That week, two years ago, of the one and only exhibition of her work, had been the most humiliating experience of her life, mooching about the gallery day after day—much to the owner’s chagrin—in the hope that someone would actually say something learned about her work!
A couple of those days only one or two people had strolled in—and that, March was convinced, had been only because they’d wanted to be somewhere dry out of the rain! A middle-aged couple on holiday from Somerset had finally bought two of the smaller paintings, but other than that the whole experience had been a waste of time.
It had certainly been humiliating enough for March never to even contemplate doing such a thing again. In fact, she had packed all her things away in the attic of the studio, and never picked up a paintbrush again…
She never would, either!
‘As I remember it, May, we weren’t actually discussing me,’ she reminded pointedly. ‘So stop trying to change the subject! Right now you are going to telephone this director. And tomorrow you are going to get on a train to London—’
‘We really don’t have the money for that, March.’ May frowned worriedly.
‘We have our emergency fund for a rainy day,’ she insisted firmly. ‘In my book, this counts as an emergency.’
The three sisters had several hundred pounds, left to them by their father, put away in a bank account for that ‘rainy day’. January certainly wasn’t going to need it, and if the farm were to be sold…
‘Okay?’ she prompted May forcefully.
‘Okay,’ May conceded dryly. ‘But do give some thought to—’
‘No,’ she cut in decisively. ‘Now go and make that telephone call so that we can get over to Aunt Lyn’s.’
She breathed a sigh of relief when May did exactly that. She hadn’t thought, or talked, about her painting for a very long time, and she had no intention of doing it over the weekend, either.
That time would be spent working on the farm—and putting sight and thought of Will Davenport as far to the back of her mind as she possibly could!
Not that the former turned out to be all that difficult to do over the next two days. Because she didn’t have so much as a glimpse of Will during that time!
His car was missing from the garage from early morning until early evening, and even then it was only the lights on in the studio that told of his presence there.
Leading to only one conclusion: Will Davenport was avoiding her as much as she was avoiding him!
Well, it was what she had wanted, wasn’t it? Was the reason she had been so rude to him on Friday evening?
If it was what she wanted, then why did she feel so miserable…?
Why did he feel so damned miserable?
Giving March a cooling off period was the best thing to do, Will had decided after Friday evening. Stay out of her way. Give her time to get over whatever had upset her.
Which was exactly what he had done the last two days…
And in the process, he seemed to have made himself thoroughly miserable, he acknowledged ruefully as he stood at the studio window looking wistfully across at the farmhouse, the light on in the kitchen telling him exactly where March was.
May had been noticeably absent about the farm the last two days, hopefully on her trip to London, so wasn’t around to invite her lonely lodger in for a cup of tea. And he had long ago decided that inviting himself over was out of the question—if March was still in the same frame of mind as Friday evening then she was more likely to throw the tea at him than pour it into a cup! Going over and asking to borrow a cup of sugar had already been used—
The dish March had baked the apple pie in!
He had eaten the last of the pie for his lunch, the dish now washed and ready to be returned. He could stroll over and give that back to March without seeming too obvious—
Obvious about what…?
About wanting to see her. About wanting to talk to her. About just being with her.
March Calendar, he had realized this last two days of not seeing her, had very definitely got under his skin. Quite to what degree he wasn’t prepared to acknowledge even to himself, he just knew that he hadn’t been able to work or sleep since being at the receiving end of the sharpness of her tongue on Friday evening.
But the dish was at least a legitimate reason for him to go and knock on the kitchen door. If she took the dish and then slammed the door in his face, he would at least have tried to breach this puzzling rift that seemed to have developed between them.
Although he wasn’t sure for how long…
Graham had telephoned him from London yesterday. Even admitting to March that he had sent her paintings to the other man was sure to bring about her wrath, telling her what Graham had said could prove life-threatening—to him, not Graham!
This was ridiculous, he told himself a few minutes later as he stood nervously on the doorstep after knocking on the kitchen door to the farmhouse. He was behaving like a nervous schoolboy summoned to see the headmistress, but not sure if it was for praise or punishment!
Once again he marvelled at Max for having dared to breach the Calendar bastions. Not only that, for succeeding!
The kitchen door opened with a cautious creak, March peering round the three- or four-inch opening, frowning in recognition as she saw who stood there. ‘Yes?’ She frowned unwelcomingly.
‘You need some oil on those door hinges,’ he came back lightly.
Her frown deepened irritably. ‘I’ll see to it later.’
‘I could do it now for you if you have some—’
‘Will, I’m rather busy at the moment, so if you could just say what you’re doing here…?’ she cut in impatiently.
‘You are?’ he mused; she didn’t look very busy to him. In fact, from the towel she had draped about the darkness of her hair, she seemed to have just finished washing her hair.
‘I am,’ she confirmed shortly. ‘So, if you wouldn’t mind…’
‘I brought your dish back.’ He held it up into the thin shaft of light allowed to shine through that small door opening.
March looked at the dish, then up at Will, and then back frustratedly to the dish, as if undecided about what to do next.
Will eyed her quizzically; an uncertain March Calendar was certainly a novelty! ‘Is there a problem?’ he prompted sharply.
