The Deserving Mistress. Carole Mortimer

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ later that evening when she staggered back into the farmhouse, too tired to even bother to cook herself an evening meal.

      The coffee remaining in the pot from this morning was stewed and only lukewarm, but it was better than nothing.

      No, it wasn’t, she decided after the first mouthful, putting the mug back down on the table with a disgusted grimace.

      She was so tired, so utterly exhausted, resting her head down on her folded arms as she sagged tiredly onto the kitchen table. Just a few minutes’ rest and she would be all right again, she told herself. Just a few minutes…

      ‘Come on, May, it’s time to wake up,’ a gently intruding voice cajoled. ‘May?’ A gentle shaking of her arm accompanied this second intrusion.

      She had been having such a nice dream, she frowned resentfully, had been lying on a golden beach, the sun warm and soothing, with a tropical blue sea lapping lightly against the sand at her feet. But the stiffness in her folded arms as she slowly woke to consciousness, aided by the ache in her back, told her only too clearly that it had unfortunately been just a dream!

      ‘May, if you don’t wake up in a minute, I’m going to assume that this time you really have had a heart attack—and commence emergency mouth-to-mouth resuscitation!’ that intruding voice drawled mockingly.

      Jude Marshall’s voice!

      She recognised those clipped English tones only too easily this time, raising her head to glare at him resentfully, very aware that she probably looked worse now than she had this morning, still in the same clothes, still as dirty—and, to add to her disarray, she probably had crease marks on her face now from having fallen asleep in such an uncomfortable position!

      He grinned down at her unconcernedly. ‘I thought the mere suggestion of my having to carry out mouth-to-mouth resuscitation might revive you!’

      She gave an irritated sigh. ‘What do you want, Mr Marshall?’

      ‘You seem very fond of asking me that.’ He raised mocking brows. ‘A fine way to talk to someone who has brought you dinner,’ he admonished derisively, holding up a plastic carrier bag. ‘Chinese take-away,’ he explained economically. ‘Having seen how tired you were this morning, I didn’t think you were going to be in any fit state to cook yourself a hot meal this evening.’

      May frowned up at him, still not quite awake, but aware enough to view his kindness—and the man himself!—with suspicion. The fact that his surmise had obviously been a correct one wasn’t in question—but his response to it certainly was.

      ‘And why should that bother you, Mr Marshall?’ she prompted warily, her sleepy state fast disappearing now as she frowned up at him suspiciously.

      ‘Stop dithering, woman, and tell me where the plates are so that I can serve this stuff before it goes cold!’ He put the bag down on the table in front of her.

      ‘Second cupboard on the right,’ she supplied somewhat dazedly. Plates, he had said. In the plural. Surely this man didn’t intend sitting down to dinner with her?

      But as he set out two places on the table along with the two big plates, and then commenced to put out the cartons of Chinese food, it appeared that was exactly what he intended doing!

      ‘Er—Mr Marshall—’

      ‘Could we get something clear right now, May?’ He straightened, looking down at her with narrowed eyes.

      She stiffened warily, wondering exactly what he was going to say. ‘Yes?’

      He nodded abruptly. ‘I’m sure you have your reasons for being deliberately rude to me—I’m sure you think you have,’ he stressed firmly as she would have protested. ‘But I have no intention of sitting down to dinner—a dinner that I actually brought here, remember?—with someone who insists on calling me “Mr Marshall” in that unfriendly tone.’ He raised dark brows pointedly.

      May’s cheeks warmed at the accusation. She was being deliberately rude, there was no denying that. But he was being deliberately friendly, which was just as unacceptable!

      ‘Okay?’ he prompted determinedly.

      May looked up at him unblinkingly, wanting to tell him to go away, and to take his dinner with him. But the smell of the food was so tempting, her mouth watering at the mixture of aromas that was wafting up from the array of cartons he had put out in the middle of the table. If she told him to go away, he would probably take all this wonderful food with him!

      ‘Okay,’ she accepted abruptly. ‘Although—’

      ‘Okay will do for just now,’ Jude cut in derisively. ‘Eat,’ he added curtly, sitting down at the place opposite her.

      She couldn’t remember the last time someone had ordered her about in this way. Probably not since her father had died a year ago, she recognised frowningly. But anyone less like her father—or, indeed, a father-figure—than Jude Marshall, she was less likely to meet!

      For one thing she was completely aware of him as the two of them helped themselves to the food, of the slender strength of his ringless hands, the dark hairs that began at his wrist and probably covered his arms and chest, of the way his dark hair fell endearingly across his forehead unless pushed back by an impatient hand, of the piercing intelligence of those silver-grey eyes, of the dark shadow at his jaw that implied he probably had to shave twice a day, but had omitted to spend time on that second shave today.

      Because he had chosen to drive out here and bring her dinner instead? Probably, she acknowledged slightly dazedly. In fact, she found it difficult to believe at all that she was sitting here eating a Chinese take-away with Jude Marshall, of all people!

      ‘This is very good, thank you,’ she told him huskily, the hot, tasty food more welcome than she had even imagined. And it had been supplied by Jude Marshall, a man she considered to be her enemy…

      He looked across at her, eyes gleaming silver with amusement. ‘How hard was that to say?’ he mused dryly.

      ‘Very,’ she confirmed with a rueful grimace. ‘I hope I’m not keeping you from something? Or someone?’ she added frowningly.

      ‘Nothing that can’t wait.’ He shrugged dismissively.

      May gave him a quizzical look. Did that mean there wasn’t someone waiting for him back at his hotel? Or that the person that was waiting for him wasn’t important enough for him to bother rushing back to?

      Jude frowned as he saw her looking at him. ‘What did I say now?’ he prompted impatiently.

      ‘Nothing,’ she dismissed abruptly, deliberately turning her attention back to her food.

      Although she was completely aware of the fact that he was still looking at her. If she was honest—and she usually was—she had to admit she had never been so aware of another person in her life before.

      Just as she felt sorry for whoever—possibly?—might be waiting for him back at his hotel; it would be awful to be so unimportant to this man that his having dinner with a scruffy female farmer took priority. Even with the buying of this farm as the incentive.

      ‘I spoke to Max earlier this evening.’

      May СКАЧАТЬ