His Wedding-Night Heir (12 page)

She looked down at a broken flagstone. ‘I wasn't asleep. I was

sitting on the window seat in my bedroom, thinking of you.

Remembering how angry Grandfather had been when he saw

you from his couch by the window, comforting me over Baz.

'Like father, like son.' He sounded so bitter. 'Anything in a

skirt. Keep out of his way, Cally, do you hear? He's no good

for you. No good at all.'

And I said. 'Yes, if that's what you want,' because I knew that

anger was bad for him, and he needed to stay quiet and rest.

Aloud, she said flippantly, 'My guardian angel, I suppose.

Who now seems to have deserted me.'

It had all seemed totally surreal, she thought, standing outside

in the darkness as the fire service had fought the flames. As if

she was looking at a medieval painting of an inferno. She

still couldn't believe how quickly the fire had taken its hold.

The heat had been intense, and the stench...

There'd been a sickening roar as the roof collapsed, and Nick

had turned her in his arms, pressing her face against his shoul-

der so that she couldn't see how swift and overwhelming the

destruction was.

"The ambulance is just leaving with your grandfather,' he'd

whispered. "There's nothing we can do here, so let me drive

you to the hospital.'

And she'd nodded numbly, and allowed him to lead her away.

At the time she'd been too thankful to question what he'd been

doing in the locality at that time of night. How he'd happened

to be driving by. It was only much later that she'd realised

Vanessa Layton's cottage also lay on the bottom road.

'A smoke detector might be more reliable than an angel an-

other time.' Nick's dry tone forced Cally back into the painful

present.

'I'm sure you're right.' She shook her head. 'I suppose I always

knew the wiring was old and needed attention, but I didn't

realise we were sitting on a time bomb.' She paused. 'Or that

we had no insurance. It was quite a shock to find that we were

homeless and penniless too.'

'Your grandfather was getting old.' Nick shrugged. 'It's easy to

overlook these things.'

Not, she thought, when the company had sent constant re-

minders, and the cottage was desperately over mortgaged. But

what was one more demand among so many? In spite of her

distress about Baz, she'd seen why her grandfather had needed

to sell him—and the land—to provide an urgent injection of

cash, to stall their creditors. If Oak Tree Cottage hadn't burned

down, they'd have only lost it in another way.

The horror of the fire had forced on her the discovery that

they were broke. Not that her grandfather had ever been

willing to discuss the situation, but she'd known she should

have realised that all the signs were there, becoming more

serious with every day that passed.

She said abruptly, 'I've seen enough, thanks. It—it was a

mistake to come here.'

'Not altogether.' Nick opened the gate, allowing her to precede

him. 'At some point you'll need to make a decision about the

place.'

'At some point, yes.' She didn't look at him. 'Just now I have

other things to worry about.'

It felt strange to drive through the village again. It seemed to

her that she'd been away for a thousand years, yet nothing had

changed. There weren't many people about, but she knew that

the car had been spotted, and her presence noted. It wouldn't

take long for word to get about that she'd returned.

Another nine-day wonder for the gossips to pick over, she

thought wearily. And when she and Nick finally parted there'd

be a feast for the wagging tongues.

Wylstone Hall stood in its own extensive grounds, and Cally

could see instantly that a lot of work had been done there. Sir

Ranald, in his latter years, had let the maintenance of the gar-

dens slide, and Adele had taken no interest in it either.

But then she'd probably had other plans for what remained of

her elderly husband's money, Cally thought with distaste.

Yet now the lawns had been cut and the trees pruned, while

the formal flowerbeds had been replanted and were coming

into bloom. Even the old fountain that stood in the middle of

the broad gravelled sweep in front of the Hall's main entrance

had been coaxed to work once more, and its showering

droplets gleamed in the sunlight.

Wylstone Hall was a big, rambling place, more imposing than

beautiful, combining a number of architectural styles from

medieval to Victorian.

Cally had never found it particularly warm or welcoming, but

was ready to concede this had probably been down to Adele

and her hatchet-faced housekeeper.

The woman who now emerged to greet them as they got out

of the car was a very different proposition, in her middle

thirties, slim, and pleasant-faced.

'We're home, Margaret.' Nick drew Cally forward. 'Darling,

this is Mrs Thurston, who'll help you all she can.'

'It will be a pleasure, sir, and welcome back. How do you do,

your ladyship?' Her smile was anxious. 'There's something I

should mention...'

'Later,' Nick said. 'And tell Frank to leave the bags for a while,

too.' He looked down at Cally, said softly, 'I have an omission

to repair. I broke with tradition the first time round, and failed

to carry my bride over the threshold. Clearly a mistake.'

Before Cally could protest, or take any evasive action, he'd

lifted her into his arms and started towards the entrance.

After the sunlight, the big hall felt cool and shadowy, and

there was a scent of lavender in the air.

Cally realised that he was carrying her towards the sweep of

the staircase. She said breathlessly, 'Nick—put me down.'

'In my own good time.' There was a note of amusement in his

voice—and something else, infinitely more dangerous.

'Asserting your marital rights already, darling?' It was a

woman's voice, low-pitched, drawling, and instantly unpleas-

antly familiar. 'And it's only just teatime. No wonder the poor

child looks stunned.'

There was a frozen silence, then, slowly and carefully, Nick

lowered Cally to the ground and turned.

