by Nina Milne
He shrugged his jacket off and hung it on a peg, watched her almost warily as she approached. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek, inhaled his woodsy scent, felt the solid bulk of his body against hers. She stepped back and took his hands in hers. The smile he gave was a little twisted, but his grasp tightened around hers as she tugged him towards the sofa.
‘I’ll light the fire,’ he said.
Sensing that it would be easier for him to talk whilst in action, she nodded. ‘That would be great. You want coffee?’
‘No, thanks.’
He busied herself with the fire, loaded the logs, and Ruby curled up on the purple cushions, her whole being attuned to him.
‘Tanya was three years older than me. Mum was always out—she worked so many jobs to make ends meet—and that made Tanya and I extra close. Tanya was...’
His deep tone faltered and he paused, scraped a match against the side of the box and lit the wood. Sat back on his haunches and gazed at the flicker of red and orange.
‘She was so very gentle, so kind.’ Wonder touched his voice. ‘It was as if she was something rare and beautiful and fragile on that estate. She had chestnut hair, long and thick, and brown eyes, and the warmest smile in the world—the kind that made you feel like you could do anything.’
The fire whoomphed and caught, illuminated the planes of his features, touched with sadness now. Ruby slipped off the sofa, and as if aware of her movements he shifted, so that they both ended up on the floor with the sofa at their backs. Without speaking she placed a hand on his thigh, tucked her body next to his.
‘She wanted to make something of her life. Her dream was to write, to travel, to see the wonders of the world. Mum encouraged her, and Tanya flourished—she loved books, absorbed information like a sponge. She’d tell me about all the countries out there and we’d hatch dreams of travel.’
‘She sounds wonderful—and it sounds like you loved each other very much.’
No wonder Ethan had rejected love—he’d had the most important person in his world snatched by death. Yet the darkness of his expression told her that it was even worse than that.
‘We did. It was Tanya who kept me on the straight and narrow for a long time. But as I got older it became harder for her.’
‘What about your mum?’
‘Mum was... Mum and I... It was difficult. I am the spitting image of my father. She hadn’t actually wanted a second child with him and she never really engaged with me.’
Ruby felt her nails score her palm—it sounded as though Ethan felt he’d deserved the indifference she read from his words. ‘That wasn’t your fault.’
A shrug greeted this and she held her peace.
‘No, but my behaviour was my own choice. The estate was my reality and I began to believe that Tanya’s aspirations could never happen. I started to bunk off school, began to go off the rails. But Tanya held me in check; I would have done anything for her. If she’d let me.’
Foreboding touched Ruby, drizzled her skin with dread. ‘What happened?’
‘She was bullied. I didn’t know—she didn’t tell me, and we were at different schools by then. Tanya was doing A levels, and that meant a bunch of kids had it in for her. It started out as small-time stuff, teasing with a nasty edge, and then it became sabotage of homework, and then it became worse and worse. They stalked her, threatened her with rape, and eventually she couldn’t take it any more. She killed herself.’
The words buzzed in the air like dark, malignant insects, and for a moment Ruby couldn’t take in the enormity of his words. Once they hit her she raised her hand to her mouth to stifle the cry of protest. ‘Ethan...’ The anguish on his face was enough to make her weep.
‘I found her. She’d overdosed—she’d found a stash of Mum’s sleeping pills and swallowed the lot.’ His voice jerked the words out, raspy and abuzz with a raw, jagged pain. ‘At first I thought she was asleep, and then...’
Ruby swallowed the lump of horror that clogged her throat, pressed her lips together to stop herself from crying out. The image was so clear in her brain—she could only imagine how etched it was on his. A younger Ethan—lanky, tall, unsuspecting—calling his sister, entering the room... And then the awful paralysed second when he would have realised the grim truth and his life had changed for ever.
‘Ethan...’ Her voice was a whisper as compassion robbed her breath. ‘I am so very sorry. I cannot imagine what you and your mother went through.’
The words were inadequate against such calamity, and she could only hope that the tragedy had brought mother and son closer.
‘Mum was devastated. It was a dark time.’
For a long moment he stared into the flames and then he shifted slightly. Scored his palm down his face as if in an attempt to erase the memories.
‘Do you think we could change topic? I’m kind of talked out.’
‘Of course we can.’
Ruby tried to pull her thoughts together, her heart aching for what he had been through. For what he had told her and for the troubled relationship that he had with his mother. But now she wanted to lighten the mood, hoping that their conversation had been cathartic.
‘How about a picnic and some board games?’
Surprise touched his face, and then his lips tipped into a small smile. ‘That sounds perfect.’ As she rose he followed suit and placed a hand on his arm. ‘Thanks for listening.’
He cupped her jaw in his palms and dropped the lightest and sweetest of kisses on her lips. And her heart ached all the more.
* * *
As dawn slipped through the shutter’s slats Ethan slipped quietly from the bed, pulled on his jeans and gazed down at Ruby, her cheek pillowed on her hand, her dark hair in sheer contrast to the white of the pillowcase and the cream of her skin. Her beauty touched him on a strata that he didn’t want to identify and, turning away, he reached down for his shirt, thrust his arms into the sleeves and headed for the ladder.
