by Penny Jordan
Irritably Maggie drove more slowly, looking for somewhere to eat. It seemed a sensible idea to drive straight into Shrewsbury rather than waste time driving down country lanes, even it did mean a detour.
The smart wine bar where she eventually ended up having her lunch reminded her very much of her City haunts. As she waited for her meal to be served she studied the eager group of young men and women seated at a table close by. Absently eavesdropping on their conversation, she was forced to acknowledge that there was very little difference other than that of location between them and their London peers. She had even heard one of the young men announcing that he had turned down a move to London, though it would have meant a higher income, because he didn’t want to leave his friends or his family.
Maggie gave a small shiver. Had Tanya been right when she had teasingly claimed that Maggie was getting out of touch, that she was clinging to values and beliefs that were no longer viable? The girls had told her that commitment with a capital ‘C’ was the new buzzword, that it was generating an excitement, a sense of expectation and hope that everyone was eagerly reaching out to.
‘Deep down inside everyone wants to be loved,’ Lisa had claimed. ‘It’s just that our generation has had a hard time getting round to admitting it. We were almost born cynical. We looked at our parents and their lifestyles and said, “No way, thanks. We’d rather be self-reliant and single than risk what they put themselves through.” But now it’s different—we’re different. We can see where they got it wrong and we can see how important and valuable, how empowering the values they misguidedly thought unimportant actually are. Although naturally they do need a little fine tuning,’ she had acknowledged without the slightest trace of any irony. ‘And best of all,’ she had added mischievously, ‘it’s men who are getting the commitment bug really badly this time round. Love, marriage, babies, families—that’s where it is now, Maggie. The “me” generation and everything it represented is gone. Right now the big thing is the “us factor”—sharing, caring, being. And I think it’s wonderful.’
‘I never realised your second name was Pollyanna,’ had been Maggie’s dry response, but deep down inside she had registered Lisa’s comments—registered them and wanted to reject them because of the way they made her feel.
Unwilling to pursue her thoughts, Maggie paid for her lunch and left the wine bar. It would take her just over an hour to drive to the estate. The pithy observations she intended to make to Finn on his letter to her would not take very long to deliver and, since she had no intention of hanging around whilst he responded to them, she should be back on the road and on her way back to London before dark.
As she hurried to where she had parked her car she was aware of a sharp drop in temperature, and huddled protectively into her coat.
‘I’ve searched all over London for that coat,’ one of her friends had complained indignantly when she had seen her wearing it. ‘There’s a two-month waiting list for it. Where on earth did you get it?’
Smugly, Maggie had told her.
‘Shrewsbury? Where on earth is that?’ her friend had demanded.
As she left the cathedral city behind Maggie could see the grey-white clouds piling up slowly against the horizon. The countryside looked cold and bare, sheep huddling together motionlessly as she drove past them. At least Finn’s alpaca should be used to winter weather with their heritage. Maggie started to smile as she remembered their cute small faces and huge dark eyes, their long necks weaving from side to side as they had watched her approach them curiously.
Was she going mad, grinning inanely to herself over the actions of farm animals? And worse still worrying about them?
This time she found her A road without any difficulty at all; indeed, she didn’t even need to refer to her map in order to find the turn off for the Shopcutte estate.
The first thing she noticed as she turned into the drive was how much barer of leaves the trees now were; the second was that outside the house, right in front of the front door, she could see Finn’s four-wheel drive.
That seriously stomach-churning feeling she was getting couldn’t possibly be caused by doubts about the wisdom of what she was doing, by second thoughts, could it? No, of course not…
Of course not!
Even so, was it really necessary for her to spend so much time carefully parking her car, reversing it so that it faced the drive—for a speedy and dignified exit—and then straightening it not once but three times until she was finally satisfied.
