Usually when she walked across the wide entrance hall, and up the sweep of oak staircase, she felt all the pride of ownership glowing inside her. Today she couldn't even afford a glimmer of satisfaction in a job well done.
Because Chay Haddon wasn't just getting a house. He was getting all the heart and soul that she'd poured into it. All the love.
And she was only sorry she couldn't tear it down, brick by brick, with her bare hands, and leave him with a pile of rubble.
Instead she was the one with the handful of dust—and the nightmares.
She walked slowly to the side door and stood for a moment, trying to control her flurried breathing. She had the key in her hand, so what was she waiting for?
She needed to go in—to get the whole thing over and done with—then be on her way. For the last time.
Gagging suddenly, she turned and ran, stumbling in her haste. She by-passed the lawn, where Chay Haddon had stood that morning, opting for the gravelled path which led to what had once been the enclosed kitchen garden but which now resembled a jungle on a bad day.
She closed her mind to the plans she'd made to transform this riot of weeds into a thriving vegetable plot again and kept running, until she reached the gate at the far end, and the area of woodland beyond it.
It was so long since she'd been here. She'd deliberately shunned this part of the grounds for sixteen years. But now, in the face of the greatest crisis of her life, she needed to confront that old childhood fear and defeat it.
She was looking for the only oak tree—an ancient, massive specimen, with room in its spreading branches for a whole terrace of treehouses.
'So where does he go all day?'
Down the years, Piers's voice returned to haunt her.
'The housekeeper's son. Where does he hide himself? Do you know?'
And she, eager to please this glamorous dark-haired boy, paying his first visit to his uncle, had said, 'Yes—I'll show you.' At the same time knowing, guiltily, that she shouldn't. That it was not her secret to share.
Now, for a moment, staring up into the branches, she thought she'd picked the wrong tree. She'd been convinced that time would roll back, and she'd find herself, just nine years old, in shorts and tee shirt, her hair in the plaits she'd hated, looking up longingly at the wooden platform that had been Chay's hidden place.
An elderly ladder had been propped against the lower trunk, and after that you'd climbed up through the branches until you reached the treehouse. It had had a roof of sorts, and three walls constructed out of timber oddments, but to Adrien it had been a magic place—a castle, a palace, a cave where anything could happen.
She had known, because he'd let her look through his binoculars, that Chay went there to watch birds mostly, but sometimes he'd come to read or just think. He'd kept books up there, and a sketchpad, and a tin of biscuits.
She'd asked once, 'Isn't it funny—being all on your own here?'
He'd looked at her thoughtfully, not smiling. 'It's good to be alone sometimes. You need to be comfortable in your own company before you can be happy with other people.'
Adrien hadn't been sure what he meant, and her face must have shown it, because he'd laughed suddenly, and reached out, tugging gently at a plait.
'Is it so awful, Adie—the thought of having no one to talk to?'
'I'd hate it,' she'd said, shivering as a breeze stirred the leaves and made them sigh. 'I'd be frightened. Up here by myself.'
I actually told him that, she thought. I put the weapon in his hand and he used it against me. Used it to punish me. Unforgettably. Unforgivably. There was no ladder there now, or platform, no flapping roof. No trace of the little girl who'd knelt there, crying, for all that endless time, convinced she'd been deserted and forgotten.
It was just—a tree.
His voice reached her quietly. 'It's been gone a long time, Adie. Angus had the gardener dismantle it and put it on a bonfire. I had to watch it burn.'
She spun round, her hand flying to her mouth.
'What are you doing here?' She'd had no inkling of his approach until he spoke.
'You have a short memory,' he said. 'I own the place now—remember?' He looked her over, absorbing the dark grey linen suit and the white silk camisole beneath it. 'What happened to this morning's Pollyanna?'
She said shortly, 'Pollyanna grew up—fast. And I meant how did you know where I'd be? Because I never come here.'
'Your Jeep was there,' he said. 'But the doors were still locked. I—obeyed an instinct.'
She supposed she had done the same thing, and it irked her. She lifted her chin. 'I'm—trespassing. I apologise. I came to clear out my stuff.'
He glanced round, brows raised. 'You've been camping in the wood?' he enquired. 'How enterprising.'
