A handful of stars

by Lucy Gillen

  "One thing Scott Lingrove doesn't like is losing something he's set his heart on," someone told Charlotte, and she could well believe it. Unfortunately the thing Scott wanted most of all was Charlotte's house. To what lengths would he goto get it?

  THER Harlequin romances by LUCY GlLLEN 1533-THEGIRLATSMUGGLER'S REST 1553-DOCTORTOBY i579-WlNTERAT-CRAY '8S04-THAT MAN NEXT DOOR 1627-MY BEAUTIFUL HEATHEf ?649-SWEETKATE 8S63-A TIME REMEMBERED 1683-DANGEROUS STRANGER 1711-SUMMER SEASON 1736-THE ENCHANTED R1NQ 1754-THE PRETTY WITCH 1782-PA1NTED WINGS 1806-THE PENGELLYJADE 1822-THE RUNAWAY BRIDE 1847-THE CHANGING YEARS, 1t861-THESTAIRWAYTO ENCHANTMENT 1877-MEANS TO AN END 1895-GLEN OF SIGHS 1908-ATOUCH OF HONEV 1928-GENTLE TYRANT 1930-WEB OF SILVER 1958-ALLTHE LONG SUMMER

  Many of these titles are available at your local bookseller, or through the Harlequin Reader Service. Fora free catalogue listing all available Harlequin Romances send your name and address to: HARLEQUIN READER SERVICE, M.P.O. Box 707. Niagara Falls, N.Y. 14302 Canadian address: Stratford, Ontario, Canada NBA 6W4 r use order coupon at back of books. Original hardcover edition published in 1973 by Mills & Boon Limited 8SBN 0-373-01979-3' Harlequin edition published June, 1976 Copyright 1973 by Lucy Gillen. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work ira whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any formation storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher. All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention. The Harlequin trademark, consisting of the word HARLEQUIN and the portrayal of a Harlequin, is registered in the United States Patent Office ' and in the Canada Trade Marks Office. Printed in Canada

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHARLOTTE opened her handbag yet again and once more read that very important letter through to its very end. It was still so hard for her to 'believe that by simply answering a small advertisement she had seen by chance in a newspaper, her whole life was probably about to be changed completely. No more office routine, no more frequent changes of employer or the need to save for every little luxury. It was just possible, of course, that she was counting her chickens rather too. Soon, but she thought not, for everything pointed to big changes. The prospect before her had the excitement of novelty whether it proved lucrative or not. For seven years now, ever since she had left secretarial school at eighteen. Charlotte had been gainfully employed as a secretary, and if the number of posts she had held was in excess of the number of years it was only because she had been unfortunate in her choice of employers. A succession of them had been far more keen to appreciate her physical attributes rather than her professional ones. She was efficient at her job, she knew that, for she had been well trained, but it seemed to matter more, That she was a petite and shapely five feet two, with rich brown hair and huge violet-coloured eyes. It was a situation she found frustrating to her professional talents, however flattering it may have been in a personal sense and, since her latest employer was proving no different from the one before, the advertisement in the newspaper had come as a welcome opportunity to make yet another move, although she had not anticipated quite how long it would take. The brief, but specific, notice had been inserted by a firm of solicitors, and asked that any existing relatives of the late Ezra Albert Blackwell, Blanestock in the county of Derbyshire, should communicate with Mrs. Clee, Banbury and Chartres of Chedwell in that county. When Charlotte had first seen it she had been immediately reminded of the many stories her paternal grandmother had told her as a child. She had spoken often and longingly of her own childhood in the beautiful, but sometimes bleak, Derbyshire hill country. Her grandmother's maiden name had been Blackwell, and she had had a brother, although Charlotte did not immediately remember his Christian name. Those intriguing little notices in newspapers had always drawn her eye, but she had never for a moment expected to see one that in any way concerned her. Not that she had been very sure that this one did at first and she had done a great deal of heart-searching and undergone many changes of 6 Mind before she had at last written to Messrs. Clee, Banbury and Chartres. Now at last she was about to experience the culmination of that correspondence. Over what seemed like an interminable time, letters had been exchanged and proof of her identity despatched, and then, after months of waiting and having almost forgotten the matter, she had received a letter informing her that, no other claimants having been forthcoming, she was the sole beneficiary under the will of her great-uncle, Ezra Albert Blackwell. She had never met her great-uncle, never even consciously realised that he existed, and that seemed now to be a cause for regret. For surely she should have had some communication with an old man who had left her all he possessed, and