Marriage On The Agenda

‘That’s right. Her parents owned a small business there.’

To Loris, the details of his modest background seemed at odds with his cultured voice.

‘Have you lived in the US long?’ she asked, wanting to know more about him.

‘For several years now.’

She thought he was going to leave it at that, when he added, ‘After my father died my mother got homesick for her birthplace and went back to Albany.’

‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’

‘One sister. When she left university she married the son of a local landowner. But there was nothing to keep me here, so I spent some time travelling, trying my hand at various jobs, before I made up my mind to settle in the States.’

His answers had been easy enough, but when he volunteered no further information, afraid of sounding nosy, she relapsed into silence.

Once the suburbs had been left behind them, from being unpleasant, the journey became positively hazardous. The country roads were dark and muddy, littered with snapped-off branches and storm debris.

In the bright tunnel made by their headlights Loris could see that a lot of the verges were partially flooded, and though Jonathan drove with care their nearside wheels almost constantly threw up a wave of water.

Just before they reached their destination a swollen stream that had overflowed its banks, and covered the low-lying road to what he estimated was an unnavigable depth, made a detour necessary. Feeling guilty at having dragged him so far on such a terrible night, Loris was seriously wishing she had plumped for a hotel.

‘I’m sorry about all this,’ she apologised.

Sounding quite unconcerned, he said, ‘You mean the conditions? Don’t worry—I’ve driven in a great deal worse.’

A few more minutes and they were passing through the dark and sleeping village of Paddleham. An occasional streetlamp lit up the driving rain, and strung high across the roadway a saturated banner announcing a St Valentine’s dance at the village hall flapped dementedly in the wind.

The Yew Tree came into sight, its inn sign swinging on the supporting chains. ‘We’re almost there,’ Loris said, making no attempt to hide her relief. ‘Just past the church there’s a turning off to the left, then about half a mile down the lane, also on the left, you’ll see the entrance to Monkswood. The gates should be open.’

The black and gold wrought-iron gates were open wide, and the Tarmacked drive was well-lit. Several sleek cars were parked on the paved apron in front of the house.

Jonathan drew up beneath the ornate lantern that hung over the porticoed entrance and, leaving the engine running, came round to help Loris out.

She couldn’t fail to notice that, parked between a Porsche and a Mercedes, the ordinary little car looked out of place.

Key in hand, she had opened the door by the time he had retrieved her case. A chandelier in the hall, and one at the top of the grand staircase, had been left on, but the rest of the house was dark and still.

‘I can’t thank you enough for bringing me,’ she said, as he handed over her case.

‘It was my pleasure.’ Briskly, he added, ‘Well, everyone seems to be in bed, so I’ll say goodnight and let you join them.’

As though her subconscious had already decided, she found herself saying, ‘Please, won’t you stay? I’d hate to think of you having to drive all the way back to town on a night like this.’

‘I wouldn’t want to put you to so much trouble.’

‘It’s the very least I can do. And it really is no trouble. Do stay. You can have Mark’s room.’

Though he never moved a muscle, Loris sensed his surprise. Obviously he’d presumed that she and Mark shared a room.

‘In that case I’ll be happy to.’

Crossing to the car, he switched off the engine and doused the lights before joining her in the hall and relieving her of her case once more.

When she had closed the door behind him, and shot the heavy bolts, she turned and led the way up the richly carpeted stairs and through a decorative archway to the right.

‘This is my room.’ Taking her case from him, she put it inside before crossing the wide corridor to open a door opposite. ‘And this is Mark’s.’

Switching on the lights, she led the way into a comfortably furnished bedroom decorated in masculine colours of blue and grey.

‘He doesn’t leave clothes here, so I’m afraid I can’t offer you any pyjamas.’

‘That’s all right.’ Jonathan smiled. ‘I don’t use them.’

Feeling her colour rise, she said hastily, ‘But you should find a new toothbrush and everything else you need in the bathroom cabinet.’

‘Thank you.’

A thought struck her, and she added regretfully, ‘Except a shaver, that is. I’m sorry.’

He shrugged. ‘Don’t worry. Though I can’t see myself with a beard, in an emergency I have been known to wear designer stubble.’

‘Well, goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Loris,’ he said gravely.

Feeling curiously restless and unsettled, she went back to her own room and was about to prepare for bed when she thought of her stepbrother.

Though Monkswood was virtually Simon’s second home, he wasn’t going to be here this weekend. Consequently, in his bathroom, there would almost certainly be a razor that their last-minute guest could borrow.

Without further ado she hastened barefoot along the darkened corridor to Simon’s room and went in quietly. Sure enough, on the bathroom shelf was an electric razor. If Jonathan Drummond hadn’t already gone to bed, she could give it to him now, ready for the morning.

As she reached his room she saw through the multicoloured fanlight above the door that his light was still on. Bearing in mind that not too far away people were sleeping, she tapped softly. When there was no answer, she tried again. Still no answer.

Perhaps he was in the bathroom?

She opened the door a crack, and could just make out the sound of the shower running. Deciding to leave the razor where he couldn’t fail to notice it, she slipped inside and tiptoed across the room to put it on the bedside cabinet.

Turning back to the door, she gave a half-stifled gasp. Just emerging from the bathroom, Jonathan was in the act of pulling on a short white towelling robe. His hair was wet and rumpled, and drops of water still clung to the fine golden fuzz on his legs.

Without undue haste or self-consciousness, he adjusted the robe and fastened the belt.

Thrown by how irresistibly sexy he looked, and feeling a sudden potent attraction, she stammered, ‘I—I did knock, but you must have been in the shower. I’ve brought you Simon’s razor. He won’t be wanting it this weekend.’

A well-marked brow rose. ‘Simon?’

‘My stepbrother.’

‘Ah, yes…’