by Jill Jones
“Five percent would suffice, I believe. That would be twenty-five thousand pounds.”
Jeremy heard the sound of footsteps approaching slowly from the Great Hall. He thought he was about to be discovered in his little act of eavesdropping, but then the sound stopped.
“There’s only one other thing, Gina.” Alison Cunningham’s voice was sweet and light, very much the innocent ingénue. But her next words seemed calculated to strip Jeremy of any hope he had of continuing the search alone, if at all.
“I want to take possession immediately. Sole possession. Mr. Ryder has to go.”
Chapter Seven
“That will be impossible, I’m afraid.” A deep voice with a stiff British accent echoed through the Great Hall where Alison stood contemplating the enormity of the decision she was about to make, a decision she would never have considered except for the insistence of one particular little ghost.
But even if she hadn’t made a semi-commitment to finding the missing memoirs, she was enchanted with Dewhurst Manor, and in her mind, as she’d peered through the dust and cobwebs, she had easily envisioned the place filled with people—tourists, visitors, maybe conference attendees, as Gina had suggested. The manor cried out for people, fun-loving, spirited people who would appreciate the idea and the experience of staying in an ancient Tudor mansion. Alison thought back to the many times she and her crowd of international friends had sought out unusual sites for their rendezvous. Dewhurst, with improvements of course, would be perfect.
But Jeremy Ryder seemed to have other ideas. He had appeared so quickly, seemingly out of nowhere, that Alison jumped as if he had materialized like Caro’s ghost. But he was real, very much in the flesh, and even more handsome than she recalled. “Why would that be, Mr. Ryder?” she replied, mustering as much indignation as she could and ignoring the way he made her heart beat just a little faster.
“I have only just started this project,” he replied, his voice annoyingly aloof. “I don’t believe Mr. Peterson at Coutt’s would appreciate the interruption, and the expense, that would be involved should I be required to move every stick of furniture to my warehouse to continue with the appraisal. My contract clearly states that I will have the right to remain on these premises until I have finished the job.”
“I’m certain that something could be worked out…,” Gina began, but Alison cut her off.
“No. If I am buying the property, I should have the right to take possession immediately.” Alison was used to having her way, and she wasn’t above psychologically stomping her foot at the moment to get it.
She wanted that man out.
Now.
It wouldn’t do to have him roaming around while she searched for the missing memoirs. He might get suspicious or learn what was going on and decide to help himself to the treasure.
But the search for the ghostly memoirs aside, Alison was suddenly eager to get going on creating a charming holiday resort from the peeling timbers of Dewhurst Manor, and she didn’t want anybody, especially any man, around to tell her what to do.
But at a deeper level, Alison knew that neither of these was the real reason he had to go. The fact was, she simply found his presence too unsettling. When he entered the room, he seemed to fill it up with his dark good looks and his sexy British accent. His six feet or more of broad-chested, square-shouldered masculinity drew her like a magnet.
That, and something else.
Maybe it was his maturity. He was older than most of the men she’d dated, and she found something about that age difference unutterably compelling. He was without a doubt more of a man than she’d ever encountered before. She suspected that his presence at Dewhurst Manor would throw her off, distract her from what she now considered almost a mission…to invest in and improve this property, and in so doing, to prove to herself she could manage her own business and affairs. If she found the memoirs in the process, so much the better.
That’s why she frowned when Gina replied to her rather petulant demand to take immediate and sole possession. “These things do take time, Miss Cunningham. Even if you put earnest money on the property today, it will take a while to set up the closing. You’ll have to make arrangements for your money to be transferred, there will be legal aspects to be worked out, that sort of thing…”
Alison could feel her frustration mounting. She was being told no once again. Slowly and with great determination, she said, “This is my offer. I will buy the place. I will pay the asking price. But only if I can take possession now. Today. And Mr. Ryder finds other accommodations.” Alison was pleased at her assertiveness, but she wasn’t pleased to see Jeremy Ryder make his way to a sofa by the fireplace and nonchalantly, almost lazily, take a seat.
“Have you considered, Miss Cunningham, how very empty this place will be once the furniture is removed? And how difficult it would be for you to replace it with…proper furnishings? You might want to reconsider your needs. It’s possible that you could work out some kind of arrangement, that is to say, negotiate with the bank, to include some of this,” he swept his arm in a gesture that included the total expanse of the Great Hall, “in the purchase price. It would be foolish not to give it some thought.”
Alison’s face grew crimson. How she hated it when someone talked down to her like that. Especially when they were right! She clenched her teeth to keep from making an ill-considered response. The man was incorrigible. But he had a good point.
And for once, Alison listened.
“I suppose I should give that some consideration,” she said at last. “But…I want to stay here, not in some hotel. There is a lot to do, and I want to get going. I’m sure, Mr. Ryder, that you will be gentleman enough to see my point. I’ll make you a deal. You can finish your work here in the house, but you must find other lodgings. I mean, we can’t both…”
Jeremy Ryder stood up again, and Alison could not avoid appraising his long legs and broad shoulders. He was dressed in expensive-looking black slacks and a rich black pullover, clean now of the earlier cobwebs or whatever had been clinging to the wool. His dark hair swept low over his brow, and his eyes were so black they seemed impenetrable. When he spoke, his words were measured.
