The Millionaire's Castle

Chapter 7

you can’t. so long as you leave this panel open we could retrace our steps.'

'Very You'd better follow me.'

As they stepped through the gap, reminding her to tread carefully, he took her hand.

Feeling a delicious thrill of adventure, she followed close on his heels.

The tunnel was narrow, the air cold and musty, the ground uneven beneath their feet.

As they moved away from the open panel, the torch a small spotlight in the surrounding darkness, the walls seemed to close in claustrophobically.

Unconsciously, she gripped his hand tighter.

'Do you want to turn back?'

His voice sounded strangely hollow, disembodied, but the fingers curled round hers were strong and reassuring, and she answered, 'No, no, I'm quite happy, really.'

Once or twice she stumbled, and he asked, 'Okay?'

Each time she answered, 'Fine, thank you.'

After what seemed an age, he said, 'If I remember rightly, we should be just about there.'

As they slowed to a halt he let go of her hand to release the

lever. At the same instant she stepped on a loose piece of rubble, and gave a gasp as her left ankle turned painfully.

What's wrong?' he asked.

'I've twisted my ankle,' she admitted ruefully.

He thrust the torch into his pocket, and his arms went around her.

Standing on one leg, storklike, she leaned against him grateful for his support.

He could feel the slender weight of her body, smell the apple-blossom scent of her hair and the fragrance of her skill' She heard the breath hiss through his teeth then, in the

darkness, his mouth found hers unerringly, and he was kissing her with a passion that swept her completely away.

How long they stood in the darkness kissing, Jenny never knew. She was in a blissful world of her own, everything else obliterated, forgotten, the touch of his lips and the feel of his arms all she had ever wanted or needed.

Overwhelmed with tenderness, she touched his cheek.

Even against the coldness of his face, he was aware that her fingers felt icy.

The realization waking him to practicalities, he lifted his head, and, one arm still supporting her, felt for the lever.

After a second or two, he found and depressed it, and with a grating sound the panel slid aside, letting in light, 'Can you walk?' he asked.

'Yes, I think—' The words ended in a little cry of pain as she tried to put her weight on her injured left ankle.

Unable to lift her in the narrow space, he ordered tersely, 'Stay where you are and keep that foot off the floor.'

Poised on one leg, one arm braced against the wall. she muttered, 'This is ridiculous.'

'If you attempt to walk on it, it'll only make matters worse.' Seeing the sense of that, she stopped arguing and did as she'd been bidden.

He went through the opening first, then tumed, and, stooping, said, 'Put your arms around my neck and duck your head'

She obeyed, and, one arm encircling her waist, his free hand shielding her head, he helped her clear of the panelling and swung her up into his arms.

They had emerged into what seemed to be a small inner hall, with a row of high internal windows on one side.

In spite of the turmoil caused by that kiss, and being held against his broad chest. she noticed that the air felt appreciably warmer.

He opened the nearest door into a red-carpeted room dark oak panelling, and carried her over to a leather couch set in front of a stone fireplace, and put her down amidst the cushioned comfort.

She was surprised to see a fire was already laid in the grate and a box of matches lay waiting. To one side of the hearth a large wicker basket was piled high with logs.

As soon as she was settled with her back against a pile of cushions he pulled off her shoes, dropped them by the old fashioned fender, and stooped to strike a match.

When the kindling flared and caught hold, he rose to his feet and said with satisfaction, 'There, that should soon be burning nicely. Now you stay here and get warm, and I'll be back in a minute.'

He disappeared through a door in the far wall.

Already able to feel the welcome warmth of the fire on her icy feet, Jenny glanced around her curiously. The room seemed to be a combination of living-room and study, its long, arched windows looking out onto a rain-swept inner courtyard.

Michael had told her the castle was no longer inhabited, but, attractively furnished and homely, with books and ornaments and a grandfather clock that chimed melodiously, this room showed every sign of being lived-in.

