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The words rang across the table and she flinched. ‘I do not want what you can offer. Anyway, what’s wrong with dating suitable guys? This coming from a man on the lookout for a “suitable” wife.’
‘That’s different. You’ve stopped looking—you’ve given up. I don’t want love, but I’m still up for sex and companionship.’
‘Well, I don’t need those either. From anyone.’ Reaching for her glass, she lifted it and took a gulp of wine, placed the crystal flute down and exhaled on a sigh. ‘This isn’t a topic I want to discuss.’ Her words dripped ice. ‘Perhaps we could make this business dinner a tad more businesslike.’
Good job, Gabe. Slow hand-clap, please.
Etta’s love life was zip to do with him—so why was he rocking the boat when he needed her on board. He cut a piece of tender fillet steak, alongside some of the buttery, floury potato terrine and balanced the forkful on the edge of his plate.
‘So let’s talk business.’
* * *
Business. Business, business, business. The byword, the watchword—the only word.
It was a mantra Etta repeated to herself every waking second the following day, until they drew up outside the imposing exterior of Derwent Manor. Relief washed over her—now she could get to work, down to business, and forget the stupid conversation of the previous night.
Mortification mixed with sheer horror—she’d pretty much admitted to a physical attraction, had laid out the sorry state of her love-life and witnessed his reaction: shock mixed with compassion. With a dose of psychoanalysis. If romance isn’t for you maybe you should consider what someone like me can offer. Instead of dating the type of guys you think you should be with.
The words had stung then and the memory of them stung now. The smarting was worsened by a trickle of temptation to cross that line and succumb to their attraction. Become one of those liberated, passionate, and warm women he’d waxed so lyrical ab
out.
Enough. Business. No more personal conversations or even thoughts. To be on the safe side she’d requested breakfast in her room and had feigned sleep for the entire journey to Derwent Manor.
Now, as she faked a yawn, she gazed at the manor and nearly choked—of course she’d seen pictures, but nothing could have prepared her for the sheer grandeur of the Elizabethan-style building. The turreted, many-windowed stone building was immense, on a way more opulent scale than the word manor suggested.
‘It’s so big!’
‘There was a manor on this site as far back as the thirteenth century, but the building was pretty much scrapped and rebuilt in 1590. It took eight years and who knows how much money. Then in Victorian times it had another makeover—thanks to the Duke at the time cashing in on various industrial schemes. Nowadays we live in some of it, display other rooms to the public and desperately try to pay the maintenance. Kaitlin, Cora, and I used to picture the house actually eating money.’
Etta tried to imagine the heating bills, the maintenance costs, and quite simply couldn’t. No wonder the Derwents had to dedicate their lives to raising money.
‘What do you want to do first?’ Gabe asked. ‘I could give you a tour, or...’
Etta opened the car door. ‘Actually, I’d like to get started. So if you can show me to the records room that would be fantastic.’
Ten minutes later Etta surveyed a room piled with dusty tomes. Shelves adorned the walls and humidifiers stood in two of the corners. An enormous ornate desk was tucked into another corner, stacked with piles of papers and old photo albums.
‘I think this is what is known as one damp mess,’ Gabe said.
‘To me it’s like a treasure trove, waiting to be opened. So if it’s OK with you I’ll get stuck in.’
‘Not until we discuss some security measures. By now Tommy will know you’re here. Press coverage wasn’t huge, but there was an online article saying that I’d hired you and a bit about the fair—he may well have read it.’
Her anticipation at the prospect of losing herself in the fascination of the past came up against the reality of the present, and fear shivered through her. Tommy was going to be livid when he realised Cathy wasn’t with her, and the thought of his anger unearthed a swathe of memories. The thud of her heart, the futile entreaties, the pathetic ways she had tried to appease him.
Gabe muttered an expletive under his breath, stepped forward, and encased her hands in his.
Etta allowed herself one brief instant of reassurance and then pulled away as the feeling of reassurance turned to something else—a heat, an awareness of the feel of his skin against hers...
Business. ‘I’m sorry. I’m fine.’
‘This room is safe, and it doesn’t lead directly onto the grounds. Here.’
Automatically Etta stretched out a hand and he placed a white box in her palm.
‘It’s a panic pendant. You press the button and an alarm runs to my phone.’
