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Taken aback, Harriet shot him a questioning glance. ‘I’m not qualified to offer my opinions to a designer—’
Rafael turned her round to face him and trapped her hands in his to bring her closer. ‘I think you are. I like the colours you wear. I like your taste. Don’t be offended when I say that the folly looked like a hovel when your cousin lived there. You’ve somehow transformed it, with paint and cushions, into cosy and inviting.’
An involuntary laugh fell from her lips. ‘Rafael…you can’t do cosy in a Georgian mansion with fifteen bedrooms!’
‘Why not? Possibly “advisor” wasn’t the right label to employ. You would be the ultimate authority on colour schemes and so forth. I’m no good in that line.’
‘You mean, you’re not interested…’
An unashamed grin of acknowledgement slashed his lean, dark features. ‘You know me so well. Are you worrying about the time factor?’
‘Well, no, I hadn’t got that far—’
‘You needn’t. I’d keep the current manager on at the yard, to ensure that you had more free time for the Court.’
‘Stop trying to steamroller me into agreement. Why are you asking me to do this? There must be loads of more suitable choices.’
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‘No. I trust only a very select circle of people.’ Dark golden eyes held hers levelly. ‘This is a personal request, and as such unusual for me. I admit that I would hesitate to approach any other woman with it…’
Bewilderment made her frown. ‘But why?’
‘I know you’ll accept it in the spirit it’s intended, without imagining that it’s a prelude to wedding bells,’ he extended dryly.
Will-power kept her smile from freezing round the edges.
‘I won’t ever marry,’ Rafael imparted flatly.
Hurt and embarrassment tipped into a momentarily powerful desire to slap him. Why was he talking in such a way? Had she seemed too keen? Too affectionate, too happy, too caring? Last night she had given way to temptation and picked up his discarded shirt. Did he sense love, like an earthquake warning, on the periphery of his precious single life? Had she spooked him into feeling that such an in-your-face warning was necessary?
‘I think that’s a very wise decision on your part,’ Harriet assured him, with all the warmth she could muster. ‘You’re just not marriage material.’
Rafael had always thought that too, but for some reason when Harriet agreed with his own view of himself he felt grossly insulted, and valued at far less than his deserved worth. ‘Why not? How do I differ from other men?’
‘You’re very self-sufficient—’
‘Next you’ll be saying you go for guys that cry, and stuff like that,’ Rafael derided. ‘I wonder how enthralled you would be with some weak, needy character who always needed to lean on you for support!’
‘Thankfully, I have no idea.’ Harriet had nothing more to say. She had felt the urgency of her own hurt, stepped back from it, and resolved not to let her thoughts travel in forbidden directions.
‘So what else is wrong with me?’ Rafael asked with lethal cool.
‘I didn’t say anything was wrong with you. You are the one who told me that you don’t do love or commitment.’
In the middle of the night he listened to the deep, even timbre of her breathing. She was enjoying the sure, sound and thoroughly irritating slumber of someone with an untroubled mind. In the moonlight, he punched his pillows and shifted position for the fiftieth time. He wanted to shake her awake and demand to know in what terms she saw their affair. He might not do love and commitment, but he did not do cheap, meaningless sexual flings either. He possessed deep emotions. He might not be in the habit of showing them, but the feelings existed nonetheless. He could be sensitive, considerate, caring. He could be anything he wanted to be. He made a real effort to please her too—although he was willing to admit that that was no sacrifice, as pleasing her invariably meant pleasing himself equally.
After all, what other woman could happily talk about horses all day? Search cheerfully through thoroughbred bloodlines and discuss breeding options with sincere interest? She might not have known much in that area to begin with, but she was a fast learner. What other woman would happily occupy herself while he worked, without a single whine of complaint or any attempt to regain his attention? She liked to read and go for long walks. Simple pleasures. And she seemed so straightforward, tranquil and undemanding…Yet here she was, sending him up the walls with frustration!
Harriet found a text waiting on her mobile the next morning. It was from Alice—her first communication after months of silence.
Must c u 2 talk. Wen?
Harriet was delighted, and messaged straight back to say she’d be in London within thirty-six hours. Rafael made no comment, but he disapproved of Harriet’s enthusiastic response and willingness to forgive the younger woman’s betrayal. In his mind Alice was one link short of Luke, and as such a highly suspect element in Harriet’s life, liable to cause grief.
The wedding celebrations of his third cousin, Teresina, and her bridegroom, Alfredo, began early, with a sumptuous buffet breakfast for the bride’s relatives at her home. Harriet was overwhelmed by the friendliness of her welcome.
There was only room for close family in the tiny church where the ceremony was held. Teresina, a shy brunette, emerged on her new husband’s arm to preside over the wedding banquet laid out on long trestle tables below the chestnut trees in the village square. Course after course was served, each dish seemingly more elaborate than the last. One of the guests got up to sing, several had brought musical instruments to play, and at one stage most of the children present formed into a choir to serenade the blushing bride and groom. The entertainment was delightfully informal and great fun.
