The Millionaire's Castle

Chapter 6

The earlier urgency gone, he took his time about pleasuring her, finding his own pleasure in her little gasps and nuyans, and the knowledge that her body was so responsive to his touch

Time and time again she thought herself sated, but each time he skilfully rekindled her desire, until finally he moved over her and joined her on that roller-coaster ride to the stars

When she awoke for the second time she was alone in his bed A fire was blazing in the grate, and above the sound of the wind and rain beating against the windowpanes she could hear the shower running and a faint, but tuneful whistling.

Her thoughts chaotic, she struggled to find some kind of mental stability and not condemn herself too much for what had just happened.

When she failed miserably on both counts, she bowed to the inevitable and admitted that she had made a complete hash of things.

Instead of freezing him off, she had kissed him back and triggered off a further bout of love-making that had shattered her good resolutions.

Though in the past she had never had to question her selfcontrol, when it came to Michael she had thought of herself as vulnerable.

And rightly so.

He affected her like no other man she had ever met, and had he felt anything for her beyond lust she would have stayed for as long as he wanted her.

But he didn't.

Which made the situation impossible.

The only thing she could do was to leave.

Closing her mind to the fierce stab of pain that decision brought, she did her utmost to concentrate on practicalities

He hadn't been planning to start work today, so she would

Ask him to take her over to the mainland, where she could get trans,port back to London.

Then the following morning she could call at her nearest employment agency and start looking for another position.

As if nothing had happened.

Whereas everything had happened, and she would never be quite the same again.

When, on her return home, she told Laura her flatmate would be both surprised and shocked.

Shocked, not for any moral reasons, but simply because she had known Jenny for long enough to be certain it wasn't in her nature to go to bed with a man she hardly knew, and her boss into the bargain.

Many a time, since her engagement had ended, Laura had urged her to loosen up, to find another boyfriend and have some fun.

'All this holding back gets you nowhere,' she said flatly. 'In fact that 's probably what drove Andy to cheat on you in the end.' Then quickly, 'Sorry, I shouldn't have said that.'

'Why not?' Jenny asked a shade bitterly. 'I've no doubt you're quite right.'

'Then why don 't you let your hair down next time you meet a man you like? Live a little while you're still young?'

But with her own firmly entrenched standards of morality, Jenny found herself unable to follow that advice.

Laura's comment was, 'I can't say I expected you to. I only hope Mr Right comes along before you get too old and to make the most of it.'

However, nothing had been said about the possibility that

Mr Right, when he did come along, might not fit into the role,. , Becoming belatedly aware that the shower had stopped, and Michael might be back at any moment,Jenny slipped out Of bed and, seizing her nightdress, which had been draped

over a chair, was hurrying to the door when his voice stopped her in her tracks.

'Don't go...'

Clutching the nightie to her, she spun round to find he was standing there naked, his hair still damp, his jaw smoothly shaven, a towel draped around his neck.

Broad-shouldered and slim-waisted, lean-hipped and muscular, his belly flat, his legs long and straight, his smooth olive skin gleaming with health, he was so superbly male that she could hardly breathe.

'Brunch is all ready,' he went on, 'and I thought we might have it here by the fire. . . '

In the circumstances, eating together in his bedroom hardly seemed a sensible option, but her tongue refused to work.

Grinning at the expression on her face, he offered, 'If it seriously bothers you, I could put on some clothes first.'

When she continued to stand there struck dumb and unable to take her eyes off him, he went on, 'On the other hand, if you keep looking at me as though I'm Suleiman the Magnificent we could end up back in bed.' A gleam in his eye, he queried, Which option do you prefer?'

Blushing rosily, and hastily averting her gaze, she said, 'Brunch. With both of us dressed.'

She had meant to state it firmly, but it came out more like a plea.

He sighed. 'Well, in that case I expect the pancakes will wait ten minutes.' Then teasingly, 'But I'm getting hungry, so any longer and I might have to come and fetch you.'

