To Tame the Playboy: The Playboy of Pengarroth Hall / A Night with the Society Playboy / Playboy Boss, Pregnancy of Passion

‘That would be great, Pat—thanks,’ Fleur said. Pat’s mother had been at the house for almost the whole of the three festive days, helping out, and she and Fleur had chatted, among other things, about their favourite authors. And when Fleur had said she was into romantic novels at the moment and had finished the one she’d brought with her, the older woman had offered to lend some of hers.

‘Well, then, come up with me the day after tomorrow,’ Pat said now, ‘if you’re going with Sebastian to Truro tomorrow.’

‘I didn’t say I was,’ Fleur corrected. ‘He did.’ She smiled. ‘But yes, I will go because I’ve never been to the city before—it is a city, isn’t it, with a lovely cathedral? I mustn’t pass up the opportunity to visit it.’

‘You don’t know Cornwall?’ Pat asked curiously as she started slicing thick pieces of gammon from a delicious-looking joint for their lunch.

‘No, not really,’ Fleur said. ‘My father preferred Scotland and the Lakes, so we always went there when I was young. And in more recent years when I’ve been on holiday, it’s to foreign countries with friends.’ She paused. ‘I must be the only person in the whole world who doesn’t particularly look forward to going away. I’m much happier at home. But I have to, because that’s what everyone does.’ She watched Pat’s deft handling of the carving knife, the pink ham glistening with succulence, making her mouth water even though it was a couple of hours before she’d be eating any. ‘And thank your mother so much for the offer. She’s an interesting lady, and I’d love to come to tea.’

Pat smiled, pleased. ‘And I know she’ll love it too,’ she said. ‘She doesn’t see that many people any more and I think she’s a bit lonely sometimes. See, even when Mia or Sebastian are away, I’m here most days, checking up, cleaning up, doing the odd bit of decorating where I see it’s needed. And the kitchen garden round at the back is my domain too. Not that I do much to it this time of year,’ she added.

Fleur stood up. ‘I think I’ll take Benson now. The weather seems reasonably fine, so maybe it’s the best time of day to go.’

‘You do that,’ Pat said, giving the dog a gentle nudge with her toe. ‘Get up, you lazy hound,’ she said affectionately.

‘What happens to him when you’re not around?’ Fleur wanted to know.

‘Oh, he stays with Mum or me. Or Frank has him. He’s well looked after. Up until a couple of years ago, Sebastian would take him back to London with him, but that proved impractical, and the dog pined a bit for home and hearth, I think.’

‘Oh, well, then, Benson and I are of like mind.’ Fleur smiled.

Pat finished what she was doing, then wrapped the remainder of the joint in cling film and put it in the fridge. ‘Now, I’ll prepare the lunch for one o’clock,’ she said. ‘Sebastian said he might be a bit later than that, but it’ll all keep. And I’ll take some of this on up and have mine with Mum.’

Fleur looked over at the bustling housekeeper as she spoke, hoping that Sebastian and Mia knew how lucky they were to have such devoted people to look after them and their property, whether they were here or not. Such staff would be hard to find in London. Everything here seemed so efficient, yet so easy-going.

Fleur took her warm jacket from the hook on the back door where she’d noticed that Sebastian always kept his, then called to Benson to follow her. And, surprisingly, the dog immediately got up and padded after her.

‘See you later, Pat,’ she called as they went outside. They set off, soon leaving the house behind them as they began treading up the soggy paths, the dog happy to lead the way, stopping and sniffing every few yards.

Thinking about it, Fleur still didn’t know whether to say she’d been called back to the hospital or not…It was rather difficult now that she was going to Truro tomorrow, and to tea with Pat and her mother the day after. Which meant that there were only going to be five days left, in any case. She shrugged to herself. She’d see how things panned out. If she got the slightest suspicion that she was being a burden to Sebastian, or—perish the thought—that he was bored with her unasked-for company, she’d be gone within the hour. Until then no reason not to go with the flow, she told herself.

After half an hour or so of gentle strolling, she called out to the dog, who was investigating a scrubby bush. ‘Have you had enough, Benson?’ she called. ‘Shall we turn back now? Good boy. Come on.’

