‘I couldn’t prevent my boyfriend from half killing him,’ Jo finished for him.
March’s eyes were suddenly stern as they bored into hers. ‘Stop that, Joanna. You are not to blame. Nor will I allow it come between us. When I first saw you that day at the garden centre I thought you were married to the man with you, and I cursed fate for playing such a hellish trick on me. Then heaped blessings on it later, when I found you were single.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Tell me you felt at least something in return.’
‘Oh I did,’ she assured him. ‘I told my mother I’d met this really hot gardener—’
‘
What?
’ March grinned, delighted. ‘Is that true?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Jo looked up at him ruefully. ‘I wish you still were.’
‘I’m not hot any more?’ he demanded, aggrieved.
She gave him a sharp dig in the ribs. ‘I mean that I wish you were still just a gardener. But you’re Lord Arnborough, and you live in this extraordinary place. While I’m just plain Joanna Logan.’
‘Beautiful Joanna Logan,’ he contradicted. ‘And I believe we were meant for each other.’
To prove his point March lunged away from the bedpost to pull her into his arms. He kissed her hard and, having started, couldn’t stop. When he raised his head at last they were both flushed and breathing raggedly, and he buried his face in Jo’s hair, holding her close against his chest as though he would convince her by the hammering of his heart against hers.
T
HE
room was very quiet for a long time as their breathing slowed. March took one arm away at last, but held Jo close in the crook of the other.
As though he thought she might run away if he slackened his grip, thought Jo. And smiled.
‘What are you smiling at?’ he asked huskily.
‘My own arrogance.’
‘Not a word I associate with you, Joanna. Explain.’
‘I thought maybe you were holding me so tightly in case I ran off if you let me go.’
‘You were right.’ March smiled possessively. ‘Though I’d catch you before you got very far.’
She looked him in the eye. ‘Then I won’t run.’
He breathed in deeply. ‘So, Joanna Logan, have we finally managed to evict the elephant from the room?’
‘Elephant?’ Though she knew perfectly well what he meant.
‘My title. It’s such a huge obstacle for you it’s dominating the space between us,’ March said flatly. ‘I may be the umpteenth Baron Arnborough, but I’m a perfectly ordinary bloke like anyone else.’
‘A little less ordinary than some,’ she retorted, and threw up her hands in surrender. ‘All right. No more talk of titles.’ She yawned suddenly. ‘Sorry. I’m not bored, I promise—just a bit
tired. It’s been an eventful day.’ She took her coat off and laid it over a chair, then sat down on the chaise.
‘What do you normally do on a Saturday?’
‘I usually go out with Isobel for a meal and a film, or a spot of clubbing sometimes. One or other of the twins tags along now and again. But last time Josh fell asleep in the taxi on the way back to the hospital, and it took Isobel and me, plus the taxi driver, to get him out.’
March grinned. ‘Is he as hefty as the twin I met?’
‘Carbon copy. In the struggle Isobel broke a nail or two, and I tore my dress. Luckily a hospital porter came to lend a hand, and we managed to load Josh onto a trolley. It was just exhaustion, poor thing. He’d only had one glass of wine.’
‘You’re very fond of him?’
‘Very fond. And of Leo. But Isobel and I made a pact. Next time the twins want to socialise we meet up at her place or mine for a meal. If they fall asleep they can just stay put until they wake up.’ Jo yawned again, and smiled ruefully. ‘Sorry.’
March smiled. ‘I’m selfish, keeping you talking instead of letting you get to bed.’
The words seemed to linger in the air. Jo tensed. The beautiful room, with only a pair of bedside lamps for light, seemed suddenly shadowy and mysterious, and an all too perfect setting for the love scene he probably felt she’d invited by agreeing to spend the night. This place was to blame. His enchanted castle was casting a spell on her. But she was no maiden in an ivory tower, waiting for a knight on a white charger to carry her off to a life of bliss. Attractive idea, though.
‘It’s early yet,’ she said brightly, ‘I wonder how things are at Mill House tonight? Jack’s probably walking the floor with Master Tom as we speak.’
‘I still find it so hard to picture that,’ said March, shaking his head.
‘Because my father’s such an alpha male?’
‘Probably. And I suppose I assumed a nanny would be looking after the baby at this stage. Sorry,’ he added hastily. ‘Absolutely none of my business.’
‘Don’t apologise. Jack was with you all the way on that, but Kate wouldn’t hear of it. She’s got Hazel in charge of the domestic side of things, which means she can look after the baby herself. She did the same with Kitty, too.
I
think it’s because she was never able to do any of that for me,’ added Jo, and changed the subject. ‘Tell me about your childhood. It must have been wonderful growing up in a place like this.’