'No,' she said. 'It's in the house. I—I'll go and fetch it— if that's all right'
He shrugged 'Be my guest.'
She offered him a frozen smile. 'I think that's carrying hospitality too far.'
'As it happens,' he said slowly, 'you've already been under my roof for nearly a week.'
She swallowed, forcing her legs to move, walking back down the track. 'The sale went through that long ago? And I wasn't told? Oh, but I suppose it all happened in Portugal.'
'No,' he said. 'I was in London, and so was Piers. He came over to sign the necessary papers before leaving for Brazil.'
For a moment she couldn't speak. She certainly couldn't move as she digested this latest blow. Piers had been in England, she thought with anguish, and she hadn't known. He'd been here, and he hadn't warned her. She wanted to sink to her knees and howl her misery to the sky.
Chay watched her. He said, 'Obviously he didn't make contact.'
It was a statement, not a question. But then, he'd been able to observe her shock and desperation at close quarters earlier that day. He knew how brutal the deception had been.
Adrien straightened her shoulders and set off again. She said coolly, 'That's understandable. After all, I might have taken it badly—learning I'd been jilted as well as saddled with a mountain of debt. Far better to let me find out once he was at a safe distance. I suppose Brazil could be considered a safe distance. Besides, he knew what fun you'd have, breaking the news to me in person.'
His mouth twisted. 'You have a weird idea of what I find enjoyable. But I'll say this for you, Adie, you're not a whiner.'
'Give me time,' she tossed back over her shoulder.
'I'm planning a whine of cosmic proportions. Would you like to buy a ticket? It seems I need every penny I can get. And you don't have to follow me,'
she added with aggression. 'I'm not planning to rob the place.'
'Don't be paranoid,' he said. 'We just happen to be going in the same direction.'
'No,' she said forcefully. 'No, we don't. Not now, not ever. Could you wait somewhere, please, while I collect my things? Then I'll be out of your face.'
'Sorry.' He shook his head. T want to look over the Grange—see what's been done and what's left to do.'
'I have the whole thing on computer,' she said. 'I'll send you a print-out.'
'It might be useful.' He was walking beside her now. The track was narrow, and it was difficult to avoid contact with him. 'But I'd prefer a guided tour and a detailed breakdown of the renovations process from the person responsible. You.'
She halted, lips parting in a gasp of outrage. She'd transformed the Grange for Piers and herself. Her hopes and dreams were woven intimately into the fabric of each room. Too intimately to share with an interloper. She felt as if he'd asked her to strip naked.
She said jerkily, 'I have a better idea. Hire another design team and let them fill in the missing pieces. Although you could probably sell it as it stands, if you want a fast profit.'
He gave her a hooded look. 'What makes you think I'm going to sell?'
My accountant, she thought. She'd telephoned him earlier—asked, trying to sound casual, what he knew about Haddon Developments.
Chay, she'd learned, was a mover and shaker. 'His specialty,' Mark had told her, 'is identifying major building projects that have run into financial difficulties, buying them for bottom dollar, then selling them on after completion for megabucks. He's good at it. Why are you asking?'
'Oh,' she'd said. 'Someone was mentioning his name, that's all.'
Mark had laughed. 'Friend or foe?' he'd enquired.
'Word has it he's a good man to have on your side, but a bad one to cross. Generally he doesn't arouse lukewarm opinions.'
She'd said lightly, 'Thanks for the warning.' Adding silently, It's only sixteen years too late. Now, she looked back at her adversary. 'Because that's what you do. You move in, clean up, and move on.'
'Not always,' he said. 'And not this time. Because I'm going to live here.'
'But you can't.' The words escaped before she could stop them.
'Why not?'
'You already have somewhere to live.' Mark again.
'You have a flat in a converted warehouse by the Thames, and a farmhouse in Suffolk.'
'You've really done your homework,' he said appreciatively. 'When interior design palls, you could always apply to MI5.'
She shrugged. 'Local boy makes good. That's always news. Even if it's the housekeeper's son.'
'Especially when it's the housekeeper's son,' he said mockingly.
She glared at him, and walked on. When he spoke again his voice was quiet, 'I was sorry to hear about your parents, Adie. I know how close you all were.'