The animal emerged reluctantly from whatever had held his interest, but continued on without even looking around at Fleur, who followed on behind him. Well, he was obviously enjoying himself, she thought.

And then, as usual and without much warning, a fine rain began again. She called out, more decisively this time, ‘Come back, Benson…come on. We must go home now.’ But, staying where he was, the dog merely turned and looked back soulfully at her.

Fleur sighed briefly. Pat had told her to take the lead, just in case, and now she went forward to attach it to the dog’s collar. And, as if making a decision of his own, Benson sat down on the wet ground and refused to budge.

Fleur frowned, giving the lead a little pull. ‘Come on, there’s a good boy. We’ve had a lovely walk and it’s time to go back. Come on, up you get.’

But the dog had other ideas, and after a few pointless moments of trying to persuade him, Fleur began to feel slightly worried. What if Benson refused to come home at all? He was much too heavy for her to pick up and carry. And if she went back alone, what would Sebastian’s reaction be? She realized that the dog probably could make his own way home without any help from her, but that wasn’t the point, and she couldn’t take it for granted.

She crouched down by the dog. ‘Well, have a little rest and then come with me, Benson, please,’ she begged. She suddenly remembered that she had some mints in her pocket—maybe she could entice him with one of those. Getting up, she moved a few feet away and crackled the sweet paper between her fingers.

‘Come and see, Benson. See what I’ve got,’ she said cajolingly but, apart from a slight twitch of his nose, the dog expressed not the slightest interest.

‘OK, then, we’ll play it your way,’ Fleur said. ‘I’m going back now. See you later. Goodbye, Benson!’ She turned away and started walking back in the direction they’d come, in the hope that the dog would follow her. But, as she turned to glance back, she could see that he hadn’t moved an inch. He was not coming, and that was that.

Now Fleur was really exasperated. What now? she asked herself. She could not go home minus the dog; that would make her look silly. Glancing at her watch, she was horrified to see that it was almost one-thirty—they’d been gone far longer than she’d thought, or than she’d intended. But both she and her canine companion had been enjoying their walk so much that the time had slipped by. She shrugged. There was nothing else for it, she’d have to just wait and sit it out until Benson made up his mind to come home.

Feeling completely inadequate, she leaned against a tree for a few moments, then sat down on a piece of log a foot or two away from the dog. With her chin in her hands, she stared pensively at him and, hardly blinking, Benson stared back.

By now, the rain had become a steady downpour and both she and Benson were looking distinctly the worse for wear. Fleur had scarcely noticed that her hood had slipped off, or that her hair was hanging in wet ringlets around her face. ‘No one warned me that you were a difficult creature, Benson,’ she said sorrowfully. ‘What on earth am I to do with you?’

‘And what on earth am I to do with you?’ Sebastian’s voice intervened and, with an unmistakable sense of relief, Fleur saw him striding towards them. He stopped and looked down at her. ‘What’s going on?’ he said. ‘Pat’s gone on home, but she did tell you she’d arranged lunch for one o’clock—didn’t she?’

Fleur didn’t bother to get to her feet, but nodded towards Benson, who was viewing them both pensively. ‘Ask him,’ she said. ‘He just refused to get up. I couldn’t leave him here, could I?’ She sighed. ‘I must be rubbish at handling dogs.’

Sebastian cocked one slightly amused eyebrow, then clicked his fingers. ‘Come, Benson,’ he said masterfully, and at once the dog got to his feet and padded over to lick his hand.

Fleur could hardly believe it! The naughty animal, she thought. He’d seemed rooted to that spot, yet two words from Sebastian and he’d obeyed at once. ‘Obviously it’s his master’s voice that he responds to,’ she said sniffily, getting up and falling into step with Sebastian as they began to make their way home.

‘No, I think the fact was he was enjoying your company so much, he didn’t want the walk to end,’ Sebastian said generously, glancing down at her. She was soaking wet, her hair looking as if she had just come out of the shower, and he smiled faintly to himself. Not many of the women he’d known had shown such stalwart tendencies, usually running for cover at the first brush with the elements. But Fleur seemed to almost revel in being wet and untidy.

