by Penny Jordan
‘I know, it doesn’t look very welcoming at the moment, does it?’ Silas commented, grimacing a little. ‘We’ll go into the drawing-room and I’ll show you the plans.’
Hannah followed him, avoiding the small heaps of rubble on the floor, through a series of ornately carved doors into a room which had windows overlooking both the front and the side of the house. The room was furnished with several settees and some chairs, all of them covered with large sheets of calico. Silas headed for a battered oak table, unrolling the plans as he reached it.
‘This is what we’re hoping to do,’ he told Hannah, speaking to her over his shoulder. ‘Come and have a look.’
She approached him cautiously, not wanting to get too close to him, and when she stood hesitantly several feet away from him he frowned and said curtly, ‘You can’t see anything from there. Come here, closer.’
He didn’t seem to be satisfied until they were standing practically shoulder to shoulder, Hannah so tensely aware of the heat emanating from his flesh to her own that, even though she was staring down at the plans, none of the lines drawn on them made the slightest sense to her. She tried to concentrate on what Silas was saying about splitting up the large bedrooms into smaller, more compact units, and thought she was doing quite well, until he suddenly said in exasperation, ‘You’re not looking at the right place. It’s here that I’m talking about.’ His forefinger jabbed impatiently at one of the drawings, and before she could guess what he intended to do his other hand reached out and cupped her face, turning it ungently in the direction in which he was pointing.
The shock of the unexpected and unwanted physical contact obliterated everything else. She could almost literally feel her bones turn soft and liquid, and her body tremble under the onslaught of the sensations even his most casual physical contact with her caused. She started to tremble, totally unable to stop the physical reaction of her body. His hand tensed a little against her face, and he subjected her to a hard-eyed scrutiny before saying curtly, ‘You’re cold. We’ll cut this as short as we can, and then I’ll show you round the place. That might give you a better idea of what we’re undertaking.’
This time, when he turned his attention to the plans, Hannah forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying and to ignore her body’s awareness of the hard jut of his hips against her softer flesh. The powerful structure of his body, as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, brushed even more closely against her. She almost shook with relief when he finally started to roll up the plans.
‘We’ll start at the top and work our way down,’ he told her, his voice still curt, and she had the unhappy conviction that her inability to concentrate on the plans was probably making him wonder if he had after all made the right decision in employing her.
‘Be careful on the stairs,’ he warned her as he waited for her at the base of them. ‘Some of them are starting to rot away. The builders have put crosses on the most dangerous ones, but I’ll go up first just to be on the safe side.’
The staircase itself was richly carved with swags of fruit and garlands so real that Hannah stopped on one of the stairs in awe to reach out and trace the petals of a dusty flower, wondering at the artistry and dedication of the long-ago workman who had originally conceived and executed the design. Above her, Silas stopped as well, looking down at her absorbed face with an expression that was both illuminating and guarded.
‘Grinling Gibbons?’ Hannah hazarded, making a guess at the identity of that long-ago workman.
Silas shook his head, ‘Good guess, but no, it wasn’t actually Grinling Gibbons himself, but one of his pupils.’ He gave her a wry grimace. ‘The work came cheaper that way, apparently. We’ve been lucky enough to find in one of the old chests a whole host of household accounts, one of them relating to the cost of this particular staircase. Fortunately, most of it is still intact. It’s the stairs themselves that have suffered the most deterioration. Watch out,’ he added warningly as Hannah, still admiring the carving, didn’t look where she was going and put her foot on one of the chalk-marked stairs.
Immediately she checked, freezing where she was, and instinctively Silas reached out to take hold of her arm and steady her. As she swayed slightly, reacting to the strong pressure of his fingers curling round her wrist, he came down to her level, supporting her with one arm round her shoulders, his forehead furrowed in a frown as he asked swiftly, ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ Hannah lied firmly, feeling an absolute fool for having forgotten his warning about the stairs. ‘I’m sorry,’ she added shakily. ‘You must think me an absolute idiot, but I was so engrossed in the carving that I forgot to look out for the cross.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he told her. ‘If I hadn’t called out so sharply, you’d probably have noticed it for yourself. For a moment there, I thought you were going to lose your balance and fall backwards.’
‘No danger of that happening,’ Hannah assured him, striving to appear normal and relaxed while at the same time very conscious of the weight of his arm around her shoulder and the heavy, even thud of his heart almost against her cheek. So close, in fact, that the temptation to lean against him was almost overpowering. It was straining her mental resources to their absolute limit to try to appear anything like normal. ‘I’m not insured for that kind of accident,’ she added in what she hoped passed for a joking manner.
‘The company is,’ Silas assured her tersely, ‘but a possible insurance claim was the last thing on my mind.’
At some stage he had discarded his sweater, and his leather jacket was open so that when he had reached out instinctively to take hold of her he had curved her face and body into the protection of his, and now that her first fright at the thought of falling was over, Hannah found that with every breath that she took she was drawing into herself the unique and erotic scent of his body. It was having a dismaying effect on her senses.
