The Christmas Marriage Mission

by Helen Brooks

  Her eyes shot to the hard profile as his eyes turned to the windscreen again. ‘I…I’m not,’ she said shakily, dismayed at the ease with which he’d sensed her thoughts.

  ‘So why did he leave?’ he asked quietly.

  He was aware she’d stiffened in the seat, but her voice came steadily when she said, ‘I threw him out, actually. Her name was Tracy. But the marriage had been in trouble long before that. She…she was just the grand finale.’

  ‘Do you still see much of him? What about the twins?’

  ‘He’s never seen them or been in contact since before the divorce.’ When he made a sound deep in his throat she said fiercely, ‘I like it that way, believe me. Look, can we change the subject?’

  ‘Classical, rock or jazz?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What type of music do you want on?’ he asked patiently, making sure his voice revealed none of the anger that had gripped him towards this unknown husband who had let her down so monumentally.

  There was a moment’s pause, and her voice was a little shaky when she said, ‘Jazz, please.’

  Once the music was playing Mitchell concentrated on his driving and Kay sat quietly, her head whirling. She had been mad to tell him so much, she told herself bitterly. She should have kept the conversation light and easy, not spilled out everything barring her bra size! What must he be thinking? She stole a look sideways under her eyelashes but the granite profile was giving nothing away. Her throat felt locked and she couldn’t think of a thing to say anyway, but the atmosphere inside the car was bordering on painful.

  It was another ten minutes before he spoke, and then it was to say, ‘We’re nearly there, okay?’

  She cleared her throat. ‘Where’s there?’

  ‘Like I said, I thought we’d eat casual.’

  Kay sat up straighter. There had been something in his voice… ‘Where’s there?’ she asked again, her voice firmer.

  ‘My place,’ he said evenly.

  ‘Your place?’

  ‘But don’t worry, you won’t be all alone with the big bad wolf,’ he said mockingly. ‘I have a housekeeper who’s second to none and who provides a gourmet feast at the drop of a hat.’

  Kay stared at him. ‘Is she residential?’ she asked at last.

  ‘Of course.’ His mouth twisted in the way she was beginning to recognise. ‘I’m offering dinner, Kay, not bed and breakfast. I told you, I don’t operate like that.’

  She wasn’t so naive as to believe there weren’t men who said one thing and meant another; she’d married one, hadn’t she? But it was too late now, she would have to make the best of this evening, besides which she didn’t think Mitchell Grey was the kind of man who would force his attentions on a woman. He wouldn’t have to, for one thing, she thought ruefully. They were probably queueing for the privilege.

  It was just a minute or so before they turned off the main road they’d been travelling on and into a more dimly lit avenue, one where large houses were set in spacious grounds from what Kay could see, and it was right at the end of this road that Mitchell pulled up in front of two big iron gates set in a high stone wall. He opened the gates from the car by remote control, closing them again once they’d passed through, and now the beautifully landscaped gardens were lit here and there by means of small lights laced in the trees and larger ones discreetly hidden in flowerbeds and ornamental bushes.

  The drive was a long one, and by the time Kay caught sight of the house some moments later she had realised it was set in the sort of lovely woodland setting most people would give their eye-teeth for.

  She swallowed hard before she said carefully, ‘What a lovely place. Have you lived here long?’

  ‘Eight years.’ He drew to a halt on the gravel drive in front of the house, turning to face her in the car as he draped one arm along the back of her seat. ‘I got it for what the estate agent described as a ‘song’ at the time because it was filthy inside and neglected, and the grounds were just an impassable thicket beyond a boggy field. It had belonged to folk whose ancestors had once been the lord-of-the-manor type aristocrats, but for decades there’d been no money. The ‘song’ cost me every spare penny along with a hefty mortgage at the time,’ he added wryly, ‘but I gambled that the business was taking off and that within twelve months I’d be sitting pretty.’

  Kay nodded. Narrow-waisted and lean-hipped as he was, his broad shoulders and considerable height made his presence all encompassing in the confines of the sports car, the dark magnetism at the heart of his attractiveness intensified a hundredfold. ‘It clearly paid off,’ she managed breathlessly.