Maybe she wasn’t alone? Maybe there was a man in there with her? There was no strange car parked outside, but that didn’t mean March was alone, did it?
His hands tightened about the glass dish, his mouth thinning with displeasure, gaze narrowing warily as he inwardly acknowledged just how much he disliked the idea of any other man being within ten feet of March.
‘As I said, I’m busy—’
‘What about the dish?’ he reminded hurriedly as she would have shut the door.
March glared at him frustratedly. ‘Oh, okay,’ she finally sighed in capitulation, seeming to have come to some sort of decision as she allowed the door to open fully, at the same time stepping back to allow Will to come inside.
His wariness increased as he stepped inside, quickly looking about the room, some of his tension relaxing as he saw that March was alone, after all. Then why—
His mouth twitched with humour, his eyes gleaming with that suppressed laughter as, having turned to look at March, he saw the obvious reason for her previous discomfort.
She had obviously just had a bath and washed her hair, the latter wrapped in the towel, her only clothing appearing to be a cream bathrobe—something guaranteed to raise his blood pressure!
But at the moment it was definitely humour that was winning out in the emotion stakes; following her bath and washing her hair, March seemed to be in the process of paintings her nails. All of them.
She held her hands out in front of her, obviously allowing the peach lacquer on her medium-length nails to dry. Revealing the reason she had been reluctant to take the dish from him!
But it was the lacquer on her toenails that w
as the cause of his amusement, wads of cotton wool between her toes allowing it to dry unsmudged. At least, he presumed that was the reason for it…
‘And to think I never knew what I was missing by not having a sister,’ he remarked conversationally as he put the glass dish down on one of the worktops, at the same time biting his inner lip to stop himself from laughing openly.
March glared at him, moving awkwardly across the room to sit down on one of the chairs, her heels down, her toes raised off the ground. ‘Very funny!’ She frowned. ‘I was bored, okay,’ she added defensively. ‘May has been away all weekend and will continue to be away until tomorrow morning. All the work is done on the farm for this evening. As usual, there’s nothing on the television—’
‘So you decided to paint your toenails,’ Will finished appreciatively.
‘Yes!’ She glared at him challengingly.
‘Very sensible.’ He nodded, brows raised innocently.
March looked totally unconvinced by his placating attitude. ‘I’ve never painted my toenails before,’ she defended irritably. ‘It just seemed like a good thing to do at the time.’ She grimaced.
Will looked down at the newly painted nails; March even had pretty feet, he realized self-derisively, long and slender, perfectly formed. As for what it was doing to his heartbeat, having March sitting feet away from him dressed only in a bathrobe…!
‘Very nice,’ he finally murmured gruffly, his gaze returning determinedly to her face.
March looked at him with narrowed eyes, her mouth starting to twitch, those eyes glinting with sudden humour, a humour that obviously won out as she began to chuckle self-derisively. ‘I have never felt so ridiculous in my life,’ she admitted with a rueful shake of her head.
He grinned. ‘You haven’t?’
‘No,’ she sighed. ‘Hard as that probably is for you to believe,’ she added dryly.
Will felt encouraged enough by her show of humour to sit down at the kitchen table opposite her. ‘What’s the verdict?’ He inclined his head in the direction of her feet.
‘Also ridiculous,’ she came back disgustedly. ‘I look like some sort of pampered princess in a harem!’
Will felt a lurch in the region of his chest at the image that thought created; he wouldn’t mind having a harem of one! As long as that one was March…
‘I would take it off again—’ March hurried into speech as she seemed to realize she had been less than circumspect ‘—but the varnish remover would just ruin the nails on my hand then so that I would have to start again, and—’
‘I could do it for you, if you would like me to,’ Will put in lightly, at the same time hoping his eagerness to touch any part of her wasn’t too obvious.
March looked across at him uncertainly, colour slowly entering her cheeks. ‘No, I—I think I’ll just go upstairs and put some clothes and shoes on; that will solve the problem just as well,’ she said haltingly.
‘Pity,’ he murmured under his breath regretfully.
‘Sorry?’
‘Nothing.’ He shook his head, smiling across at her.
She stood up abruptly. ‘Er—make yourself some coffee while I’m gone, if you would like,’ she told him dismissively. ‘I won’t be long.’
She hurried from the room.
As if the devil himself were at her heels…!
Will frowned to himself as he stood up to prepare a pot of coffee, knowing from previous visits exactly where everything was kept.
Was it the other evening that had been bothering March the last few days? Had the depth of passion they had both so obviously felt somehow frightened her?
It had frightened him too—although probably not in the way it had March!
He was thirty-seven years old, had been involved in several intimate relationships over the last fifteen or so years, but none of those women had brought out the protective instinct in him in the way that March did.
It was the weirdest emotion he had ever experienced, wanting to look after her, make sure no one hurt her, at the same time that he wanted to make love to her until she cried out for mercy!
If March felt even a tenth of that confusion, perhaps she had been right to be so cool with him on Friday evening!
