by Linda Cajio
Reality intruded instead, and he lifted the heavy tray out of her grip. She smiled her appreciation, and he smiled back.
“You’re quite right, Grahame,” he said, forcing himself to turn away from her. “It has been a long time since I’ve taken breakfast on the terrace.” He set the tray down on the table with the other one. “I know you have a lot to do, so I’ll play ‘mother’ and pour.”
Grahame looked nonplussed at the agreement and dismissal. Good, Rick thought. His long-time friend was getting a little too cheeky in his old age.
“Scoot, dog,” he said to Daisy, as she hovered. He helped his grandmother into a chair, then scowled as Grahame beat him to offering the same assistance to Jill. He settled for taking the seat beside her. Daisy lay down at his feet, like the proverbial rug she was.
As he turned to ask her if she would like coffee or tea, her air of fragility and sensuality captivated him once more. The question died unasked. She was wearing a light cotton short-sleeved sweater and a flowing flowered skirt. He’d noticed earlier how the hem swirled around her calves. For some reason, he had been expecting tight jeans that would detail every inch of her legs. Instead, his imagination was left to run rampant at the faint outline of slender thighs under the soft material. He’d never considered a woman’s ankle a particularly erotic part of her body, but seeing Jill’s as she crossed her legs made his blood pressure rise.
Realizing he was staring, Rick tore his gaze away. His damned imagination had been having a field day ever since she’d arrived. He had come in very late the previous night, too late for dinner. After a few more choice words from Grahame about manners, he’d gone to a bed that had never seemed lonely—until then. He’d reminded himself before falling asleep that he had to spend time with his grandmother, but the restless anticipation in his body told him who he really wanted to see.
He noticed deep circles under her eyes and knew she hadn’t slept well either. Probably she was having trouble adjusting to the time changes. It was too much to think it was him.
“Are you sure you’re not sick, Jill?” Lettice asked. “You look awful.”
“Thank you, Lettice,” Jill said, smiling wryly. “You look lovely too.”
Rick chuckled at his grandmother’s sudden questioning frown. Not very many people got the best of her.
“Is your room all right?” he asked, thinking maybe something in there was creating a problem for her.
“It’s beautiful. Who picked the Laura Ashley prints?”
“My mother. Is the bed okay? I mean, are you sure there’s nothing disturbing you?”
“Boy, I must look worse than I thought.”
“Well …” he began diplomatically. “You look just fine to me. Maybe a little bit tired. Are you adjusting to the time change?”
Jill didn’t answer at first. “Not … very well. This part … this part takes a while for me. Several days. I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
“Rick was just showing me his wildflower garden,” Lettice said.
“Really?” A spark of vibrancy lighted Jill’s eyes. “People in the States don’t have the interest in wildflowers the Brits have. How I wish we did. I’d forgotten I would be here when they were blooming. May I see the garden after breakfast?”
“Of course,” Rick murmured, pleased she had an enthusiasm for wildflowers too. But how could she forget she’d be there at the height of the season? Especially when she professed to like them so much? He pushed the questions aside, figuring wildflowers must have been a minor detail among the rush of packing.
“I’ll have to show you around, Jill,” Lettice said. “Rick has to go back to work right after breakfast. And I hope he will remember his manners and serve us sometime before dinner.”
Rick clenched his jaw together, refusing to flush. He had only been chatting with Jill, as any polite host would. And why had he told his grandmother he could only be around for breakfast? He cursed his idiocy.
He managed to distribute the pastries, tea, and The Times with a fair amount of efficiency. For the first time in years, he didn’t bother to open his copy of the newspaper and immediately read it. Nothing in it could be as fascinating as his houseguest.
“I hope you’re not too disappointed in missing my father, Jill.”
“I’m the disappointed one,” Lettice answered. “Jill doesn’t know your father, dear. She just came along as a kind of traveling companion for me. And I completely muddled the dates of Edward’s summit on her. I’m sorry, Jill, for causing such a mess.”