Without further ado, still clutching her nightie, she turned and fled.

Her feelings all over the emotional map, she showered, cleaned her teeth, and brushed and coiled her hair.

Then, unconsciously hurrying, she found fresh undies,off

White slimline trousers,a fine wool shirt-blouse in olive-green, and a pair of low-heeled court shoes.

She debated briefly whether to stop and pack, then, deciding to do it after she'd told him her decision, she braced herself and went hack to his bedroom, where she was greeted by the appetizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

A heated container, and a low table set with plates, cutlery, napkins, and everything necessary, had been assembled in front of the fire.

Thrown by the intimacy of the little scene, she wished she had stayed safely in her own room. But if Michael had through with his half-threat to come and fetch her, it might possibly have made things even more difficult.

Looking elegant in well-cut stone-coloured trousers and a fine black polo-necked sweater, he was pouring coffee.

Glancing up, he said quizzically, 'Just made it. Now come and sit down and tell me if you prefer honey or maple syrup.' From the container he produced a plate of golden, delicious-looking pancakes:

She had intended to tell him straight away that she was leaving, but instead she found herself saying, 'Maple syrup, please.'

As she prepared to spread the syrup over one ofthe pancakes firelight glinted on the gold ring she wore on her right hand.

He had noticed the ring previously, but, his attention focused on other things, he had never really looked at it.

Now, suddenly, his interest roused, he found himself staring at the engraving, recognizing it.

His voice studiedly casual, he remarked, 'That's a most unusual ring.'

hen, scarcely listening, mentally rehearsing how to break the that she was leaving, she said nothing, he pressed, 'How long have you had it?'

'Sorry?'

'The ring you're wearing... how long have you had it?' 'Since I was eighteen:

'May I ask where it came from?'

'It belonged to my great-Grandmother.'

Noting her abstraction. and thinking it best, he dropped the subject for the time being.

The pancakes were every bit as delicious as they looked, and Jenny and her companion who, head bent, appeared to be deep in thought, cleared the plate and emptied the coffee pot while she tried to pluck up the courage to tell him what she had decided.

Breakfast over, and left with no further excuse for delay, she took a deep breath and blurted out, 'This isn't going to work.' Jolted out of his reverie, he looked up.

Seeing she had his attention, she repeated desperately, 'This isn't going to work.'

He knew at once what she meant, and his heart sank. Clearly she •was having second thoughts, regretting what had happened between them. And really he should have known there was a chance that that might happen.

Cursing the impulse that had made him rush her into his bed the previous night, he wished he had taken things more slowly Usually he was a great deal more sophisticated, more focused, more laid-back and in control of his actions. He'd always been able to hold back, to wait for something he really wanted.

But somehow Jenny had got under his guard, and he was having difficulty thinking straight and applying his usual self-control.

It was a moment or two before, pretending ignorance, he was able to ask evenly, 'What isn't going to work?'

'This... She spread helpless palms. 'This whole thing..•

It should never have happened.'

You mean sharing my bed?'

'Yes.' Feeling her colour rise, she went on, I've never done this kind of thing before. One-night stands and casual

affairs aren’t for me. .. '

He was inclined to believe her, which made him wonder just why she had responded to him so ardently. As though following his train of thought, she added jerkily, 'Nor is sleeping with my boss.'

'So you mean you won't be sleeping with me again?'

He raised a dark brow.

Vexed with herself, she said sharply, 'I mean I want to leave.' There was no way he could let her go.

Apart from wanting her in his life, the fact that she had known Slinterwood, taken in conjunction with the ring she was wearing, made him certain that she had some, as yet unexplained, connection with the house and the island.

Unwilling to show his hand until he had more to go on, he tried to settle on the best strategy to employ to keep her here. Unable to decide, he said lightly, 'I thought you wanted to see how a book comes to life, to help in its creation.'