“It would seem to me that you might have a great many arrangements to make in the United States in order to make this move,” he said. “Perhaps there is no need for us to dispute who can be on the premises. I am certain, Miss Cunningham, that by the time you return and are truly ready to move in, I shall be quite finished with my assignment here. I would even be most willing to speak to my client on your behalf,” he added, turning on her a hint of a smile that she found distressingly appealing, “should you wish to negotiate for some, or all, of the furnishings.”
Alison knew she was losing ground, and she found it gratingly difficult to argue with him. But she would have her way.
Or at least part of it.
“Very well, Mr. Ryder, since you seem so determined. I’m sure your clients would appreciate your loyalty. I will allow you to remain here for now. But you are mistaken in thinking that I need to go back to the States before I close on the house. There is no need whatsoever. It is a matter of a phone call to my banker, you see. They will handle everything for me.” She raised her chin slightly and looked from Jeremy to Gina. “However, if you wish to make this sale, my terms stand. I insist on taking possession immediately. I will be staying here tonight. It is a big place. I’m sure Mr. Ryder will find a way to accommodate my wishes.”
It was the first time in a long while that Jeremy Ryder had lost a negotiation, especially with a woman. He hadn’t in recent memory run across anyone quite so stubborn. Even the brooding half-smile hadn’t worked. Obviously, if Alison Cunningham had the money to buy a place like Dewhurst Manor on what appeared to him to be nothing more than a whim, she had more money than anyone needed and was accustomed to using it to get her way. He didn’t find it admirable, but he didn’t think at the moment there was anything he could do about it.
Although he didn’t like the idea of her taking up residence at Dewhurst Manor, he had no intention of leaving. He must remain where he had access to all the nooks and crannies where the memoirs might have been hidden. And, he vowed, he would set about that search with renewed vigor immediately, even if he had to do it by flashlight after Alison went to bed. And that thought brought him up short.
Alison in bed.
He wondered suddenly what she looked like naked, how that lithe little body would feel curled up next to him. And then he wondered why he was wondering such a thing. She was everything he despised in the society women who beat a constant path to his door. Rich. Spoiled. Petulant. She had no idea what it took to build the wealth she so carelessly threw around. The idea of someone paying full price for so overvalued a property as Dewhurst Manor was foreign to every dictum of good business practice in his soul. She was a fool, and as a rule, Jeremy did not abide fools.
And yet, this fool was so young, and pretty. And she had no idea the enormity of the mistake she was about to make. Perhaps if he was able to soften her inexplicably hostile attitude toward him, he could save her from herself by somehow making her change her mind.
And so he changed his tactics.
“I’m certain we can come up with a mutually satisfying arrangement,” he said amiably. “Would you ladies be my guest for tea? There is a decent inn not far away that serves a passable fare. Perhaps we could retire there and discuss this thing in a civilized manner.”
But he knew the minute the words were out of his mouth, he’d blundered.
“I didn’t know we weren’t being civilized, Mr. Ryder,” Alison said curtly.
But Gina interrupted her before she could go on. “That’s a marvelous idea, Jeremy.” She turned to Alison. “You must be famished. You’ve had such a long day. You’ll find once you get settled in here that English tea is one of the world’s most civilized traditions.”
Jeremy turned one of his charming smiles on Alison and was this time was rewarded with a perplexed look in her eyes that belied her inner conflict.
“Very well,” she said at last, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”
He indicated the front door. “Shall we then, before it gets any later?” He held the door for the women, noting the light floral fragrance that wafted past him when Alison went by. He smiled. He had, it would seem, won at least a small battle after all.
“His health being delicate, he liked to read with me & stay with me out of the crowd. Not but what we went about everywhere together, and were at last invited always as if we had been married…I grew to love him better than virtue, Religion—all prospects here. He broke my heart, & I still love him.”
Lady Caroline Lamb to biographer Thomas Medwin
Some of Caroline’s friends called her pretty little nicknames like Ariel and Sprite, but others, perhaps those who knew the other side of her nature, spoke of her as the Little Savage & the Bat. In Truth, she was both Sprite & Savage, a combination that continued to attract me. That & the fact that she did not care a pence for what others thought of her actions. I found this capacity for Caprice enchanting, at least in the beginning.
Her husband, too, seemed not to care that he was cuckolded virtually before his very eyes. Caroline told me right away that although she loved William Lamb, he did not show her the fiery affection she needed, & in fact encouraged her to find it elsewhere!
She desired fiery affection, & my own Passion for the Sprite was intense, yet our affair sizzled with tension generated by our very abstinence from the act of sex. Everpresent was the thought, the desire, the possibility…even the talk of what we might do to one another should we find ourselves alone in the boudoir, but for all of Caroline’s famous exhibitionism, she was at heart surprisingly naive & inhibited. She preferred the titillation to be verbal & theoretical, rather than actual. This discovery came as a great relief, since my deepest fear had been that in satisfying my carnal desires for her, I would return to that infernal abyss of confusion that forbade me to know both Love and Sex with a woman.
