Trapped between his tall, broad-shouldered frame and the desk, she said in a stifled voice, ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go back to the flat.’
Without moving an inch, he told her, ‘I’ve got a better idea. As Carl won’t be home tonight, we’ll have dinner together.’
All her earlier desire to see him, to be with him, had vanished. All she wanted now was to get back to the flat and be alone.
‘Thank you, but I need an early night.’
Looking completely unruffled, he pointed out, ‘Presumably you’ll have to eat before you go to bed.’
‘I’ll get myself a snack.’
He shook his head. ‘I’d much rather you had dinner with me.’
Taking a deep breath, she said with a boldness she was far from feeling, ‘Perhaps I should make it quite plain that I don’t want to have dinner with you.’
‘Perhaps I should make it quite plain that that was an order not a suggestion.’
‘You can’t give me orders about what I do in my own time,’ she retorted indignantly.
‘Do you want to bet? Apart from the fact that I hold the whip hand, don’t forget that now I’ve saved your life you belong to me.’
‘That’s a lot of rubbish.’
‘Don’t be too sure.’
Her heart beating like a drum, she objected, ‘As you obviously hate the sight of me, I don’t see why you want my company. Unless you’re planning to give me a hard time.’
He laughed, white teeth gleaming. ‘How clever of you to guess. But that’s only part of the evening’s…shall we say entertainment?’
Knowing he was trying to frighten her, and unwilling to let him see he was succeeding, she asked with what coolness she could muster, ‘So what did you have in mind for the rest?’
‘You’ll find out in due course.’
She shook her head firmly. ‘I’m going straight back to the flat.’
‘What will you do if you’re unable to get in?’ he queried innocently.
With an unpleasant jolt, she recalled that he still had her bag.
Watching her face, and seeing the dawning realization that she was in a cleft stick, he smiled.
‘Don’t you think it’s time to admit defeat?’
Presumably Carl had taken the car over to Beinn Mor and left it there, which meant she was stranded at Dunbar, and she couldn’t get into the flat without Ross’s co-operation.
‘I don’t appear to have much choice,’ she conceded with what grace she could muster. ‘As things are, you seem to hold all the cards.’
‘You could always tell me to go to hell,’ he suggested with a devilish glint in his eye.
‘I could,’ she agreed slowly. ‘But in the circumstances I fail to see what help that would be.’
‘Sensible woman,’ he applauded. ‘Then, as it’s all settled, shall we go up?’
‘Go up?’ she echoed, hanging back.
‘To my suite.’
‘Can’t we eat down here?’
‘I usually eat upstairs in front of the fire unless I have guests, and tonight there’ll just be the two of us. A tête-à-tête, you might say. The kind of thing we enjoyed at Ilithgow House,’ he added for good measure.
There was something in his voice, an underlying purpose, a hint of satisfaction, that sounded an alarm bell.
Distrusting his motives, she protested, ‘I’d rather eat in the main dining room.’
‘I’m afraid that isn’t convenient. You see, it’s Cook’s night off.’
‘But if it’s the cook’s night off, what difference does it make where we eat?’
‘Quite a lot, actually. You see I’ll be cooking.’
‘You have a kitchen in your suite?’
‘Got it in one.’
Still she held back, playing for time. ‘When the whole house belongs to you, I really don’t understand why you need a self-contained suite.’
‘Strictly speaking, I don’t any longer. But I’ll tell you all about it over a pre-dinner drink.’
When she still hesitated, he said practically, ‘Even if you decide not to stay, you’ll need to come up for your handbag.’
The even if you decide not to stay seemed to offer her a choice, while common sense told her that that was eyewash. But, seeing nothing else for it, she bowed to the inevitable.
A hand at her waist, he escorted her into the hall and up the stairs. Though his touch was light, it put her in mind of the pro¬verbial iron fist in a velvet glove, and made it clear that he had no intention of being gainsaid.
But he wasn’t a man to do anything without a good reason, and she couldn’t help but wonder why he had acted as he had, why he had insisted on her having a meal with him.
Given what he thought of her, it didn’t make sense that he wanted her company, and she could only conjecture that it had something to do with the subtle change in his manner she had noticed earlier.
When they reached his suite, opening the door, he stood aside and invited softly, ‘Won’t you walk into my parlour?’
The little smile that accompanied his cryptic invitation made her blood go cold and a shiver run up and down her spine.
Stopping dead in her tracks, the breath caught in her throat, she looked up at him.
‘Something wrong?’ he asked, his face innocent.
‘You’re trying to scare me,’ she accused jerkily.
‘Now, why should I want to do that?’
To keep her off balance, perhaps? To exact some kind of revenge?
But though she was almost certain that she was right, it seemed too absurd and melodramatic to charge him with any such thing.
When, not sure quite what to say, she said nothing, he lifted a well-marked brow and insisted, ‘Well?’
She half shook her head. Though she felt as if she was walking straight into a trap, seeing nothing else for it, she allowed herself to be ushered into his living room.
With an air of subdued triumph that did absolutely nothing to alleviate her apprehension, he closed the door behind her.