'I did,' she admitted, 'but now I think it would be best to go.' 'Why?'

'In the circumstances I really can't stay.'

'I don't see why not. If you don't want to share my bed, don't, It isn't compulsory:

But she did want to share his bed, that was the trouble. He drew her, so that she was like the moon held by the earth's gravitational pull. If You would prefer to, we. can forget everything that's happened between us,' he was going on mendaciously. and carry on simply as employer and employee:

How could she possibly forget what had happened? The

memory would always loom between them, insoluble and embarrassing.

At least on her part.

But while it had been life-changing for her, clearly it had meant so little to him that, in order to keep an employee he needed, he was willing to brush it aside and forget it.

Which flayed her pride, making it even more impossible to stay.

She shook her head, and, taking a deep, steadying breath, said, 'If you could just take me across the causeway, I can find my own way back to London.'

If Michael refused to take her, she decided desperately, she would have to find some other means of getting over to the mainland.

However, he was too clever a tactician to precipitate matters by giving an out and out refusal. His tone eminently reasonable, he said, 'Look, don't decide this instant. Leave it until tomorrow and see how you feel then.'

She had opened her mouth to protest, when he added, 'For one thing, it would be highly dangerous to try to cross the causeway in this weather. By tomorrow the storm should have blown itself out, and if you still want to go back to London,

I'll take you.

'In the meantime, twenty-four hours will give me a chance to try and line up a replacement PA.'

A sense of justice pointed out that she owed him that much. After all, she had agreed to take the job, and she couldn't deny that she was as much to blame for what had happened between them as he was.

Watching her hesitate, he added persuasively, 'If you stay at least for today it will give me an opportunity to show you round the castle.'

Much as she wanted to see the castle, she recognized the

offer as bait. Finding her voice, she pointed out, 'But it's raining heavily.'

'Which for the moment rather rules out the battlements. But you could still see the inside.'

'The inside?' She felt a quick thrill of excitement. 'Could I really?' Then doubtfully, 'Are you sure the owner won't mind?' 'Quite sure.' He spoke with certainty.

Even so, she knew she ought to refuse. But it seemed a terrible shame to throw away such a chance.

Reading her expression right, and suddenly more confident of success, he added lightly, teasingly, ‘And just to set your mind at rest, I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to do.'

Recognizing that confidence, and fairly sure he was laughing at her, she gritted her teeth.

Of course she could shatter his assurance and have the last laugh by insisting on leaving the island immediately.

Only she was abruptly convinced that it would be a waste of time. He held the whip hand, and the gleam in his green eyes told her he knew it.

No matter how reasonable he might appear, if it came to the crunch she would get no help from him, and the sound of the storm raging outside emphasized the folly of attempting to milk.

Recognizing thankfully that for the moment her opposition was at an end, and promising himself that from now on he would take the softly-softly approach, he said briskly, 'So that's decided. Now I've a quick phone call to make.

Presumably the phone call would be to an employment agency, in the hope of finding himself a new PA.

'So if you'd like to fetch a mac, I'll meet you downstairs In a few minutes.'

She rose to her feet, and/ her legs feeling oddly shaky, went to do as he'd suggested.

Once again her feelings were in turmoil. Mingling with a

host of misgivings was a swift and fierce gladness that she wasn't going just yet.

Because of the weather, she had one more day on her island. One more day with Michael. She would forget her em-barassment, forget all her doubts, and do her best to enjoy it.

By the time she had washed her hands, belted a stone coloured mac around her slender waist, and made her way down to the hall, he was standing waiting by the front door.

He had pulled the car in as close as possible, but even so by the time he had helped her into the passenger seat the shoulders of his short jacket were spattered with rain and his ruffled dark hair was dewed with drops.

A strong wind was buffeting the treetops into a frenzy of activity, and heavy storm clouds were being driven across the sky like a straggling flock of grey ragged sheep.