A silver-framed photograph standing on the nearby bookcase caught her eye. It was of a handsome man with clear-cut features, blue eyes beneath still dark brows, and iron-grey hair• He looked aristocratic, and she found herself wondering if he owned Mirren.

All at once she felt distinctly uncomfortable, an intruder' as if the man might walk in at any moment and demand to know what she was doing here.

It was something of a relief when, a short time later'

Michael returned. He had discarded his jacket, and was carrying a first aid box under his arm and two steaming mugs. 'Warmer?' he queried.

'Much. I don't really need this now.' She began to wriggle out of her coat.

He put everything down on a low table that stood close by and helped her.

Tossing it over one of the high-backed chairs, he remarked, 'I thought we could do with a hot drink, as soon as I've had a look at that ankle.'

Sitting down on the edge of the couch, he grimaced. 'I'm afraid it's already starting to swell. We'll just have to hope there's nothing broken.'

Though he was as gentle as possible, she winced as his fingers began to probe

After a moment, he announced, 'There doesn't seem to be, thank the Lord.' Taking a can of analgesic spray from the first aid box, he added, 'But your feet are like ice.' The fine spray felt colder still.

'There, that should help to curtail the pain and prevent any further swelling.

'However, a bit of support wouldn't be a bad idea. . . ' Producing a crepe bandage, he bound her ankle neatly and efficiently.

'Thank you,' she said, when he'd finished. 'That's starting

to feel better already.'

He handed her one of the mugs, and, taking a seat in a nearby chair, remarked, 'I'm afraid there's no fresh milk, so I hope you don't mind having your coffee black?' 'No, not at all.'

His eyes on her face, he asked, 'So what's wrong?'

'Nothing,' she assured him. 'I'm fine.'

‘You’re lying,' he said shortly. 'Apart from your ankle something's bothering you.'

'I just feel I've no right to be here,' she admitted in a rush. 'If the owner should—

Something about the look on his face stopped her short, and, light suddenly dawning, she said almost accusingly, 'You own the castle.'

'That's right,' he agreed.

'The island too?'

'Yes.'

'Why didn't—?' She bit her tongue.

'I tell you?' he finished for her.

'I'm sorry,' she said in confusion. 'Of course you had a perfect right to keep it to yourself.'

'How kind of you to say so.'

Though she felt sure the gentle sarcasm wasn't meant to wound, emotionally friable, she flushed, and her eyes filled with unbidden tears.

He rose to his feet, instantly contrite. 'I'm sorry.' Reaching for her hand, he raised it to his lips and kissed it.

His lips felt warm against her palm, and a shiver ran through her.

'Now, why don't you relax and drink your coffee?'

But his touch had ruffled her even more, and he realized it' Cursing himself for a fool, he released her hand and began to sip his own coffee.

The fire was blazing merrily now, throwing out a circle Of heat. After adding some more logs, he queried, 'Feet warmer?

Her voice a little stilted, she answered, 'Yes, thank YOU' warm as toast now.'

Then, sounding more like herself, 'In any case it was well worth getting cold for. The castle is absolutely wonderful'

Pleased and relieved that she wasn't the kind to bear a grudge'

he said. •I'm very glad you think so. I've always loved the old place.'

'Do you know its history'?'

'Oh. yes, it's all in the family archives. Following the battle of Hastings, William the Conqueror gave the island, and a large chunk of the surrounding countryside, to Michel D'Envier, a young Norman duke who had helped raise an army to fight alongside him.

'After Michel fell in love with, and married, the daughter of an English nobleman, he started to build the castle, and it's been home to the D'Envier family since it was completed in the early part of the twelfth century

'Though internally it's been altered a lot over the years, the outer walls and the battlements, the towers and the gatehouse date from then. That's why I've done my best to maintain the place in good order and keep it structurally sound.'

'That can't be easy.'

