A Vengeful Deception. Lee Wilkinson

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      He led her back across the hall, past an imposing central staircase on one side of which—rather incongruously, she thought—stood a large brass gong, and, opening one of the double oak doors at the rear, switched on the lights.

      ‘I’m afraid it’s not very warm in here. The central heating is electric, so at the moment it’s not working.’

      Casually, he added, ‘You could probably do with a hot cup of tea? I know I could, so I’ll go and put the kettle on while you take a look around.’

      With a little smile, he closed the door quietly behind him and left her to it.

      CHAPTER TWO

      THE library was a high, handsome room, with a large stone fireplace and mullioned windows. On every wall there were shelves from floor to ceiling, filled with an array of books that delighted Anna’s heart.

      At first glance everything seemed to be well cared for. She could discern none of the neglect that Gideon Strange had mentioned.

      In one corner was a little pulpit-staircase. It was made of dark oak and beautifully carved; a polished handrail supported by banisters followed the spiral of the steps.

      She went over to it and found it moved easily on hidden castors. Slipping off her boots, she climbed the smooth treads and found she could reach the top shelf of books with ease.

      Working here would be a pleasure.

      But did she want to work for Gideon Strange?

      One half of her wanted to very much, but the sensible half warned against it.

      Perhaps because of a fancied resemblance to David, there was a physical attraction that made being with him disturbing, to say the least. But could she afford to turn down a chance that, had her prospective employer been anyone else, she would have jumped at?

      Perhaps if she asked for a few days to consider his offer? By the time Christmas was over she might feel differently, be able to face the thought of working for him with equanimity.

      But who was she trying to fool? He was too charismatic, too strong a personality, altogether too dangerous for her peace of mind.

      Though she’d only seen him relatively briefly, that tough, handsome face, with its breathtaking charm and more than a hint of arrogance, was etched indelibly on her mind.

      The green eyes, long and narrow and heavily lashed; the chiselled mouth—oh, that mouth!—firm and clean-cut, a fascinating combination of strength and sensuality.

      Rather like David’s, but with added maturity.

      No, she was wrong. David’s mouth, while charming, had totally lacked that strength. It might even have been a little weak.

      To her great surprise she realised that David had suddenly become shallow and lightweight compared to Gideon Strange…

      Which only stiffened her resolve to refuse his offer. Having been badly burnt once had made her wary. He had the kind of explosive sexuality that made her want to run, and keep running…

      A soft patter of snow being dashed against the windows drew her attention. The plum velvet curtains were open, and through the darkness pressing against diamond-leaded panes she could see the white flakes scurrying past.

      It seemed the wind was rising.

      If she didn’t leave quite soon she might have difficulty getting back to Cleo’s, where everything was light and bright and modern, and the only books were dog-eared paperbacks jostling for space on chipboard shelves.

      She descended the steps carefully, put on her boots and, after switching off the lights, hurried back to the kitchen.

      The shopping had been unpacked and the thick folk-weave curtains drawn across the windows. A bunch of mistletoe with gleaming white berries lay on the draining board.

      Still wearing his jacket, and looking even taller and broader than she remembered, Gideon Strange was putting tea things on a tray. His fair hair, she noticed, was a little rumpled and quite wet.

      Glancing up, he said easily, ‘Ah, there you are. The tea’s already made.’

      Just the sight of him, the sound of his voice, told her that she hadn’t been mistaken about his intense attraction. Well, she wouldn’t be caught in that trap again. She had shed too many tears over David to want to repeat the experience.

      ‘Thanks, but I really haven’t time,’ she said briskly.

      His tone studiously casual, he refused to take no for an answer. ‘Just a quick cup before you go. You must be more than ready for one.’

      She was, but anxiety to escape, to get on her way, was her prime consideration.

      ‘Milk and sugar?’ he asked politely.

      ‘Just a little milk, please.’

      Seeing him fumble one-handed to open a four-pint plastic bottle of milk, she said, ‘Let me.’

      Watching her deftly undo the top, remove the seal and half fill a jug, he said reflectively, ‘I could do with you staying until I get the use back in this blasted arm.’

      ‘But surely you can’t be on your own here?’

      Without answering, he poured out two cups of tea and, handing her one, suggested, ‘Why don’t you sit down for a minute?’

      Remaining standing, she protested, ‘You must have servants? I mean, in a place this size…’ Her voice tailed off helplessly.

      ‘In the normal way of things there’s a full staff, of course. But the Manor hasn’t been occupied since my father died. Only Mary Morrison, who was my father’s secretary, and her husband Arthur, who used to be the chauffeur, stayed on. They’ve lived here since before I was born, so they regard it as their home—’

      ‘But if your father’s secretary still lives here, why do you need to engage another one?’

      Without a flicker of an eyelid, he answered, ‘Because Mary is turned sixty and looking forward to a quiet life rather than a full-time job.’

      When Anna said nothing further, he went on, ‘The Morrisons haven’t had a holiday this year, and they wanted to go up to Scotland to spend Christmas and New Year with Arthur’s sister. I wasn’t expecting to be back in time for Christmas, so I told them to close up the house and go ahead.’

      More than a little surprised by his long-winded explanation—it didn’t seem to be his style at all—she asked, ‘Then there’s no one else here?’

      ‘No, indeed.’ With soft emphasis he added, ‘We’re quite alone.’

      His words seemed to hold more than a hint of satisfaction, and she felt a sudden disquiet. She’d been on edge from the start, but this was different.

      Repressing a shiver brought on by apprehension, Anna warned herself not to let her imagination run riot.

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