Beneath her own sweater she could feel her breasts swell and push eagerly against the confines of her bra. Her nipples felt hard and a little sore, and she was thankful she was wearing her jacket so that her arousal was safely concealed.
She started to pull away from Silas, all too conscious of the fact that she was practically leaning against him, almost revelling in the close proximity of his body, and surely for far longer than was strictly necessary under the circumstances. But to her surprise, instead of immediately releasing her, his fingers seemed to curl and tighten on her shoulder, almost as though he was reluctant to let her go. Unable to stop herself, she allowed herself to savour the pleasure of the moment, unaware of the fact that she was almost nestling against him as she gave a faint sigh and let her body relax completely against his.
Again his arm tightened, this time his fingers almost bruising her softer flesh. She felt his head move and one hand brushed her hair lightly as he leaned towards her ear and asked anxiously, ‘Are you sure you’re all right? Would you prefer not to go on?’
The effect of his words, spoken so close to the delicate spirals of her ear, made her shudder compulsively. Somehow or other, her hand was resting against the front of his shirt, and beneath the soft fabric she could feel hard bone and muscle. He breathed deeply, as though he too was sharing her sexually induced tension, and then shockingly she realised where she was and what she was doing, and she pulled away from him with a faint gasp, only just remembering to answer his question as she said quickly, ‘No, I’m fine. Let’s go on.’ That was, after all, what she was here for, she reminded herself, as he turned away from her without a word and started to remount the stairs.
The rest of the afternoon passed very quickly indeed, and Hannah soon found herself catching Silas’s enthusiasm for his plans for the house. Already a great deal of private money had been raised to help finance the project, and although Silas had contributed to the plans personally by buying the house in the first place, he had also managed to persuade the directors of the Jeffreys Group to vote a certain percentage of each year
’s profits towards running the completed property.
Her physical desire for him would have been easier to live with if she did not admire him so much as a fellow human being, Hannah acknowledged unhappily as they headed back to the Dower House. Liking him, respecting him, admiring him for all that he was doing, for his charity and philanthropy towards others less fortunate than himself, could only add to her problems.
If she could merely desire him without liking him, it would have been so much easier to isolate those unwanted and treacherous feelings that seemed to have sprung up inside her, like so many deep-rooted weeds, refusing to be torn out and destroyed.
During the course of their tour, Hannah had made copious notes, determined to banish what she felt sure must be Silas’s opinion of her inefficiency by proving to him how professional she could be. They got back to the Dover House just as it started to rain.
Mrs Parkinson was just on the point of leaving. Her husband had come to pick her up, and pleasantries were exchanged between the two men as he and Silas chatted for a few minutes while Mrs Parkinson told her that she had left a tray of tea and some sandwiches in the kitchen, just in case they needed anything to eat. She also added that she had set the fire in the study, following a weather bulletin that warned of a sharp drop of temperature overnight.
Silas, who had overheard this last comment, said ruefully to Hannah after Mr and Mrs Parkinson had left, ‘I’m afraid you’re not getting the best possible introduction to Padley. Luckily we do have a boiler that provides gallons of hot water, but I’m afraid you might find the house itself rather chilly.’
‘I doubt it,’ Hannah assured him, glad at last to be able to show him a more positive side of her personality. ‘I grew up in a house without central heating. In fact, my parents still claim that they actually prefer to do without it except in the very coldest of conditions. It was installed a couple years ago, and my mother complains that every winter since, both she and my father have had more than their fair share of colds.’
‘Well, you won’t suffer from cold tonight, at least,’ Silas told her. ‘Lord Redvers believes in the American ideal of keeping his home heated to subtropical temperatures, possibly because Fiona, his wife, is half-American.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘We’ve got a couple of hours before we need to think about getting ready. Did I hear Mrs P say something about there being a tray of tea in the kitchen?’
‘Yes,’ Hannah agreed. ‘Would you like me to go and get it?’
His manner towards not just her but towards her entire sex was such that she felt no pressure from him to conform to a male and chauvinistic ideal of a woman’s responsibility in offering to perform this small chore, but, not completely to her surprise, Silas shook his head.
‘No, that’s all right. I’ll go and do it. Despite what you’ve said about the lack of central heating, I can see that you’re beginning to shiver a little bit. You go and sit down in the study and I’ll bring tea.’
Hannah didn’t argue with him, and this time when he unrolled the plans for the house she was able to follow his description of the various alterations they were putting in hand, and the work schedule that would have to be followed, with much greater clarity and ease than she had done before. She refused to allow herself to acknowledge that this might have something to do with the fact that they now had the width of the table between them, and that she was safely distant from the all too dangerous proximity of his body and the effect it could have on her.
By seven o’clock it was completely dark outside. There was something undeniably comforting about sitting in front of a well-burning log fire, with the rain pattering audibly on the windows outside, Hannah acknowledged as she stretched luxuriously in her chair, unaware that Silas was watching her until he said in an amused voice, ‘When you do that you remind me of a sleek, elegant cat, all feline grace and satisfaction.’