'It isn't. Luckily I have the money now, but in the past it's been a big drain on the family resources. That's one of the reasons my father, after being approached by the local historical society, decided to open the unoccupied to the public.' Embarrassed to recall her comments about visitors dropping litter, she wished she had kept her opinions to herself 'Oh, I see,' she said a shade awkwardly.

'Personally,' Michael went on, 'I never liked the idea. and after my father died and probate granted. I that decision.'

A gleam of devilment in his green eyes, he added, 'So you see you have me to blame for your disappointment all those years ago.'

Forgetting her embarrassment, and picking up on his mood, she assured him lightly, 'well. as you’ve more than made up for it today, I forgive you.

'How very magnanimous.'

This time she only smiled.

It was still raining hard, and what little light there had been was fading. Beyond the fireglow that enclosed them in their own little cocoon of well-being, the room was growing dusky.

As soon as she had finished her coffee, he put his own empty cup down, switched on a couple of standard lamps, and, resuming his seat, queried, 'Feel any better now?' 'A lot.' She moved her foot experimentally.

He shook his head. 'I meant now you know you're not trespassing do you feel more relaxed, more comfortable about being here?'

'Oh... Yes... Yes.. .'

'You don't sound at all sure.'

She wasn't. It was much too cosy. Too intimate. Remembering his kiss in the secret tunnel and her own helpless reaction to it, how could she feel relaxed and comfortable? She ought to be heading home to London, well away from temptation.

After a moment, needing to break the lengthening silence, she remarked, 'Though you told me there was no one living at the castle, it looks and feels as if there could well be.'

'My parents lived here until my mother died some six years ago, and my father followed her less than a year later• Soon after his death, all that remained of the staff—three Old family retainers, a man, his wife, and daughter—wh0 had worked at the castle all their lives, decided to retire and go to live in one of the cottages on the estate.

'I didn't want this wing to get damp and neglected, arranged with Mrs Blair to come in regularly to clean and the place and make sure the radiators are working properly 'It seems strange to talk about radiators in a castle this Old'

'Castles this old tend to be cold, draughty places, and to

make it liveable in the entire south wing was refurbished early in the nineteen hundreds, and a generator and a central heating system installed.

'It's all very old-fashioned now, but it still works, and hopefully should last until I've drawn up plans to have the whole thing modernized.'

'Why don't you—?' She stopped short.

His eyes on her face, he urged, 'Feel free to ask anything you want to know.'

Encouraged by his words, but determined to be cautious all the same, she admitted, 'I was wondering why, when you come to the island, you don't live here? Or perhaps you do, sometimes?'

He shook his head. 'I used to visit often when my father was alive, and when I'm on the island I still come to spend a day or two and sometimes the odd night here. There 's one bed always kept aired. But I haven't actually lived at the castle since I left to go to university. If I'd returned to Mirren after graduating, I would probably have followed the family tradition and taken up residence at Slinterwood.

'You see it was originally intended to be the home of the family's eldest son, that is, until his father died. Then, if his mother was still alive, she would move into Slinterwood, while he and his family were expected to take over the castle.'

'So you're the eldest son?'

'I'm the only son.'

Fascinated by what he was telling her, and forgetting her earlier resolve to be cautious, she said, 'But you didn't take Over the castle when your father died?'

'NO, the circumstances weren 't right. I was unmarried and living in London, still trying to find my feet as a writer. However, I decided that one day, if my wife was willing, I would move back, as my father had always hoped.'

His flat. dispassionate, he added, 'But when I did eventually get married. after coming here on a couple of occasions Claire decided that she hated the island.'

So even if he and his ex-wife did get back together, the castle wouldn’t be lived in . . .

As the silence stretched, knowing that he must be thinking much the same, Jenny made an effort to change the subject.

Indicating the photograph she'd noticed previously, she asked. 'Who's that?'

'My father. I took that picture of him he was about sixty.

'A nice-looking Juan,' she commented. Adding, 'Though your eyes are a different colour, I can see the likeness now.'

'All the D'Envier males seem to have dark hair and that kind of bone structure.'