As a small confidence-booster she had only the previous week given in to the temptation to buy herself a pair of irresistibly delicious shoes, with high heels and peep toes—peep toes in winter: totally impractical—made in a deliciously soft tweed fabric. And she had even bought herself a matching bag. Not that she needed to boost her confidence in order to confront Finn…not at all. No, it had been entirely for other reasons that she had bought them. After all, she hadn’t known then that she would be going to see him again. Had she?
The little designer dress she was wearing underneath her coat was equally impractical: a flimsy silk tea dress confection in fine voile printed with bees in which, the sales assistant had said, that she looked ‘darling’. That comment had almost been enough to stop her from buying the dress, but in the end she hadn’t been able to resist.
She had worn it to go and see her grandmother, who had exclaimed in delight that it reminded her of a dress she herself had worn in the forties. ‘It was one of your grandfather’s favourites…’
The little fake fur tippet that went with it somehow added to the dress’s forties look, a look that was surely designed to be shown off in a sophisticated city setting, not worn in the depths of the country in the presence of a man who would only deride its impracticality—and who would no doubt lose no time in saying so.
Good, Maggie decided as she got out of the car and closed the door. She liked the idea of Finn giving her even more reason to take issue with him. Not that she had worn it to antagonise him.
Of course not.
As she left her car and walked towards the house she suddenly realised how still everything was, how silent. Not even the slightest breeze moved the air, which was winter-cold. The sky had a grey heaviness to it, and as she stared up at it a soft white flake of snow brushed her cheek.
Snow. In November. The end of November, admittedly, but it was still November. Wrapping her coat tightly around herself, she hurried up to the front door which, disconcertingly, immediately swung open.
‘Finn!’ she exclaimed in tones of angry resentment.
‘Who else were you expecting?’ Finn countered. ‘After all, I do live here.’
As he spoke he stepped back so that she could walk into the hall—a much cleaner, brighter and better polished hall than she remembered from the auction, Maggie realised, as she took in the fire burning in the grate and the polished wooden floor, grateful that the need to inspect her surroundings was giving her time to prepare herself before she looked at Finn.
Not that she needed time or preparation. He was just a man, after all. Just a man who…As though he had grown tired of waiting for her to look at him, Finn moved into her line of vision, all six foot two, powerful muscle-packed maleness of him. Ridiculously, for such a cold day, he was wearing a thin white tee shirt, which hugged the contours of his chest almost as lovingly as the faded jeans he was wearing were clinging to his thighs.
Helplessly Maggie’s gaze devoured him, her brown eyes smouldering passionately over every resented inch of him. How fatally easily she could picture him without that tee shirt, the soft whorls of his body hair flattened against the taut muscles of his stomach, just where she had stroked and then kissed the delicious hardness of the definition of his six-pack. Later, when he had growled and then groaned his appreciation and approval of what she was doing, she had moved lower, and then…
Dry-mouthed, she tried to wrench her gaze away from him and then realised as it clashed with his that he was studying h
er just as intently as she had been doing him. But it was derision and not desire she could see in his glance as it roved from the fashionably dark polish on her exposed toe nails, over her shoes, and upwards over her body, to rest momentarily on her face before dropping back to her feet.
This was better, Maggie acknowledged in relief as anticipatory antagonism filled her. Just let him say one word, make one criticism of her outfit and…
‘Nice. It suits you.’
His calm words couldn’t have had a more dramatic effect on Maggie. Stupefied, she stared at him, her mouth a round ‘O’ of bewilderment. Where were the contentious words of mockery and disapproval she had been expecting to hear?
As he watched her Finn wondered grimly if she had any idea just what the effect of seeing her was having on him, never mind seeing her wearing an outfit—a dress—which lovingly underscored every feminine centimetre of her. A dress she had no doubt bought and worn for her precious lover, Fin told himself, deliberately goading himself into jealousy and anger.
‘Lucky, though, that the house’s central heating system turned out to be working and efficient, otherwise I suspect you’d be rather cold. I’m using the library as my office. It’s this way,’ he told her, adding, ‘I’m surprised you bothered to come all this way. Our solicitors could have sorted out the contract.’
