The Saxon Brides: Mistaken Mistress

Closing the door behind her had a certain finality.

At the other end of the corridor the open door beckoned. She couldn’t resist the call. Joshua’s rooms. She stepped past a study, papers neatly stacked on a desk, past the walk-in dressing room with the bathroom that lay beyond. The instant she stepped into his bedroom, she smelled his scent. Familiar. Taunting. The dinner jacket she’d returned hung draped over a chair, and she lifted it to her face, inhaling the rich, living male scent that had surrounded her outside the chilly hospital. She dropped down onto the navy bedcover and fought back tears. She sat there for what seemed like an age. Finally she rose and returned the jacket to the chair. Collecting her tray, with the now-cold cocoa, from the landing, she made her way upstairs to her own room.

The silence of the empty house was suffocating.

A hollow emptiness pressed down on Alyssa. Here, in the heart of the Saxon family’s home, she felt more alone than she’d ever felt in her life.

Joshua had swept Amy—along with his parents and Megan—off to dinner. It was good for Amy to get out. His eyes rested on his parents—and good for them, too. Yet as they sat at the window table of an upmarket-café overlooking Napier’s Marine Parade, an unaccountable sense of guilt nagged at Joshua at the thought of Alyssa alone in the great house.

“Why so pensive?” He found Megan staring at him curiously as he set his knife and fork down.

“Just thinking.”

She gave him a wicked grin. “About a woman?”

“No comment, wench.”

She laughed. Then her cell phone pinged to announce a new message and she looked down at the screen with a secret smile.

“New admirer?”

A slight stain of uncharacteristic colour tinged his sister’s cheeks. “Maybe.”

“When do we get to meet him?” Kay leaned forward, looking interested, while beside her Phillip shook his head and laughed.

Megan rolled her eyes at Joshua. “See what you’ve started.”

He grinned. “Serves you right for being so secretive.” And she wasn’t alone. Roland had been keeping secrets, too. A lover who no one knew about, for one. His gaze rested on Amy. She hadn’t spoken much, but he thought she was looking happier since leaving her solitary cottage. Joshua had no intention of letting her find out about Alyssa’s relationship to her fiancé.

Amy was the reason Alyssa wasn’t here tonight. There was no need for him to feel guilty about not inviting her. But nor should Alyssa’s presence at Saxon’s Folly be kept secret. Amy worked as a PA at the winery. She’d find out soon enough.

“Did my mother tell you that Alyssa Blake, the wine writer, is staying with us?”

“Alyssa Blake?” Amy bristled in disbelief. “Really? After that article she wrote?”

“She wants to write a tribute to Roland for Wine Watch magazine.” Joshua held his breath, waiting for Amy’s—and his parents’—reaction.

To his surprise, Amy nodded. “It would be a nice way for Roland to be remembered.”

His mother perked up. “I have some photos she can use … I’ll have to find them.”

Neither of them had fallen apart at the idea. Joshua started to feel as though he’d overreacted by telling Alyssa he’d be keeping her under his scrutiny … yet, from past experience, he felt he couldn’t trust her.

What would she be doing right now? Eating in the salon, settled in front of the large picture windows that overlooked the garden? Or would she be in the bath, soaking out the stresses of the past days? He liked the idea of Alyssa naked in the bath, covered with frothing bath foam. He liked the idea far too damned much.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and censored the provocative images. How had this happened that thoughts of the woman could reduce him to a state of hot and bothered?

Restlessness drove him out of the café on the pretext that he had a call that he needed to make. Once outside, he stood on the pavement surrounded by smokers who had come out the restaurant for a quick smoke after their meal.

He fingered the keypad of his phone. He wanted to call home, speak to Alyssa and reassure himself that she was okay. His mother was right. It had been rude to take off and leave her alone. However much he disapproved of her relationship with his brother she, too, must be experiencing grief over his death—much like Amy was. And that disturbed him.

He stared at the phone. What reason would he give for calling her? It was unlikely that she’d even answer the homestead phone.

Finally he pocketed his phone. For the first time in his life he wished that he smoked. It might’ve helped to ease this unsettling tension inside him.

By the time he got back to the table, everyone was talking about one of the scandals in local politics. Joshua signalled for the bill. He wanted to leave. The feeling that he should not have left Alyssa alone on her first night at Saxon’s Folly, with nothing but grief to keep her company, grew stronger.

As they drove up the long drive to the house, Joshua saw that the wing where Alyssa was staying was in darkness. He’d worried for nothing. She was already fast asleep.

It was the siren that woke Alyssa from a restless slumber and confused dreams full of disturbing, disjointed encounters with Roland and Kay and Joshua.

Disorientated by the shriek, uneasy from the aftermath of the nightmare, she swung her legs out of bed.

Men’s voices filtered in through her window. Quickly Alyssa pulled on her robe, grabbed her bag and headed for the door. Kay had told her there had been a fire in the past, but the homestead had survived without great damage. Could it be happening again?

Downstairs the house was empty, the doors of the salon flung wide onto the verandah. No smell of smoke. No red haze to signal a fire. But Alyssa could hear the sound of motors. Fire engines? To the left she could see floodlights. Moving outside, she made her way down the stairs, toward the vineyards where she could hear the commotion.

It took the sound of the helicopter overhead to alert her.

Frost.

Of course. The siren had been a frost warning.

Alyssa glanced at her watch. Four o’clock in the morning. The roar of motors morphed into the drone of tractors. As she came closer she could see the giant fans hitched behind and whirring as the tractors drove up and down between the rows of vines. Overhead the rotors beat the warmer air down, desperate measures before the frost settled on the vines.

A figure materialised out of the murk.

Joshua.

“Did the siren wake you?”

Instantly she was aware of her hastily pulled on robe, which must look incongruous with her bare feet and the handbag slung over her shoulder. As he came closer she saw that his hair was mussed adding to the impression that he, too, had risen in a hurry.

“I thought it was a fire alarm.”

“Not fire, only frost.”

Only frost. There was little to be dismissive about frost. She knew the dangers of frost at the delicate budding stage. “Did you catch it in time?”

Joshua nodded. His eyes glinted in the light from the house behind her. “We’ve got good equipment. And all the local helicopter companies are on standby. Heath usually does a flyover once he’s finished his yards—he’s a qualified pilot.”

The air beat down on them, Alyssa’s hair whipped across her face. She rocked on her feet and almost fell against Joshua.

His hands shot out. “Steady.”

Pulling out of his grasp, she pushed her windswept hair off her face and gave a strangled laugh. “Sorry, it’s the wind.”

“You can go back to bed now, there’s no emergency. You’ll only get chilly standing out here.”