He shook Bill’s hand and nodded. “You’re doing a good job.”
“Not as good as I’d like. Your father had to pare down the number of staff. What was it, six of us here on grounds duty, when you were a lad?”
Rex nodded.
“Now I’ve only got Gary, who does three days a week on the shrubs and terraces, and Jason here, who works mornings on general duties alongside me. Both are good workers, and Jason makes a worthy home brew ale, which he generously shares with us.” Bill grinned back at the lean young man who stood beyond him. “I could do with him being full-time.”
It was unlike Bill to make demands, but these people were effectively in a state of limbo between official owners. They didn’t know if their jobs were safe or who they would be working for if they were even kept on after the property was sold. Bill was stating his needs up front, most likely because of his uncertainties.
“Leave it with me. I’ll do what I can.” Rex nodded over at the man who stood beyond Bill, listening. “Good to meet you, Jason.”
“Likewise, Mr. Carruthers.”
Rex put out his hand and Jason hesitated, then shook it. “How long have you been working here at the manor?”
“Just a few weeks, but I like the place. Better than being cooped up packing boxes in a factory.”
“Being outside certainly has its advantages,” Rex agreed, nodding. He was enjoying the countryside more than he thought he would.
Rex estimated the newcomer was in his mid-twenties. He was lean and there was a wiry quality to his build. Bill, on the other hand, was somewhere in his mid-sixties and probably should’ve retired already. Rex wouldn’t want to part with either him or his wife, but they were the ones who should be part-time, as supervisors.
His train of thought stalled. Why am I thinking about this?
Because, temporarily, he was part-owner. Assuring himself it was only that and no greater sense of responsibility, he attempted to shrug off the odd notion. It didn’t go away. He cared about these people. They’d been part of his childhood. Rex hadn’t realized he’d be pulled into everyday details, but there was no denying that responsibility was playing its part in how he felt.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked back at the house while Bill talked about some of the adjustments they’d made in the land maintenance in order to make it manageable. He listened, and engaged, but his moment of self-scrutiny lingered.
He did want to sort out the best long-term plan as possible for the manor, even if that meant selling to a stranger. Right at that moment he wasn’t sure buying the house was right for Carmen. The thought of her living up here alone was too weird. Time would tell.
However, what surprised him most of all was the fact that he wasn’t averse to the feeling of responsibility that was building in him. He’d assumed it would happen but that it would feel like a burden, the old issue of mortmain. He’d assumed that he’d want to get the hell out once he’d spent some time with the lovely Carmen—the woman who’d haunted his thoughts and dreams for all those years in between. But it seemed the connection he had to the old place wasn’t tainted with mortmain, after all.
The house was his leverage to get to Carmen, he reminded himself, that was all.
* * *
CARMEN INHALED DEEPLY, snuggled deeper into the pillows and then remembered where she was. Sitting up with a jolt, she peered around Rex’s room. He was nowhere to be seen. Waking up in Rex’s bed was disorienting enough without waking up there alone.
Carmen took a moment to run through what had happened, to assure herself it wasn’t some weird, lurid dream. It was surreal, though.
Sex, with Rex? I really did it, after all this time.
Slumping back on the pillows she tried to take stock, walking through what had happened in her mind. Her body was quick to reassure her it had really happened, her libido stirring.
Somehow, she’d given in to his deal. It hadn’t been something she intended to do, nor had she envisioned it panning out the way it had. Even though she’d given in to that age-old desire, she’d assumed it would be a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am shag, an event that would put an end to her stupid crush. However, she’d been shocked by Rex—his intense masculine persona and his powers of seduction. Christ, he was good. His dominance had triggered a wild streak in her, and it had taken her completely by surprise. Did I really do those things?
She had. She’d lifted her skirt, she’d stripped at his command, she’d handed over her stockings so he could tie her up with them, making her his—no matter what.
Fevered by the truth, the actualization of such a long-held fantasy, she rolled facedown on his pillows, inhaling his scent. Her body rocked against the surface of the bed. Rex, oh, Rex.
A sound from beyond the room broke her reverie. She shifted and sat bolt upright on the edge of the bed. Glancing at the clock on the dresser, she saw that it had just gone seven. It could be Mrs. Summerfield, the cook, arriving. It could also be Rex returning from wherever he’d disappeared off to. The last thing she wanted was him returning to find her there, languishing on his sheets while she retraced memories of the night before. That would be too compromising. Rising quickly from the bed, she pulled her clothes on and escaped the room without being seen.
Back in her own room, she showered and dressed. Then she ruffled her bedding because it occurred to her that if she didn’t the staff would know they’d slept together. She wasn’t sure she wanted anyone to know. It’d be over soon. The last thing she wanted was speculation in the meantime. That’s when the reality of the situation rushed back in. Doubts quickly began to gather.
What the hell am I doing? As much as she wanted the manor, she didn’t want to sell herself to own the house.