  Mitchell smiled. ‘All that was needed was imagination, creativity, bags of energy and some tender loving care,’ he said quietly, the last few words causing a fallout in her already jangling nerves. ‘I did some of the work myself but it was the army of carpenters, builders, plumbers, gardeners and others who really made the difference. I decided I wanted to start off by enlarging the kitchen and adding bedrooms and bathrooms and went from there. Come and have a look round.’

  Immediately Kay stood on the drive she was struck by the mellow silence. They could have been in the middle of the country for the lack of traffic noise.

  They were only on the bottom of the circular stone steps leading from the drive to the front door when it opened to reveal a tall and distinguished-looking man, his white hair gleaming in the shaft of light from the hallway at the back of him.

  ‘Mr Grey, I thought I heard the car.’

  Mitchell didn’t reply to this but what he did say was, ‘Henry, this is the young lady I was telling you about, Kay Sherwood. Kay, meet my housekeeper, Henry.’

  His housekeeper? She’d expected a buxom, bustling little woman for some reason, but the man in front of her was the epitome of an upper-class butler. And then this image was shattered somewhat when Henry said, his top-drawer voice holding a touch of glee, ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs Sherwood. I’ve been waiting a long time to see a woman put Mr Grey in his place but I think you accomplished it magnificently this afternoon, if I may say so.’

  ‘No, you may not, Henry.’ In spite of the words Mitchell sounded mildly amused. ‘Mrs Sherwood needs no encouragement from you, believe me.’

  Kay hoped she didn’t look as surprised as she felt. She wanted to glance at Mitchell standing at the side of her but resisted the impulse; instead, stretching out her hand to the housekeeper who was clearly a friend too, she said, ‘Thank you for the vote of confidence, Henry. I’ll try to live up to it.’

  ‘I have no doubt you will, Mrs Sherwood.’ Blue eyes were twinkling at her and as Kay stared into the good-looking face she saw Henry wasn’t as old as the shock of white hair would have led her to believe. His face suggested he was somewhere around fifty or so, maybe fifty-five, but not much older, and his handshake was firm and dry. She decided she liked Mitchell’s housekeeper.

  ‘I’m going to show Mrs Sherwood round first, Henry, then we’d like cocktails in the drawing room.’ Mitchell had obviously decided the tête-à-tête had gone on long enough because now he took her elbow, pressing her forward into the house.

  Kay found herself in a high ceilinged entrance hall, the fine ash and oak panelling on the walls and light timber floor creating an immediate feel of light and spaciousness. And it was this same airy, stylish look, enhanced by strategically placed mirror and glass, gleaming timber and clean lines, that she found all over the large eight-bedroomed house.

  The gracious drawing room with its muted background colours and clever use of texture and Indian wall hangings, the family sitting room, breakfast room, dining room and huge kitchen were all both graceful and modern, with strong richness of colour and warmth married to wood and aluminium.

  All eight bedrooms were ensuite and each with their own individual colour scheme, but it was the enormous master bedroom in coffee and cream that caused Kay to feel distinctly uncomfortable. It was unashamedly masculine, the huge billowy water-bed the biggest she’d
ever seen and clearly custom-made, and the stunning bathroom with its corner shower and whirlpool hydrotherapy bath unit, separate sauna and steam room, a sensual experience all in itself. Pictures of Mitchell lounging on the bed with some naked, voluptuous beauty or indulging in sinfully enjoyable skirmishes in the shower or bath positively cavorted in her head, and she was hot and breathless by the time he escorted her down to the drawing room again. And it made her thoughts all the worse, somehow, because Mitchell had behaved circumspectly throughout, his voice mild and pleasant as he’d shown her around, and his attitude cool and even distant. Whereas she…

  Kay forced herself to breathe deeply and steadily as Henry served them cocktails in the drawing room, but she knew from his moment-too-long glance at her face that her cheeks were still burning, even before he said in an undertone to Mitchell, ‘I’ll turn the heating down a little, Mr Grey. And dinner will be served in twenty minutes.’