Then, indicating one of the armchairs, he asked, ‘Won’t you sit down?’
At first she sat on the very edge of the chair, back straight, tension in every limb, as though poised for flight.
Hiding a smile, he asked with a bland politeness that grated on her, ‘What would you like to drink?’
Noting that smile, and aware that to let him see how nervous she was would be playing into his hands, she sat back and did her utmost to at least appear relaxed as she answered, ‘A dry sherry, please.’
There were standard lamps burning in the corners of the room, but the main lights were off, and the pools of golden light combined with the flickering firelight made the room cosy and intimate.
Much too intimate.
He poured them both a sherry and, when she had accepted hers, took the chair opposite. Then, his smoke-grey eyes gleaming between thick lashes, he simply sat and looked at her.
Unnerved by that silent scrutiny and wishing, now it was too late, that she had never allowed herself to be coerced into coming up here with him, she tried hard to get a grip.
After all, she asked herself stoutly, what could he actually do to her?
He smiled a little, as though once again he knew exactly how she was feeling.
Racking her brains for something to say, Cathy moistened her dry lips and reminded him, ‘You were going to tell me how you come to have this suite?’
‘So I was…’ he agreed smoothly.
Though the mocking glint in his eye made it clear that he knew quite well why she was eager to keep things on a mundane plane, he seemed content to go along with it, at least for the time being.
‘The night we met, I believe I mentioned that my parents split up and that my mother went to London to live?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, after about a year, to everyone’s surprise, my father remarried. My new stepmother and I disliked one another so heartily that I told my father I wanted to go to
London and live with my mother. He was very much against me doing any such thing. He’d only agreed to a divorce on condition that I and my sister stayed in Scotland with him. When he realized I was adamant, so that my stepmother and I need have as little contact as possible, he suggested that I make use of the self-contained suite that had been my grandmother’s.
‘I liked the comparative privacy it provided and the luxury of having my own space, so even when I inherited the house and the estate I decided to keep the suite for my personal use.’
He fell silent, and for a while Cathy sipped her sherry and, avoiding looking at him, stared resolutely into the fire.
But, only too aware that his eyes were on her face, and feeling the sexual tension beginning to tighten, she searched frantically for something to say to keep the conversation going.
Without success.
The only question she could think of to ask was, why had he brought her up here? And she knew he would only answer that in his own good time.
When that silent scrutiny had stretched her nerves almost to breaking point, guessing that that was his intention and unwilling to oblige him, she clenched her teeth and took a fresh grip.
Telling herself firmly that he could only win this war of nerves if she allowed him to—and she would see him in hell first—she looked up and deliberately met and held his gaze.
It took every last ounce of her courage, but it was worth it when the wry amusement in his grey eyes was replaced by a gleam of respect.
Sketching the kind of salute that fencers gave when their opponent had scored a hit, he uncoiled his long length from the chair and, donning the mask of suave host, said, ‘You must be getting hungry. I’ll see about dinner.’
She felt a little surge of triumph, and her voice sounded confident even in her own ears as she asked, ‘Can I do anything to help?’
He shook his head. ‘Everything’s prepared…’
It shook her to realize he must have planned this little tête-à-tête in advance.
‘All you need to do is eat it…’
With a grin that suddenly lightened the atmosphere, he added, ‘And perhaps a compliment on my cooking skills wouldn’t go amiss.’
Holding on to her advantage, she told him, ‘I think I can manage that, so long as you don’t plan to poison me.’
A shiver ran through her as he answered silkily, ‘I do have plans for you, but I can assure you that they don’t include poison.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
HAVING effortlessly regained the upper hand, Ross disappeared into the kitchen.
Looking longingly at the door, she considered getting up and walking out. But it would be no use leaving without her keys. However, if she could find her handbag…
Rising cautiously to her feet, all sound muffled by the thick carpet, she set about searching for it.
Standing on the top of a bookcase, a silver-framed photograph of a lovely woman with fair hair and a charming smile, a woman who was no longer young, caught her eye.
There was something about that face that was strangely familiar, as if she had seen it somewhere before. But unable to think where she put it out of her mind and hurriedly continued her search.
There was no sign of the bag in the living room, and, taking a deep breath, she went to look in the bedroom and bathroom.
Finding it in neither, she told herself vexedly that it had to be somewhere.
She had returned to the bedroom to search more thoroughly when, glancing up, she froze.
Ross was standing in the open doorway, watching her, one shoulder leaning negligently against the doorjamb.
‘Looking for something?’ he drawled.
She swallowed. ‘My bag.’
‘If you’d thought to ask me, I could have told you exactly where it was.’
Stifling the retort that trembled on her lips, she said steadily, ‘I’d like to have it, please.’
‘Of course,’ he agreed, leading the way back to the sitting room. ‘If you look alongside the chair you were sitting in…’
It was exactly where he had indicated.
But she was certain it hadn’t been there previously. ‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly.
‘My pleasure.’ Then, becoming the urbane host once more, he said, ‘Now, if you’re ready to eat?’
