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Desperate for him to be gone, she put her hands on her hips and stared pointedly at the door. But instead of leaving he simply stood and watched her in silence until she thought she would scream.
‘Why are you still here?’ she snapped finally. ‘Don’t you have some suits of armour you could polish or something? I thought you had a job running a restaurant.’
He shrugged, shook his head. ‘A chain of restaurants actually. But no. I’m entirely unoccupied.’
Her eyes narrowed. In other words, he was bored. And she was—what? The entertainment? ‘Well, I’m not,’ she said flatly. ‘So why don’t you go climb your towers and survey your estate?’
‘Turrets...’ Laszlo murmured. ‘From the Italian torretta. They help protect a castle from hostile intruders. At least, they’re supposed to.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m ready when you are,’ he added softly.
Prudence felt a niggle of dread. ‘Ready for what?’
He frowned. ‘Our walk, of course.’
His eyes were fixed on her shocked face and she shook her head. Her heart was suddenly pounding so hard she could hardly hear herself.
‘I said no, Laszlo!’
She took a step back and Laszlo stared at her mockingly.
‘Come on! You need some fresh air. And besides, Rosa gave me some linen to bring over to the cottage. I’ll never hear the end of it if I let you carry it. So either I can come with you now or I can drop by later.’
Prudence stared at him in silence; she felt like a mouse cornered by a cat. But surely she was being over-anxious? She glanced down at her demure navy blouse and olive-coloured work trousers. It wasn’t as though she was dressed for seduction. Besides—she bit her lip—she didn’t want him turning up at th
e cottage at night!
‘Fine. Let’s get it over and done with, then. But I’ll need to take one of these boxes back with me, so you’ll have to wait until I’ve sorted out the paperwork.’
Five minutes later she was walking resentfully towards the cottage, trying to ignore the fact that Laszlo was strolling alongside her, clutching what appeared to be nothing more burdensome than a pile of tea towels. To add insult to injury, the document box she’d chosen to bring with her seemed to have doubled in weight since they’d left the castle and her arms now felt as if they were on fire.
‘Here. Let me.’ A lean brown hand reached out towards her.
‘I can manage,’ she muttered, but Laszlo ignored her feeble resistance. Tugging the box out of her hands, he tucked it under his arm before continuing to saunter calmly by her side.
Determinedly she carried on walking, staring fixedly at the horizon until finally, and to her infinite relief, she saw the roof of the cottage come into view.
She stopped and turned towards him.
‘Thanks very much. I think I can take it from here.’ Looking up at him, she blinked, feeling suddenly hot and stupid as he smiled at her coolly.
‘You know, it’s hotter than I thought,’ he murmured, glancing up at the midday sun. ‘Perhaps I could just grab a glass of water?’
She caught the glint in his eye and gritted her teeth; he’d be asking for a pot of tea and biscuits next. Quickening her pace, she marched across the grass, fuming in silence.
Suddenly he was beside her again. ‘Why aren’t you talking?’
Eyes flashing with fury, she spun round to face him. ‘Mainly because I have absolutely nothing to say to you.’
She watched the corner of his mouth tug upwards.
‘Oh, I think you’ve got plenty to say to me,’ he said softly.
Feeling hopelessly out of her depth, she let out a breath and pointedly looked in the other direction.
Laszlo watched her intently. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve always thought talking was overrated and I can think of much better things to do with your mouth.’
Her chest grew tight. Things were getting too complicated. Breathing was suddenly difficult, and hastily she began to walk down the sloping path that led towards the cottage. The path was still damp from some overnight rain, and as her shoes slithered beneath her she almost fell. Her heart jerked as Laszlo reached over and caught her hand to steady her.
‘Careful,’ he warned softly. ‘Or is walking with me so traumatic you’d rather break your own neck?’
