Their Engagement is Announced

by Carole Mortimer

  No! It was bad enough that she had realised she loved him; the last thing she needed was to start feeling sorry for him, too.

  Although he had injured himself while helping her out at her shop…

  She was doing it again!

  None of this excused the outrage he had committed earlier. She hadn’t exactly been thrilled herself by the things Margaret had said to her, but it would never have occurred to her to retaliate in the way that Griffin had. And she had no doubt that Margaret meant every word she had said; she wasn’t going to forgive Griffin easily for announcing his intention of marrying Dora. If, indeed, Griffin ever asked for forgiveness…

  Dora glanced irritably at Griffin, only to find that he seemed to have fallen asleep. With his eyelids closed over those mocking green eyes, all cynicism wiped from his expression, Griffin looked somehow younger, and—and vulnerable. And that was something she had never associated with Griffin, of all people. He would look like this when he was asleep in bed. But then his chest would be bare, the golden hair—

  Acknowledging—to herself, at least—that she loved Griffin was one thing; having erotic fantasies about him was something else entirely!

  Besides, any fantasies she might have about him would be instantly dispelled the moment he raised those sleepy lids and opened his mouth to tease her about her feelings. Because Griffin might kiss her occasionally, and seem to enjoy it, but he enjoyed teasing and tormenting her more than he did kissing her.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’

  She hadn’t been aware that Griffin had woken beside her— There she went again; they were in a car, for goodness’ sake, not in bed together!

  Griffin was still sitting relaxed against the car seat, but his head was now turned in her direction, that steady green gaze fixed on her questioningly.

  Dora turned hastily away again, unnerved after her own intimate thoughts.

  ‘You looked—wistful,’ Griffin murmured curiously.

  Wistful! Was that how she looked when plagued with a physical need for this man? Plagued—because she couldn’t think how else to describe these feelings she still had towards Griffin. They certainly weren’t welcome feelings!

  And neither was Griffin himself, as they reached her home. They had dined here together the last few evenings, and each time they had Dora had been made aware of the fact that her father would never have invited Griffin here, that Griffin was out of place in the mahogany-furnished dining room and the austere sitting room.

  He looked no less so this evening as Dora helped him in from the car and on to the leather sofa, his injured leg stretched across the other two cushions.

  Dora straightened abruptly. ‘I’ll go and get us both some dinner; I’m sure you must be feeling hungry yourself by now.’ Although she had lost her own appetite since realising her feelings towards this man…

  Griffin’s mouth twisted ruefully. ‘I thought I was cooking the steaks this evening,’ he reminded her.

  Dora smiled, shaking her head as she straightened. ‘I’ll manage. I’ll come through and get you once the food is ready.’

  He gave a self-disgusted sigh. ‘Finally got me where you want me, hmm?’ he ground out harshly.

  She gave him a sharp, defensive look. Had he somehow guessed she was in love with him? Had she been so shaken herself by the discovery that she had given herself away?

  ‘At your mercy!’ He grimaced his own disgust at that fact.

  She hadn’t given herself away, Dora realised with relief.

  So relieved was she that she gave him an impish grin. ‘It’s certainly a novel experience!’ she conceded, still smiling.

  His gaze narrowed. ‘Don’t get used to it, Izzy,’ he warned her softly. ‘I may not be as mobile as I would like to be, but I can still talk!’

  Her smile faded. ‘I think you’ve talked quite enough for one day, don’t you?’ she reminded him.

  Now it was Griffin’s turn to smile. ‘I think it’s as well that I left most of my stuff at my apartment in town rather than taking it to Mother’s house—including those replacement books you got for me,’ he recalled ruefully. ‘Otherwise my mother would no doubt enjoy disposing of them all over again!’

  Griffin had done as she’d asked and given her a list of the books his mother had destroyed. And, apart from two that were completely out of print, Dora had managed to get him replacement copies for his own collection.

  Dora was glad he found this situation so amusing; she didn’t find it in the least funny!