As they climbed towards the road, through the water that streamed down the windows she could see that the sea was a boiling mass of white-topped breakers.

From being a small child she had loved, and been in tune with, all aspects of the elements. Now something inside responded to the wildness of the weather and, her heart lifting, she wanted to laugh aloud.

As though he sensed and shared her feelings, Michael turned his head to smile at her.

The short drive along the coastal road was quite spectacular, and when they surmounted the ridge Jenny caught her breath at the sight of the castle, bleak and imposing against the stormy sky.

Looking at it, she found herself quoting, "'Four grey walls and four grey towers..."'

Slanting her a glance, Michael offered, 'But not too many flowers at this time of the year.'

She was still marvelling how quickly he'd picked up that

spur-of-the-moment quotation when he added, 'I see you know your Tennyson.'

'After we did "The Lady of Shalott" at school he became a firm favourite of mine.'

'Mine too.'

'You like poetry?'

'Yes.'

She was surprised that so masculine a man should admit to enjoying poetry.

Seeming to read her mind, he asked, 'Why not? As a writer I love language in all its forms.'

'Of course. Have you always liked poetry?'

Driving through the castle gatehouse and beneath the portcullis, he answered, 'Since reading my first nursery rhyme at the age of three, and progressing to Marvell and Donne, it's been only too easy to get drunk on words.'

Words were the tools of his trade, she realized, so it made perfect sense.

Close at hand, the castle looked even more stark and dramatic, with its rain-drenched cobbled courtyard and its high stone walls running in water.

As they drew up close to a huge, iron-studded door Michael remarked slyly, 'I've always rather liked Andrew Marvell's, "To His Coy Mistress'".'

Watching the colour mount in her cheeks, he added, 'I see you know it.'

Then instantly contrite, he grimaced. 'Sorry, I shouldn't tease you. But you blush so beautifully that I couldn't resist it.' He touched her cheek. 'Forgive me?'

The look on his face made him irresistible, and her heart turned over.

'There's nothing to forgive,' she said huskily.

'A truly generous woman,' he commented with a smile.

Then, taking a large key from his pocket, he instructed 'Wait here.'

Having turned the key in the ornate iron lock, he hurried back through the deluge and held the car door against the strong gusts while she clambered out.

In the two or three seconds it took to get inside, the wind and rain beat into her face, almost stopping her breath and blowing loose strands of hair into wild disorder.

Closing the door behind them, Michael said, 'Phew!'

Strangely exhilarated, she raised a glowing face and smiled at him as she began to peel the stray tendrils of wet hair from her cheeks and tuck them back into the coil as best she could.

Thinking he'd never seen anyone more beautiful, he produced a spotless hankie and, shaking out the folds, used it to dry her face.

Her heart doing strange things and her smile dying away, Jenny stood rooted to the spot looking up at him, her lovely brown eyes wide and defenceless.

The urge to take her in his arms and cover her mouth with his was so strong it was like a physical pain, and he was forced to step back and remind himself firmly of the softly softly strategy he had decided on.

Jenny had been convinced he was about to kiss her, and when he stepped back she sighed with what she told herself was relief.

But somehow it felt more like regret.

Though she knew, and admitted, it was the road to nowhere, she had wanted him to kiss her.

Once again she had demonstrated just how dangerous it was to be near him, and if she was to retain any remaining pride or self-respect she must leave as soon as the weather would allow.

As he returned the damp square of cotton to his pocket, and

Smooth back his wind-ruftled hair, Jenny took a deep, steadying breath, and transferred her attention to her surroundings.

They were standing in a huge, panelled hall, with a massive Stone fireplace and a great oak staircase that climbed to a second-floor landing and a minstrels' gallery.

Picturing the hall with a blazing fire, the metal chandeliers lit dozens of candles, a colourful throng of people, and the long table groaning with food and drink, she knew that in its hey'day it must have been magnificent sight.

