The Mistress of His Manor

‘Well, now you have. And, since we’re calling a spade a spade here, I won’t pretend the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.’ His eyes speared hers. ‘But that’s not my reason for being here tonight. I came to enjoy your company, so relax. I don’t have any shortcuts to paradise in mind right now. These twins you mentioned,’ he added. ‘Since they eat here regularly, I take it neither of them aspires to a closer relationship with you?’

Joanna shook her head, kicking herself for bringing the subject up. ‘They’re like brothers. I’m very fond of them, but they irritate me sometimes, too.’

‘Because they’re men?’

‘Right.’ She smiled crookedly. ‘The only man I know who never irritates me is my grandfather.’

‘Not your father?’

‘Jack’s too dictatorial not to irritate me sometimes, but I love him just the same.’

‘Fortunate man.’ March raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘So, Joanna, where do we stand, you and I?’

She thought it over. ‘I’d like us to be friends,’ she said cautiously.

‘Then we will be. Your house is a surprise,’ he added, stretching out his long legs.

‘In what way?’

‘Because you look like modern woman personified I expected contemporary furnishings and abstract art.’

Jo chuckled. ‘Anachronism in a nineteenth century house, March. Besides,’ she added, ‘this is how the house was when it was made over to me. I helped Kate choose the paint colours and some of the furnishings eleven years ago. When I was thirteen,’ she said demurely, ‘in case you’re wondering. But the chairs and some of the other pieces in the house belonged to the aunt who left it to Kate. How about you?’ she added. ‘Is your place all minimalist and leather?’

‘God, no—anything but!’ March’s eyes fastened on hers. ‘So. Now it’s established that my intentions are honourable, when can I see you again?’

‘Next week?’

March jumped up and pulled her to her feet and into his arms. ‘This weekend,’ he said firmly, and planted a kiss on her lips. He raised his head to look into her eyes, then kissed her again. ‘Saturday. Make a reservation for two at your friend Molly’s.’

Jo nodded rather than trust her voice.

He smiled triumphantly. ‘Good. I’ll ring you to find out the details. And now I’d better leave—before you change your mind.’

‘I won’t. How about some more coffee before you go?’ she suggested, surprised by how much she wanted him to stay a while.

‘Wonderful idea,’ he said, as he opened the door for her, giving thanks that he hadn’t frightened her off by kissing her. It had been a risk worth taking.

To Jo’s relief March did not follow her to the kitchen, which gave her time to recover from the kisses which, though brief, she could still feel like a brand on her mouth. He turned with a smile as she returned to the parlour with two mugs of coffee.

‘Your taste in literature is unexpected, Joanna.’

‘Ah, but I keep the cookbooks in the kitchen, and my romances and Georgette Heyers lurk upstairs in my little study! I enjoy a happy ending as much as any other female.’

‘I’m delighted to hear it.’ He took one of the mugs, impressed to find his coffee was black with a touch of sugar. ‘Perfect. You’re a very efficient hostess.’

‘Molly says the details are important, so I try to remember the various tastes of my guests. Not,’ Jo added wryly, ‘that it matters with the Carey twins. They eat whatever I put in front of them.’

March returned to the sofa. ‘You’ve known them a long time?’

‘Ten years or so. I met them at a very sad time in my young life, and they were a huge help.’

‘What happened?’

She looked at him for a moment. ‘Like your etchings, that’s best left until I know you better.’

‘Which,’ he informed her very deliberately, ‘you will do. And sooner rather than later—Miss Sutton.’ He grinned at her startled look. ‘I investigated your taste in poetry just now. Your name was on the flyleaf.’

‘I see,’ she said slowly. ‘Which reminds me: I still don’t know your other name.’

He drained his coffee mug and stood up. ‘It’s Aubrey. And now I really must go. I have a lot to do tomorrow.’

‘Back in the grafting house again?’

‘No. The weather forecast is good for the next week, which means I’m on grass-cutting detail while the weather holds.’

Jo stared at him in awe. ‘It’s your job to cut all that grass?’

‘Afraid so.’ He grinned. ‘Did you imagine I got this tan in Barbados?’

She eyed him in sudden doubt. ‘Look, we don’t have to go to Molly’s on Saturday. There are other places to eat—I could even drive to your local again.’

‘Absolutely not. It’s too far for you at that time of night.’ He moved closer. ‘Joanna, I swear I can spring for dinner for two with no problem—even at your friend Molly’s establishment.’

She flushed. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you, March.’

‘But you did,’ he said promptly. ‘You wounded my male pride. So kiss it better, please.’ He took her in his arms and tipped her face up to his. ‘Just a nice, friendly kiss between friends to say you’re sorry.’ But when their lips met the kiss heated to a long way short of mere friendly before he finally released her.

‘Thank you again, Joanna,’ he said, in tones very different from his usual lazy drawl. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Drive safely.’

Chapter Three

JOANNA cleared away in thoughtful mood. So he was March Aubrey. While he thought she was Joanna Sutton. Which she had been—at one time. But to explain would mean taking March into confidences about her adoptive parents. Far too personal with someone she’d known such a short time. Perhaps she should go back to Arnborough Hall Nurseries and make a few discreet enquiries before she got too involved. Because involved she was likely to be if she went on seeing March Aubrey on a regular basis. She hadn’t been kissed like that in a long time. Or ever.

Jo gave a sigh of relief later as she slid into the beautiful sleigh bed which had been part of Kate’s legacy from her aunt who, though single all her life, had probably not, according to Kate, been a maiden aunt. Definitely not, thought Jo, stretching. A bed like this was made for lovers. Which was why she made sure no male guest ever laid eyes on it. But the sudden thought of sharing the bed with March Aubrey was so unsettling she arrived at Logan Development next morning with shadows under her eyes.

‘The gardener kept you out late last night?’ said her father affably.

‘No,’ she said with truth.

‘Did you have a good meal?’

‘Yes.’ Also truthful. ‘How’s Kate this morning?’

Jack’s eyes, rimmed with darker marks of fatigue than hers, met hers unhappily. ‘She’s very tired. A man feels so bloody helpless at times like this—not to mention guilty. Which,’ he added hastily, ‘is hardly something to discuss with my daughter.’

‘Jack,’ she said gently. ‘Stop worrying. Loads of women have babies in their forties these days.’