All the Long Summer

by Lucy Gillen

  "Gamekeeper?" One dark brow flicked swiftly upwards in query. "Is that what he told you?"

  Isa looked at him uncertainly and shook her head. "Isn't he?" she asked, and he smiled, a rueful smile that was not quite a grimace of regret.

  "It wouldn't be fair to spoil his charade," he said. "If it suits him to call himself a gamekeeper then good luck to him, but I didn't realise he was sufficiently impressed to go to those lengths."

  Isa was in two minds whether or not it mattered that Chris Burrows had told an untruth about himself. It didn't matter what his job was on the estate, he.was no less attractive as a man whether he was a gamekeeper or something more humble, as Toby's remarks implied. It made no difference to her liking for him, but she was curious to wonder why he had seen fit to lie about it.

  "You're implying Chris lied to me," she said in a small cool voice. "I wish you'd tell me what his position is if he isn't a gamekeeper, Mr. Carmichael."

  Toby regarded her for a moment, his mouth crooked into a faintly quizzical smile. "Shouldn't

  you ask Chris that?" he suggested.

  "I prefer not to." Isa didn't really see how she could face Chris with the fact that she knew he had lied to her about his job, not when it was so unimportant.

  "No, I suppose not," Toby allowed, following her meaning easily enough. "Well, maybe you'd better go on thinking of him as our gamekeeper—it doesn't really matter, does it?"

  "Not to me!" Thrusting out her chin in that defiant and challenging way was Purely instinctive and she saw that elusive hint of laughter lurking in his eyes again when he recognised it.

  "Ah, so you find him attractive too," he remarked. "How very romantic!"

  Without realising she was doing it, Isa's hands curled tightly into her palms and she bit her lip angrily. She had always hated being teased, and on the subject of Chris Burrows she felt especially vulnerable for some unfathomable reason. Perhaps because the position of paid employee was new to her and she resented any suggestion of condescension on the part of her employer.

  "I like Mr. Burrows," she said tautly, "and I don't find anything amusing in the fact!"

  "You're serious about him?" He looked at her curiously for a second, then smiled. "No, of course you're not! Not after only three weeks—it's not possible!"

  Isa flushed, vulnerable as ever to that challenging glint of laughter. "You have no right to laugh at us, Mr. Carmichael," she told him in a small, shaky

  voice. "Even servants have the right to fall in love!"

  Toby looked at her for a moment as if her words stunned him, then he shook his head slowly. "You use that word love very easily," he said, and in a much more serious voice. "Do you know what you mean by it?"

  "Why not?" Isa demanded, rashly uncaring whether he was offended or not. "Are you so much more of an expert on the subject, Mr. Carmichael?"

  He looked so fiercely angry for a second that Isa shrank from the result of her own rashness. His blue eyes had a dark glittering look that threatened heaven knew what retribution, and for a moment he stood with his hands tightly curled at his sides, then slowly he shook his head, and a hint of a smile again touched his mouth. "Maybe you'd better tell me," he said, and reached out his hands for her.

  Again she was pulled close against him, this time with an almost sensual slowness, his hands sliding round her slim body and drawing her to him while those glittering blue eyes held hers steadily, a hint of smile lending them warmth. His mouth had a firm, warm touch that sent little chills along her spine when he kissed her, lightly at first, becoming gradually more hard until the pressure of his mouth parted her lips and she began to struggle.

  It was a futile struggle and he released her mouth only when she was breathless, looking down at her with that sensual lower lip pursed in amusement. Isa looked at him with wide, angry eyes, her hands pushing at him furiously in her determination to be free, furious because she had felt herself almost on

  the point of yielding to the strong persuasion of his arms.

  "We were talking about love!" she whispered in a small, angry voice, and Toby smiled and shook his head. "That—what you just did had nothing to do with love!"

  "It's as much as Chris Burrows has in mind after only four weeks!" he retorted, and laughed as he caught her wrist, stopping the swing towards his face. "Oh no, you don't!" he said quietly.