But now, in the flickering grey light that filtered through long, leaded windows awash with water, it looked bare and bleak and deserted.

Even so, she felt a warmth, the same sense of belonging, of coming home, she had felt on seeing Slinterwood for the first time.

Despite that aura of welcoming warmth, the air itself was cold and dank, and as though in response to the realization she shivered.

Noticing that involuntary movement, Michael said crisply, 'There's been no form of heating in this part of the castle for donkey's years, so I suggest we get moving.

'How much of the place do you want to see?'

'I'd like to see it all,' she said, her eagerness and excite-

ment returning with a bound. 'That is, if you don't mind?'

Secretly pleased by her enthusiasm, he said, 'I certainly don't mind, but if you get bored you'll have to tell me.'

How could she get bored when she would be seeing the Place she had wanted to see for as long as she could remember, the castle of her dreams?

'I won't get bored,' she said with certainty.

He led the way across the hall and through a door at the end. 'This is the east wing. Neither this, nor the north wing, have been lived in since the early eighteen hundreds, and are

empty apart from a few chests and settles and the odd fours poster bed.'

But, for Jenny, even the virtually empty rooms they walked through held an endless fascination, and she looked around her with unflagging interest.

When they reached the end of the north wing, Michael said, 'Beneath here are the dungeons. They're pretty grim-looking, but there's no record of anyone ever having died there.'

From the dungeons they made their way through archways and bare stone passages to the sculleries, kitchens, and storerooms, the servants' quarters and the servants' hall.

Then, having shown her the gatehouse, which had once been used to house soldiers, the towers, with their arrow-slits and spiral stairways and, above the family vault, the beautiful little chapel—which he told her was still used on special occasions—they returned via backstairs dimly lit by cobwebby windows to the main hall.

As they approached a door near the huge fireplace, above the mantel, she noticed a shield with a familiar design, a phoenix rising from the ashes.

She turned to ask Michael about it, but he was going on, 'And through here is the west wing. It was occupied until the

late eighteen hundreds, so the rooms are still fully furnished.' He led her through a grand living-room, an elaborate music room, a dining-room, a library, and then a magnificent long gallery.

The gallery was elegantly proportioned, with deep, leaded windows made of uneven panes of pale-greenish glass, down which rain streamed incessantly, making the light dim and wavering and giving the place an eerie, under-water feeling. 'It's absolutely beautiful,' Jenny remarked.

'It's said to be haunted.'

'Haunted? By whom?'

He found himself smiling at the excitement in her voice.

By a lady named Eleanor.'

'Why does she haunt the gallery?'

Lowering his voice to sepulchral tones, he said, 'It's a gory tale of love and hate and jealousy. Sure you want to hear it?' 'Quite sure,' she said.

SMILING at the eagerness in Jenny's voice, Michael began, 'When Lady Eleanor Grey was just eighteen, she fell in love with, and married, Sir Richard D'Envier and came to live at Mirren.

'For a few months they were extremely happy, but Charles, Sir Richard's younger brother, had also fallen in love with Eleanor, and each day he grew more bitterly jealous.

'Eventually, unable to stand it any longer, he hired a couple of cutthroats to waylay Sir Richard and kill him.

'But Richard, a courageous man, fought them off, and, though he was badly wounded, he managed to remount his horse and ride back to the castle, where he died in his wife's arms.

'They were perilous times, and because Eleanor was pregnant she was particularly vulnerable.

'As was the custom in those days, Charles, now head of the household, offered her and her unborn child his protection, if she would marry him.

'Still mourning her husband, Eleanor didn't want to marry again, but for the sake of her unborn child, she felt forced to seriously consider his proposal.

'What she didn't know was that one night after too much wine Charles had boasted that if the child was a boy, he would find some way of getting rid of it.'

Jenny, who had been listening with bated breath, urged, 'Go on.