Jill gave Lettice a look of part resignation and part consternation. He could understand the feelings. It wasn’t at all like Lettice to get confused. Granted, she was nearly eighty, but no one was sharper. He gazed at his grandmother, wondering at her sudden absentmindedness.
“Your home is lovely,” Jill said, clearly changing the subject. “Where can I buy one just like it?”
“I think she likes the place,” Lettice said smugly.
“I’m glad.” Rick smiled. Perhaps that meant she’d stay for a while.
“How did you settle here?” she asked.
“I had been looking up some family history after university, and I discovered I was a direct descendant of a Sir Thomas Carrick. To call him a black sheep is being extremely kind. Sir Thomas started out as a Royalist, naturally, during the seventeenth-century civil war, but when he saw which way the war was going, he switched over to Cromwell and the Roundheads. In fact, he pretty much sabotaged the king’s final efforts. He was such an embarrassment to the rest of his family, they eventually moved to the Colonies after the defeat and changed the name to Kitteridge. The records showed Sir Thomas owned Devil’s Hall manor in the Cotswolds. I was curious and came out to see if it was still here. It was, and it was for sale too.” He shrugged. “So I bought it.”
“Smart man,” Jill said, gazing out at the green hills and valleys. “You must be able to see all the way to Wades.”
Rick snorted, thinking rather of the continual machinery breakdowns, the costly upkeep of the manor house, and the wildly fluctuating prices of wool, grains, and milk that kept him two perpetual steps from truly breaking even. “Sometimes I think I’m not so smart. But I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”
“Since you don’t mind the driving, Jill,” Lettice said, “I thought we would go over to Sudeley Castle today.”
Rick scowled at the thought of her leaving the manor, then scowled more fiercely at the lunacy of his thought. He couldn’t spend any time with her. What difference would it make if she were there or not?
Lettice went on. “It’s just on the other side of the village. Have you ever been there?”
Jill shook her head.
Lettice smiled. “It’s a beautiful little castle with a very interesting history. Catherine Parr, Henry the Eighth’s last wife, lived there. In fact, she took the entire royal family there after he died. I’ll call and see if the current owner is at home. Maybe we could visit. Mary Elizabeth is from the States, Kentucky. You’ll like her.”
Jill nodded. “Sounds fine to me.”
Rick doubted it. He noticed her hand shook as she picked up her teacup, but he held back a comment as she steadied it, took a sip, and set it down firmly. As the day before, he was certain that whatever was wrong was more than jet lag, but he let it go, knowing he wouldn’t get a straight answer. Maybe, he thought, he shouldn’t let her take out the car. But Sudeley was just over the hill and it was all light driving. He didn’t know how to object without looking as if he were treating her like a baby.
Jill finished her pastry, then took a deep breath.
Rick nearly choked on his tea as her breasts rose under the sweater, the knitted material outlining every curve.
“I love it here,” she said. “You know, I don’t think this area has changed since the Saxons settled it. I wonder just how many farms and manors still exist from the Domesday Book. Has anyone done a study?”
Rick blinked. “I—I don’t know.”
“I don’t know,” he said again. “I never got past him.”
“Maybe you should consider it, dear,” Lettice said to Jill.
Jill looked thoughtful. “Maybe. It would beat the heck out of booking people to Peru.”
“You study the Domesday Book and book people to Peru?” Rick asked helplessly.
“I majored in medieval history in college,” she explained. “There’s not a big job market for it in the States, unless you teach. And, believe me, I’m no teacher. I do volunteer work at the Philadelphia Zoo. I help arrange and book the tours the zoo arranges for its members. In August, I’ll be taking over as director of volunteers for the zoo.”
“Do you ever guide the tours?” Rick asked, fascinated. The vitality he’d glimpsed earlier was flowing back into her.