Which meant that if he ever had children, his sons would probably look like him...

Sighing a little, she pictured two small boys with Michael's clear-cut features, cleft chin, and thick dark hair.

Watching her face grow soft, he wondered what she was thinking.

Since that impulsive kiss in the darkness of the secret passage, his mind had been only partly on what was being said, his concentration seduced by memories of her response' How willingly her cold lips had parted beneath his, how pliantly her body had moulded itself against his body, how eagerly her arms had welcomed him and held him close•"

Jenny looked up suddenly, a question trembling on her lips, and their eyes met.

She saw the darkness in his, darkness that held a tierce flame of desire in its depths, and, shaken rigid by that and her response to it, she glanced hastily away•

A log settled in and grate with a rustle and a sport of orange sparks, and the grandfather clock ticked away the seconds.

You were about to ask me something?'

*Michael's tone held no trace of any emotion other than a kind of casual friendliness, and just for an instant she wondered if she could imagined that blazing look.

But she knew she hadn't. The memory of it was burnt indelibly into her brain.

Afraid to look at him, she fumbled around for the question that had been on the tip of her tongue.

'I presume, from what you were saying, that the name D'Envier has been anglicized?'

'Yes. My father decided it was time to become totally English, to drop the apostrophe and change the spelling.

'But enough of me and my family. Tell me about yourself and your family. You told me you were born in London and went to live at Kelsay when you were quite young?'

'Yes...'

'My father left when I was two years old, and as my grandparents had been killed in a car crash the previous year my mother took me to live with my great-grandmother.' 'Go on.'

'I really liked living at the seaside, and I loved Gran dearly. Possibly because I was named after her, we seemed to share a special bond.

'But when I was seven, my mother remarried, and took me to live in the Channel Islands. I was very sad to have to leave Gran. I missed her a lot. We stayed in Jersey for nine years, then my parents decided to move to France.

'I'd never got on particularly well with my stepfather, so I chose to go back to Kelsay and live with Gran. By this time she was very old and frail and had recently suffered a stroke.

So for the next two years, while I finished my schooling, 1 helped to look after her. . .'

Though she had talked, obediently following his lead, right from the start part of her mind had been taken up by her companion.

Or rather by her awareness of him.

Though she avoided looking at him, she was conscious of every single thing: his light breathing, the slight rise and fall of his chest, the movement of his hands, the flick of his dark lashes when he blinked, and the faint, masculine scent of his aftershave. She was even convinced she could hear the beat of his heart.

'You mentioned that the-ring you're wearing had belonged to your great-grandmother?'

'Yes.'

Reaching across the table he took her hand, and twisting the ring between his finger and thumb, remarked, 'A beautiful old signet ring like this is bound to have a fascinating history. What exactly do you know about it?'

Her heart lurching drunkenly at his touch, she half shook her head. 'Well, nothing, really. . . '

Sounding a little breathless, she added, 'I know Gran always wore it. I recall seeing it on her finger when I was quite small.'

Making a determined effort, she withdrew her hand, and went on, 'When I went back to nurse her, she was still wearing it. I would have liked to have asked her where it came from, but the stroke, as well as leaving her partially paralyzed, had made her practically unintelligible, and trying to talk upset hen

'So after her death you inherited the ring?'

'Not exactly. The night she died I was sitting with here 111 the early hours of the morning, she awakened from a Seeing I was there, she pulled the ring off her finger, and pressed it into my hand.

'She tried very hard to tell me something, but the words

Were garbled. To save her any further distress, I pretended to

understand. I put the ring on my own finger, and promised to wear it. Then I laid her hand on top of it, sandwiched between my own two hands...'

Michael got a vivid mental picture of a very old wrinkled hand, held lovingly between two young, strong hands, and felt a lump in his throat.

'She gave a little, contented sigh, and a short time later slipped peacefully away. I wish she had been able to tell me what she so obviously wanted to tell me. If there really is a story attached to the ring, I would have liked to have heard it.' 'Presumably you know what the engraving is?'