'Though Eleanor had never liked her husband's brother, she had almost decided that she had little choice but to accept his proposal when something happened to change her mind. 'Charles had made one serious mistake. Because he believed his ruffians had bungled the murder, he refused to pay them.

'One night, in their cups, the pair aired their grievances, and the news got back to Eleanor. Her dislike of Charles turned into a fierce hatred, and a strong desire for revenge.

'Unaware that she knew the truth, Charles was pressing her for an answer to his proposal, but she bided her time while she thought up a plan to get him away from the retinue that invariably surrounded him.

'Eleanor often walked in the long gallery, and one evening she sent Charles a flirtatious little note saying that if he met her here, she would give him her answer.

'He came, all smiles, and prepared to embrace her. He didn't see the jewelled dagger hidden in the folds of her gown until she plunged it into his heart.

'A bloody and melodramatic tale,' Michael added in his normal voice.

'Did she kill herself too?'

'No. Apparently she had half intended to, but the thought of her unborn child held her back. Luckily for her, there were many at the castle who were still loyal to Sir Richard, and when Charles was hastily buried, and the news spread that he had died of a fever, no one challenged the story'

'So what happened to Eleanor?'

'Having given birth to a healthy son, whom she named Richard, she survived to see him grow into a fine young man, the image of his father.

'She lived to be forty-five. without ever remarrying, and

according to legend she still walks in the long gallery where she avenged the death of her husband.'

Jenny sighed. 'I'm pleased there's a happy ending after all.'

His smile just a little mocking, Michael asked, 'Don't you feel a spot of womanly pity for poor lovelorn Charles?'

'Certainly not,' she denied crisply. 'He only got what he richly deserved.'

Laughing at her honest indignation, Michael led her up to the top floor, with its dressing-rooms, retiring-rooms and magnificent bedchambers.

When she remarked on the fact that the rooms led straight into one another, he told her, 'At that time there were no upstairs corridors, which must have meant a distinct lack of privacy for any guests. Though they did manage to keep the servants well out of sight.'

'How did they do that?' she asked curiously. 'I'll show you.'

Crossing to one of the inner walls, he moved aside a hanging tapestry to reveal a small door.

'Where possible, the staircases and corridors used by the servants were built between the main walls, and the doors into the various rooms hidden behind hanging tapestries. That

way a servant could slip in to make up the fire, and disappear again without being noticed.

'And, speaking of things being hidden, there's a secret passage I haven't yet shown you.'

'A secret passage?'

Jenny, who had been fascinated by the architecture of the old place, the archways and steps that seemed to lead nowhere, the huge fireplaces and the beautiful old windows, gave a shiver of excitement.

Misreading that shiver, he said, 'You're cold.'

She was, frozen through, but she'd been far too engrossed to heed the cold.

'Come on, let's get going.'

Thinking he intended to leave, she protested, 'I'd love to see the secret passage.'

'And so you shall.'

Taking her hand, he hurried her down the stairs and across the hall, and, coming to a halt on the far side of the fireplace, ran his fingers along the oak panelling just above head height. There was a muffled click, and with a grating noise a section of the panelling moved to one side.

Peering excitedly into the cobwebby gloom, Jenny asked, 'Where does it lead?'

'The first short section leads to the south wing, which is where we're heading, and the second, much longer section, to an escape tunnel which goes down under the walls, through a gap in the rock, and eventually comes out about a quarter of a mile away.'

'Have you ever been through?' 'Oh, yes.'

'I've never been through a secret passage,' she told him. Then hopefully, 'If we're heading for the south wing, do you think we could go that way?'

Quizzically, he charged, 'You've been reading too much

Enid Blyton.'

With a grin, she admitted, "As a child, I loved her books. So could we?'

Amused, he agreed„ 'We could. But it will be dark and rough underfoot, and all I have with me is a small pencil-torch' 'I'm sure we'd manage,' she told him eagerly

What if I can't locate the lever that opens the panel to let us out?

Looking anything but concerned, she suggested, well,if