It took another half an hour to get back, with Benson now trotting quite happily ahead. ‘I don’t believe that dog,’ Fleur said. ‘Look at him. What did I do wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ Sebastian replied. ‘I expect he just felt like a lie down, that’s all—you had gone quite a way—much further than I usually take him nowadays.’

Fleur looked up quickly. ‘Oh, dear…I hope we didn’t overdo it…I mean, I don’t want to be the cause of any trouble…’

‘Shut up,’ Sebastian said cheerfully. ‘The dog’s fine. The only one suffering any discomfort is me, because you’ve kept me waiting for my lunch.’

‘Well, why didn’t you go on and have it without me?’ Fleur began.

‘What, knowing that my dog and my…er…charge…were missing, believed lost?’

Fleur decided to ignore the word he’d used because she knew he was teasing her.

Back at the house, she had a quick wash, then took her place opposite Sebastian at the kitchen table. He had placed the ham and pickles and the piping hot, gloriously brown jacket potatoes in front of them, and soon they were both tucking into it all, while Benson lay flat out on the floor, snoring.

Without asking her whether she wanted any, Sebastian filled Fleur’s glass with water from the jug, before taking some for himself. She was glad that there was no wine on offer because, as she’d already told him, she seldom drank alcohol during the day. That must have made her sound terribly goody-goody, she thought, because most of her friends had no problem with having a glass or two at lunch time. But she didn’t care what Sebastian Conway thought of her, anyway—about anything at all—she’d always made a point of never altering her principles to suit others, and she wasn’t about to start now.

Finishing his lunch, he asked mildly, ‘What are you going to do with yourself this afternoon?’ He realized that it wasn’t a polite enquiry, but he was curious and admitted that he would much rather spend the rest of the day with Fleur than helping Frank. But suddenly the phone on the wall rang and he stood up to take the call. It was Pat and, after listening for a few moments and glancing across at Fleur, he said, ‘No, you must stay with her, Pat…That’s no problem. For heaven’s sake, we can cope alone, sort ourselves out.’ There was a pause. ‘Sorry? Oh, yes…of course. I found them…up Middle Hill. Yes, right up there. Soaking wet, with Benson having gone on strike. He didn’t want to come home, apparently. But they’re both here, safe and well, and we’ve just enjoyed the lunch—thanks, Pat.’ Another pause. ‘Absolutely not—you stay with Beryl. We’ll be fine.’ He listened again, then, ‘OK, got it. And it’s best you don’t come back tonight at all—your mother needs you more than we do just now. See what the doctor says, and we’ll see you tomorrow some time, when the panic’s over. OK? Cheers, Pat.’

He replaced the receiver. ‘Pat’s mother has just had another of her angina attacks, so I’ve told her that we can look after ourselves for twenty-four hours.’

‘Of course we can,’ Fleur said at once.

‘And apparently we’re having steak for our supper—they’re in the ’fridge, along with mushrooms and tomatoes and stuff…’ He eyed her hopefully. ‘Can you cook? I’m not the greatest,’ he added.

‘Well, then, you’d better leave it all to me,’ Fleur said, realizing how quickly she and her host had become so…so comfortable with each other, with no pressure, no emotional vibes cutting into the warmly pleasant atmosphere they seemed to be enjoying. Well, what else did she expect? He was Mia’s brother. She had always loved her friend…and she was beginning to love him, as well…in a purely brotherly way, naturally, she assured herself. ‘Not that I shall hope to come up to Pat’s standards,’ she went on, ‘but beggars can’t be choosers. It’s me or nothing.’

He treated her to one of his rather enigmatic smiles. ‘You’ll do nicely,’ he murmured.

She took their empty plates over to the sink, thinking that he needn’t concern himself. She’d always enjoyed cooking, and she knew she could produce a meal to satisfy anyone. And she’d bet anything that he’d like his steak cooked rare.

He turned to go. ‘Right, I’ll be back up the top with Frank for the rest of the day.’ He paused. ‘You don’t envisage wearing my dog’s paws out again, do you?’