'Oh, yes, it's a phoenix. I noticed several as we walked round the castle, and there's a similar one carved on the mantel in the library at Slinterwood. I believe in the past mythical birds and beasts were often used for ornamentation.'

'You're quite right. And of course they were frequently used in heraldry, and sometimes to illuminate manuscripts and old family trees.'

'Such as yours, presumably?'

'Yes.' Casually, he added, 'One day I'll show you.'

But she wouldn't be here 'one day'. The thought was like a physical pain.

Watching her face, noting the spasm that crossed it, and guessing the cause, he decided the time had come to dig a little deeper.

'How much do you know about your ancestry?' he asked evenly.

'Not a great deal. I really can't go very far back at all.'

'Then start with your great-grandmother. Where was she born

and bred?' the best of my knowledge Gran was born in Kelsay and lived there all her life.'

'Tell me about her.'

Knowing it was safer to keep talking, she went on, 'Gran was a lovely person, warm-hearted and generous, with a sense of humour and a belief in the goodness of life that somehow managed to survive losing the one man she really loved.

His interest quickening, Michael asked, 'How did that happen?'

'When she was only eighteen she fell deeply in love and got engaged to be married. But, tragically, her fiancé died.'

'Do you know his name, or where he came from?'

'I'm afraid not. The only thing I recall my mother telling me was that he was a widower with a young son, and about ten years older than Gran. But apparently they had adored each other and she mourned him for years.. . '

With an effort, Michael bit back his excitement. What Jenny hadjust told him had made a nebulous idea that had been forming at the back of his mind crystallize into something like a certainty.

All he needed now was proof. And he thought he knew exactly where to find it, but that would have to wait until the next day.

Bringing his mind back to the present, he said, 'But presumably she married sooner or later?'

'Oh, yes... Eventually she met and married a man named Charles Peacock, and Margaret, my grandmother, was born three years later.'

'Go on.'

'I know my mother would have liked another child, but my stepfather, who had two children by a previous marriage, didn't want any more.'

'What about you?' Michael asked. 'Do you intend to have children?'

The question took her by the throat. Swallowing hard, she answered jerkily, 'I'd always hoped to. . . '

She stopped speaking as, outside in the darkness, a fierce squall of wind and rain battered against the windowpanes.

'It still sounds rough out there,' Michael remarked. Adding, after a moment, 'The coastal road can be tricky in the dark and in this kind of weather, so I think it might make a lot of sense to stay here for the night.'

'STAY here?' Jenny's voice sounded high and panicky.

'Why not? After all. there's nothing really to go back for. Though there's no fresh food, there's plenty to eat in the store cupboard, so we won't starve by any Incans.

'I'm sure food's not a problem, but. . .

Her apprehension was palpable, and hovered between them like a chaperon.

Michael glanced at her from beneath long, thick lashes.

'You're worried about the sleeping arrangements?'

'You said there was one bed kept aired.'

'Which of course you can have, if you prefer. But I was going to suggest that you might like to sleep in front of the fire?

'You see, the couch you're on is a bed-settee. To the best of my knowledge it's nice and comfortable, and should be a great deal cosier than the bedroom.'

Jenny thought quickly. Because of her damaged ankle, staying here might prove to be the lesser of two evils.

If they went back to Slinterwood, apart from getting to and from the car there would be stairs to climb, and Michael might insist on carrying her.

Just the idea of being carried up to bed in his arms sent a quiver through her.

'So what do you think?'

She swallowed, then said, 'I'm quite happy to stay here tonight, so long as tomorrow morning I can be back at Slinterwood in good time to pack.'

He sighed. So she was still bent on leaving.

'Well, if that's what you really want,' he agreed evenly. 'But I was rather hoping you might have changed your mind.'

Trying to sound cool and decided, she said, 'No, I haven't changed my mind.'

