The Bedroom Surrender

It was a Sunday, midsummer in England. Adam left his London residence, looking forward to the pleasure of driving his Aston Martin into the country and collecting his daughter from Davenport Hall where she had spent the first week of her school holidays with her best friend, who happened to be the niece of the Earl of Stanthorpe.

Adam’s ex-wife was delighted with that connection to the British upper class. Sending their daughter to Roedean was pure status snobbery on Sarah’s part—a ridiculous reason in Adam’s mind, but it wasn’t a big enough issue to argue over. Besides, Cate seemed happy there, didn’t complain about anything.

She’d just turned thirteen, his one and only child from his one and only marriage, and a very bright spark, indeed. He was proud of her, always enjoyed her company when she spent time with him. They had fun together, the kind of adventurous fun her mother had never appreciated—going places, experiencing new things.

To Sarah, there was no place like England and she wasn’t happy anywhere else, a fact she made plain by divorcing him three years after they were married. She didn’t want to spend her life gallivanting around the world with him. She was now married to a member of parliament and was the perfect politician’s wife, do-gooding with the best of them for public brownie points.

Adam wished her well. There was no acrimony between them. The divorce settlement had been more than generous and he still paid for whatever Sarah wanted for Cate. Money, he’d found, bought a lot of harmony. He could have their daughter with him whenever he wanted. Having made time off from business commitments for Cate’s summer holidays, it somewhat niggled him that she had chosen to spend the first week of it with her best friend. Didn’t she have enough of Celeste’s company at school? Or was Davenport Hall a big attraction?

Having been invited there for lunch to meet Celeste’s family before whisking Cate away, Adam took particular notice of the place when he arrived, driving slowly through the gateway and down a long avenue of massive trees, their branches intertwining overhead to form a sun-dappled tunnel. He had the eerie feeling of being drawn into some time warp.

Cate had told him the hall was over four hundred years old and the thickness of the tree trunks suggested they were of the same age, yet the leaves were a light pretty green showing a bright continuance of life. At the end of the avenue the driveway circled around a massive stone fountain, water splashing and tumbling in endless cascades, a sparkling pleasure. Beyond it stood an impressive mansion, three storeys high, much of its walls covered by ivy.

The impression of solidity and permanence was strong. This had been the home of the Earls of Stanthorpe for half a millennium. Adam had no need of deep roots himself, but he could feel its attraction here, the sense of security that undoubtedly came with nothing ever changing. Did this place have some special magic to it that appealed to Cate? Or was she being over-influenced by Sarah’s values?

He was greeted at the front door by an old butler who’d probably served the family for decades. Having identified himself, Adam was ushered into a huge hallway, a wide strip of rich red carpet bisecting a floor of black and white tiles, a gallery of portraits on the walls, obviously depicting generations of earls. Adam instantly thought he wouldn’t want to carry the weight of all this heritage on his shoulders, tying him to the one place for life.

Yet when he was shown into a drawing room of magnificent proportions and furnished with rich elegance, he could understand the tug of possessions that made their own seductive claim. There were three groupings of sofas and chairs and tables, one directly in front of a massive marble fireplace. But no fire was lit or needed. Sunshine streamed through a bank of six windows at one end of the room where a man and woman rose from another sitting area, smiling their welcome.

‘Mr. Adam Cazell, m’lord,’ the butler announced.

The Earl of Stanthorpe was tall and lean, but with none of the rather effete air Adam associated with aristocracy. He had dark intelligent eyes and a strong grip to his hand. ‘Hugh Davenport,’ he said, inviting informality. ‘A pleasure to meet Cate’s father. This is my wife, Rebel.’

Curious name for a lady of the establishment, and she was certainly a distinctive one—a mass of curly black hair tumbling to her shoulders, bright hazel eyes, an unusual angular jawline, a warm, winning smile of perfect white teeth.

Adam smiled back at her as he retrieved his hand from the Earl’s and offered it to his hostess. ‘How do you do?’ A silly greeting, he’d always thought, but it seemed appropriate on this occasion.

‘I trust you had a pleasant trip down from London, Mr. Cazell?’

‘Adam.’

‘Thank you.’ Her smile widened to a grin. ‘I’ve learned to be a bit cautious about jumping in with first names here in England. I’m from Australia and old habits die hard.’

