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At the foot of the hill Harriet lay in bed, stiff with tension and wide awake, telling herself that she would drop back to sleep again at any minute. She wasn’t going. He wouldn’t be there. It had been a very casual arrangement. Even if he was there, it would be madness. They had a business relationship and, unlike him, she had great respect for following the rules. In any case she had stayed in bed too long, and now there wasn’t enough time for her to get ready.
A split second later something stronger than reason—indeed, something remarkably similar to an adrenalin charge—energised Harriet into a sudden frenzied leap out of bed. It was not a decision she consciously made. Her hair needed washing, and she endured a semi-cold shower before fleeing back to her bedroom to drag clean clothes over her still wet skin. If Rafael was a no-show she knew she would absolutely hate herself. She dragged a comb ruthlessly through her wet hair and slicked it back with an agonised grimace. Hauling on her riding boots, she hurtled out to catch and saddle Snowball, thanking her lucky stars that the elderly mare was so docile.
On the lane, her senses straining to pick up the slightest sound of other human activity, she heard the rattle of a bridle and the shifting of restive hooves ahead. Her heartbeat quickened and she pressed Snowball on round the last corner at greater speed.
A slow smile of acknowledgement illuminated Rafael’s lean, bronzed features. He mounted his big black gelding with the athletic ease of a confident rider.
Harriet grinned at him and found it hard to stop, for suddenly she felt incredibly exhilarated. ‘Sorry I’m late.’
‘I was about to come down and tip you out of bed,’ Rafael admitted. ‘I was determined to have your company today. Would you like to see the estate before we hit the beach?’
‘I’d like that.’
‘I believe you chose not to try out the mare I offered you. Don’t you like her?’
Harriet coloured up. Missy, the palomino mare he kept with his gelding, was really beautiful, and probably a dream to ride. Accepting endless favours, however, made her feel uncomfortable. ‘She’s lovely, but I just didn’t have the time—’
‘If you exercised her, I would consider it an act of kindness.’
‘OK…’ They rode past the walled kitchen garden which was Tolly’s pride and joy. ‘I’ve been in there to admire Tolly’s vegetables,’ Harriet confided, and then, having found that opening, tackled a subject that had been nagging at her all week. ‘I didn’t know that Tolly had a son in the village…I was surprised he hadn’t mentioned him to me and I didn’t like to ask him why he hadn’t.’
‘I can explain that. Tolly’s lucky if he sees Robert once a year,’ Rafael replied grimly. ‘His wife died when Robert was a child, and her sister insisted on taking the boy into her home. Tolly was kept at a distance and Robert learned to look down on his father because he was in domestic service.’
Harriet winced in dismay. ‘Poor Tolly…’
‘He was grateful to the couple for being so good to his son. He hoped that things would change when Robert grew up.’
‘But they didn’t…?’
‘No. Tolly still only sees his son if he runs into him in the village.’
‘That’s sad,’ Harriet sighed. ‘I’m getting very fond of Tolly.’
‘He gave unstinting support and service to my mother long after all her relatives and friends had stopped calling.’ The rare warmth with which Rafael spoke welded her attention to his darkly handsome profile.
Harriet frowned. ‘Why did they do that?’
‘She was addicted to prescription drugs and often incoherent and confused.’ Rafael gave Harriet’s shaken face a steady appraisal. ‘Tolly kept the household together and ensured that she had regular medical attention. I could never repay all that he did for her.’
‘How did she get in such a mess?’
‘My father systematically destroyed her.’ Rafael made that statement levelly, a chilling look in his eyes. ‘He met her in Dublin when she was still recovering from the death of her first husband. He wore down her resistance and she married him within the year.’
‘What went wrong?’
‘Valente began to suspect that he came a poor second to his predecessor in her affections. After I was born he accused her of marrying him for the money to save Flynn Court from ruin.’
Harriet was engrossed in the story of his background. ‘So what happened?’
‘My father invited his mistresses home to humiliate her. When she tried to object he became violent, and she ended up on medication. He then divorced her and retained custody of me by revealing evidence in court that, when she was at her lowest, she had had a brief affair. She never recovered from the public disgrace. I was only allowed to visit her for six weeks every summer. She died when I was fourteen…long before I was in a position to do anything to help her.’
The flash of bitter pain she saw in his eyes touched Harriet to the heart. She understood how much his inability to help his fragile mother must have marked him. He had been powerles
s, as children so often were, and the guilt and regret were still with him, even though it was hard to see what he could have done. Without hesitation she reached across to touch his arm in a quiet expression of sympathy. ‘I should think that your visits meant a great deal to her, so you did do something for her just by being there.’
Rafael was stunned by that gesture. For a split second his fierce pride threatened to make him react angrily, but the warm-hearted concern in her clear gaze was too open to cause offence.
Harriet, however, was thoroughly ashamed of her own blinkered vision. He was rich beyond avarice and she had naively assumed that he had always had everything he desired, and a wonderful childhood to boot. Now she could hardly credit that she could have been so superficial and prejudiced. She thought it very probable that his unhappy background had driven Rafael into becoming the high achiever and tough survivor that he was.