  ‘Fine, Henry.’ Mitchell sat back in his chair opposite Kay’s, utterly relaxed and apparently at ease with the world. He seemed to feel no pressure to make conversation, Kay thought as she searched for a safe topic to take her mind off the big, lean body in front of her. He had discarded the leather jacket to reveal a midnight-blue shirt undone at the neck and open to reveal the first hint of a hairy chest, the blueness of his piercing eyes accentuated by the rich colour. He looked tough, brooding and infinitely male.

  ‘You didn’t say that Henry was a man.’ As soon as she’d spoken she realised how silly it sounded, adding quickly, ‘What I mean is, I thought your housekeeper would be a woman.’

  He raised mocking eyebrows. ‘In this day and age of sexual equality? Shame on you, Kay.’

  She smiled stiffly in answer to the warm amusement in his eyes, utterly unable to relax. ‘It seems as if you’ve known each other for a long time,’ she tried again when he simply continued to lazily contemplate her without speaking.

  ‘Ten years,’ he agreed quietly. ‘He was one of the best chefs in London then and earning a small fortune.’

  She frowned slightly. ‘Then why—?’ She stopped abruptly, aware that he might misconstrue what she’d been about to voice.

  ‘Why is he here working for me?’ Mitchell finished for her, apparently not in the least put out. ‘Long story.’

  ‘We’ve got twenty minutes,’ she persisted, suddenly immensely curious.

  He surveyed her through narrowed eyes. ‘The story’s not mine to tell.’ It wasn’t unkind but very definite.

  ‘You’re friends.’

  It was a statement not a question, but he answered her as though it were the latter. ‘Yes, we’re friends. Henry’s an honourable man and I haven’t met too many of those.’

  Kay finished her cocktail. It was every bit as good as the Sweet Revenge. She looked over to the full-length windows, the drapes either side of them as yet not drawn. Beyond the windows a floodlit courtyard garden had been constructed, a timber platform having a section cut out to accommodate an overhanging magnolia. Stone slabs set in gravel, large rocks, wisteria, azaleas, together with a screen of weeping cherry trees and simple garden furniture completed the scene, which Kay thought must be wonderful at the height of summer.

  Mitchell followed her eyes. ‘It’s very sheltered,’ he said softly. ‘I can often eat breakfast out there from early May to the end of October. Next time you must come in daylight; there’s a tranquil spot by the lake you’d like, complete with resident ducks.’

  ‘You have a lake?’ she asked, ignoring the ‘next time’.

  ‘A small one,’ he qualified lazily. ‘We often barbecue down there in the summer, it’s a sunny spot.’

  ‘You really are the man with everything,’ she said lightly, and she wasn’t even sure herself if she was being nasty or just aiming to needle him.

  ‘You disapprove of enjoying the fruits of your labour?’

  ‘Of course not.’ She might have known her attempt would fail, Kay thought as she stared at the faint amusement curling his mouth. ‘But some people work hard all their lives and never have two pennies to rub together.’

  ‘True.’ He flexed his long legs, settling more comfortably into his seat, and her senses went haywire. ‘But it’s not in my power to rectify that,’ he said logically.

  He was making her feel like a recalcitrant child, the more so because he was reason itself.

  ‘I enjoy having a base, somewhere that’s totally mine,’ he continued conversationally, ‘probably because I never experienced that as a child. Even now I’m forever travelling here and there and spending the night in some damn hotel or other. This place is my citadel, my fortress.’

  ‘It’s a very lush fortress,’ she said with a small smile.

  ‘Whatever I do, I like to do well, Kay.’

  She knew full well his words had a double meaning, but even if she had been fooled by his innocent voice the gleam in his eyes would have told her what he was thinking about. She refused to blush, however, her voice perfectly even when she said, ‘A worthy attribute.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ he agreed gently.

  ‘You didn’t stay in one place for long, then, as a boy?’ Kay had decided she couldn’t win in open confrontation. That razor-sharp mind of his was always one step ahead.

  ‘My father was an army man,’ he said evenly, his whole persona undertaking a subtle transformation. He hadn’t moved a muscle but suddenly the relaxed, easygoing soul had vanished and in his place was a hard individual with ice-cold eyes.