  ‘No doubt,’ she conceded dryly. ‘Do you think Margaret is really serious about disowning you?’ But even as she asked the question she knew the other woman was deadly serious; Margaret was not a woman who allowed herself to be thwarted without due retribution. Griffin had upset all her plans for herself, as well as for him; Margaret would never forgive him.

  Griffin grinned unconcernedly. ‘Does it matter?’

  Dora frowned. ‘I thought the two of you had come to some sort of agreement because of Charlotte’s wedding?’ In the same way as she had promised Charlotte she would keep an eye on Griffin—she just hadn’t expected it would be this close an eye…

  ‘We did,’ he acknowledged dryly. ‘But the agreement was for me to spend six months living at the house with my mother—not that she could pick out a wife for me!’ His eyes had become glacial as he talked of his mother. ‘And Amanda Adams is not for me. No matter what my mother may have planned to the contrary,’ he added grimly.

  Dora shrugged as unconcernedly at she could at the mention of the other woman. ‘You obviously thought her attractive enough to invite her out to dinner this evening.’ And with her own newly discovered feelings towards Griffin that fact didn’t please her one little bit! The other woman was far too beautiful.

  ‘Actually,’ Griffin drawled softly, ‘Amanda was the one to do the asking—but it would be extremely ungentlemanly of me to reveal that!’

  Dora gave him a scathing glance. ‘Extremely!’ she agreed. Amanda had asked Griffin out? She knew she could never have been that bold herself. But then, the other woman had obviously been aware of Margaret’s intentions towards Griffin and herself—and must have been agreeable to them.

  He shrugged. ‘I’ve never claimed to be a gentleman. Besides, I’ve never liked scheming women, either.’ His eyes had narrowed grimly. ‘And it seems to me that Amanda was in collusion with my mother over this. One of them is bad enough, but heaven help any man who has two scheming women in his life! Besides, Izzy,’ he added softly, ‘I think you missed the whole point of my mother’s remark; I broke that dinner engagement with Amanda so that I could come to the shop and help you.’

  Fixing shelves was preferable to him than having dinner with the beautiful Amanda? Or dared she read more into that than Griffin had actually said? That he preferred spending time with her rather than Amanda…?

  No, she didn’t dare!

  Griffin was one of the most unpredictable men she had ever known; it would be a mistake to read anything into his actions!

  ‘As you sprained your ankle in the process,’ she reminded him derisively, ‘you may have been safer keeping your date with Amanda!’ That was her parting shot before escaping to the kitchen to prepare their meal.

  Escaping because it was the first time she had been alone to collect her thoughts since she had realised how she felt about Griffin!

  She leant weakly back against one of the kitchen units. What was she going to do about loving Griffin? What could she do?

  Nothing, came the blunt answer to her question. If Griffin had been going to feel anything towards her—other than amusement!—then he would do so by now.

  What he did feel towards her, she was slowly realising, after Margaret’s earlier comment, and although he might deny it, was a certain sense of responsibility. And that was probably because of her engagement to his brother, and now that she had been left alone in the world after her father’s death. How had Margaret put it? ‘Griffin has always had a soft spo
t for the injured and supposedly helpless’!

  Pity. That was what that amounted to. And she didn’t want Griffin’s pity.

  The mere idea of it filled her with a restless anger, and as she banged about in the kitchen preparing their meal she was barely aware of what she was doing, all the time muttering to herself. Pity, indeed! She was twenty-six years old, with no ties and enough money that she shouldn’t have to ever worry about it; Griffin could damn well keep his pity! Maybe she would get help in the shop, travel a little herself, maybe even think about that university course she had once wanted to do.

  ‘What have those steaks ever done to you?’ mocked an amused voice.

  Griffin, of course. Dora spun round to find him standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb, obviously having made his way here on his crutches. Dora had been making so much noise herself that she certainly hadn’t heard his approach. How long had he been standing there watching her? More to the point, had he heard any of here mutterings?

  Griffin raised mocking brows. ‘You’re slamming that poor defenceless steak around as if you wished it were—me!’

  Not him, exactly, she inwardly conceded, just these unwanted feelings she had found she had for him.