who must have been a very lonely old man if it was necessary to advertise for members of his family. She had no idea if he had ever been married or not, but even if he had it was obvious that he had left no family, and she pitied him in his solitude. Charlotte herself had been orphaned for the past five years, and she knew something of the feeling of loneliness. What her inheritance would amount to, she had no idea, except that it involved property, and she had perhaps been a little too rash in giving up her latest job to travel northwards. But the solicitors' letter had mentioned a substantial estate, and that in itself was encouraging. In these days the house alone must be worth quite 7 A considerable amount, if her grandmother's stories, - about it were true, and in any case just owning a house of her own was worth the journey. At any time now she would know just how worthwhile it had been. The last letter from Messrs. Clee, Banbury and Chartres had informed her that she would be met at Chedwell station by a member of their firm, and that knowledge too gave her hope that possibly her inheritance would be quite considerable. For surely such honour would not be afforded anyone less than a wealthy heiress. Charlotte had never been this far north before, and the journey had been something of a revelation to her. There had been cities and towns certainly, along the way, but quite a deal of the latter part of it had been through unexpectedly wonderful scenery and she had been impressed with the quite overwhelming grandeur of the green-grey crags and' sweeping hills. Now and then the hills cradled a small town or village in their midst, but it in no way detracted from their stark beauty. It was magnificent, awe-inspiring scenery and she felt herself almost anxious to live here, among these great sweeping hills. It was almost as if she was returning rather than coming to it for the first time. From what she could see of it from the train as they drew into the station, Chedwell appeared to be a small, quiet town, mellow and attractive in the late summer sun. Charlotte stepped down from the train with a light skip of excitement in her heart, prepared to enjoy this change to the full. There were several others alighting at the same time as herself, and quite a few people about on the platform, so that she stood down her suitcases for a moment and looked around her, trying to guess which of them looked most like a representative of Messrs. Clee, Banbury and Chartres. She could see no one that looked in the least like her own idea of a man from a solicitor's office, but a good-looking young man in a light grey suit did appear to be looking across at her curiously. Not that she would have given his interested scrutiny a second thought in normal circumstances, but at the moment he seemed to be the only person taking any particular interest in her, so she smiled at him, a little hesitantly, and waited while he came across to her. He was of medium height, dark-haired and blue-eyed and very good-looking, and he proffered a hand as he came nearer, evidently convinced of her identity. 'Miss Brown?' Charlotte nodded, ple
asantly relieved, she had to admit. 'I'm Noel Chartres.' So they had sent one of the partners to meet her! Charlotte was very impressed and put on -her nicest smile in gratitude for the honour. 'Thank you for meeting me, Mrs Chartres,' she told him. 'We felt it would be more fitting for someone to meet you,' he told her, making signs with his hands to someone out of her sight. He turned a slight but Quite charming smile on her. 'It's a great pleasure, Miss Brown.' 'Thank you.' She responded .to the quiet compliment with unusual feeling. 'I'm not very happy about wandering around a strange town in search of someone I've never met. It was very good of you to come.' There was earnestness in the blue eyes that impressed her as genuine. He was obviously a young man who took everything he did very seriously and, as an efficient secretary, Charlotte approved of that. 'Did you have a pleasant journey? Miss Brown?' He had seen her through the ticket barrier with the minimum of fuss, and commandeered the services of the one and only porter with no trouble at all. For all his seemingly quiet manner and the appearance of reticence, Noel Chartres was obviously a man used to having his wishes attended to without argument. Charlotte smiled thanks as he saw her into his car and dismissed the porter with a discreetly palmed coin. It wasn't a bad journey at all,' she said in answer to his question. 'And the latter part of it, coining through the Peak District, has been wonderful.' He smiled quiet approval at her over his shoulder and purred the car engine into life. 'You've never been to this part of the world before?' 'Never,' Charlotte agreed. 'I'd no idea how beautiful it is.�. ��You expected factory-chimneys?' 10 She nodded, a wry face admitting it. 'Although my grandmother used to tell me about it, but somehow one expects everything to have changed completely in all that time.' -Noel Chartres shook his head. 