Panic strummed inside him, made him edgy. Somehow Ruby had got right under his skin, and the idea caused angst to tighten his gut as he prowled the lounge and kitchen.
Memories of the past evening itched and prickled—they’d drunk cocoa in front of the lambent flames of the fire, talked of anything and nothing, laughed and philosophised. Then they’d gone to bed and... And there weren’t words, truth be told, and he wasn’t sure he even wanted to find any.
The panic grew—as if his actions had opened the floodgates. Letting her in had been a mistake, and nothing good could come of it. He wasn’t capable of closeness.
‘Ethan?’
He swivelled round, saw her at the top of the ladder. How long had she been there, watching him pace?
With an effort he forced his lips up into a relaxed smile. ‘Morning!’ he said, and his heart thumped against his ribcage as he took in her tousled hair, the penguin pyjamas.
Silence stretched into a net of awkwardness as she climbed down the ladder, paused at the bottom to survey him. Impulse urged him to walk over and carry her right back upstairs, and he slammed his hands into his jeans pockets and rocked back on his heels. No more impulses—because his emotions were already ricocheting off the Richter scale.
‘Coffee?’ he offered.
‘Yes, please.’
Trying to keep his body rhythm natural, he headed to the kitchen. The endeavour was a fail and he passed her, breath held, unsure what to do, ultra-careful not to touch her. Yesterday he’d have teased her mercilessly about the penguins, dropped a kiss on her lips, taken her hand... Now he sidled past.
Ruby stood stock-still, one finger tugging a strand of hair. ‘I’ll... I’ll go change,’ she said, the words stilted, and relief rippled with regret touched his chest.
Because he knew she’d gone upstairs to armour herself in clothes. For this bubble
of time she had been herself—no façade needed. Same for him. But now... Now it was time to go back to normal. Because being himself was too raw, too hard, too emotional. And emotion was not the way he wanted to go—he wanted the status quo of his un-rocked boat.
So he filled the kettle and assembled the ingredients for breakfast. The bread they had bought yesterday, the succulent strawberry jam, the pastries Ruby loved so much.
The sound of her shoes tapping on the wooden floor forced him to look up.
‘Looks great,’ she said, the words too bright, underscored with brittleness.
Her glorious hair was tamed into a sleek ponytail, not even a tendril loose. The knowledge sucker-punched him—never again would he run his fingers through those smooth silky curls, never again would he touch her soft skin, hear the small responsive gasp she made...
Enough.
A sudden urge to sweep the breakfast off the table, to get rid of the false image of intimacy, nearly overwhelmed him. The intimacy was over, and the sooner they exited this cloying atmosphere the better.
Too many emotions brewed inside him now, but at all costs he had to remember this was not Ruby’s fault. If he had miscalculated it would not rebound on her. Instead he would haul back on all this feeling and return to professional normality. Though right now, in the line of her direct gaze, work seemed almost surreal. Which was nuts. Work was his life.
Jeez, Ethan.
Now he’d gone all drama king. Maybe he’d actually shed some brain cells these past days. In which case it was time to use the ones he had left. Fast.
No point in rueing the fact that he’d agreed to this fling in the first place. His eyes had been open to the fact that it would be different from his usual liaisons—he simply hadn’t realised how that difference would play out. But there was no time for regrets. None at all. Regret was an indulgence—the important thing now was momentum.
With determination he lifted a croissant, went through the motions of spreading butter and jam. Then he glanced at his watch. ‘We’ll need to hit the road soon. I thought we could do a drive-round and get a visual of any areas or properties suitable for Caversham. I’ll do a computer trawl whilst you pack up. Then maybe you can take over whilst I pack.’
‘No problem.’
The cool near formality of her tone smote him even as he forced himself to pick up his coffee cup.
A gulp of coffee and she pushed her plate away. ‘I’m on it.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
RUBY LOOKED AROUND the banqueting hall of Caversham Castle and tried to summon more than a token sense of pride and achievement. It looked fabulous, and she knew the sight would usually have prompted a victory dance or three around the room.
Actually it looked better than fabulous—she had worked flat-out the past two days, and all the work she had put in prior to Christmas had paid off. Medieval-style trestle tables fashioned from oak were arranged round the restaurant floor. The ceiling boasted an intricate mural depicting knights, princesses and acts of valour. The whole room seeped history, with maps of Cornwall through the ages and Cornish scenes from centuries ago adorning the walls.
Soon enough the room would be filled with the bustle of one hundred celebrity guests, the sound of troubadours and the scent of a genuine historic feast and Ruby knew the evening would be a success.
If only she cared.
She resisted the urge to put her head in her hands—of course she cared. This would be a career-tilting event—it would show the world that Ruby Hampton was the business. The restaurant at Caversham Castle would be launched in style, and she had little doubt that by the time they opened for normal custom in two weeks they would be booked up months in advance. Which was even better, because then she would be rushed off her feet.