In spite of all her efforts, Michael heard the quiver in her voice, and, knowing she was nowhere near as unmoved as she was endeavouring to make out, smiled to himself.

'Well, in that case,' he said smoothly, 'I think, as we only had a light brunch, it might be a good idea to eat before too long, then we can get an early night. Don't you agree?'

She had been prepared for him to argue, and, both surprised and relieved that he had put up no further opposition, she nodded. 'Let me know when you're starting to feel hungry.'

Eager to get the evening over, she told him, 'I'm ready to eat whenever you are.'

'Then I'll go and see what I can rustle up.'

'Do you need any help?'

He shook his head. 'We have the remains of a hamper from Fortnum and Mason, so I should be able to manage a meal of some kind.

'There's a dining-room next door,' he added, 'but in the circumstances it might be better to eat on our knees in front of the fire.'

'That suits me fine,' she agreed.

While he was sorting through the cupboard and assembling a meal of sorts, his thoughts were even busier than his hands.

Though with so many unanswered questions, so much at stake, he had absolutely no intention of letting Jenny leave at this stage in the game, he knew it would pay to tread carefully.

To start with, he warned himself, he must hide his desire for her. He had seen how very uncomfortable any sign of its existence made her.

He was practically sure of three things, however.

Firstly, that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. All her actions seemed to prove it.

Secondly, that her discomfort was almost certainly due to the fact that it went against both her nature and her convictions to indulge in what she regarded as casual s*x.

And thirdly, that even though she felt it was completely wrong to sleep with her boss, she couldn't trust herself to hold out against him.

The latter conclusion caused a storm of feeling and a surge of s****l excitement that he had to struggle hard to stifle.

At first, his distrust of the female s*x had made him try to ignore an attraction he had told himself was purely physical.

But he no longer believed that that was all it was. What he felt for Jenny, while he hesitated to put a name to it, went a great deal deeper. Somehow it had quietly taken over and become a force to be reckoned with, a fever in his blood.

His thoughts turning to the coming night, and recalling her warmth, her sweetness, her innocent passion, he felt a strong urge to throw caution to the winds and make her his once more• But was that passion as innocent as it seemed? Suddenly recalling what Paul had told him, he found himself wondering if perhaps there might be some truth in the rumours No, he couldn't believe it.

Or 'was it simply that he didn't want to believe it?

Though not much time had passed, knowing Paul never let the grass grow under his feet, and in need of some kind of reassurance, he took his phone out of his coat pocket and rang Paul's mobile.

When there was no answer, he left a cautious message asking if there were any results yet from 'the enquiry'.

He was just about to drop the phone into his trouser pocket when it buzzed.

'That was quick,' he said. 'So where were you?'

'I don't know who you were expecting to call,' Claire's clear, light voice said, 'but I don't suppose it was me.' 'No, it wasn't,' he told her flatly.

'You don't sound very pleased to hear from me,' she said plaintively.

Ignoring that, he asked, 'Why are you calling?'

'I wanted to talk to you.'

'We've nothing left to talk about.'

'But of course we have. The press seem to believe that we're getting back together.'

'Could that be because you told them we were?'

'Darling, don't sound so cross. I only mentioned it as a possibility. I still love you, and I miss you so. I didn't realize just how much I loved you until it was too late.

'Look, suppose I came to see you? We could discuss things, sort out exactly where we stand—

My dear Claire, I already know exactly where I stand. As far as I'm concerned our marriage is over. Finished. Nothing You can say or do will alter that—' But Michael was talking to

himself.

Slipping the phone into his trouser pocket, he grimaced. e didn't believe for one instant that Claire still loved him; In fact he'd come to the conclusion that she never had.

A career as a photographic model was a notoriously precautions one, and at twenty-six she might soon be replaced by a fresh and dewy seventeen-year-old.

Added to that, her former lover had proved to be tickle and moved on, so no doubt she was regretting even more the ending of her marriage and the loss of a lifestyle that had been very much to her taste...