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He set a heaped plate in front of her. “I requested beef bourguignon. I seem to recall it was one of your favorites, and Cook confirmed that it was.”
Startled, she nodded. She noticed he called Mrs. Summerfield “Cook” the way his dad had. “I should have gone to see her, Mrs. Summerfield, as soon I got here.” She spoke the thought aloud, and then realized it was because she’d been derailed by Rex’s presence.
“She’s on part-time hours now but she’ll be back in the morning. She was looking forward to seeing you again, much like the rest of us.”
If he continued to be this charming it was going to be hard to maintain a reserved facade. When she looked down at the food she wondered how she could manage any of it, rattled as she was by his presence and his intentions. Tension racked her, and that wasn’t all. Every time he came close to her or even looked at her, she burned up with self-awareness. It was the possessive look in his eyes while she wore the dress he had chosen for her. It hadn’t even occurred to her that he would look at her as if he owned her, just because she had granted his request and worn the item. It had been a stupid mistake on her behalf, capitulating.
He served himself, then returned to the captain’s seat at the head of the table, opposite her. They were some eight feet apart and yet he managed to make her feel his presence without much effort at all. It stimulated her in every way. Devastatingly attractive and predatory, it was as if he was stalking his next sexual prey. She couldn’t help being aware of it and responding to him. She was a woman, after all. What she wanted to do was control that female response to him with her mind. It had to be possible, surely?
He looked so much at home. It irritated her. “How long is it since you bothered to come back here?”
Rex stared across her, a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth as if he was amused by the terseness in her question. “Eight years or so, isn’t it?”
Carmen knew exactly how long it was.
“Why didn’t you come back to the house after your father’s funeral?” She was very curious about that.
“People were treating me like the prodigal returned. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be that.” He picked up his fork and began to eat.
“The staff and the villagers are bound to feel that way about you, whether you stay or not.”
The frown he wore made her wonder. Did he feel as if he would be letting them down, not keeping the manor in the Carruthers family?
The beef was succulent and she managed to eat a little, even though the tension she felt made it difficult. The champagne helped, so she concentrated on that.
“It’s almost three years since I moved out,” she told him. “I left to be with my aunt shortly after Mum’s funeral. I came back once a year, on the anniversary of her accident. Your dad met me at the station and we walked up to the graveyard together, catching up on each other’s news as we went.”
Rex rested back in his chair and listened.
“He’d always take me for lunch in the pub in the village afterward and then put me back on the train. I didn’t see the house again until the day of his funeral.” She glanced around. “Very little has changed, though.”
“Mmm, some things don’t seem to have changed at all since I was last here.” He gazed at her, and again she felt the inference in his words. Was he talking about the fascination they used to have for each other all those years ago?
“I used to love this place,” he continued. “When I was a kid, it was great running around the corridors and the grounds. It was home then, but it didn’t last. When I was about eight years old my father told me about the dark side of mortmain, the dreaded responsibility of inheriting an old estate, the curse of the aristocracy. He predicted that I’d have it as a young man, and he was right. He told me he’d experienced it and he’d grown out of it.”
Carmen froze. Was Rex stating that he’d grown out of that sense of mortmain now, or what? Carmen wasn’t sure but it made her uneasy. She concentrated on the food for a moment, cautiously weighing her words. “It’s interesting that he warned you about it. I suppose he had to. An estate like this is capital intensive and Burlington Manor doesn’t generate a whole lot of cash. He was obviously trying to prepare you for what it entails.”
Responsibility—responsibility that he had walked away from. Rex’s business was young, and it needed money putting in, not taking out. She’d done her research and she knew how he stood financially. Not in bad shape, but not in a position to take on a cash sink like this place, not right now. The business she now owned was much more well-established and lucrative, and she could take the manor on and run it without making it anything other than what it was—a beautiful family home, a jewel in the Oxfordshire countryside.
“Absolutely,” Rex replied, “the manor is a hungry beast.”
He pushed his plate aside and rose to his feet. He lifted the cover from the dessert platters and carried the dishes over to her. “Strawberries and cream. Still good?”
It surprised her that he remembered her preferences.
She nodded.
He set the platters down, picked up a plump strawberry from the stack, dipped it into the dish of stiffly peaked cream and brought it to her mouth. He lifted his eyebrows expectantly.
Carmen inhaled sharply. She snatched the fruit from his fingers. “Get to the point. You’ve dragged me up here on a ridiculous scheme because you’re bored. Name your price and let’s get on with our lives.”
“Bored?” He laughed. It was so long since she’d heard the sound, and yet it was so familiar. “No, I’m not bored. Far too busy to be bored, but I’ve made time for this.”
“Why are you doing this, Rex? You don’t want the house. You never did.”
He returned to his seat. “Perhaps I need to be sure.”
So he did want it. Carmen felt her heart sink. She wasn’t about to give up, though. “You’ve brought me here under false pretenses.”