  Isa was trembling with anger and she stood with her hands clenched into fists, his strong fingers curled about one wrist, a bright, angry flush on her cheeks. "There's a name for men like you!" she said, more rash than ever in her anger. "Until now I've never met one, and I wish to heaven I'd never seen you, Mr. Carmichael!"

  For a moment he said nothing, but the smile still lingered in his eyes although his mouth had a tighter look about it. "And I think you'd better go back the way you came before I forget you're just a little girl," he said at last.

  'Isa said nothing; her heart was thudding relentlessly hard at her ribs and she felt quite alarmingly breathless, as if she had been running a long way. Although she was angry and considered she had every right to be angry, she also felt a strange sense of elation which was quite inexplicable.

  He was standing immediately in front of her, tall and straight with his hands thrust deep into the top pockets of his trousers and his head back, looking at her down the length of his nose, his eyes

  shadowed by those quite uncannily long eyelashes. "Did you hear me?" he asked, and Isa nodded. "Yes, Mr. Carmichael."

  "Then go!" he insisted quietly but firmly. "Before old Hetherton-Gale comes prowling around and suspects you of trespass!"

  Without a word Isa turned and started back towards the river, her heart still pounding uncontrollably in her breast, but she had gone no more than a couple of yards when he called her. Turning, she saw him already sitting in the saddle again, the very embodiment of arrogant masculinity, his eyes holding hers for a moment before he spoke.

  "Better not tell Chris Burrows about that little episode," he advised quietly, and with a seriousness that was belied by the laughter in his eyes. "He'll only see it as proof of my—depravity?"

  He put a soothing hand on the restless mare's neck and smiled, then jabbed his heels sharply against her flanks and waved one hand to Isa as the mare took off like a shot. "Stay on your side of the fence!" he called over his shoulder, and Isa caught the sound of his laughter as he disappeared among the trees.

  Isa admitted to being much more wary of Toby Carmichael since the episode in the wood, for there was something about him that she found infinitely disturbing and it was impossible to ignore it.

  She was curious too about the minor mystery of Chris Burrows' position, and just what he did on the estate, but she could not bring herself to ask

  him as Toby had suggested. To do so would betray the fact that she had been discussing him with Toby Carmichael, and in view of his animosity towards him, it was really not a very good idea. It had even crossed her mind that she might elicit the information from Lady Carmichael, but she dismissed that idea too.

  She had been a little more than six weeks at Trent House and had known Chris for most of that time, so that she was ready enough to admit being very fond of him. It was quite evident that he felt even more strongly about her, perhaps more than she was prepared for at the moment, and she considered Toby's derision about either of them being able to fall in love in only four weeks.

  It was longer now, but even so six weeks was very little time to be sure about anything so important as being seriously in love. Chris was very attractive, but in a sober and quiet way that was quite different from Toby's more flamboyant style. Flamboyant she dismissed a second later as being perhaps untrue and a little unfair. Toby was practised in the art of persuasion, but sophisticated, not flamboyant. Chris was quiet and cautious in his approach whereas Toby, she was prepared to believe, would be bold and decisive in his determination, once he had decided a woman attracted him.

  Once more she shook off the persistent image of Toby Ca
rmichael and took a last look at herself in the mirror as she always did. Her long dark hair shone like brown silk in the light from the window, and there was a bright eager look in her eyes

  brought about by sheer contentment. Her dress was simply cut in green and white cotton and had a softly feminine look and she was well enough pleased with the overall effect to smile at her reflection before turning away. For a week now she had been promising to visit Chris's little cottage near the river, but she had not found the time until now, and she felt strangely unsure of herself as she went downstairs.

  Someone came out of the sitting-room as she crossed the hall and she instinctively looked around to see who it was, not really surprised when she saw Toby Carmichael looking at her quizzically. "All dressed up and nowhere to go?" he asked quietly, and Isa shook her head.