Which would hopefully be the catalyst for the cessation of the stupid, mad feelings that swamped her every time she saw Ethan. The strange ache in her tummy when she wasn’t with him...the stranger ache in her heart when she was. It would almost be preferable to discover that it was an ulcer rather than what she suspected—she missed him. Missed the Ethan she had glimpsed for forty-eight precious hours.
Unfortunately that Ethan had vanished—had donned the cloak of professionalism and left the building. How did he do that? Maybe the same way she did. After all, hadn’t she been the epitome of a perfect restaurant manager? Could there be a possibility that he was hurting as she was?
But even if he was...what difference did it make? There could be no future. Her plan was to adopt and Ethan didn’t want a family. Ethan didn’t want anything.
In two days the ball would be over—it would be a new year and a new start. Ethan would waltz off to his usual business concerns and she would be able to get her head back together.
The back of her neck prickled and her whole body went to code red—a sure indicator that Ethan was in the vicinity.
‘It’s looking good,’ he said. ‘I need the final auction list, please. Rafael’s on his way and he wants to look at it en route.’
‘Sure. It’s good of him to be auctioneer.’
‘Yes.’
The terse edge of near indifference that veiled his tone made her foot itch with the urge to kick him even as she matched it. ‘I’ll email him the list straight away.’
‘Ruby?’
The sound of Cora Brookes’s even, well-modulated voice had her swivelling on her heel in relief. Cora, the new hotel administrator, had arrived two days before, and already Ruby was impressed by her smooth competence—though Cora had equally smoothly avoided all attempts at anything other than professional conversation.
‘I thought you should see this.’
‘What’s up? Don’t tell me the caterers have cancelled? Rafael Martinez has pulled out?’
For a second a faint look Ruby couldn’t interpret crossed Cora’s face. Then the redhead shook her head. ‘Nothing like that. Why would he? It’s great publicity for him... Plus it’s not often a playboy like him gets to feature in a celebrity magazine in a charitable light.’ She shook her head. ‘Anyway, here you are.’
Ruby accepted the netbook and looked down at a celebrity magazine’s website.
Breaking News!
Hugh Farlane engaged.
‘This time it’s the real thing,’ Hollywood star proclaims.
What?
Disbelief churned in her tummy. She’d barely given Hugh a thought in the past days. Apart from feeling a vague relief that he had obviously decided to stop offering her up as sacrificial goods to the press.
Mere weeks after his break-up with Ruby Hampton, now working within the Caversham Holiday Adventures empire, Hugh has announced his engagement to his long-term PA, Portia Brockman.
Portia? Beautiful, devoted to Hugh’s interests, she’d worked for him for years—the woman had to know him better than anyone else, so why on earth would she marry him? Surely it was another stunt. Or... She looked down at the image of Portia, who was gazing up adoringly at Hugh. Maybe a better question would be did Portia know it was a stunt?
Next query—what was Ruby going to do about it?
Which led on to another question: if she thrust a spoke in Hugh’s wheel what would he do? A flicker of fear ignited at the memory of his expression, taut with threat, as he’d ensured her silence.
It was a flicker she knew she had no choice but to ignore.
With a start she realised Ethan had removed the tablet from her grasp and was reading the article. A formidable frown slashed his brow as he handed it back to Cora.
‘I’ll have to go and sort this out,’ Ruby said briskly. ‘I’ll get a train up to London—I should be back late this evening. Cora, thanks for bringing this to my attention. Can I leave a few things for you to do while I’m gone?’
‘Of course.’
‘Great. I’ll
catch you before I leave.’
Ruby nodded and turned, headed for the door.
‘Hold on.’ Ethan’s stepped into her path, his tone peremptory.
‘Yes?’ Slamming to a halt, she tried to sound cool, as if her proximity to his chest, delectably covered in a white T-shirt, wasn’t playing havoc with her respiratory system. Who wore T-shirts at the end of December, anyway?
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘That is not necessary.’
Cora glanced from one to the other. ‘Let me know what you need, Ruby. I’ll be in my office or you can call me.’
Once the redhead had glided away, with admirable discretion, and the door had clicked shut, Ruby glared at Ethan.
‘So not necessary,’ she amended.
‘I disagree—I told you I stand by my employees.’
All of a sudden a wave of pure white-hot anger flooded her—as if every molecule of built-up frustration from the past four days had all exploded into rage simultaneously.
‘So you’re going to hop on your charger and come and protect me because I am your employee?’
‘What is wrong with that?’
‘Everything. Everything is wrong with that.’ Had he forgotten Christmas? Had some sort of brain transplant? ‘Forget it. You have made it perfectly clear that you want our relationship to be professional.’
‘We agreed that once we got back here we would revert to being professional.’
There was no arguing with that—if he took it a step further he might even point out that it had been her fool idea in the first place.
‘You’re right. So since my business with Hugh is personal I will deal with it myself.’
There was no indication that he’d even heard her. ‘I don’t want you to face him alone.’
‘Why not? I’m sure I’ll have to face plenty on my own when I adopt. There will be social workers and carers and teachers and who knows what else? Will you be there when it gets tough then?’