She said tightly, 'Clearly I'm not the only one to do homework.' And they completed the rest of the walk back to the house in silence.
Outside the side door, Adrien paused and drew a deep breath. 'If you want to make your inspection in privacy, I can come back another day for my things.'
'No,' he said. 'Get them now. That is, if you're sure you won't come round with me.'
'I'm certain.'
'Don't you want to boast of your achievements?'
She shrugged. 'I don't feel particularly triumphant. Anyway, you're the expert,' she added with edge. 'I don't need to point out a thing.'
'You used to like company.'
'That,' she said, 'would depend on the company. I'll see myself out when I've finished.'
Once inside, she headed for the stairs, and the room she'd been using. She hadn't brought much, and her travel bag was soon packed. She was just rolling up the sleeping bag she'd been using when Chay appeared in the doorway.
'So you chose this room?' He looked round, brows raised quizzically as he took in the narrow camp bed. 'I'd have thought the master bedroom was the appropriate place for the mistress. Don't you find this a little cramped for passion? Or did Piers like you to keep still?'
Her face flamed. 'You bastard. You know nothing about it—nothing. Piers and I were engaged.'
His glance skimmed her bare left hand. 'Really?
Well, at least you don't have to send the ring back for— er, recycling.'
There was a silence, then she said huskily, 'That was an unforgivable thing to say.'
'Yes,' he said. 'But so much between us, my sweet, has been unforgivable. And unforgiven.'
She snatched up the travel bag and walked towards the door which he was still blocking. She said, 'Will you let me pass, please?'
'In a moment. I have a proposal to put to you.'
My God, Adrien thought. He's going to ask me to finish the house.
Naturally, she would refuse. It would break her heart to go on working here, with all the might-have-beens. Yet— if she agreed—she could charge him a fee that would enable her to start paying her creditors. Could she really afford to turn down such a chance?
She said discouragingly, 'Well?'
Before she could guess what he was going to do, or take evasive action, his hands had slid under the lapels of her jacket, pushing them apart, while the grey eyes made a slow, lingering survey of the swell of her rounded breasts under the clinging camisole.
He said softly, 'Very well. Quite exquisite, in fact. You've grown up beautifully, Adie.'
'Don't call me that.' Shaken to the core by the sudden unprovoked intimacy, she pulled away, horrified to realise that behind their silken barrier her nipples were hardening in swift, shamed excitement.
'And don't handle me either,' she added, her voice quivering. 'You have no right...'
His mouth twisted unrepentantly. 'Not even the
droit de seigneur'
'You bought a house,' she said. 'I was not included in the price. Now, let me past.'
'Only because Piers didn't think of it.' His voice was reflective, and he made no attempt to move. 'But as you've raised the subject, Adrien, what value do you put on your services?'
She said slowly, hardly daring to hope, 'Are you offering to pay for the work I've done?'
'That would rather depend,' he drawled. 'You see, it occurs to me that this house lacks something. And so do I.'
She drew a deep breath. 'You mean that it isn't quite finished. But it wouldn't take much...'
'No,' he said. 'That isn't what I mean at all.'
'Then what?' she asked defensively, hating the way his grey gaze held hers, yet somehow unable to look away. Or walk away.
'It needs a mistress,' he said softly. 'And so do I. And you, my sweet Adrien, are the perfect candidate. So, maybe we can do a deal. What do you say?'
CHAPTER THREE
She said thickly, 'Is this some kind of sick joke?'
'Do you see me laughing?'
No, she thought, swallowing. The grey eyes meeting hers in challenge were cool, direct—even insolent. The firm mouth was equally unsmiling. No—
it seemed he was shockingly—incredibly—serious.
'So you're just adding insult to injury.' She tried to laugh, but the sound choked in her throat.
'Time hasn't mellowed you, Chay. You're still a bastard.'
He smiled. '"Now, gods, stand up for bastards!'" he quoted softly. 'However, I see myself more as a white knight riding to your rescue.'
'Very chivalrous.' Her voice bit.
'No,' he said. 'I'm a businessman. You claim to be a businesswoman, and you're in financial trouble. I'm offering you a lifeline.' His gaze touched her parted lips and travelled down to her breasts. 'A very personal loan,' he added softly.