One Summer At The Castle: Stay Through the Night / A Stormy Spanish Summer / Behind Palace Doors

‘I’m afraid that’s impossible, Miss Chantry. Mr Jameson is working, and it’s more than my job’s worth to disturb him.’

Rosa doubted that very much. From what she’d seen, the two men had a good working relationship, and it was extremely unlikely that Liam Jameson would risk that by threatening to sack Devlin if he was disturbed.

‘It would only take a minute,’ she said persuasively. ‘I want to ask him something.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Sam wasn’t budging, and Rosa stared at him in frustration. If only she knew where Liam’s office—den?—was. Evidently he didn’t work in the library, as she’d thought at first. But in a place of this size he could be anywhere.

‘Tell me what you want to ask him and I’ll deliver your message when he’s free,’ Sam suggested, but Rosa had no intention of trusting him.

‘It’s personal,’ she said, but although she held the man’s gaze for a long while, hoping to shame him into helping her, ultimately it was she who looked away.

Then another thought occurred to her. ‘You could give me his phone number,’ she said with inspiration. ‘I’ll ring him later.’

‘I couldn’t do that, Miss Chantry.’

‘Why not?’

‘Mr Jameson doesn’t give his private number to anyone.’

‘Then give me yours,’ mumbled Rosa ungraciously. ‘I’ll let you know where I’m staying, and Mr Jameson can ring me.’

Sam looked as if he wanted to refuse, but perhaps he realised that that would seem unnecessarily anal. Besides, he couldn’t really know that Liam wouldn’t speak to her if he went and asked him.

However, when he spoke it wasn’t what Rosa had expected. ‘Mr Jameson knows where you’re staying, Miss Chantry,’ he said, and now Rosa noticed the scrap of paper in his hand. ‘He asked me to give you this address.’

‘Oh!’ That stumped her. ‘Thanks.’ She took the paper from his outstretched hand and looked at it almost resentfully. ‘Does Mr McAllister know where this is?’

‘Everyone knows where Katie Ferguson’s guesthouse is,’ declared Sam scornfully. ‘This isn’t London, Miss Chantry.’

‘I don’t live in London,’ retorted Rosa hotly. ‘I come from a small town in North Yorkshire, Mr Devlin. Not some teeming metropolis, as you seem to think.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Rosa was sure he didn’t mean it. ‘I naturally assumed—’

‘You shouldn’t assume anything,’ said Rosa, enjoying having him on the defensive for a change. She glanced down at the paper again. ‘Thanks for this.’

Sam gave her a polite nod of acknowledgement. ‘I’ll let you know when the car arrives.’

‘Thanks,’ said Rosa again, and without another word Sam closed the door on her.

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_09bb34db-07bb-56ef-b7dd-2dad0cb25f6a)

‘HAS SHE GONE?’

It was later that morning, and Liam had just emerged from his study having spent a rather fruitless couple of hours trying to concentrate on characters who suddenly seemed as unconvincing as cardboard cut-outs.

He’d found Sam and Mrs Wilson in the kitchen on the ground floor of the castle, enjoying a coffee break, and he’d accepted a cup from the housekeeper with some gratitude.

He wasn’t in the best of moods, however, and his temper wasn’t improved when Sam said cheerfully, ‘Aye, she’s gone, Liam. Not but what she didn’t ask to speak to you again before she left.’ He gave his employer a knowing look. ‘I told her you were working and couldn’t be disturbed, but I don’t think she was suited.’

Liam scowled. He’d just burned his mouth on the hot coffee, and Sam’s announcement was the last straw. ‘You did what?’ he demanded harshly. ‘Why did you tell her that?’

‘Well, because you never like to be disturbed when you’re working,’ said Sam defensively. ‘Don’t tell me you expected me to come along to your office and break your concentration just because some lassie with more bluff than sense asked to see you?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

Liam’s scowl deepened, and Mrs Wilson made a hasty exit through the back door, murmuring something about needing some greens from the garden. Meanwhile, Sam stared at the younger man belligerently, although his face reddened with colour. ‘I think you heard what I said,’ he muttered defiantly.