Recognizing that it was too late to make her escape, she reluctantly resumed her seat.
A moment later he wheeled in a dinner trolley set for two and, placing it at a comfortable distance from the fire, brought in a couple of dining chairs.
No doubt due to the stress of the situation, her appetite had once again deserted her, but she obediently took the chair he held for her.
As soon as she was seated he sat down opposite and, having poured white wine into two glasses, raised his in a toast. ‘Here’s to us.’
His expression gave nothing away, and she was unable to penetrate that unreadable mask. But once again she could sense that change in him, as if something momentous had happened.
Wondering what he was up to, she took a sip of the wine, finding it was light and delicate on her tongue and chilled to perfection.
The simple meal, seafood rolled in crêpes, with a creamy sauce and a crisp side salad, was delicious. It was followed by cheese and fruit and an excellent coffee that, at Ross’s suggestion, they moved into the armchairs to drink.
In spite of her initial lack of appetite, and all her misgivings, Cathy had thoroughly enjoyed the meal and said so.
He thanked her gravely. Then, a gleam in his eye, he added, ‘Though when it comes to cooking my repertoire is decidedly limited, as in other pursuits I always aim to please.’
Opting to take that somewhat ambiguous remark at face value, she agreed, ‘I’m sure you succeed.’
‘Of course, the most important thing is to have someone to please.’
The deepening gleam of devilment in his eyes made him practically irresistible and warned her she was on dangerous ground.
Gathering herself, she hurriedly changed the subject. ‘Earlier I noticed a photograph of a lovely, fair-haired woman on the bookcase…’
‘My mother.’
On an impulse, she said, ‘Tell me about her. You mentioned that she went to live in London…?’
‘Yes. Unfortunately she died several years ago.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. In that case I must be mistaken. I felt sure I knew her face…’
‘Perhaps you picked up the strong likeness between her and Marley?’
‘Yes, no doubt that was it.’
Something in his expression made her ask, ‘You were very fond of her?’
His face softened. ‘Yes, very fond. It came as a shock when she died. She was only in her late forties. She married very young. Too young. She was barely eighteen when I was born.
‘She and my father were an ill-matched pair, with very little in common. He was a handsome man, but serious and quiet, a bit on the dour side, while she was fun-loving, sunny-natured and a romantic through and through.
‘When they first met she already had a steady boyfriend called Toby, but Toby was as pleasant and ordinary and unexciting as the boy next door. Whereas, in her eyes, a Scottish laird who had a house like a small castle was a Mr Rochester-type hero and consequently surrounded by an aura of romance and mystery that was irresistible. Despite the fact that he was almost twenty years older than her, within a few months of meeting they were married, for better or for worse.
‘She loved Dunbar on sight and looked all set to be very happy here, but sadly that happiness failed to materialize. Though inside a year she had given birth to the son and heir my father had been hoping for, then three years later to a much-wanted daughter, their relationship wasn’t a success.
‘For the sake of her children she stayed trapped in a loveless marriage for almost fifteen years. Then on a visit to London to attend an old friend’s funeral she met up with Toby, who had never married.
‘To cut a long story short, they fell in love all
over again, and she asked my father for a divorce. He agreed, on one condition: that he was to have custody of the children.
‘Marley, who had always been his favourite, was quite content to stay with him, and, while I wasn’t so keen, for my mother’s sake I urged her to take that chance of happiness.
‘As soon as the divorce went through, she and Toby were married. Though they were ideally suited and very happy together, she badly missed Marley and me. She had always had a love of antiques, so to help fill her days and give her an interest, they bought an antiques shop in Notting Hill…’
Until then, Cathy had been using the conversation simply as a safe way to pass the time until she could say goodnight and escape. But now, her full attention captured, she asked, ‘Whereabouts in Notting Hill?’
‘Salters Lane.’
‘I know the shop!’ she exclaimed. ‘I went in there once, and I think I met your mother. That’s why the photograph was familiar.’
Picking up on her excitement, he suggested, ‘Tell me about it.’
‘I had to pass the shop on my way to school, and sometimes I stopped to look at the bric-a-brac in the window. They often had really interesting things. Then one day when I was passing, amongst a collection of Victoriana, there was a paperweight snowstorm that I fell in love with. It was a miniature house, standing serene and beautiful in its glass bubble…’
A strange look flitted across Ross’s lean face, but all he said was, ‘Go on.’
‘All the things on display had a price ticket except that. I wanted it so badly, and I still had my sixteenth birthday money to spend, so I went into the shop to ask how much it was. A petite woman with blonde hair and a lovely, gentle face told me very nicely that the snowstorm belonged to her, and it wasn’t for sale.
‘I thanked her and turned to leave, but she must have realized how bitterly disappointed I was, because she asked me if I’d like to hold it. When I jumped at the chance, she took it out of the window and let me turn it upside down then hold it while we both watched the snow softly falling around the old house. It was quite magical.
‘The next time I passed the shop it was gone from the window. But for a long time afterwards I thought of it as “my house”.’
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