'This kind of i country changes little and very slowly. Miss Brown.' They drove in silence for several minutes, then, 'I'm sure you'll enjoy living here,' he said. 'I'm sure I shall,' Charlotte agreed wholeheartedly. Noel Chartres cast a brief, enquiring glance at her as he guided the car through quite busy traffic. . 'You will be keeping on Blanestock?' 'Oh oh yes, I think so,' Charlotte said, brought face to face with her first decision. 'I'll have to decide when I've seen it, of course.' 'Yes, of course.' He smiled again. 'You mustn't allow yourself to be rushed into anything.' Something in his voice and his manner, as well as his choice of words, made Charlotte suspicious that there might be something more than mere polite curiosity in the question, and she watched the good looking profile curiously as she spoke. 'Is there anything I'm likely to be rushed into, Mr Chartres?' It was a second or two before he replied, and she knew she had guessed correctly when she saw his .expression, but he was possibly having second thoughts about mentioning it. 'You know from -your correspondence with us,' he said at last, 'that Mr Scott Lingrove is Mr. Blackwell's designated 11 Executor. He's also a neighbour, if one can call it that.' 'Yes, I remember his being mentioned,' Charlotte said, eyeing him warily. 'Since Mr. Blackwell's decease,' Noel Chartres told her, 'Mr. Lingrove has more than once expressed a desire to purchase both the house of Blanestock and the adjoining land.' 'Oh, I see.' It came as something of a shock to Charlotte to hear that someone was apparently already seeking to relieve her of her inheritance, no matter how legally, and she decided impulsively that she would give short shrift to Mr. Scott Lingrove when she met him, whoever he was. 'But naturally you must see the property first before you make any decisions about disposing of it,' Noel Chartres told her. 'As I say, you mustn't allow yourself to be rushed into anything.' Charlotte smiled confidently, in no doubt what her decision would be. 'You'll find that I'm not easily rushed into anything, Mr. Chartres,' she told him. This time she thought his smile definitely approved of her answer, and he nodded. 'Good,' he said firmly. The offices of Clee, Banbury and Chartres were well in the tradition of family solicitors, and Charlotte was not disappointed or surprised here at least. There were well worn, dark leather chairs and shelves of impressive-looking books, and to complete the picture, behind a huge desk sat an elderly man with glasses perched somewhat precariously on his nose. So much the personification of the traditional family solicitor that Charlotte instinctively smiled when she saw him. He looked up when she came into the room with Noel Chartres, and hastily got to his feet, a ready smile disturbing the spectacles even further so that he jabbed a hasty finger at them to prevent their sliding off altogether. 'Aah ' He came across the room, one hand already outstretched, while Noel Chartres introduced them. 'Miss Brown, this is my father, Philip Chartres: Father, Miss Charlotte Brown.' It was only as she shook the proffered hand that Charlotte remembered the name on the firm's notepaper was Philip Chartres and not Noel. Evidently the son had not yet acquired the status of full partner. 'Good day. Miss Brown.' A firm plump hand enfolded hers enthusiastically, and he beamed his 'pleasure. 'Delighted to meet you at last. Please do come and sit down.' He ushered her into a chair and reseated himself, glancing at his son who had seated himself at a discreet distance, on a chair over by the window, half hidden by his father's bulk. 'It was good of you to have someone meet me,' Charlotte told him, seeing now that her escort, however willing, had more likely been a delegate than a volunteer. 'Not at all, not at all,' she was assured. 'Your late great-uncle was a valued client least we could do 13 For his heir.' 'I never knew him, of course,' Charlotte said. 'I wish I had. He must have been a very lonely man, having no family. We might .have been friends.' That's a pity,' the lawyer agreed, returning his errant spectacles yet again, with another sharp jab of .a finger. 'But alas, he was a difficult man in the latter years. Miss Brown. No disrespect, you will understand, but he became something of a recluse in his last years, and no one really got close to him. He ' wouldn't even make out a proper will, hence our need to advertise for kith and kin.' 'And there's no one?' Charlotte asked, still not quite daring to believe it. 'No one else beside me?' 'No one at all,' Philip Chartres said. 'No one else has come forward, which was only as we expected, of course, but one must do these things properly. We know that Mr. Blackwell had only the one sister, your grandmother, and no brothers. He never married,. So there are no direct heirs, and I understand that your father is deceased. Miss Brown?' Charlotte nodded, her eyes clouded for a moment. It still hurt to talk about it even after all this time. 'Both my parents were killed five years ago, Mr. Chartres, and my father was an only child.' 'Sad, sad.' The greying head shook sympathetically. 'And your grandmother too is no longer alive?' 