She would pay him. However, if she insisted on paying him now, he could walk away. Even though she knew it was dangerous and that she was running the risk of getting too involved, she wanted her four weekends with Rex. The night before was like nothing she’d ever experienced. To carry on with it was dangerous, an arrangement that was fraught with pitfalls. She also had to suffer his overinflated ego, but she wanted more of him.
The fact was she’d given in to his demands now, but she’d enjoyed it. When their agreement came to an end she would pay him, then she wouldn’t feel sullied. She couldn’t live with herself if she accepted fifty percent of the manor for a few bouts of hot sex. It was the only way to handle it, but she had to keep it to herself. Let him believe that he was in charge and getting what he wanted. She’d get what she wanted, too, and in a professional manner that she would be able to live with after the event.
Somewhat more at ease with herself, she plugged in her hair dryer and set about preparing herself for a day at the manor. There was a lot she wanted to check, and plans to be made. Then she saw Rex, and those plans drifted away. Standing in the bay window, deep in thought, she caught sight of him jogging around the lakeside path.
Carmen lowered the hair dryer, and stared.
It was little wonder she’d given in to him so quickly. The man was more handsome than ever, his maturity adding a new level of attraction to an already gorgeous-looking male specimen. And as he’d said, the seed had been planted a long time ago. However, the events of the night before had compromised her immensely and that annoyed her. In business it was important to keep the upper hand, and she was the one with the massive personal investment here. Rex didn’t give a toss about the place. He’d used the old flame between them to upset the balance of power, to manipulate her, and now, somehow, he was in control. Because of that he was able to instigate this curious deal where she exchanged herself for rights to his share of the property. There was no denying it had been satisfying, but the days and weekends ahead were now filled with uncertainty. Could she even trust him to stick to his own terms? What exactly did he expect?
Everything and anything, h
e’d said.
She switched off the hair dryer. When she went to unplug it, her hand shook. Taking a deep breath, she told herself to shape up. She had to make him stick to the terms, absolutely. And she had to push him to make it legal as quickly as possible, at which point she’d pay him. She wanted it on a contract—it was the only way to herd him into it—and she would get his signature even if she had to write it with her own blood.
At the dresser, she rooted about in her makeup bag and applied a little lipstick and minimal foundation, nothing fancy. Then she left the safety of her room and made her way downstairs.
The staircase was one of her favorite features, curving as it did in a huge crescent into the center of the hallway. She trailed her fingers down the polished banister, and at the bottom paused before she left the plush carpeting of the staircase and walked across the marble tiles in the entrance hall. Turning back on herself, she headed into the kitchen.
“Mrs. Summerfield.” Carmen was delighted when she saw the familiar figure of the cook standing by the sink filling the kettle.
The woman turned and put down the kettle, stepping over quickly to meet Carmen halfway across the kitchen. They embraced. Carmen had always got on well with Mrs. Amery and Mrs. Summerfield, but it was the cook who she was closest to. They’d exchanged cards and gifts by post each Christmas since Carmen had moved away, and seeing her brought a badly needed sense of contentment to Carmen’s troubled spirit.
“You look more lovely than ever,” the older woman commented as she looked Carmen over. “If a bit too thin,” she added, gently squeezing Carmen’s upper arm.
Carmen chuckled. Mrs. Summerfield had always used that line on her. “So you say, but according to the guidelines I could do with losing a few pounds.”
“Guidelines, what nonsense. Now, would you like to have breakfast in the dining room?”
“No, I’ll take breakfast in here, as usual.”
Mrs. Summerfield smiled again. “I thought as much. I’ll be making a full breakfast for Rex. What would you like?”
“Tea and toast is enough for me.” At the mention of Rex’s name Carmen moved to the large scrubbed pine kitchen table. The thought of sitting here eating breakfast with him after what had passed between them the night before made her nervous.
Mrs. Summerfield had already set out two places with cups and saucers and cutlery. They were close together at one end of the table. Carmen shifted one setting a bit farther away from the other and moved the chair before sitting down.
Thankfully she was in place when the door to the outside lobby sprung open and Rex joined them. “Something smells good,” he commented as he entered the room.
“Crispy bacon in the oven,” Mrs. Summerfield informed him, “just how you said you like it these days, nice and lean. I’m cooking eggs now. There’s tea brewing.”
Rex listened while he looked across at Carmen.
Carmen reached for the teapot. It really should be illegal for a man to look that good, she thought to herself as she glanced at him from under her lashes. He’d been out jogging, which apparently made him all the more attractive. The white T-shirt he wore clung to the heat of his body. The loose jogging pants only seemed to emphasize his hard male physique. He looked wired, energetic and vital. The essential woman in her responded to that, her core tingling, her skin pricking with expectation. Out of nowhere, Carmen felt a rush of pity for her poor teenage self. It was no wonder she’d been such a tortured soul, nursing her romantic dreams and lusty fantasies. Having to share space with a man like Rex Carruthers wouldn’t be easy for any woman, let alone an inexperienced teenager.
Now, though, now I should be able to handle him.