  Not that she felt she was to blame for feeling about him the way she did. As that elderly lady had pointed out in the shop weeks ago, Griffin was an extremely attractive man. He could be warm and kind too, and was inevitably laughing at something, quite often himself. It was just that he was the complete opposite of her; her own nature was quiet, and a little reserved—and she certainly had no illusions about herself attracting a man as handsome and popular as Griffin was.

  So he had guessed right; she was angry, but not at him, at herself, for having been so foolish as to fall in love with him…

  ‘Not at all.’ She gave a rueful grimace, not quite able to meet his teasing gaze, feeling suddenly shy. ‘I was just told that it’s best to tenderise the steak while cooking it,’ she excused awkwardly.

  Griffin grinned. ‘I don’t think battering it into submission qualifies!’

  The steaks were ready now, thank goodness, putting an end to any further remarks about her treatment of the meat.

  Within five minutes Dora had the plates on the table, and had helped Griffin into a chair. Not that he looked very comfortable once he was seated.

  ‘Would you be better on the sofa with a tray?’ she offered, as each movement seemed to cause him pain.

  ‘I would be better if I had never fallen off the damned ladder,’ he rasped impatiently.

  ‘Eavesdroppers never hear any good of themselves,’ she quoted ruefully. ‘Or attain a good impression of the people doing the talking!’ Not that she thought his opinion of his mother had been that high in the first place, but he couldn’t have any illusions left after what he had overheard earlier. ‘You should have made your presence known much earlier than you did.’

  ‘And missed hearing my mother in full flow?’ he scorned with a grimace. ‘She obviously had plans for me, both privately and professionally. Plans I want no part of. So, it looks as if you’re stuck with me,’ he shrugged.

  Dora swallowed hard, feeling the colour leave her cheeks. ‘I’m aware you were hitting out at your mother when you announced your engagement to me. I don’t intend holding you to it—’

  ‘I think you’ve already made your feelings about that more than plain,’ Griffin drawled self-derisively. ‘You would as soon be struck down with the plague as marry me!’

  That wasn’t exactly true. It was only if he married her just to spite his mother. She would rather contract any deadly disease than go through with that. And on Griffin’s side there would never be any other reason for going through with such a ridiculous plan…!

  ‘I wasn’t actually referring to that particular ‘‘stuck with me’’,’ Griffin continued dryly, at her lack of response to his earlier comment. ‘As you can see, I’m pretty incapacitated at the moment, and the doctor said that I’ll probably continue to be so for several more weeks. My apartment in town is your typical bachelor home—no food stocked in for an emergency, no one to help with the cooking and cleaning. And now that my mother has thrown me out, I have nowhere else to go…’

  Dora had a terrible feeling she knew exactly what this was leading to. And she didn’t like it one bit!

  ‘Not that I’m willing to go back there, anyway,’ he added grimly. ‘‘‘No eleventh-hour reconciliation’’!’ He disgustedly repeated his mother’s earlier warning. ‘I only went back there this time for Charlotte’s sake. My mother will be the one who does the apologising this time—to both of us!’ he announced firmly.

  And as Dora could never see that happening—to Griffin, let alone to her—mother and son were destined to remain estranged…

  But Griffin was straying away from the point. ‘You were saying…?’ Dora prompted faintly, her lips feeling stiff and unyielding. In fact, all of her felt stiff and unyielding, as if she were suddenly carved out of stone.

  ‘I was saying, Izzy…’ Griffin gave her that endearing grin ‘…that by ‘‘stuck with me’’ I meant that I have nowhere else to go. I can’t drive. I can barely walk, damn it. So, if it’s okay with you, I’ll just stay here for a week or two, until I’m back on my feet.’

  But she did mind! It was impossible. He couldn’t stay here, in close proximity to her, night as well as day.

  He just couldn’t!

  She just couldn’t…!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘IT’S the guest bedroom,’ Dora told Griffin stiffly an hour or so later as she showed him into the room.