Rather intriguing to find a dyed-in-the-wool English earl married to an Australian. Was he a rebel, too?

‘Please join us,’ she went on, gesturing to a nearby armchair. ‘The children are out walking the dogs but they should be back any minute.’

She’d barely finished speaking when Cate burst into the room, throwing the double doors to it wide open. ‘Hi, Dad! Saw your car coming up the drive,’ she breathlessly informed.

Celeste was right on Cate’s heels, along with a couple of Yorkshire terriers. ‘We ran but you got here first, Mr. Cazell. Oh, do shut up, Fluffy and Buffy!’ This to the dogs who were yapping at Adam—a stranger on their territory.

Two small boys raced in past the girls and the dogs, coming to an abrupt and rather shy halt at seeing Cate’s father, eyeing him up and down before the older one—possibly all of five—commented with considerable awe, ‘He’s as big as Uncle Zachary, Mum.’

Rebel laughed at the remark.

Then in strolled Rosalie James.

She looked directly at him.

And all Adam’s instincts transmitted a wild belief that the time warp in the tunnel of trees had been spiralling him towards this moment.

CHAPTER TWO

SO THIS was Adam Cazell…Cate’s father…

As her nephew had just said, as big as Zachary Lee, but what of his heart? From listening to his daughter, Rosalie had formed the strong impression that Adam Cazell didn’t give enough of it to Cate, whose discontent with her home life was all too evident. Celeste thought her best friend’s father was fabulous, but that had more to do with her image of him as a daring billionaire businessman with enormous buying power.

A colourful man, Rosalie thought, if viewed from the perspective of his flamboyant achievements, but close up…

Then the big man’s gaze locked onto hers, jolting her with an emanation of power that squeezed her heart and sent a weird shiver down her spine. Silver grey eyes…like bullets…tearing through defences she had raised a long, long time ago. She stared back at him, helpless to do anything else, feeling his aggression weakening every bone in her body.

Hugh rescued her, moving to draw the boys forward and introduce them. ‘These are my sons, Geoffrey and Malcolm.’

It forced Adam Cazell to look at them and say something appropriate, giving Rosalie enough recovery time to be more on guard when her introduction came.

‘And this is Rebel’s sister, Rosalie James.’

Politeness demanded she touch his hand. He seized complete possession of hers, strong fingers wrapping around it, pressing a hot imprint that felt like a claim on her entire body—his for the taking.

Resistance burned in her mind.

Nobody took her. Nobody!

‘Her sister?’ The assault of his eyes was briefly halted by a flicker of surprise at the relationship. He glanced at Rebel, then back to Rosalie, frowning.

‘No likeness,’ she dryly interpreted.

Celeste piped up. ‘Everyone in Rebel’s family was adopted, Mr. Cazell. From all over the world. Rebel is the English one…’

‘And you?’ he asked Rosalie, his eyes as sharp as steel knives.

Every instinct screamed to deny him any private information. She sensed he would maul it unmercifully. ‘My life is my own, Mr. Cazell,’ she said with quiet dignity.

‘Adam,’ he insisted.

She denied him the familiarity. Give this man an inch and he’d take a mile, and Rosalie was not about to travel his road which she’d already judged to be totally centred on what he wanted. She tore her gaze from his to send a quelling message to her chatterbox niece.

‘Let’s give Cate the chance to talk to her father, Celeste. She hasn’t seen him for…how long has it been, Cate?’

It was a deliberate barb, aimed at hitting some paternal guilt. Frustratingly, his daughter defused it. ‘Oh, Dad will get around to me in his own good time,’ she answered off-handedly.

Surprisingly Adam Cazell laughed, released Rosalie’s hand and swung towards his daughter, spreading his arms invitingly. ‘I could do with a hug, Catie mine.’

Her young face lit up with joy in the openly affectionate invitation. She flew at him and he lifted her up and whirled her around. ‘Dad, I’m not a little kid anymore,’ she protested, mindful of her dignity in this company but loving his uninhibited pleasure in her nonetheless.

He set her down with a look of helpless dismay. ‘The terrible teens,’ he moaned. ‘You’re only one small step into it. Does everything have to change?’

She huffed an exasperated sigh at him. ‘You have to face the fact I’m growing up.’