She laughed. “Heaven forbid. They use experts in zoology and botany and the environment on their tours. I once went to Bolivia as an assistant and had my ankle broken by an amorous pack donkey. Don’t ask how. I’m glad I’m moving into a real job. I won’t be tempted to tour again.”
“Makes sense to me,” Rick said.
His grandmother murmured something.
“I beg your pardon.”
“I said it was a perfect day.”
Rick glanced doubtfully at her, then looked back at Jill. He had learned enough to make him even more curious about this American woman who knew her Old English and booked environmental tours for others. He liked the combination of her cockeyed perspective and refreshing straightforwardness. He liked the way she moved, like a graceful nymph, and the way she radiated sensuality, artlessly and naturally. He wanted to chuck the rest of the morning and spend it with her.
But he couldn’t. He told himself he ought to be grateful he couldn’t. He was becoming too damned interested in Jill Daneforth too damned fast. She would be going back to the States—thousands of miles away—back to an entirely different lifestyle. Women with Jill’s background didn’t like being tucked away in the country. They needed glamour and glitter more than they needed him. Two broken engagements with Englishwomen had taught him that. It made no sense to get involved with Jill. No sense at all.
Yet as Lettice patted her mouth with her napkin and said she needed to go inside to make a quick phone call, he saw again the flash of panic in Jill’s eyes. Common sense went right out the window. Something was troubling her, and he damned well would find out.
The English countryside worked a soothing magic on Jill, so that by the time she and Lettice were returning to Devil’s Hall, she was feeling more optimistic and in control. At least she hoped she was in control. She had certainly babbled on like an idiot at breakfast.
She wanted to blame the previous day’s fiascoes, including the phone call with her mother, for that, but she knew what—or rather, who—the true culprit was. Rick.
He disturbed her senses to such an extent, it was a wonder she’d been able to string one coherent sentence together. Her concentration had disintegrated the moment he had touched her. A simple little touch of his fingers on hers. Those strong assured fingers had provoked instant images of her body being stroked by them, slowly, leisurely.… She had nearly dropped the tray. Pure lust was a rarity in her experience. Okay, some tingles over Sean Connery upon occasion, but nothing like this.
“We’ll go see this Mr. Havilan in London tomorrow,” Lettice said, referring to the conversation they’d finally had that morning after Rick had gone to work. “Edward says if anyone can help you, he can.”
“We’ll find out how to take the train,” Jill said firmly.
Lettice laughed.
Jill turned the car onto Devil’s Hall private drive, relaxing a little now that the car was off the public roads. It took more concentration than she had been up for to drive left-handed—even with Lettice strictly as a passenger this time. Another London run was out of the question. She hoped Mr. Havilan could help, and fast. Otherwise, she’d have to resort to other measures.
“I wonder what my nephew is up to,” Lettice said, looking more satisfied than puzzled. “First he’s hiding out in the fields, then he’s hanging around for breakfast.”
Jill frowned. “I’m sure he wanted to visit with you.”
“In a pig’s eye. I think it’s something else entirely. What do you think of him?”
Jill jerked the wheel. The last thing she wanted to talk about was Lettice’s grandson. Unfortunately, any reluctance would be revealing. Pulling her composure together, she shrugged.
“He’s very nice.”
“Do you like him?”
“I don’t know him.” She glanced at the older woman. “What are you getting at?”
“Nothing. He’s just always been … different from my other grandchildren. The girls were always so transparent, and Miles and Devlin were more … But Rick was always kind of a dreamer—”
“A dreamer!” Jill exclaimed, thinking of that intense stare of his. Svengali was hardly a dreamer.
“Yes, under all that common sense is a dreamer.” Lettice sighed. “Well, look at this place. He got it in his head that the family owed the people here something for Sir Thomas’s abuses. That’s why he bought Devil’s Hall and pours everything into it to make it work.”
“Really?” Jill murmured, wanting to hear more. Then she ground her teeth together. She wouldn’t compound one insanity with another. She was there as the guest of a guest. Besides, this was definitely not the time to try a first vacation fling. She doubted Rick had any interest in the idea either.