I proceeded to court Lady C. throughout the spring of that fateful year, participating in outrageous, infelicitous behavior that I have long regretted. We were together everywhere. Letters flew between us, sometimes ten times a day! Oh, the Passion that sparked our words in those days—! But our affair did not go unnoticed, and Caroline, not caring what Society thought or said, did nothing to squelch the rumors, in fact, began to flaunt our liaison, ignoring propriety and indulging in scenes that were to become the source of my disillusionment & despair. The Love I had longed for, the Platonic Passion that had fired my imagination, the delicious Wickedness of our illicit Desire soon withered beneath the light of public scrutiny. As I began to lose her to her own impetuosity, I resigned myself to the fact that I was not born to love, in any normal sense, a woman. That I continued to carry tender feelings for Caro for many months I cannot deny. But the Grand Experiment had ended in failure. I had not consummated my Love for her while it endured, and if I fell now to the pleasures of the flesh where Caro was concerned, it would, I was certain, result in the same degradation that I had felt with all the rest.
Chapter Eight
Alison stirred the dregs of the now lukewarm tea in the bottom of her cup, her heart and mind both racing, searching for answers to the dilemma she’d unwittingly created for herself. Jeremy’s invitation to go to the inn for tea had been a lifesaver in a way, for she hadn’t eaten in hours, and she found she was ravenous by the time the freshly baked scones and clotted cream arrived with the hot pot of tea. But sitting across the table from him in the quaint little inn had also made her realize that she’d erred seriously in giving him permission to remain at Dewhurst Manor.
The man was simply too smooth. Not only was he good-looking, he exuded his unquestionable masculinity in an elegant, understated way that threw Alison completely off-balance. He was charming. He had ceased to talk down to her.
But his very manner raised her suspicions.
In an effort to get a grip on the situation, Alison averted her eyes from the handsome face and instead focused on her finger as she traced the pattern in the lace tablecloth over and over again. She listened in silence as Jeremy and Gina amiably discussed the possibility of houses being haunted and wondered what they would think if they knew she had arrived on the scene at the invitation of the resident ghost of Dewhurst Manor.
She thought about the ghost’s latest appearance, and its urgent, almost desperate appeal to Alison. She thought about the books she’d seen in the master suite, occupied at the moment by Mr. Jeremy Ryder. Why was he reading about Lord Byron and Lady Caroline Lamb? Suddenly she wondered if somehow he had gotten wind that the Byron memoirs were secreted away in the old house. Was that what he was really doing there? Searching for the lost memoirs? Being an antiquities dealer, he would know how very valuable such a find would be. And being in the house alone, he would have every opportunity to find, and steal, the memoirs.
But unless the ghost of Lady Caroline had convinced him, the same as it had her, to come to Dewhurst Manor, Alison could not imagine how he would know about the existence of the papers. And at any rate, he didn’t seem the type to fall for the hysterical plea of a pathetic little ghost. He was not nearly as flaky as she. No, he was probably reading those books because he was interested in the history of the area as it related to the furnishings he was appraising.
Still, if there was any chance he might be searching for the memoirs, which Alison already considered to be hers—and the ghost’s, of course—it was all the more important that he leave.
Immediately.
Her energy restored by the hot tea and succulent scones, Alison pulled herself together and prepared to drop the bad news on him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ryder, but I’ve been thinking, and, well, I’ve changed my mind…”
“Please, call me Jeremy.” That devastating smile again. “You’ve changed your mind? About buying Dewhurst Manor?”
Alison thought he sounde
d too hopeful. “No. About your remaining on the property.”
The smile disappeared instantly. “But I thought we had agreed…” Jeremy began to growl his objection, but Gina interrupted.
“I think we need to put first things first,” she insisted, waving her hands in the air as if to calm things down. “We need to get the contract in order before we can proceed with anything. When we’re finished here, why don’t you come with me, Alison? We’ll go to the office, and you can contact your bankers while I draw up the contract. Then you can decide who is going to stay where. By the way, where are your bags?”
Alison had completely forgotten about them. “I left them with the concierge at the Dorchester in London. Guess I need to make arrangements for them to be delivered, although I could probably pick up a few things here in the village in case they don’t make it this late in the day. Could I call from your office?”
“Uh, why of course, my dear. Anything you need.”
Alison could tell from Gina Useppi’s solicitous smile and eagerness to please that she was beginning to believe that her client actually had the money she claimed and that this sale might go through. Alison suppressed a small grin of satisfaction.
At last she was being told yes.
But a glance at Jeremy Ryder told her he was unimpressed by her wealth or anything else. But he was, Alison surmised, beginning to believe he’d better find other lodgings, and he wasn’t happy about it. His captivating smile had disappeared and been replaced by a scowl darker than the one he’d worn when she’d first encountered him. Even that, she found to her consternation, failed to detract from his handsome features. She was glad he would be gone when she arrived at Dewhurst Manor.