Determinedly Maggie refused to move from where she was standing. ‘There isn’t going to be any contract,’ she told him contentiously.
Finn turned and looked at her. ‘No?’
His voice, like his eyes, was flat and hard, and awesomely polite in a way that sent a small shiver of electric triumph through her. He didn’t like what she had said Good! Well, now he was about to hear something else he wasn’t going to like.
Taking a deep breath, Maggie demanded, ‘How dare you try to hold me to ransom? To tell me what I can and can’t do and who with.’
‘With whom,’ Finn corrected her automatically.
Maggie took a deep breath, openly seething, but before she could speak, Finn continued calmly, ‘Am I to take it that it’s the condition that you will not be able to share a bed in the Dower House with your lover that’s brought you…er…’ He looked down at her shoes, before drawling tauntingly, ‘Hot-foot down here.’
‘My shoes, like who I share my bed with, are my concern, and only mine,’ Maggie replied furiously.
‘And, equally, who I choose to let the Dower House to and the conditions I choose to impose on that let are mine,’ Finn countered grimly. ‘Is having sex with him so much more important to you than your grandmother Maggie?’
It was like having a steel trap close round her mind. Something about him made it impossible for her to think logically and analytically, only to react emotionally, Maggie recognised as she denied furiously, ‘No, it most certainly is not. My grandmother—’ She stopped as her voice started to thicken with emotion. ‘This has nothing to do with my feelings for my grandmother,’ she insisted, almost hurling the words at Finn as she fought to avoid allowing him to verbally outwit her. ‘This is about my right to live my life however I choose to live it, to share my bed with whoever I want—’
‘And as we both know you are very good at doing that,’ Finn intervened with a softly cruel emphasis that drove hot colour burning up over Maggie’s skin. ‘Very, very good,’ Finn emphasised deliberately.
Maggie had started to clench her hands into small tense fists.
‘I am perfectly prepared to allow you to rent the Dower House for your grandmother’s occupation—Philip explained her circumstances to me,’ Finn continued.
‘He had no right to discuss my private business with you—’ Maggie began, but once again Finn stopped her.
‘You should be grateful to him,’ he told her challengingly. ‘He was, in a manner of speaking, defending you, insisting that you did not want the Dower House as a pretty country toy you could retreat to with your lover, but for far more altruistic reasons.’
‘You told him that I have a lover?’ Maggie demanded hotly. Her grandmother was old-fashioned; if she were to live at the Dower House and hear gossip that her beloved granddaughter had a lover—and, moreover, a lover she knew nothing about—she would not just be shocked, she would be hurt that Maggie hadn’t confided in her herself, Maggie knew. ‘How dare you?’ she continued furiously. ‘How dare you lie about me like that—?’
‘Lie?’ Finn cut her short, tightlipped now as anger glittered dangerously in his eyes. ‘Me? I heard you myself on the phone to him at the farmhouse. “Darling…”’ he whispered, savagely mimicking Maggie’s softly husky voice.
Baffled, Maggie stared at him. ‘The only people I telephoned from the farm were my assistant and my grandmother…’ Her voice faltered, and then grew stronger as she repeated, ‘My grandmother…my beloved, darling, grandmother.’
Finn went completely still. There was no mistaking the sincerity in her voice. And no mistaking her fury either. Perhaps there was more of the City trader left in him than he had thought, he admitted wryly, as he shrugged his shoulders and prepared to unashamedly blag his way out of the situation.
‘So I made a mistake.’
A mistake! Maggie’s chest heaved, sending the bumble bees into delicious activity—to Finn’s male eyes at least. Her eyes flashed, and he could have sworn she grew two inches taller as she confronted him.
‘You blacken my reputation; force me out of the bidding for the Dower House, send me the most repellent letter I have ever received, try to tell me how I should live my life, correct my grammar—and you call it a mistake.’