Although his own confusion hadn’t stopped him from coming up with any excuse this evening so that he could come over to the farmhouse to see her…
‘Oh, good, you made the coffee.’ March bounced cheerfully into the kitchen ten minutes later, seeming to have got over appearing to be disturbed earlier, her hair dry and gleaming darkly down her back, wearing a white tee shirt and fitted denims, her feet—and presumably those painted toenails!—hidden in a pair of green leather ankle boots. ‘Not much of an improvement?’ she prompted teasingly as she saw Will’s gaze linger on the latter.
He gave a shake of his head. ‘I’ve just never seen green boots before.’
‘They had a red or blue pair in the shop too, but I opted for the green,’ she told him laughingly, taking over the job of pouring the coffee into two mugs. ‘Do you know, you’re the first person I’ve spoken to since May left yesterday morning?’ she continued conversationally. ‘I’ve never been here completely on my own before. I had never realized just how remote we are up in the hills here,’ she added wistfully. ‘In fact, the only comforting fact has been the knowledge that you were over in the studio in the evenings.’ She gave him a smile as she brought their mugs of coffee over to the table.
Will grinned. ‘Nice to know I’m useful for something!’ At least he now knew the reason he had been invited in at all!
She gave a grimace as she sat down. ‘I’m trying—not very successfully, I’ll admit!—to apologize for my behaviour the last few days.’ She shook her head. ‘I was very rude to you on Friday evening,’ she added huskily, ‘and, to be honest, I’ve been avoiding you ever since,’ she admitted quietly, nose suddenly buried in her mug of coffee.
March’s honesty was something else that totally threw him, Will acknowledged a little breathlessly, wondering if he ought to own up to the same behaviour. But deciding against it. That would involve an explanation of some sort on his part, and right now he didn’t really have one.
‘May explained it was something she said,’ he dismissed, eager to put that unpleasantness behind them now and move on. Quite where, he still had no idea, but he certainly didn’t like feeling at odds with March.
‘Did she?’ March frowned now. ‘Did she say what it was?’ she added with a casualness that wasn’t fooling anyone.
‘No. And I didn’t ask,’ Will instantly reassured her. ‘Have you heard from her? Are things going well for her this weekend?’
March relaxed back in her chair, a smile playing about her lips, obviously happier now that they were talking about her sister and not her own puzzling behaviour on Friday evening. ‘Yes, I’ve heard from her. And she’s going out to dinner with the director this evening. But you know May,’ she added affectionately. ‘She’s convinced he’s only taking her out in order to let her down gently.’
‘That sounds like May,’ he acknowledged with a chuckle.
March gave him a quizzical look. ‘You like May, don’t you?’
‘I like all of you,’ he corrected firmly. ‘Even January—and I’ve never met her! But Max has been a good friend for over twenty years, so any woman he loves and wants to marry has to be okay with me.’ Besides, if January were anything like the other two Calendar sisters, then he couldn’t help but envy Max his good fortune!
She nodded. ‘How do you think Jude Marshall is going to react to Max’s resignation?’
Will gave the matter some thought. Jude was a shrewd businessman, and a very successful one, but the three men had been friends since school-days…
‘I don’t think Jude will let a little thing like Max’s choice of wife influence his complete confidence in him as his lawyer,’ he answered truthfully. ‘I don’t think he will accept Max’s resignation,’ he explained as March looked puzzled.
&
nbsp; ‘You don’t?’ She looked astounded now.
‘Jude isn’t the monster you think him, you know,’ Will told her with a smile, knowing even as the words left his mouth that he had once again said the wrong thing, March instantly bristling with resentment, her eyes sparkling challengingly.
‘You’re bound to say that, aren’t you?’ she scorned dismissively. ‘After all, you’re just another friend of his!’
Damn, this was hard work! Like walking through a minefield without any indications of where the explosions might be or when they might occur!
Was it really worth it?
Hell, yes!
If being with March was less than relaxing, it was certainly better than not being with her at all; the last couple of days had been some of the most boring he had ever spent, even his work not having held his interest in the way that it usually did as thoughts of March had gone round and round in his head. All without any conclusions or answers as to why he felt the way he did…
‘Maybe it would be better if we didn’t discuss Jude,’ he began frowningly.
‘Have you spoken to him recently?’ March came back scathingly.
As a matter of fact, he had spoken to the other man the previous day. But he didn’t think telling March now of Jude’s intended visit to England was going to please her.
The opposite, he would have thought!
Just as telling her about the paintings he had sent to Graham in London wasn’t going to please her!
No, he decided, both those things could wait until May returned tomorrow. May had a soothing influence on March—and if that failed, she could always stand between them when March tried to strangle him!
CHAPTER TEN
MARCH watched Will as a number of emotions flashed across his handsome features, caution finally seeming to win out as a shutter came down over those sky-blue eyes.
What was he keeping from her? she wondered. What wasn’t he keeping from her? followed quickly on its heels!
She had felt extremely foolish when Will had arrived earlier, but hoped that she had slightly redeemed herself during the last few minutes, apology for her behaviour Friday evening included. Talking of Jude Marshall was guaranteed to put them back where they had begun half an hour ago!
The Unwilling Mistress Page 10