Since to Hannah the picture his words conjured up was so totally at odds with her own image of herself, she immediately froze. For some reason the words he had used had instantly made her think of the soft, almost boneless sensuality she had so often noticed in her mother’s domestic cat, and her skin flushed as she stood up a little abruptly, saying hurriedly, ‘I think it’s time I went upstairs and got changed.’
As she made to walk past him, Silas reached out and held her arm lightly. ‘It’s all right, Hannah,’ he told her rather drily. ‘Just because I pass the odd compliment, it doesn’t mean that I’m about to pounce on you, you know.’
She immediately flushed a dark, betraying pink, unable to stop a fierce rush of blood up under her skin.
‘I didn’t think you were,’ she told him swiftly, totally unable to look at him.
‘No?’ His eyebrows rose.
Quite without knowing why Hannah persisted, ‘I was just a little surprised by your compliment.’
She struggled for the words to tell him why, without totally betraying what she was thinking, when he astounded her by saying almost curtly, ‘Why? Aren’t I allowed to be a man as well as a boss, Hannah? Am I supposed to pretend that I’m totally unaware of you as a very desirable woman?’
Hannah could scarcely believe her ears. She stared at him, searching his face for some betraying sign that he was making fun of her, but couldn’t find any.
‘I…’ She tried to speak, and discovered that her throat was clogged. She swallowed nervously and tried again, but before she could say anything the phone rang.
‘You’re right,’ Silas told her, walking over to his desk to pick up the receiver. ‘It is time to get ready. We don’t want to be late, and it’s a good three-quarters of an hour’s drive.’
He gave her a brisk, almost dismissive nod as he spoke curtly into the receiver and, taking the hint, Hannah opened the door and stepped through it. All the time she was getting ready to go out, she could hardly concentrate on what she was doing. She was totally baffled by Silas’s attitude towards her—that he should compliment her, and even more that he should actually imply that he found her attractive; both these things were so out of context with what she had previously seen to be his behaviour towards the female members of his staff.
What did it mean? Was he perhaps just testing her?
Her unease grew as she prepared for dinner. Silas was no monk. She had already heard discreet whispers around the offices concerning the women who had so far shared his life. Not perhaps by modern standards an excessive number of them. Two or three longstanding affairs seemed to be the general consensus of opinion, all of them ending by the apparent mutual consent of both parties.
The office grapevine seemed to believe that at the moment there was no one special in Silas’s life, but Hannah wasn’t so sure. There was that woman she had seen him with in her own village, and there had been something distinctly proprietorial about the way she had laid her hand on Silas’s arm. But if the office grapevine was correct, if there wasn’t anyone special in Silas’s life at the moment, if he was genuinely attracted to her, enough, say, to discreetly institute an affair… She gave a tiny shudder of fear. If he did approach her in such a way, would she have the strength to reject him? And, if she found that strength, how would he react to such a rejection? So far he had shown himself to be almost a paragon among his sex, but men were notoriously vulnerable where their egos were concerned.
A rejection from her, no matter how tactfully done, was surely bound to influence her career with the Jeffreys Group. But wasn’t she looking too far ahead into the future, making assumptions which were all too probably totally incorrect?
All right, so Silas had described her as physically attractive; that didn’t mean necessarily that he desired her. She knew she couldn’t allow herself to become emotionally involved with him. To do so would be to risk everything she had striven for.
The depth of the emotional bonding and intensity of need she could already feel stirring within herself ran completely counter to the way she had planned her life. To become involved with Silas as his lo
ver would mean the total destruction of her cherished emotional independence. The truth was, she could not trust herself to have an affair with him and not succumb to the very real instincts she had fought so hard to suppress. Instincts which she already knew went with marriage, children, commitment and all those things which she had so often seen destroy the bright futures of so many members of her sex, as they willingly, joyfully even, set aside their own goals in order to satisfy the needs of others.
Many times she had been told by friends that marriage and children had taken the keen edge off their own ambitions; that they were happier now than they had been at any other time in their lives. They had actually laughed at the doubts she had expressed, and those who somehow, impossibly, managed to combine both high-powered careers and marriage and a family, despite their evident exhaustion, had claimed that the fulfilment experienced through their careers was nothing once compared with what they shared now with their partners and children.
Hannah had remained unconvinced, not so much because she doubted the evidence they were giving her, but because she sensed within herself a terrible threat of dependence which would make it all too easy for someone she loved to dominate her life. Not that she loved Silas, of course; what she felt for him was simply physical desire, a long-delayed experience of adolescence, an inconvenient focusing of all that was feminine within her on his maleness.
He was waiting for her when she went downstairs, and, although traditionally it was supposed to be the man who stood back and gasped at the sight of the woman transformed out of her everyday uniform into a creature of mystery and desire, it was she who hesitated on the stairs, her eyes widening in instinctive acknowledgement of how very good he looked in the impeccable elegance of his dinner-suit and immaculately starched white shirt.
As she dragged her gaze away from him, she acknowledged her desire to simply stand and drink in the sight of him.
Her heart was beating far too fast. She avoided looking directly at him, afraid of what he might read in her eyes.