Mrs. Summerfield nodded at the table. “What else would you like? Some juice, perhaps.”
“A glass of skimmed milk, if we have it.”
“Lean protein breakfast on the weekend,” Carmen commented. “Things have changed.”
Rex stared across at her, his mouth curling. “Haven’t they just.”
It was there all the time, the subtle reference to the lust between them. Even now, after it had been dealt with. He obviously intended to keep that particular attitude on the go. To her mortification, he approached.
“Good morning, my dear, you’re looking particularly radiant today.” He ducked down and kissed her cheek.
Say something, she urged herself as he hovered expectantly. “Thank you,” she managed.
Apparently satisfied, he took a seat.
“So, have you seen how high-tech we are here now?” He nodded at the wall behind and above her head.
Carmen turned around and looked up, above her seat. There, fixed to a bracket on the wall, she saw a CCTV screen that appeared to be showing a picture of the front driveway. A moment later it altered to the delivery entrance, and then back again. “That’s new.”
“About time, too. For decades the staff here have been expected to miraculously know when people are arriving. I’m glad to see the old man finally gave in and got with the times, primitive though it is.” Rex’s tone was largely disapproving.
Mrs. Summerfield chuckled at his comments as she went about her business.
“There’s a screen in the hallway, too,” he added.
Mrs. Summerfield brought a basket of hot toast over, then served Rex’s cooked breakfast. Carmen buttered her toast while Rex listed some of the changes he’d spotted. Why was he taking such an interest?
“I notice you haven’t been the face of Objet d’Art the way Sylvia was,” he stated while he peppered his eggs. “Why is that?”
Startled and wary, Carmen put down her toast and reached for her teacup. Anonymity suited her, that’s why. “Did it do her any good, being the public face?”
His mouth twitched at one corner. If he was amused by her grief she’d never forgive him. Carmen gripped the armrests on her chair tightly, in order not to push the chair back and leave. Suffering his warped sense of humor was not part of the deal.
“I believe it did, because it did the company good and that’s what she wanted, for you as much as her.” He paused deliberately. “She was proud of what she’d created, and she gave the company a human face.”
His comment surprised her deeply, because it never occurred to her that he’d taken any interest in Objet d’Art. Carmen struggled to find an answer, mostly because she didn’t know how to respond without snapping at him. She didn’t want to do that in front of Mrs. Summerfield. She also didn’t want to talk about things that were close to her, because if they shared too much it would no longer be a business arrangement. Or was it too late for that already?
Guarded, wary and confused, she couldn’t help offering a defensive response. “That sounds like a criticism of me.”
“Not at all. I’m aware that you’ll have good reasons, and you clearly run the company every bit as well as your mother did. I’m just curious as to why you run that angle differently.”
All she could do was state the truth. “It was her thing. Mum loved leading the PR for Objet d’Art. She pulled a terrific team together to run the place so she could concentrate on the public image of the company. It was lucky for me that she worked that way. When she died in the car crash, I’d completed my business studies degree but I was just starting my MBA course. I had to drop out and move into position much earlier than planned.”
“That must have been tough for you,” Rex commented, “especially under those circumstances.”
“I had a lot of support. Besides, it helped keep my mind off what happened to Mum, which has never been easy.”
She paused. Rex nodded. He knew they’d been close.
She hurried on so that she didn’t get upset. “I had to learn fast, and from the bottom up. The board ran things so I could do that. It took time and we hired a new PR person to cover what my mother used to do.
I’m okay with most aspects of the company now, but I’ve still got heaps to learn. I’m content that our PR officer continues to do what she does so well, better than I ever could.”
Mrs. Summerfield had finished up what she was doing and disappeared off into the adjacent storerooms with her notepad and pen.
Carmen took the opportunity to lay some ground rules. “Look, Rex. I’m not here to discuss my business with you. We should discuss the future of this property.”
“We’ve got three more weekends ahead, plenty of time for that. I want to know all about you. This is our time to catch up on each other and I intend to make the most of every moment.” He picked up his teacup and stared at her across the rim, his sharp blue eyes commanding her attention. “So, when did you get into the kinky sex thing?”
Bloody hell. Carmen pursed her lips and concentrated on buttering a second piece of toast. Continuing the previous line of discussion suddenly seemed preferable. Why in God’s name did he have to throw that out there?
What on earth could she say? The truth of the matter was she’d never done anything remotely kinky before. Something about him had made her click into a different level of sexual mood and experience. Then again, kinky sex hadn’t ever been on offer before, as far as she knew. She’d only had two lovers, and nothing like the night before had ever occurred. Was it a deep part of her psyche? If it was it hadn’t been revealed before. But she’d never been held by a man with the presence that Rex Carruthers owned, the determination, the virile masculinity and strength. It had affected her and he, it seemed, knew exactly how to respond. She wasn’t going to tell him that, though. Neither was she going to make up some fictional dominant lover to fulfill his curiosity. Instead, she ignored his comment and ate her toast. It had made it easier, though.
The Burlington Manor Affair Page 8