March smiled reminiscently. ‘It was. For a long time parts of it were like a building site, which was paradise for Hetty and me—and for Rufus when he was old enough to trail round after us. My grandfather had settled a sufficiently large sum on my mother at the time of her marriage to finance some of the repairs and restoration necessary to turn Arnborough Hall into a viable family home. Far from being a spoilt beauty unwilling to lift a finger, my mother rolled up her sleeves straight after the honeymoon and helped her husband in every possible way. Our childhood was idyllic,’ said March, a distant look in his eyes. ‘But with hindsight I realise that my parents enlisted our help in countless small ways to make us part of things, to care for our inheritance. It seemed like play to us.’ He sighed. ‘Playtime ended for me the day I went away to school.’
‘Eton?’
‘Yes. How did you guess?’
‘I met a few Etonians when I was up at Oxford. Were you homesick?’
‘God, yes—at least at first. But I was good at sport, tall for my age, and full of the confidence my parents had nurtured in me. A bit cocky, really. I soon settled in. Some never did. God knows how Rufus survived.’ March looked at her questioningly. ‘How about you?’
‘I went away to a school in the Cotswolds when I was eight.
But I loved it; I wasn’t homesick in the slightest. It was Kate, unknown to me, who cried her eyes out alone in London because her baby had been sent away so young.’ Jo shivered suddenly.
‘You’re cold?’
‘Not really.’
‘You just hate to think of your mother in distress,’ he said softly.
‘You’re a very perceptive man.’
‘Are you a perceptive woman?’
Her eyes widened on his. ‘What should I be perceiving?’
‘How much I want to kiss you again.’ March pulled her to her feet and kissed her with such heat she melted against him. Her heart hammered against him as the kisses grew wilder and hungrier, until at last he raised his head a fraction, his eyes blazing with a look which took away what breath she had left.
‘I want you so much, Joanna,’ he said, in a rough, husky tone nothing like his usual drawl.
She nodded mutely.
‘Do you want me?’
Jo nodded again, but with such reluctance March smiled wryly, and the tension between them lessened.
‘But you have reservations?’
‘Yes.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘If the bloody title’s the problem again—’
‘No. It’s not that. Please don’t laugh.’
‘Believe me,’ he assured her, ‘I’m not laughing. What should I not find amusing?’
‘I’m probably taking too much for granted,’ she said, hoping she wasn’t making a huge mistake, ‘and correct me if I’m wrong, but you appear to want more than just a session in bed.’
‘Of course you’re not wrong.’ He arched an eyebrow. ‘But why the hell did you think I would laugh?’
Her chin lifted. ‘At my presumption.’
He grabbed her by the shoulders. ‘God in heaven, woman,
you know damn well I want to be your friend
and
your lover. And one day a lot more than that,’ he added, in a tone which left no doubt of his meaning.
‘I’m up for the first two, March.’ She braced herself. ‘But if “a lot more” means something permanent, I’m just not the right one for you.’
His eyes bored into hers with an icy gold glare. ‘You mean, Joanna, that I’m not the right one for
you.’
Jo looked pointedly at March’s hands until he removed them. ‘No,’ she said flatly. ‘I don’t mean that. I could very easily fall in love with you, but—’
The rest was lost as he kissed her with all-conquering triumph, taking her admission as licence to make love to her with an assurance she found hard to resist. Jo shivered as he stroked her breasts. Even through the wool of her dress their skilled, arousing touch caused fierce tumult as her sensitised nipples transmitted darts of sensation along every vein. The blood thundered in her ears, but when his hand slid to cup her bottom she stiffened, tearing her mouth from his as she pushed at his shoulders. She saw March change before her eyes from all-conquering lover to a man fighting for self-control.
He ran his hands through his hair, his face turned away. ‘For God’s sake, Joanna, I’m only human. How did you expect me to react to a statement like that?’
‘I
thought
it might be my fault again,’ she said bitterly. ‘I would like to go to bed
here
now, please.’
‘No need to be so precise,’ he snapped. ‘I know you didn’t mean mine.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Why the devil did you tell me something like that?’
Her mouth tightened. ‘It was a mistake, but it was the truth. It doesn’t make any difference, March. The situation remains unchanged.’ She halted suddenly, aware that a tide of embarrassed colour was rising in her face.
‘Joanna,’ he said, eyes softening, ‘what’s wrong?’
Her chin lifted. ‘I may have confided my emotions, but you haven’t said a word about yours!’
He gave a bark of mirthless laughter. ‘Because I was afraid to frighten you away! Surely I’ve made my feelings obvious from the first day we met?’ He glowered. ‘Now, listen to me. Listen very carefully. Why do you think it was such a blow when I thought you were married?’
‘You liked the look of me?’