'Adele,' he said expressionlessly. 'What an unexpected

pleasure. I really thought you were in Paris.'

Adele Tempest remained where she was, framed in the door-

way to the drawing room. She was wearing a close-fitting

white skirt and a wrap-around top in a deep violet shade. Her

red-gold hair was piled on top of her head, with a few artless

tendrils allowed to escape around her face and the nape of her

neck. She was smiling.

'Oh, but I was,' she said. 'Then a little bird told me you were

returning with the prodigal bride, and I thought at least one

person should be here to welcome her. Apart from the

servants, that is.' She looked Cally over, her smile widening.

'Nick's powers of persuasion must be overwhelming, my pet.

Or was it his money that you couldn't resist—yet again? After

all, you've been living rough for a year now, and a fate worse

than death probably seems marginally preferable to no fate at

all."

Cally kept her voice steady somehow. 'It's good to see you,

too, Adele. And nice to know you haven't changed.'

Adele laughed. 'Oh, Nick's the one for alterations. You won't

recognise the place since your last brief visit. I gather he's

transformed that gothic horror of a master bedroom that

Ranald was so stubborn about into a real love nest. Of course,

I had no idea it was intended for you.'

'Well, life's just full of surprises,' Cally said lightly. She

turned to the housekeeper, who was standing behind them,

looking faintly agonised. 'Perhaps you'll show me this

amazing transformation upstairs, Mrs Thurston? I'd like to

tidy myself after the journey. And then we'll all have tea in the

drawing room.' She smiled up into Nick's icy face. 'Please

entertain our guest for me, darling. I won't be long.'

Without hurrying, she began to climb the stairs, following the

housekeeper along the gallery at the top until they reached a

pair of double doors, which Mrs Thurston threw open.

"This is the master suite, Lady Tempest. I do hope you'll be

comfortable.'

Cally found herself in a large bedroom with pale walls and a

low ceiling. There was a pretty Edwardian dressing table, with

a satin stool, and apart from that the major piece of furniture

was a four-poster bed, canopied in a rich dark blue edged with

cream, with a matching quilted cover. The large windows

were hung with the same fabric.

Cally forced a smile. 'It's—absolutely lovely.'

Mrs Thurston permitted herself a pleased smile then hurried to

open a door on the other side of the room, revealing a short

passage, with more doors on either side.

"There's another bedroom at the end, which Sir Nicholas has

been using up to now,' she announced. 'The dressing room,

which is shared, is on the left, and the bathroom is directly

opposite. If there's anything you need, you have only to ring.'

'I'm sure you haven't forgotten a thing,' Cally assured her.

The other woman hesitated. 'If I may say something, your

ladyship? I—I'm really sorry about what happened downstairs

just now. I knew Sir Nicholas wouldn't want any kind of in-

trusion today, but I didn't realise Lady Tempest was in the

house.'

She shook her head. 'It was such a beautiful day, I opened the

French windows in the drawing room. I suppose she walked

across the garden from the Dower House and simply came up

the terrace steps. I couldn't believe my eyes when I went in

with the flowers and found her sitting on the sofa.'

Mrs Thurston paused. 'And, of course, she used to live here..."

'Which makes it doubly difficult to ask her to leave,' Cally

supplied wryly. 'Please don't worry, Mrs Thurston. I'm sure

my husband will deal with the situation.' She pulled a face. 'I

suspect he's used to it.'

Mrs Thurston smiled dutifully, but she still seemed troubled

as she left the room.

And why shouldn't she be? Cally asked herself, tossing her

handbag on to the bed. I'm pretty troubled myself. Things are

bad enough without Adele aiming her poison darts at every

available target.

To find her waiting was turning the clock back with a ven-

geance.

She found her way to the bathroom, and washed her face and

hands in cool water. It was die height of luxury, she thought,

eyeing the creamy marble that tiled the walls and floor with

reluctant appreciation. She was less certain about the big

sunken bath and enormous shower cabinet, both of which

looked as if they'd been deliberately designed for dual occu-

pation.

What would she do if Nick insisted on those kind of inti-

macies? she wondered, her throat dry. What could she do?

When she emerged, she paused, then walked the few yards to

the other bedroom and peeped round the door. With its double

bed, in a fitted olive-green coverlet, and matching oak

tallboys, it was a much plainer room, its ambience

uncompromisingly masculine.

This was where Nick had been steeping—when he slept at

home. And maybe he would still choose to spend some of his

nights here.

Her senses seemed to pick up the faint fragrance of the co-

logne he used, making his presence suddenly and formidably

real, and she retreated hastily back to the master bedroom,

feeling like Bluebeard's wife.

While she'd been in the bathroom their overnight bags had

been brought up, and as she rummaged in her case for her

brush and comb she saw the nightdress she'd worn the

previous night was lying on top of the other things. She lifted

it out, shaking the creases out of its folds, wondering whether

or not she would be permitted to wear it tonight. Asking

herself too, her stomach cramping nervously, exactly what

Nick would expect from her.

In physical terms she knew what to anticipate, of course,

although it was all theory without practice. And while she

might resent the idea of his body invading hers, it wasn't par-

ticularly scaring. No, it was that extra emotional dimension

that haunted her, made her curse her inexperience.

Not passion, she thought sombrely. That was too much for

him to ask and he must know that. But certainly he would