Fresh activity amongst the bumble bees held Finn’s glance awed and enthralled, but thankfully Maggie herself was far too wrapped up in her own anger to notice his inability to drag his attention from her breasts—breasts which, as he already had good reason to know, felt and tasted every bit as deliciously feminine and honey-sweet as they looked.
Later he might admit to himself that perhaps what followed was an extremely contentious piece of verbal baiting on his part, but at the time…
‘Haven’t you forgotten something in that list of supposed crimes?’
The mild tone of Finn’s voice caught Maggie off-guard. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, and didn’t dare to try to over-analyse, the sight of the muscles in his bare arms, when he folded them across his chest before leaning back against the wall, sent a soft little shiver of sensation all the way through her body, causing her to curl her toes slightly. There was something sexily awesome about Finn’s arms, something about their strength, their power to hold and protect, something about their gentleness when he had wrapped them around her, something that right now was making her want…
Shakily she forced herself to concentrate on what Finn was saying—something about a crime she’d forgotten. But before she could phrase any question Finn was answering it for her, telling her succinctly and, she was sure, with a great deal of enjoyment, ‘Going to bed with you.’
Going to bed with her? Was that how Finn saw what had happened between them? As a crime? Maggie didn’t like the sharp pain that seared her: a pain which she was determined to ignore. Well, if it was she was just going to have to make sure he knew that, as far as she was concerned, their lovemaking—no, their sex, which after all was the correct word for it—had meant nothing at all to her!
Feigning uninterest, she shrugged and looked away from him. Lying to him was one thing; lying to him when he had that penetrating gaze of his fixed on her was very definitely another. ‘I’m an adult. I can go to bed with whoever I like.’
‘Like?’ Finn pounced with lethal speed.
Hot-cheeked, Maggie tried to brave it out. ‘Neither of us has ever denied that the sex between us was good.’
Finn tightened his folded arms, not trusting himself to move. If he did, if he got within range of her, she would be right there in those arms, whilst he…
‘Anyway, I haven’t come here to talk about sex,’ Maggie told him, furiously aware of her own red f
ace and the decidedly dangerous male gleam now lighting Finn’s eyes.
‘No, talking about it is a complete waste of time,’ Finn agreed, straight-faced, ‘especially when—’
Had she any idea how adorable she looked: all furious embarrassment, all desirable woman, the only woman he…
‘I came to talk to you about your letter,’ Maggie told him sharply. ‘How dare you patronise me by offering me the Dower House at a peppercorn rent? I don’t need your charity, Finn. I can afford to pay my own way through life. And—’
‘I wasn’t doing it for you. I was doing it for your grandmother,’ Finn told her, completely silencing her. ‘You may be able to afford to pay any amount of rent, but I suspect things may be different for your grandmother.’ He held up his hand when Maggie would have interrupted him. ‘Yes, I know that you’d pay the rent for her, but if she’s anything like most other members of her generation—and I suspect she is—after all her granddaughter has to have got her determined independence from somewhere—she will want to pay the rent herself.’
Maggie knew that he was right. A huge lump of mixed pain and guilt was filling her throat, making it impossible for her to speak. How it was that Finn had found a flaw in her plans that had escaped her? How was it that he had somehow known exactly how her grandmother would feel when she herself had not?
Maggie wasn’t sure which she resented having to acknowledge the more: his unexpected sensitivity towards the feelings of an elderly woman he didn’t even know, or the fact that that sensitivity made her feel guilty because she herself had not recognised the need for it. Her grandmother was her grandmother, not his.
‘I can find my grandmother another house,’ she told him challengingly.
Finn gave her a hooded, unreadable look that for some reason made her heart bounce around inside her chest like a rubber ball.
‘Yes, I’m sure that you can. But as I understood the situation the reason you wanted the Dower House for her was because of your grandparents’ past association with it. Of course, no doubt, during the course of a long marriage they would have shared other homes together…’ He paused, and Maggie looked angrily away from him.