‘And who appointed you my guardian?’ exclaimed Liam, equally unprepared to back down. ‘I know you didn’t like me bringing her here. You made that plain enough. But this is my house, Devlin, not yours.’

Sam straightened. He had been lounging against the drainer as he chatted with the housekeeper, but now he stiffened his back. ‘I thought I was doing you a favour, man,’ he protested. He lifted an apologetic hand. ‘Obviously I was wrong. I’m sorry. Rest assured, it won’t happen again.’

He turned and thrust his cup into the sink, but when he started across the room, evidently intending to leave Liam to it, Liam stepped into his path.

‘No, I’m sorry,’ he said roughly, ashamed at taking his frustration out on the older man. ‘Forget what I said, Sam. It’s not your fault I’m in a bloody mood.’

Sam hesitated, still looking upset, and Liam cursed himself anew for distressing him. Dammit, Sam was right. He probably would have complained if Sam had interrupted him. He was letting a woman he might never see again ruin the long-established relationship he had with his steward, and that was stupid.

‘I mean it,’ he grunted, holding out his hand. ‘Take no notice of me. I’ve had a pretty useless morning, and I’m ready to blame anyone but myself.’

Sam’s jaw clenched, but he took Liam’s hand and shook it warmly. ‘Yon lassie’s to blame,’ he said staunchly, but Liam wasn’t prepared to go that far.

‘Well, she’s gone now,’ he said neutrally, taking another mouthful of his coffee and finding it more to his taste. ‘McAllister turned up, I gather?’

‘Aye. In that old rattletrap he calls an estate car,’ agreed Sam, relaxing now. ‘How it passes its MOT test, God knows!’

‘I don’t suppose it does,’ said Liam, hoping it hadn’t broken down between Kilfoil and the village. He was remembering what Rosa had said about the dangers of the moor, and to imagine her walking into one of its treacherous bogs was enough to bring another scowl to his lips.

But he wasn’t about to bring that up with Sam, and, finishing his coffee, he said, ‘I’ll see you later. I’m going to take the dogs out.’

Sam arched his grey brows. ‘Shall I come with you?’ He eyed his employer’s injured thigh with concerned eyes. ‘You don’t want to have another of those spasms when you’re out on the cliffs.’

Liam hid his impatience at the other man’s fussing, and said evenly, ‘The physio says I should get plenty of exercise. He says that spending too long at my desk is probably the reason why I’m still having problems.’

‘Even so—’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Liam assured him tersely. ‘But thanks for the offer.’

After collecting a coat, and the dogs, Liam emerged into the open air with a feeling of relief. The animals were just as glad to escape the confines of the castle, and they ran about excitedly, chasing every cat and bird in sight.

Liam didn’t intend to go far. There were clouds massing on the horizon, and unless he missed his guess they’d have rain before nightfall. Knowing how quickly the weather could change in these parts, he had no desire to risk getting caught in a storm. He could be soaked to the skin in minutes. It wasn’t as if he could run for cover, either. Thanks to his attacker, his running days were over.

Even so, he went out onto the cliffs, trudging through knee-high grasses that were an ideal hiding place for small rodents and birds of all kinds. The wind, blowing off the ocean, lifted the thick dark hair from his forehead and made him wish he’d worn something warmer than the ankle-length waterproof coat that flapped around his legs.

His thigh did move more freely as he exercised it, but he didn’t think he was up to negotiating the cliff steps down to the cove this morning. Climbing down necessitated climbing up again, and that was probably a step too far.

He was considering turning back when Harley, the younger of the two retrievers, scared up a rabbit. The terrified creature must have been hiding in the gorse bushes that grew near the edge of the cliff, and when Harley started barking it shot away across the headland, making unmistakably for the gully that ran down to the beach.