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'I could do with that tea,' Luke told her affably as he sat at the table, bouncing the gurgling child on his knees, and Annie turned back to the chore in hand, foolish and unfathomable tears stinging at the back of her eyes. He was doing his utmost to make the best of a difficult situation, acting as though he found it perfectly normal to be isolated here with a woman who'd made it plain she despised him, wanted nothing to do with him.
The equable front was, of course, solely for the child's benefit. And when Jamie was safely tucked up in bed for the night Luke would turn his unwanted attentions to her! It was a terrifying thought. She couldn't hide behind the Professor because he, poor man, w
asn't here, and Jamie would cease to be a barrier when he'd been put to bed. Something would have to be done about it. Despite despising Luke for his patently dishonourable intentions she knew, to her shame, that he would only have to touch her to have her craving for the magic she would find in his arms.
Her face paler than normal, she took two mugs of tea over to the table, putting his down at his elbow, cradling her own in hands which annoyingly and persistently shook. Keeping her voice light, her tone friendly because she didn't want Jamie to pick up bad vibes, she told him, 'You may as well leave as soon as you've had your tea.' She sipped at her own, ignoring the slow, knowing smile, the almost imperceptible shake of his head. 'We don't both need to be here to look after one small boy,' she tacked on firmly, 'and I'm sure there are plenty of business matters crying out for your attention.'
Now talk yourself round that, she thought, then listened, flattened, as he did just that.
'There's nothing that can't wait for a couple more days, and I wouldn't dream of leaving you to cope on your own. And in any case—' he ruffled Jamie's glossy dark curls '—two heads will be better than one. What I know about looking after children could be engraved on the head of a pin, and I dare say you don't know much more.'
It was almost a question and, carefully, she didn't answer it. She drained her mug instead and carried it over to the sink. She was about as knowledgeable on the needs of a three-year-old child as she was on the internal workings of a spacecraft! She had had a peculiar childhood, never staying in one place long enough to make friends, to be absorbed into another's family life and to come into contact with younger members of any family.
But she wasn't going to explain that, or anything else about herself to him, and it was apparent that he wasn't going to budge on his stated intention to stay put, so she would be wasting her breath if she tried to make him change his mind.
But she could, and would, distance herself. She said, 'I'll let Norman know what's going on,' and swept out of the room, taking her time about phoning because time spent away from Luke was time well spent.
Eventually, though, she settled herself on a leather chair behind a cluttered desk in what had to be the Professor's study. Like all the other ground-floor rooms she had just poked her nose into, it was high-ceilinged and spacious but in here, at least, an effort towards comfort had been made.
A fire was laid in the cavernous hearth and there were a couple of shabby but comfortable-looking armchairs. She wondered whether to put a match to the kindling and decided against it. Luke could light a fire and spend the long evening in front of it if he wished. She would take herself to bed as soon as Jamie was asleep. And she would lock her door.
With that thought on her mind she dialled, her fingers shaking, and she wondered disgustedly what had happened to her to make her feel so afraid, so vulnerable. Luke might torment her with words but he wouldn't force himself physically where he wasn't wanted. But perhaps, the intolerably honest thought popped into her mind, perhaps he already knew he was wanted!
She caught back a groan as Joan's voice cut out the dialling tone. She had expected to speak to Norman, had actually forgotten he was lying flat on his back in bed, and was guiltily amazed by how little she had thought of him since she'd left Seabourne in Luke's company.
'Oh, what a shame!' Joan's sympathy was patently superficial. 'I'll pass the message on, and of course you must stay as long as you're needed. There's no hurry for you to get back here. I've made Norman nice and comfortable. I got the man next door to carry the television through to his bedroom, and my armchair, so we'll both be able to watch together after we've had supper. I'm giving him his favourite home-made tomato soup and a nice piece of grilled sole…'
Which only goes to assure me that I am totally unnecessary to Norman's well-being, Annie thought as she murmured non-committal responses in what she hoped were the right places. Norman didn't want romance, and if he thought he was being offered the passion of a lifetime he would be appalled. What Norman needed was a wife who would look after his creature comforts, unravel life's knottier threads and be a compatible companion. Joan, she realised, was far better suited to that role than she.
And was he necessary to her well-being? Annie asked herself as she settled the handset back on its cradle. The answer was no.
She pushed herself up out of the chair and stared with empty eyes at the shabby, book-lined room.
She and Norman had decided to marry for various reasons, all of them sound. Companionship, a secure and settled home life based on a mutually caring relationship. Mutual respect. But since the business of Monk's Hall the respect had disappeared. It had been the cornerstone of her regard for him, and now that it had gone the whole edifice was crumbling. And since Luke had appeared on the scene she had been seeing sides of Norman's character she had never noticed before, sides she didn't like. Luke, with his personal and highly potent magnetism, had made her see herself in a new light, too, perhaps opening her eyes to things about Norman she didn't like.
She knew then, with quiet certainty, that she would never marry Norman.
'Come and get it!' The loud masculine call, closely echoed by a piping treble, penetrated the thickness of the study door and Annie lurched out of her introspective mood, a frown of annoyance darkening her eyes as she remembered her earlier decision to explore the upper regions after phoning her news home.
She had been determined to pick out a room for her own use, and stow her gear, before facing Luke again. But it would seem he had rustled up a meal and she would have to go back to the kitchen, if only for Jamie's sake. She and Luke had to make things seem as normal as possible.
In direct contrast to her own bleak thoughts the kitchen was bright and welcoming. Wondering at herself, she allowed her qualms, her mental reservations regarding the devious Luke Derringer to slip out of her mind quite effortlessly.
Informing herself that she was going to act as though everything was hunkydory for the next half-hour or so, simply because Jamie had suffered enough traumas for one day without her adding a hostile atmosphere to his suppertime, she wrinkled her nose and said, 'Something smells good.'
Jamie announced gruffly, 'Luke's cookin' our dinner.'
'Is that so?' Annie's smile was dry. She was already acquainted with several sides of his multi-faceted personality, and had imagined various others—none to his credit! But never would she had added 'domesticated' to her list.
'His lordship,' Luke tilted his head in Jamie's direction, 'placed the order. I hope you like fish fingers, baked beans and noodles.' He turned from the Aga, a slotted spoon in one hand, a frying pan in the other, and his grin was devastating. It made his face impossibly attractive. Annie flinched as her breath caught in her throat, but she gave back his smiling, appraising glance with a detachment she was proud of.
He had, she noticed, opened the neck of his shirt, and he looked hot, but not bothered. She was the one who was bothered, she thought resignedly as she scooped Jamie up in her arms and carried him over to one of the dressers where she busied herself by rummaging through the drawers for cutlery.
'When are you going to grow up, Annie, and lose your need for a shield?' Luke enquired pleasantly, and she stiffened immediately, setting the child down on a chair and hoisting it near to the table.
She wasn't going to dignify that taunt with an answer. The trouble was, she admitted tiredly to herself, he was right. Oh, not about the need to grow up, she was completely adult, thank you very much, but she had used Jamie as a shield, picking him up, showing him how to lay the table, acting as though Luke weren't in the room, talking to Jamie because she didn't want to admit that Luke was here, admit that he existed. He posed a threat, and that was something she would prefer to pretend to ignore.
But Luke wasn't so easily deterred. He had doled the unsophisticated ingredients of a meal on to three plates. Serving Jamie first, Annie felt his eyes on her, heard his low tones as an invasion of her mental privacy.
