—especially at Alnburgh. Milking a cow. Pole dancing. Artificial respiration.’
Kit looked up at her in surprise. ‘You learned that through acting?’
‘I did a season in a TV hospital drama series.’ She wound ribbons of pasta around her fork, assuming a lofty tone. ‘I’m surprised you don’t remember it actually—it was the highlight of my career, until the scriptwriters decided to kill me off in a clifftop rescue scene in the Christmas episode instead of letting me go on to marry the consultant and do another series.’
His smile was sudden and devastating. The firelight had softened his face, smoothing away the lines of tension and disapproval, making him look less intimidating and simply very, very sexy.
‘Were you disappointed?’
She shook her head. ‘Not really. It was good money but too much like commitment.’
‘What, marrying the consultant or doing another series?’
The low, husky pitch of his voice seemed to resonate somewhere inside her, down in the region of her pelvis.
‘Both.’
The place had emptied and the waitress was looking bored and sulky by the time Kit eventually stood up, stooping slightly to avoid the low beams as he went to sort out the bill.
Sophie watched him, her mouth dry, her trembling hands tucked beneath her thighs on the wooden bench. The gaps in the conversation had got longer and more loaded, the undercurrents of meaning stronger. Or so it had felt to her. Maybe he had just run out of things to say to her?
They drove back in silence. The sky was moonless, and veils of mist swathed the castle like chiffon scarves, making it look oddly romantic. Sophie’s hands were folded in her lap and she held herself very stiffly, as if she were physically braced against the waves of longing that were battering at her. In the light of the dashboard Kit’s face was tense and unsmiling. She gave an inward moan of despair as she wondered if he’d been totally bored by the whole evening.
He pulled into the courtyard and got out of the car immediately, as if he was at pains to avoid drawing the evening out a moment longer than he had to. Sophie followed, misery and disappointment hitting her more forcefully than the cold. For all her self-lecturing earlier, she had secretly longed to break through the barriers of Kit’s reserve and rekindle the spark of intimacy that had glowed so briefly between them.
She caught up with him at the top of the steps as he keyed in the number.
‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ she said in an oddly subdued voice. ‘It seems awful to have had such a good time when Jasper and Tatiana are at the hospital. I hope Ralph is OK.’
‘Given the mess Alnburgh’s finances are going to be in if he dies, I do too,’ Kit said sardonically as he opened the door. Standing back to let her through, he rubbed a hand across his forehead. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound like that.’
‘I know.’
She stopped in front of him, instinctively reaching up to touch the side of his face.
He stiffened, and for a moment she felt a jolt of horror at the thought that she’d got it badly wrong again. But then he dropped his hand and looked at her, and in the split second before their mouths met she saw desire and despair there that matched her own. She let out a moan of relief as his lips touched hers, angling her head back and parting her lips as he took her face between his hands and kissed her.
It was as though he was doing something that hurt him. The kiss was hard but gentle at the same time, and the expression on his face as he pulled away was resigned—almost defeated. Arrows of anguish pierced Sophie’s heart and she slid her hand round his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair as she pulled his head down again.
The door swung shut behind them, giving a bang that echoed through the empty halls. They fell back against it, Sophie pressing her shoulders against the ancient wood as her hips rose up to meet his. Her hands slid over the sinews of his back, feeling them move as their bodies pressed together and their mouths devoured each other in short, staccato bursts of longing.
‘Soph? Soph, darling, is that you?’
&n
bsp; ‘Jasper,’ she whimpered.
Kit pulled away, jerking his head back as if he’d been struck. They could hear footsteps approaching across the stone flags of the hall. Beneath the light of the vast lantern high above, Kit’s face looked as if it had been carved from ice.
Helplessly Sophie watched him turn away, then, smoothing her skirt down, she went forwards, willing her voice not to give her away.
‘Yes, it’s me. We didn’t expect you back so …’
Her words trailed off as Jasper appeared in the doorway. His face was swollen and blotched from crying, and tears still slid from his reddened eyes.
‘Oh, my darling—’ she gasped.
Jasper raised his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. ‘He died.’
And in an instant Sophie was beside him, taking him into her arms, stroking his hair as he laid his head on her shoulder and sobbed, murmuring to him in a voice that ached with love.
Over his shoulder she watched Kit walk away. She willed him to turn round, to look back and catch her eye and understand.
He didn’t.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AND so, not quite a week after Ralph’s lavish birthday party, preparations were made at Alnburgh for his funeral.
Kit returned to London the morning following Ralph’s death. Sophie didn’t see him before he left and though Thomas murmured something about appointments with the bank, Sophie, rigid with misery she couldn’t express, wondered if he’d gone deliberately early to avoid her.
She was on edge the whole time. It felt as if her heart had been replaced with an alarm clock, like the crocodile in Peter Pan, making her painfully aware of every passing second. The smallest thing seemed to set her alarm bells jangling.
The bitter weather continued. The snow kept falling; brief, frequent flurries of tiny flakes that were almost invisible against the dead sky. Pipes in an unused bathroom burst, making water cascade through the ceiling in a corner of the armoury hall and giving the pewter breastplates their first clean in half a century. Thomas, who since Ralph’s death seemed to have aged ten years, shuffled around helplessly, replacing buckets.