  "Not at all, Mr. Carmichael," she told him. "I have somewhere to go."

  The blue eyes crinkled into laughter and he nodded as he came across to join her. "Oh yes, of course," he said, "you'll be meeting Chris Burrows."

  "I'm calling on him to be exact," Isa informed him, swiftly on the defensive, and saw the dark frown that drew his brows together.

  "You mean you're visiting his cottage?" he asked, and she nodded.

  "That's right."

  He stood beside a small table that held the telephone, one hand in a pocket and the other resting palm down on the table top, and she could tell by his expression that the idea did not meet with his approval. Not that she meant to let his opinion dissuade her, but the idea of his disapproving intrigued

  her as much as it annoyed her.

  "You realise what you're doing, I hope," he said at last in what Isa privately called his 'bossy' voice, and she nodded.

  "Yes, of course I know, Mr. Carmichael," she said. "I'm not a child."

  "So you've told me before," he remarked dryly, "but I'm not sure I'm convinced."

  Isa would have liked to simply walk away and leave him, but instead she looked at him angrily, resenting his attitude as she always did when she considered he was being patronising. "I've also told you before that I don't consider anything I do in my free time is any concern of yours, Mr. Carmichael," she told him with as much dignity as she could muster. "I promised to call on Mr. Burrows and I'm going to do just that!"

  "Little Miss Head-in-air," he said dryly, his eyes bright with mingled amusement and exasperation. "You know nothing about Chris Burrows, do you?" She looked at him, curious and suspicious of his motives, but she was also shaking her head in answer to his question. "And yet you don't think twice about calling on him at his cottage?"

  "I—I know him well enough to—to trust him," she said, and wondered if she was also trying to convince herself as well. She could have added that she would trust Chris Burrows much further than she would Toby Carmichael himself, but she kept that to herself.

  For a moment he said nothing, then suddenly and unexpectedly he put a hand to her face, curving his

  long fingers to the softness of her left cheek. "Just watch your step, Isabella," he said quietly, and Isa coped with the quite alarming increase in her heartbeat, trying to curb its response to his touch.

  "I can take care of myself," she said a little breathlessly, and he smiled.

  "I hope so," he said, and before she realised his intent he bent his head and brushed his lips lightly across her forehead. "I hope so," he whispered.

  Chris wasn't exactly expecting her, but he was not completely surprised to see her either, and Isa was glad she had followed her own instincts in the matter instead of allowing Toby to influence her. There was surely nothing untrustworthy about Chris Burrows' earnest features and he welcomed her so warmly that it was obvious how pleased he was to see her.

  The cottage was small, but it was neat and clean and looked very picturesque set amid the trees beside the river. It was quiet there too, except for the sound of the water and the usual indeterminate stirrings always audible in woodland, and for the first time Isa realised how isolated they were from human contact. Not that she was actually nervous, but the cottage was isolated and try as she would she could not entirely dismiss Toby's implication that Chris was not completely to be trusted.

  "I hardly dared hope you'd come," Chris told her earnestly as he saw her seated, then went to put on the kettle. "I'm delighted that you did."

  Isa smiled, seeking to cover her faint doubt with

  an air of assurance. "Why shouldn't I come?" she asked, and Chris appeared again in the kitchen doorway, his grey eyes briefly darkened when he mentioned the man he disliked so much.

  "I expected Mr. Carmichael to try and put you off coming to see me," he said. "I'm glad you didn't let him!"

  For a second or two she hesitated, wondering how wise it would be to mention anything about the conversation with Toby. Chris seemed to take it for granted that he was aware of her plans to visit him and she decided there was nothing to be gained by reporting his actual warning, so she shrugged and laughed a little uneasily. "I'm not easily influenced," she told him lightly. "I make up my own mind about people."

