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BESSOPENEDHEReyes to a blur of green. She blinked, realising they were driving through a wood and she’d fallen asleep on the drive out of London.
Despite Jack next to her in the car!
Even dopey from sleep, she felt that familiar fizz in the air telling her that he was near.
She should have been too wired to sleep with him beside her. Too annoyed and wary. But rest had been in short supply since the Caribbean. Add to that the stress of the paparazzi.
And you’re pregnant. That can make you tired.
Bess blinked, sideswiped again by the realisation. How long before the shock wore off?
A haze of blue appeared beneath the trees. She smiled. She’d always loved the bluebell woods at home, loved spring there and the way the gardens burst into life.
She swallowed, surprised to find her throat constricting. Because Moltyn Hall wasn’t home anymore. Jillian preferred her not to visit and Bess’s father liked to keep Jillian happy. It had been years since Bess had enjoyed spring there.
She blinked again, blaming changing hormones for the rush of emotion. Rather than sit up, she kept her face turned to the window, her cheek pressed against cushioned leather rather than face Jack. She needed to get herself under control.
The car rounded a curve and they emerged from the trees. She had no idea where they were except it was beautiful, a swathe of green dipping away from wooded hills. Water glinted at the bottom of the shallow valley and then... Her breath caught and she sat up.
Bess had grown up in an imposing old home that had been passed down through generations of aristocratic ancestors. She’d spent weekends in houses that were national treasures and in one instance, a turreted castle. But she’d never seen anything quite like this.
Sunlight danced on the square moat surrounding an old house that was a hodgepodge of warm brick with half-timbered sections. It looked Tudor in age or maybe older. With light reflecting on large mullioned windows and ornate stone carving over a massive doorway with its own footbridge, it belonged in a romantic fairy tale.
Bess stared. There were decorative chimneys, the pattern of each unique. Bright daffodils crowded the edge of the moat where a couple of swans glided. The whole place had an air of cosy charm that belied the mansion’s size.
‘You like it?’
Jack’s voice burred over her skin, drawing it tight. But for once her physical response to him didn’t bother her. She was too wrapped up in delight.
‘It’s remarkable,’ she breathed. ‘You said a house in the country. I didn’t expect this.’
A moated manor house. So beautiful it made her heart squeeze. Maybe it was the tranquillity. Or the pretty, slightly overgrown garden, the perfect place to while away a summer’s afternoon or for children to play hide and seek. Even the glimpses of a walled garden and an old-fashioned water mill on a small lake beyond the house added to the feeling that this was a magical place.
‘You like it then? It’sgoodremarkable?’
She turned, surprised that he’d asked a second time, to find him scrutinising her closely.
‘Of course, good remarkable.’ How could he doubt it? But Jack’s taste ran to opulent hotels where everything was perfect. This old gem was weathered and quirky. Breathtaking and no doubt incredibly expensive, but homely and endearing in a way she suspected would never appeal to him.
‘It’s...’ She shook her head. It was the sort of place she could imagine making a home. ‘Thisis where I’m going to stay?’
Jack had mentioned staff but she’d imagined something smaller, more ordinary. This place spoke to her and made her wonder if he understood her better than she’d thought.
It had to be coincidence that it matched her so well. He obviously knew the owner who was happy for her to be here. It was sheer coincidence that the hideaway he’d found made her heart sing.
‘Yes, the owners are away indefinitely and it’s ideal. It’s in the middle of a private estate and there’s good security so you don’t need to worry about paparazzi.’
Bess turned to the house. Naturally Jack saw privacy and seclusion, rather than the romantic beauty of the place.
That highlighted their differences. It wasn’t that Jack didn’t have a heart or that she wasn’t practical, but she doubted he’d look at a place like this andfeelits warmth.
The car stopped near the stone bridge across the moat. ‘Come on. Let’s get you settled.’
Jack stifled a smile as they crossed the bridge and entered a square courtyard, the house surrounding them on four sides. Elisabeth’s eyes shone as the housekeeper welcomed them and led them on a tour.
His instinct had been right. His wife approved. The tension that had sat between his shoulder blades since Paris unravelled a little.
He remembered her showing him around Moltyn Hall, her childhood home. She’d spent little time on the remaining heirloom pieces, the valuable ones her father hadn’t been able to sell. But she’d lingered lovingly in the long gallery with its ancient, uneven wooden floor and mullioned windows looking over the rambling park. She’d grinned over the secret passages and parchment map that, according to family lore, led to unfound treasure. She’d clearly adored the slightly unkempt walled garden and vast grounds.