  ‘And you and your mother travelled around with him?’ She could see she shouldn’t persist along this line—a blind man would have been able to see it—but she couldn’t help herself. She had a burning and quite illogical—considering she was determined not to see him again—desire to know more about what made Mitchell Grey tick.

  He nodded slowly. ‘It made it difficult generally,’ he said, a curious lack of expression in his voice. ‘We never stayed for more than a couple of years in one place so putting down roots wasn’t an option. New schools, new friends, new house, new district…’ He shrugged. ‘My sister and I didn’t really have a sense of identity, I guess.’

  ‘Your sister? You have a sister?’ He hadn’t mentioned her before; she’d thought he was an only child.

  ‘Did have.’ He stood up, reaching for her empty glass before walking across the room. ‘She died in the car with my parents.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Mitchell.’ He’d lost his whole family in one fell swoop and when he was still just a boy. Kay couldn’t think of anything worse and her voice reflected her genuine horror and sympathy as well as her embarrassment that she’d pressed him. ‘I shouldn’t have asked.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, it was a long time ago, Kay.’

  His voice was too controlled, almost flat, and revealed far more about how he really felt than she knew he would have liked. The accident might have occurred a long time ago but he wasn’t over it, not by a long chalk. He had kept his back to her as he had spoken and as Kay stared at the tall, broad figure the urge to comfort him was so strong it shocked her. He was hurting, he’d been hurting for a long while but he’d never let anyone see, she realised with sudden intuition. She followed through on this last thought when she said softly, ‘Did you have counselling after it had happened?’

  ‘Counselling?’ He had poured them both another cocktail and now he turned to face her, and she saw immediately his face was closed against her. ‘I didn’t need any mumbo-jumbo of that kind,’ he said evenly. ‘The accident had happened, they’d gone, and at times like that you can only rely on yourself to get through.’

  ‘But you were just a boy—’

  ‘I was fifteen years old, Kay, not a small child, and more than able to look after myself.’ He had reached her side and now handed her the glass, adding, ‘As it seemed you did after your marriage breakup.’

  ‘That was different; I was a grown woman.’

  ‘Oh, believe me, I’d been a man for years—’ He broke off but not be
fore Kay had glimpsed something raw in his face, something that stopped her breath. What on earth had gone on in his home for him to look like that? she asked herself silently. Whatever it had been it had affected the child Mitchell so badly it had crippled the man. One thing was for sure, the façade of cool, successful man of the world who had everything he wanted and who controlled himself and everyone else was just that—a façade.

  She took a sip of her drink, her stomach trembling. She didn’t want to go down this road, she told herself shakily, not with Mitchell Grey. While she could think of him as robot man—someone cold and ruthless and detached from normal life—she could keep him at a distance. This growing conflict within herself was not good. It was not good at all.

  ‘Your mother told me how she came to be living with you and your children.’ He’d reseated himself and it was clear he was changing the subject. ‘It couldn’t have been an easy time for you, your father dying so soon after the twins were born, but she said you were her rock.’

  ‘Did she?’ She hoped that was all her mother had said.

  ‘You look too delicate and slender to be anyone’s rock, but I’m beginning to understand that appearances are deceptive where you’re concerned,’ he murmured thoughtfully, his voice smoky rich again.

  She could say she’d just been thinking the same about him, Kay thought wryly, but she wouldn’t.

  ‘It was a brave decision, to leave your job and flat and come back to take care of Leonora.’

  Kay looked him in the eye. ‘She’d have your guts for garters if she heard you put it like that,’ she said drily, ‘besides which it isn’t really true. She went through a bad patch, admittedly, but there was no taking care of in any physical sense. She just needed us around and having to look after the twins while I worked was therapeutic. She’s not weak,’ she added as though he’d intimated it. ‘She’s a very strong woman at heart.’

  ‘You must love her very much.’

  ‘Of course I do.’ She looked at him in surprise. ‘She’s my mother.’

  ‘The two things aren’t necessarily synonymous.’ He stared at her with shuttered eyes as he drank.