  They had finally eaten—at least, Griffin had eaten; Dora’s appetite seemed to have deserted her once she’d realised she might be ‘stuck with him’ for some time. Over that hour she had looked at this particular problem from every angle she could think of—and at the end of it Griffin’s solution that he stay there with her seemed to be the only viable one. Griffin had already pointed out the drawbacks to going to his own apartment, and apologising to his mother and admitting he had lied about his engagement to Dora didn’t even seem to be an option. A hotel didn’t seem the answer, either. Food and clothing wouldn’t be a problem for him there, but he would still have the fact that he wasn’t particularly mobile to contend with.

  No, she had concede heavily a short time ago, much as she disliked the idea of Griffin staying here with her, there was nowhere else he could go. Besides, she had an obligation to him, didn’t she? He had been injured while working in her shop.

  ‘It’s great,’ Griffin enthused, at what was actually only a room that had the bare essentials: carpets, curtains, a wardrobe and dressing table and a bed. Although he seemed to find the latter comfortable enough when he dropped down on to it, the effort of coming up the stairs obviously having proved more tiring than he cared to admit.

  Dora and her father hadn’t had many guests come to stay, and so this third bedroom, while being clean and bright, was actually quite characterless. She decided she could brighten it up a little tomorrow, with some flowers and possibly a few ornaments, but for the moment it would just have to do.

  ‘The bathroom is opposite,’ she told Griffin distantly. ‘The room next door on this side was my father’s. I haven’t found the time to—clean it up yet.’ She couldn’t quite meet Griffin’s gaze as she made the last comment.

  It had nothing to do with finding the time to clean out her father’s room; it was really due to a reluctance on her part to do so. Her father had been a very private man, and apart from changing the bedlinen and vacuuming and dusting once a week Dora had never gone into his bedroom when he was alive. It somehow seemed even less right to do so now that he was dead. Although she knew she would have to do it one day. Just not yet…

  ‘My father’s bedroom is bigger than this, of course,’ she began slowly.

  ‘I’ll be just fine in here, thank you, Izzy.’ Griffin squeezed her arm understandingly. ‘And you seem to have missed something
out of your verbal tour of upstairs…’

  ‘I did?’ Dora turned to him, frowning. She had told him where the bathroom was, made it more than obvious she would rather he didn’t wander into her father’s room; what else could she possibly—? Her cheeks burned fiery red as the answer to that question hit her. ‘My bedroom is the door at the end of the hallway,’ she told him awkwardly.

  Griffin chuckled softly at her obvious embarrassment. ‘I know this is probably a unique experience for you, Izzy, having a man upstairs in your home who isn’t your father, but—’

  ‘And just what makes you assume it’s unique?’ Dora was stung into retaliating. ‘I’m twenty-six years old, Griffin, and I haven’t taken vows of chastity!’ Although just that old-fashioned description of virginity reminded her all too forcibly of their initial meeting at Dungelly Court, when for a brief time she had been completely ‘Izzy’!

  This situation, the two of them alone here in her home, was altogether too seductive—

  ‘And would the man in question have been my brother Charles, or the current Sam?’ Griffin’s scorn cut in on her panicked thoughts.

  She no longer felt panic—just anger, her eyes sparkling deeply grey as she glared at him. ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business—do you?’ she challenged.

  His mouth was a grim line. ‘If it was Charles, then, yes, I think it might be my business,’ he bit out harshly. ‘You—’

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ Dora told him grimly. ‘This engagement isn’t a real one, only a figment of your mother’s imagination, so you have no need to worry about my reputation,’ she added disgustedly. ‘And, let’s face it, Griffin, if we really were in a romantic position, where we felt it necessary to make confessions about past relationships, I would be here all night listening to yours!’ she scorned derisively.

  Griffin looked at her wordlessly for several seconds before seeming to visibly force himself to relax. ‘You might be surprised,’ he finally murmured dryly.

  ‘Surprise is probably the least of what I would feel!’ Dora dismissed, taking some extra towels out of the wardrobe. ‘I’ll leave you to get settled in.’ She put the clean towels on the bed before walking to the door. ‘I still have to clear away downstairs.’