'She died last year.' 'So -' Plump hands spread expressively. 'There remains only yourself, my dear Miss Brown, and, if 4 You will allow me to say so, you are a very fortunate young woman.' Charlotte gazed at him with her deep, violet coloured eyes and hardly dared ask, 'There's there's a big estate?' 'A very handsome one Philip Chartres agreed, almost smugly. 'Mr. Blackwell invested very heavily and very wisely both overseas and in this country, and the income from these investments is in the region of twenty thousand pounds per annum.' Charlotte could say nothing for several seconds, too stunned to find words, her brain whirling chaotically with the very idea of it. Working as a secretary it would take her more than a lifetime to accumulate even one fortune of twenty thousand pounds the idea of it as an annual income was just inconceivable. 'I can hardly believe it,' she said dazedly. 'There is, of course,' he warned her cautiously, 'a good deal of paper work and a number of formalities to go through before you can expect to take possession of your entire estate, but as you are the sole -beneficiary, there should be less delay with probate than there would have been had others made claims as well.' He looked at her with a broad, satisfied smile. 'You may safely, leave all that sort of thing to us, of course. Miss Brown.' 'Oh yes, of course,' Charlotte agreed readily. 'But there is one thing that's rather puzzling me, Mr. Chartres.. About the executor of the will. I thought, I mean I understood that a Mr. Lingrove was my 15 Great-uncle�s executor. Surely he ' 'Mr. Lingrove very wisely put the whole matter into our more experienced hands,' Philip Chartres told her smoothly. 'Such vast sums of money and complicated investment interests need expert handling, Miss Brown. I can "assure you tha
t we will do our very best on your behalf.' 'Oh yes, I'm sure you will!' Charlotte glanced over at Noel Chartres, sitting quietly and half hidden, over by the window, and she smiled. 'I'm quite happy to leave it all to you, Mr. Chartres.' Noel Chartres had offered to drive her out to see the house, but Charlotte had declined the offer with thanks. Much as she would have enjoyed his company, she felt that she would like to see Blanestock for -the first time on her own. It was probably naive of her, but she felt there would be something so very special about the moment that she was unwilling to share it. She was already feeling quite light-headed with the excitement of the prospect and when she at last saw solid proof of her new-found wealth she would much rather be alone, with no one to witness her feelings. She took a taxi, revelling in the sheer extravagance of not having to count the pennies, and told the driver to take her out to Blanestock. It pleased her enormously too, when he did not ask her where it was. He obviously knew it, and looked at her 16 Speculatively via the driving mirror as they drove off. It was a mile or two outside Chedwell and among those sweeping grey hills, but when they eventually arrived she was forced to admit that the approach to the house was something of a disappointment to her. What must once have been a neat and tidy driveway was now deeply rutted and badly overgrown with weeds, and the trees and shrubs that-lined it were in need of trimming, so that she was conscious of an air of neglect even before she saw the house. By the time they had driven the length of the drive she was already wishing she had left her first visit until later, when she was less tired from travelling and therefore less easily dismayed by what she saw. The taxi driver, she thought, was puzzled about her, and he looked at her even more doubtfully when she paid him with the obvious intention of dismissing him. His weather-beaten face smiled at her anxiously. ' 'Ow you going to get back, miss?' he asked. Charlotte looked round at the big, shabby old house and could see the logic of the question herself, although she was not prepared to admit as much at the moment. 'Oh, I'll be all right,' she assured him. You wouldn't like me to come back for you? Say in about an hour or so?' he offered, and Charlotte hesitated, then finally shook her head. 'No. No, thank you,' she told him, determined 17 Not to be put off so early on. Till be quite all right, thank you very much.' He touched his cap, still eyeing her doubtfully. 