He held her eyes. ‘For me it was recognition. Something told me that in you I’d found a woman to share my life. I did the falling in love bit with Lavinia, but with you I felt I’d found a woman I could have a loving, solid relationship. With the kind to build a life on.’ He took her hands, smiling sardonically. ‘But you want to stay friends, maybe even make a perfectly natural progression to being lovers, but nothing more permanent than that. Which is a euphemism. In plain English you don’t want to be my wife.’
Jo shook her head sadly. ‘You’re wrong there, March. I could get used to the idea all too easily. But then I would be Lady Arnborough, and that’s just not for me.’
‘Then it’s checkmate.’ He dropped her hands, smiling mirthlessly. ‘Just my luck. The females Hetty pushes at me make it embarrassingly plain they’d jump at the chance to be my lady. Whereas the only lady I want declines the honour.’
When Jo also declined tea, and everything else he offered, March looked in a drawer in the chest.
‘My sister keeps a few things here,’ he said politely, and handed her a nightgown. ‘Please make use of anything else you need in the morning.’
‘How kind. Thank you.’
‘Goodnight, then.’
‘Goodnight.’
When the door closed, Jo hugged her arms across her chest, eyes tightly closed for a moment. Then, embarrassed by her
own melodrama, she threw off her clothes and pulled the handful of lace and crêpe de Chine over her head. Her eyebrows rose as she caught sight of herself in the dressing table mirror on her way to the bathroom. A bit different from the night gear she normally wore, but it fitted so well Hetty had to be built on the same lines as her. At last Jo switched off the bedside lamps and got into bed, wondering if she was the biggest fool in the world for not jumping at March’s proposal. After meeting Lavinia tonight she’d been as jealous as hell. Still was, purely because he’d been madly in love with the woman—whereas his emotions were far more stable where Joanna Logan was concerned. Did she
want
him to be madly in love with her, then? Of course she did.
Forget all that and go to sleep, she ordered herself. But, beautiful though the room was, in the dark it was scary. Overwhelmed by the centuries of antiquity surrounding her, she switched a lamp back on again for company, and settled herself against the banked pillows. March had made no mention of ghosts, but in a house this old there had to be at least one.
Along the landing March lay equally sleepless, for several reasons, not least of them the problem of unrelieved lust. Not that lust seemed the right word to associate with Joanna. For one wild moment earlier, when she’d actually admitted feelings for him, he’d thought Christmas had arrived early. Wrong. Whatever her feelings were, they did not equate with wanting to make love with him. He frowned. If he were just plain March Clement, who ran the estate and lived in a house like Ed Pargeter’s, perhaps Joanna would have been in bed with him right now. Nothing he could do about that. There was no way he would renounce his title even if he could. He was the last of a long line of Clements. And if he didn’t do something about it soon the line would end with him. Unless Rufus had a change of heart. Which was unlikely. He tossed and turned for a while,
then swore when he realised he was so thirsty he’d never sleep without a drink.
To avoid waking Joanna, he got out of bed and into his dressing gown without turning on a light. On bare feet March stole along the landing in the dark, then let out a smothered howl as he stubbed his toe on a banister. The door of his mother’s bedroom flew open.
‘Who’s there?’ called Joanna sharply.
‘It’s just me,’ said March, massaging his toe. ‘Sorry I woke you.’
She stood in the doorway, watching him. ‘I hadn’t gone to sleep. Did you hurt yourself?’
‘My fault for skulking around barefoot to get a drink. The idea was to avoid waking you. Would you like something?’ He licked suddenly dry lips, wondering if she knew her body was silhouetted in detail by the light shining through the flimsy nightgown.
Jo knew. She stood her ground very deliberately to let him look. In the interval since they’d said goodnight she’d had a change of heart. Or body. This opportunity might never happen again. It was time to follow March’s motto and seize the day. He might not be madly in love with her, as she was with him, but she wanted him to be her lover. Even if it was only for one night. But how to make that clear without literally throwing herself at him?
‘I don’t want a drink,’ she said in sudden inspiration, ‘but could you possibly keep me company for a little while? I found it a bit scary in the dark. It suddenly occurred to me that a house as ancient as this must surely have a resident ghost.’
‘Of course it has,’ said March, forgetting about a drink. ‘Get back into bed and I’ll tell you all about it.’ He averted his eyes as she made for the bed, then followed her and sat on the edge of it once she was settled against the pillows. ‘No clanking chains, or anything like that, just a lady who drifts along the long gallery searching, according to legend, for the lover who failed to turn up at the altar on their wedding day.’
‘He developed cold feet?’ asked Jo.
March shook his head. ‘Killed by a rival suitor who lusted after Lady Blanche’s dowry. Her father had always favoured the murdering rival, and married the unwilling Blanche off to him post-haste. Though it’s generally held that she had the last laugh.’