  "And you've made up your mind about me?" He asked the question softly, and the grey eyes watched her closely for a moment, almost as if he expected her to express an opinion on a matter left unspoken, although she could not imagine what it could be. Then he left his place in the kitchen doorway and came across to her, standing beside her chair, one arm along the back of it, the fingers of his left hand just touching her neck and sending little shudders of warning through her. "Have you made up your mind about me, Isa?" he prompted when she did not reply, and Isa looked up at him, a shadow of doubt making her violet eyes look as dark as midnight.

  The gauntly good-looking face had an open honest look and his eyes looked at her with a

  steadiness that must surely inspire confidence so that after a moment she smiled and nodded. "Yes, I have," she said, quelling the echo of Toby's warning firmly. "I shouldn't be here if I didn't—like you, you must know that, Chris."

  "I hoped you did !" He smiled as if a weight had been lifted from his mind and the fingers touching her neck became a definite caress, lightly soothing on her soft skin and arousing a swift response in her heartbeat.

  She was not quite sure what she expected next, but his sudden departure in the direction of the kitchen left her both mildly surprised and curious. Most other men would surely have followed up that caress with something more positive, certainly Toby Carmichael would have, but Chris simply walked out into the kitchen and set about making tea.

  It was some time after they had finished drinking their tea that Chris got up from his chair suddenly, one hand rubbing nervously over the back of his head. He stood over her for several seconds, his gaze fixed on her face with a certain air of indecision, then he reached down for her hands and pulled her to her feet, his grasp strong and firm as he held her for a moment without speaking. Then he drew her closer, putting his arms around her, and she glanced up at the bright, glittering shine in his eyes.

  "Isa!" His arms tightened, pulling her against him, and his face bent over her own, hovering for a second before he brought his mouth down over hers in a kiss that was not quite what she expected. It was more tentative than emotional and left her

  feeling vaguely disappointed, despite the unexpectedness of it.

  "Please, Chris!" She managed to free herself without too much trouble, although he relinquished his hold on her reluctantly and looked down at her for a second with a look of reproach in his eyes.

  "I thought you'd made up your own mind about me," he said with a hint of sulkiness that surprised her.

  "So I have," she agreed, shaking her head. "But I—" -

  "Don't you know how I feel about you?" he asked. "Didn't you guess, Isa?"

  It was all happening a little too quickly for her, and Isa shook her head to try and clear it. It was plain what Chris was trying to say and she should have been prepared for it, but she had deliberately avoided thinking of Chris in that way. S
he had seen his feelings for her growing in intensity over the weeks, but had banked on his normal reticence keeping him silent about it, at least until she had time to determine the depth of her own emotions.

  "I—I had some idea," she admitted at last, then shook her head again. "But six weeks isn't very long, Chris, and I—well, I honestly don't feel anything like that for you. I'm sorry."

  He said nothing for a long moment, but stood looking down at her, almost as if he blamed her for her frankness, then he too shook his head, and a faint hint of a smile touched his mouth as he put his hands on her arms again, gently and without any suggestion of an embrace.

  "Six weeks isn't very long," he agreed quietly. "I'm sorry, Isa, I shouldn't have tried to hurry you as I did, but seeing you here, in my cottage, I couldn't resist kissing you." The grey eyes looked down at her appealingly. "Am I forgiven?" he begged, and Isa impulsively tip-toed and brushed his cheek with her lips.

  "Of course," she said. She glanced at her wristwatch, almost automatically, and brushed a smoothing hand down her dress. "I think it might be better if I went now," she suggested, praying he would not see her departure as a protest against his kissing her, but she needed time to think and she honestly believed that if she stayed any longer, before long he would kiss, her again and at the moment she was very unsure of her own feelings.

  "So soon?" He looked at the clock on the mantel, and frowned. "Isa, please don't mistrust me—I promise I won't step out of line again."

  She hesitated, but there was really no doubt in her own mind what was the best thing to do at the moment. She must have time to think about the situation with Chris, and she needed to be alone to do that. "I don't mistrust you," she promised, looking at that handsome, earnest face and wondering if she was being too cautious. "I—I have a lot on my mind, Chris, and I'd like to have time to think."