'O.K., miss, you knows best, I suspect.' Charlotte, watching him drive back along the weed-grown drive, wondered if she really did know best, but it was too late now to call him back. She had more or less committed herself to spending her first night at Blanestock. She had booked herself a room at a hotel in, Chedwell, but had decided that-if it was at all possible she would sleep at the house and she had accordingly notified the hotel of her intention and brought an overnight bag with her. She was, she supposed, being rather optimistic, but Noel Chartres had told her that Blanestock was still fully furnished, although he could not guarantee what state the furnishings would be in after so long. She consoled herself, however, with the thought that the weather had been so warm lately that there was little likelihood of it being too damp. Nevertheless, as she inserted the key in the lock and pushed open the door, she experienced a sudden cold feeling of doubt at the sheet-covered mustiness of it. Perhaps after all she had been-too rash in parting with that friendly taxi driver. It must once have been a very beautiful home, she realised with a thrill of pleasure as she walked into the nearest room. Its ceilings were high and beautifully carved, and the fireplace, she felt sure, must have been the work of Robert Adam. 18 It was not an enormous house, as country houses go, but 'it had a promise of grace and elegance even in its neglect, and Charlotte took to it on sight. She would restore it, she decided without hesitation, standing there in the centre of the hall a few moments later. It deserved to be looked after when it had been so long neglected, and her mind was off on daydreams about how it would look with its former grandeur restored. There was a wide, shallow staircase that swept up gracefully to the upper floor, the paintings on either side of it glowing, with rich colours where the sun shone in through a long window about half way up. To let such a place fall into neglect was disgraceful and she would remedy the matter as soon as she had funds enough to do so. In the meantime she would have to see if it was possible for her to sleep there that. Night. What she had so far seen had not encouraged her, but she was not prepared to be too easily discouraged. Only those shapeless, sheet-shrouded ghosts of chairs and settees made her uneasy, and the utter and complete silence of it, like an air of expectancy. She had her back to the door, very conscious suddenly of the silence and the stillness so that when she heard the sound of a key in the lock she spun round swiftly, wide-eyed and with her heart thudding wildly in her breast, almost as if she had been caught trespassing. The newcomer came straight in without hesitation, and was too busy for the moment looking at -19 The key he held in his hand to notice her. He was obviously puzzled to find the door already open. Then he caught sight of Charlotte and stopped in his tracks, seemingly stunned at the sight of her, tor he stared at her as if he could riot quite believe what he saw. His sudden appearance had startled Charlotte so much that she held her hands clenched tightly in front of her, her bag on the floor at her feet where she had dropped it. He was the first to recover, however, and he smiled suddenly and came across to her, still looking as if he did not quite believe her. 'Hello,' he said. 'Who are you ?' It was not at all the kind of question one should be asked in one's own home and by a complete stranger, Charlotte decided, and stuck out her chin. 'I might ask you that,' she told him, recovering her nerve. , His smile was wide and completely self-confident, and he looked down at her from a vastly superior height. His face was considerably less good-looking than Noel Chartres's, but somehow much more attractive and, at such close quarters, very disturbing. 'You must be Miss Brown,' he said, and practically commandeered one of her hands, holding it firmly and for longer than was strictly necessary, and all the while studying her with a pair of hazel eyes that did nothing to conceal the interest that gleamed in their depths. 'I'm Charlotte Brown,' she admitted, involuntarily wary of him. 20 The strong fingers still retained their hold and the interest was undiminished, undeterred by her slightly cool manner. 'I didn't even realise you'd arrived,' he told her. 'I'm Scott Lingrove.' Yes, of course. Charlotte thought as she attempted to ease her cramped fingers, he would be Scott Lingrove. She had somehow visualised him as a man who saw what he wanted and made no bones about getting it as best he could. He was the man who wanted Blanestock, and now that she had seen both the house and him she was more than ever determined that he should not have it. The fact that he could let himself into the house with a key surprised her until she remembered that as the executor of old Ezra Blackwell's estate he would be entitled to have a key. At the same time it passed through her mind, quite unreasonably, of course, that he could have better carried out his duties by having the place cleaned up a bit. He was an overpowering man, definitely so in appearance, and his initial introduction would seem to prove that his character might very well match his looks. He was very tall and broad-shouldered, with a lean muscular look that suggested strength, and features that betrayed a strong will and possibly stubbornness. He would not, she decided, be an easy man to move. He had thick fair hair that curled just slightly above his ears and in his neck, and it was obvious that he spent a good deal of his time out of doors, for there was no other way he could have 21 Acquired such a deep tan. The rugged, almost stern features were a deep golden brown, and a light-coloured shirt with short sleeves revealed arms and a strong brown throat as tanned as his face. Altogether he looked a formidable antagonist should she ever have cause to cross him. Not a comforting thought in the circumstances. I arrived today,' Charlotte told him, hating to admit, even to herself, that he made her feel nervous. 'I didn't expect to find anyone else here,' she added with deliberate bravado. He smiled. 'Oh, I come in several times a week to keep an eye on things,' he told her. 'The place is more or less in my charge until it's taken over by its new owner.' Then I'll be able to relieve you of the responsibility,' C
