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Not passion, she thought sombrely. That was too much for him to ask and he must know that. But certainly he would want...acquiescence, at the very least, and there was no certainty she could achieve that.
She sat down at the dressing table, drawing the brush through the silky tendrils of her hair before applying moisturiser to her skin and a touch of subtle colour to her mouth.
Warpaint, she thought with self-derision, wishing she had some chain mail to go with it.
She hesitated on the gallery leading to the stairs. All this part of the Hall was new to her. The room she'd occupied after the fire, while her grandfather had been kept in hospital, initially for observation, was at the other end of the house. She wasn't sure she'd ever be able to find it again in the twists and turns of the passages. Or that she even wanted to...
But she couldn't halt the relentless pressure of her memories.
On the night of the fire Adele's welcome, she recalled with a grimace, had been sugared, but her eyes had been unsmiling. And there had been no warmth either from the housekeeper who'd showed her upstairs.
It's not my fault, Cally had wanted to tell them both. She'd actually reached the hospital exit before she was stopped dead in her tracks by the realisation that her home didn't exist any more—or any of her belongings. That she had literally nowhere to go.
Nick's hand had closed on her arm. 'You're coming with me,' he'd stated, in a tone that brooked no argument, and almost meekly she'd allowed him to lead her to the car.
He must have telephoned ahead from Casualty, because the room had already been made up for her, and hot soup had been waiting on a table drawn up by the gas fire.
And Cally, to her own surprise, had found she was ravenous.
She'd just put down her spoon when Adele had appeared.
'I've brought you a comb and a toothbrush,' she announced, handing over two cellophane-wrapped packets. 'And I suppose you'll need a nightgown.' She tossed something black and totally diaphanous on to the bed.
'Thank you,' Cally acknowledged woodenly, hiding her dismay. 'I'm sorry to put you to all this trouble.'
Adele shrugged. 'It's Nick's house now. He gives the orders. And being homeless must be ghastly.' She paused. 'If you leave your clothes outside the door, they'll be laundered ready for the morning. You can't wear them again like that. They absolutely reek of smoke.' She perched elegantly on the arm of the small fireside chair opposite. 'I suppose tomorrow you'll start looking for somewhere to rent, while all the financial stuff gets sorted?'
'Yes, I suppose I will,' said Cally, who couldn't look beyond the next five minutes. There'd be insurance, she thought. But could they afford to rebuild? Shouldn't they be trying to downsize instead? And could she ever persuade Grandfather to agree?
But she didn't want to think about that now. Her eyes were stinging, her throat was dry, and her head felt as if it had been split with an axe. Unconsciously, she lifted a tired hand to rub her forehead.
'Headache my pet?' Adele's tone sparked with malice. 'Well that's a tried and tested excuse. But I doubt it will cut much ice with your gallant rescuer.'
Cally looked at her wearily. 'I'm sorry, but I don't think I understand.'
'No?' Adele gave a light laugh. 'Well, I'm sure it will all be made clear to you pretty soon. In the meantime, I recommend a couple of aspirin. You'll find some in the bathroom cupboard.'
She rose and walked to the door with studied grace, leaving Cally to stare after her.
She shouldn't waste time worrying over the things Adele said or did, she told herself as she sought out the bathroom and the aspirin. The older woman was pure bitch, from her painted toenails to the top of her expensively coiffured head, and always would be. She was only sorry she was obliged to share a roof with her, even for one night.
The tablets swallowed, she ran herself a bath in the big old-fashioned tub, and sank with a sigh into clean hot water. She'd used nearly half a bar of lily-scented soap and a handful of shampoo before she began to feel human again.
She might not be too happy about being a guest at the Hall, but she was certainly going to be unhappy in luxury, she decided, looking at the deep pile of white fluffy towels awaiting her. She dried herself quickly, then wrapped a fresh bath sheet round her body, sarong-style, and covered her damp hair with a turban.
She trailed back into her room, and paused with a small gasp—because Nick was there, standing by the bed, examining Adele's nightdress with a sardonic expression.
'Your choice?' he enquired pleasantly, holding it up, making her acutely aware how sheer it was.
'Oh, no.' She was cross to find herself stammering slightly, and self-consciously readjusting her towel. 'I don't wear that kind of thing. I—I think Lady Tempest meant to be kind.'