“You were right about Sudeley,” she said, determinedly changing the subject. “It was lovely. And very homey. You didn’t tell me your friend was Lady Ascombe.”
“Her first husband was Dent-Brocklehurst and the owner of the castle. After he died, she married Lord Ascombe. I thought it would be a nice surprise for you. Rick sees them now and again.”
“Did you see the Roman coins in the craft hall on the public tour? I bet the Sudeley properties are in the Domesday Book somewhere.”
“Yes. I’ve seen them before. Interesting thought on the listing. I think I’ll insist that Rick go with us on our next trip. There are some people I know in Warwickshire we could visit. I know he knows them too.”
“Oh … ah … well, I suppose,” Jill said. She’d probably turn into the babbling brook again, and his ears would probably fall off this time. She pulled the car up to the front door and stopped. “I’ll let you off here and take the car around to the garage. No sense your walking up all that way from beyond the gardens.”
After dropping Lettice off, Jill put the Mercedes in gear and stepped on the pedal. She gave the sheep meandering on the front lawn a wide berth and took the drive around to the back of the house.
The old stables were hidden from view in a small alcove of trees and hedges. The building wasn’t big, but it had been converted into a three-car garage and shed. The right roll-away door was slid aside. She assumed Grahame had left it open when he’d brought the car around earlier.
She began to pull into the garage at the same moment Rick emerged from the dark interior. He leaped aside as she slammed on the brakes. He did a somersault worthy of Nadia Comaneci down a small slope and landed in some hedges. Daisy peeked around from the garage door, then trotted over to her master.
Jill scrambled out of the car. “I’m sorry! Are you okay?”
He sat up, looked around, then brushed himself off. “Next time I’ll do the driving.”
She ran down to him. Without thinking, she put out her hand, and immediately regretted her action. But she couldn’t withdraw her offer without looking silly. “Let me help you up.”
“Ah … I think I want to sit here for a while,” he said. “I’m okay, but my pants didn’t survive the confrontation
with the box hedge. They’ve split.”
She glanced down at his faded brown tweeds, and couldn’t help noticing how long his legs were. She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her either. “I promise not to look.”
He scowled. “Now I’m inspired.”
“Come on,” she said, offering her hand again. “You can’t hang around in the bushes all day.”
“True. Daisy was a whole lot smarter. She heard the car, didn’t you, girl?”
He gave the dog a pat, then took her hand. Jill tried and failed to ignore the jolt of electric attraction as his strong fingers closed around hers. He levered himself upright, keeping his back to her. Her brain told her hand to let go, but the signals got lost as he gazed at her. The surrounding oaks were a canopy above their heads, the green leaves tipped golden by the afternoon sun. Rick’s face was sharply distinct, while everything else seemed to blur into the background. His intense gaze held her captive while seeming to probe beyond the surface.
“I didn’t see you until the last second,” she said, then realized her voice was little more than a breathy whisper. She cleared her throat. “Didn’t you hear the car?”
“No. I was thinking.”
“That can be dangerous.” He was dangerous. This was dangerous.
“Depends on what you’re thinking about.”
His voice was low and laden with a velvet sensuality. He reached out with his free hand and touched her cheek, tracing her jawline with his forefinger.
Jill wanted to curl into the sensation his touch created in her. Staring at him, she wondered if his gentleness barely covered a fierce passion lying just under the surface, waiting. Waiting for her.…
The thought startled her out of her haze, and she stepped away from him. She had enough to give her daily anxiety attacks without complicating matters.
“How did you like Sudeley?” he asked, putting his hands in his pockets in a gesture so casual, it almost belied what had just happened.
“It was beautiful,” she said.
“And Mary Elizabeth—Lady Ascombe. Was she there?”
“Yes. We had tea with her.” Jill sighed. “A person could get to like this place. I didn’t know you had a castle for a neighbor.”