harlotte said, and wondered why that idea should amuse him so much. The hazel eyes took in the overnight bag she had dropped when his coming in had so surprised her, and he raised a brow in query. 'You're not thinking .of staying here tonight, are you?' he asked. Charlotte frowned at the proprietorial tone, and nodded firmly. 'Yes, I am staying, Mr. Lingrove,' she said, now certain of her decision. 'The house is fully furnished and it can't be damp at this time of the year.' Of course it can,' he argued. 'It's stood empty all last winter, it must be damp. And anyway, it's never been cleaned since the old man died.' One brow dared her to argue and his eyes challenged her to 22 Stay after his next argument. 'Apart from that, heaven knows what you'd find in the beds after all this time.' Charlotte's involuntary shudder brought a smile to his face, and she decided there and then that she did not like Scott Lingrove very much, so far. He was, of course, very obviously trying, to put her against Blanestock from the outset, so that she would be more than willing to sell it to him. But if that was his intention he had chosen the wrong tactics as far as Charlotte was concerned. 'Oh, I think I can deal with a few creepy-crawlies,' she told him airily, and with far more confidence than she was feeling. 'Don't worry about me, Mr. Lingrove.' For a moment he said nothing, but there was a small, speculative smile at the corners of his wide mouth and she disliked it intensely, for it made her feel as if he was prepared to indulge a rather wilful child, but would attempt to change her mind, for her own good, if he could. 'I'm not exactly worrying about you,' he told her. 'But I don't like to see anyone walk into something without realising all the drawbacks.' 'I'm fully aware of them, thank you.' He was nodding his head, that smile still in place and rapidly getting on her nerves. 'I doubt if you do, but it's your funeral, and I suppose you're old ' enough to know your own mind.' 'Quite old enough,' Charlotte agreed firmly. 'O.K.' He shrugged, as if he at last realised that 23 Argument was useless. 'Have it your, way. Miss Brown. But eleven months is a long time for a house to be empty.' I'm surprised there hasn't been a cleaner or something in to look after it,' Charlotte told him, and he smiled, following her meaning well enough, she thought, and probably resenting it, although he showed no outward sign of doing so. 'As I told you,' he said quietly, 'I've been keeping an eye on it myself, but I didn't see myself in the role of charlady, and it hardly seemed worthwhile getting a woman in to keep it spick and span when it could easily have been donkey's years before the next owner moved in.' He was right, of course, Charlotte was forced to allow, but she still did not like the idea of this lovely old place being allowed to accumulate dust all that time. 'I wish I'd known,' she told him. 'I could have done something about it.' This time he laughed quite openly, so that she felt her hands curl into her palms. 'Could you now? I doubt it, not until you were officially the new owner, and that mantle's sitting importantly on you at the moment, isn't it. Miss Brown?' Charlotte�s dark-fringed eyes blazed at him indignantly. 'How dare you speak to me like that?' she demanded, and had the satisfaction of-seeing him sober again, although the laughter still lingered in his eyes. 'I apologise.' He bobbed his fair head, and the rugged features crinkled into a smile again, while 24 He studied her with a lack of inhibition that stirred some emotion in her that she could neither recognise nor control. The sensation was new to her, for never before had. Any man ever made her feel so infuriatingly unsure of herself, and she wished he would go and leave her alone. I appreciate your concern about my staying here tonight, Mr. Lingrove,' she told him as coolly as she could manage. 'But I'll be quite all right, I assure you, and I have quite a few things I want to do before it begins to get dark.' 'Can I help?' She shook her head his help was the last thing she wanted. 'No, thank you.' He studied her for a moment longer, then shrugged airily. 'Right, then I'll leave you to it.' He strode back across the hall to the door. 'I'll see you in the morning.' Charlotte followed his progress with startled eyes. 'I don't think so,' she said, and he turned and smiled at her. 'You will,' he insisted. 'You're cut off completely here-You can't even make yourself a cup of tea because there's no water or electricity or gas, but if you prefer roughing it for the night, who am I to argue? Goodnight, Miss Brown.' 25