His Defiant Mistress: The Millionaire's Rebellious Mistress / The Venetian's Midnight Mistress / The Billionaire's Virgin Mistress

‘Except Oliver Moore,’ he reminded her.

‘That’s right.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘After all, he is my godfather.’

‘So you said.’ Alex moved closer, struck by sudden compassion. ‘Are you still in mourning for your father? Surely he would want you to get on with your life?’

Sarah’s smile vanished. ‘As I keep pointing out, my life is my concern, and no one else’s, Mr Merrick.’

‘Message received,’ he said stiffly. ‘Goodnight, Miss Carver.’

Sarah felt very thoughtful as she climbed back up to bed later. If she were honest, and she tried hard to be most of the time, she knew she should have told Greg Harris that she’d arranged a night watchman for the cottages. But Alex’s highhanded message had really ticked her off. Though he’d certainly paid for it. Sarah grinned at the thought of the vice-chairman of the Merrick Group fighting off a large German Shepherd.

But what had actually sent Alex storming round here afterwards? He’d been so blazingly angry when she’d opened the door to him Sarah had felt a thrill of apprehension, afraid for a split second that he’d throw her on the floor and take his revenge in the time-honoured way. He’d certainly been hot to vent his rage in some way on the person responsible for his clash with Nero. But she hadn’t known he’d check up on her himself—had she? Sarah thought about it, and reluctantly admitted that she’d been aware of the possibility. Visiting the cottages to make sure she was safe had been a chivalrous gesture, and maybe—just maybe—she’d hoped that he would do it. But she would have expected Nero just to bark, not launch himself at Alex in attack mode. She would have a word with Ian on the subject. Injury to innocent visitors was something to be avoided. But, chivalrous or not, she reminded herself tartly, Alex’s name was still Merrick. And her reaction to it was still the same as the first time she’d heard it.

On her very first day at Barclay Homes she’d found that the firm was actually a subsidiary of the Merrick Group, which had swallowed up other building firms in the area. A small outfit like her father’s had never stood a chance. Sarah knew with the logical part of her that the Merrick Group had not caused his death. But the illogical, emotional side of her still held them accountable.

CHAPTER FOUR

SARAH SAW no more of Alex Merrick after their midnight encounter. But to her surprise—and disgust—she kept wondering if he’d ring, or call in again. To counteract this she worked like a demon on the last touches to the cottages while Harry painted the exteriors, and Ian moved into number two at night, rather than spoil any of Sarah’s work on the show house. When she ran out of indoor jobs she repointed the waist-high walls dividing the front gardens, and when she’d finished those Charlie Baker drove her to a local nursery to choose a flowering cherry for the back courtyard of the show house, and a Japanese maple for the front. It was only sensible to go the extra mile to make the properties as attractive as possible to prospective buyers.

‘Is something worrying you?’ asked Harry, as he helped her plant the trees one evening.

‘Yes. I’m wondering what on earth I’m going to do with myself when this lot goes up for sale.’

‘What are you doing this weekend?’ he asked, surprising her.

‘Nothing much. Why?’

‘How do you feel about barns?’

Sarah straightened, eyes gleaming. ‘Are we talking barn conversion?’

He smiled as he trampled the earth in round the cherry tree. ‘Could be.’

‘Tell me more—’ Her face fell. ‘But if they’re up for sale I can’t do a thing about it until I sell this lot.’

‘These barns are not for sale. Leastways, not yet.’

She wagged a dirty finger at him. ‘Stop teasing, Harry!’

He chuckled. ‘My sister’s married to a farmer. When I was there for dinner last Sunday Bob told me he’s had to cut back a bit, so he’s got three smallish barns he doesn’t use any more. He’s got planning permission to do them up, but not enough cash to do it with. If you offered to buy them for development I reckon he’d jump at the chance.’ He nodded in approval as Sarah’s eyes sparkled. ‘That’s better. You’ve been a bit down in the mouth lately.’

‘Have I? Sorry. Anyway, when could I have a look at the property?’

‘I’ll talk to Mavis when I get home and let you know.’ He looked up as a van came up the lane. ‘Here comes the nightshift.’

Sarah bent to hug Nero as he came bounding to greet her. ‘Hello, my lovely boy. How are you today? Hello, you two,’ she added, as the others came up the path.

‘Hi, there,’ said Josie, eyeing the newly planted Acer. ‘Gosh, it looks better and better here every time I come. Don’t you dare go lifting your leg on that tree, Nero.’

‘Don’t worry, Miss Carver, I’ll tell him not to, and he doesn’t need telling twice,’ said Ian proudly.

‘Of course you don’t, you clever lad,’ said Sarah, giving the dog a last stroke. ‘Right, then, time I went home and got cleaned up. See you tomorrow, Harry.’

‘I’ll give you a ring later, boss.’

Sarah felt weary as she drove back, conscious of a sense of anticlimax now the cottages were ready to sell. Tomorrow three estate agents were coming at different times to view.

When the phone rang while she was eating her supper Sarah seized it eagerly. ‘Harry—’

‘Afraid not. It’s Alex. Alex Merrick,’ he added, in case she was in any doubt.

The unexpected pleasure of her reaction struck her dumb for a moment. ‘Oh, hello,’ she said at last.

‘How are you?’

‘I’m very well.’

‘Glad to hear it. Are the cottages finished?’

‘Just about.’

‘Then let’s meet to discuss the sale. Friday would be good for me.’

He still wanted them, then. ‘Sorry. I can’t make Friday.’

‘When then?’

Never, for a Merrick, if she followed her instincts. But it would be interesting to see how high Alex would go with his offer.

‘Are you still there?’ he demanded.

‘Yes. I could do Saturday morning.’

‘Right. I’ll see you at the cottages at ten.’

When the phone rang again shortly afterwards it actually was Harry, with an invitation to Sunday dinner at the farm so she could have a look round.

‘How lovely! Please thank your sister for me, Harry.’

The houses passed the building inspector’s final examination with flying colours, and the visits by the estate agents went equally well. They forecast figures much higher than Sarah had dared hope—the highest from one of the more exclusive agents, who assured her he’d have no trouble in shifting all six houses if she put her business in his company’s hands.

But if she did Sarah knew only too well she’d lose a hefty percentage of her profit to them. But that was far preferable to selling them to a Merrick. Though she might as well meet Alex Merrick and know what figure he had in mind, if only for the pleasure of turning him down. The vice-chairman of the Merrick Group would probably beat her down mercilessly. Just let him try, she thought fiercely.

Instead of spending the evening glued to columns of figures on her laptop Sarah went early to bed that night, feeling more relaxed now the die was cast. She achieved a good night’s sleep for once, and turned up at the cottages next morning full of energy for the last minute touches. She swept and dusted throughout, then buffed up the latest thing in stainless steel door furniture on each of the cottages while Harry cleaned the windows.

‘But don’t let on about me doing women’s work,’ he warned, when they went down to the Green Man at lunchtime.

Sarah zipped a finger across her lips. ‘Not a word. Though you’ve done it miles better than this woman would have done.’