An Enigmatic Man

Crys shook her head. ‘You can’t really want me to stay here.’ She grimaced, sure that company—her company especially!—was the last thing this man wanted. After all, he had made his opinion of her only too obvious earlier.

‘No,’ he confirmed bluntly. ‘But for Molly’s sake I’m willing to put up with it.’

And, his unspoken words implied, so should you be!

He was right, of course. Molly was one of the most kind-hearted people on earth—had invited Crys here because she wanted to help her come to terms with the last year. To choose not to stay here after all, simply because Molly had been delayed a few days, was ungrateful in the extreme. Not that Molly would ever say so, but she would be hurt, nonetheless.

‘As I said, think about it,’ Sam advised harshly, before striding forcefully from the room. The front door slammed a few seconds later as he left the house, instantly greeted by the sound of Merlin’s joyful barking.

Crys’s breath left her in a sigh as soon as Sam was out of the room. She sank down gratefully onto one of the kitchen chairs as she tried to collect her thoughts.

Think about Molly, Sam had meant by that last remark. He was right, of course. But, even so, Crys was loath to agree to stay here with Sam while she waited for Molly to arrive. What would the two of them talk about, for one thing? He certainly didn’t appear to be a man blessed with any of the social graces, so small talk was probably out!

What a mess!

Her first social venture out in a very long time, and she found herself cosily ensconced with the most unwelcoming man she had ever met in her life, miles from civilisation—or at least so it seemed—with the fog seeming to cocoon them in eerie solitude.

The fog!

A brief glance out of the kitchen window showed Crys that, instead of lifting, as she had hoped it might, the fog had in fact thickened. So much so that she could see absolutely nothing now except that silvery blanket.

Great. Even the weather seemed to be conspiring against her!

She was going to look more than a little churlish if she insisted on leaving in weather like this—she was going to look as if she were running away. From Sam Barton!

But wasn’t she? Didn’t the man unnerve her to the point of giving her the jitters? He—

She looked up as the front door opened and then once more closed with a resounding slam, her gaze apprehensive as Merlin preceded his master into the kitchen. The dog really was as enormous as he had appeared outside, filling half the doorway as he came to an abrupt halt, hackles once again rising at her presence there, looking at her with pale canine eyes.

‘She’s a friend, Merlin,’ Sam told the dog impatiently as he shifted the animal out of the way so that he could come into the kitchen as well, bringing a draught of cold air with him as he moved to warm his hands on the Aga. ‘I’m afraid that particular job is going to have to wait until the morning, when hopefully I’ll be able to see what I’m doing.’

‘The fog is worse, isn’t it?’ Crys said unnecessarily, hoping this gigantic dog understood the meaning of the word ‘friend’—although, in all truth, she hardly came into that category!

Sam’s grin was as wolfish as his dog’s growl had been earlier. ‘I wouldn’t even send Merlin out on a night like this!’

His meaning wasn’t lost on Crys and she shot him an impatient look. ‘In that case, I accept your kind offer of hospitality. For tonight, at least,’ she added quickly when Sam gave a grimace of satisfaction at her capitulation.

He nodded abruptly as he straightened. ‘At least you’ve chosen not to add foolhardy to your other more obvious…character traits,’ he drawled mockingly.

Faults, he meant, Crys easily realised. Maybe he should take a look at himself some time!

She drew in a sharp breath. ‘Perhaps if you could tell me where I’m to sleep? Then I can go and get my case from the car and indulge myself with a hot bath.’ Her shoulders and neck ached from the hours of driving, and with her recent loss of weight the cold seemed to have penetrated to her bones. ‘If that’s convenient, of course,’ she added belatedly; after all, just because this room was cosily warm and modern did not mean that upstairs there was the luxury of a bathroom and hot running water.

‘Of course,’ Sam echoed dryly. ‘I forgot to ask earlier—can you cook?’

Crys frowned. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice that I live alone here? I manage for myself the majority of the time—stews, things like that—but it can get slightly monotonous; Molly usually cooks for me when she comes to stay.’ He quirked expectant brows in Crys’s direction.

In other words, she was going to have to cook for her supper—and his, apparently!

‘Yes, Mr—Sam,’ she amended as he grimaced, ‘I can cook,’ she assured him dryly. ‘Did you have anything particular in mind?’ she added ruefully.

‘Molly’s speciality is stuffed rainbow trout for starters, followed by roast fillet of beef with all the trimmings,’ he came back instantly.

‘I see.’ Crys held back her smile with effort—after all, she really had little to smile about! ‘Do I take it you have the ingredients for that particular meal?’ Of course he did—he would hardly have mentioned it otherwise!

‘In the fridge,’ he confirmed unnecessarily.

As she had thought. Oh, well, perhaps cooking dinner was the least she could do in return for the comfort of having a roof over her head when the elements were so unwelcoming outside.

Except the elements inside—namely Molly’s brother Sam!—weren’t too welcoming either!

But cooking dinner might infuse some sort of normality into this otherwise strange situation.

‘If you’ve finished your coffee, I’ll take you upstairs.’ Sam threw his coat over one of the kitchen chairs before turning decisively towards the door.

In other words, she had finished her coffee. At least, as far as Sam was concerned.

She picked up her hat and scarf before following him out of the room, curious now to see the rest of the interior, sure that it was going to be—

Crys came to a halt in the spacious hallway; a huge oak table stood in its centre and the most magnificent oak staircase led to the wide gallery above. But it was the dome in the ceiling above them, and the long crystal chandelier that was suspended from it, that held her spellbound. Not just the gold filigree work in the dome itself, but also the telling artwork on one of the panels.

‘James…’ she breathed dazedly, unable to tear her gaze away from that telltale trademark.

‘What did you say?’ Sam asked impatiently, having come to a halt partway up the wide staircase as he realised she was no longer following him.

Crys blinked, frowning as she turned towards the sound of his voice, taking several seconds to return to reality.

She moistened dry lips. ‘I was—I—James Webber was your interior designer,’ she finally managed to murmur.

James had been here. Had worked in this house. He’d probably stood exactly where she was standing now as he’d critically appraised his own work.

Sam gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘He was,’ he confirmed. ‘But how did you know that?’ he demanded.

For the second time today Crys was feeling slightly faint, knew also that her face had paled dramatically. But she didn’t dare pass out again in this man’s company; he would wonder what on earth he had been landed with if she did!

It was just the shock of seeing James’s work so suddenly—of knowing that he had been here, that perhaps he’d stood on this very spot…

‘When did he do this?’ She couldn’t stop herself asking. James had never mentioned visiting Molly’s brother in a castle in Yorkshire to her.

‘About three years ago now.’ Sam walked back down the six stairs he had already ascended, his gaze narrowed to green slits as he eyed her warily. ‘I asked how you knew it was Webber’s work?’ he demanded again as he came to stand in front of her.

Crys gave a poignant smile as she looked around her. ‘It’s very distinctive, don’t you think?’ she murmured wistfully. The hallway was decorated in a mixture of warm reds and golds, the carpet up the stairs was a glorious scarlet, and then there was that telltale dome, with its yellow artwork.

‘Very,’ Sam snapped. ‘But that doesn’t answer my question.’

Her gaze returned reluctantly to the grimness of Sam’s face, and she was jolted by the hard look of suspicion she could easily see there. ‘Don’t look so worried, Mr—Sam,’ she said softly. ‘You see the tiny yellow rose up in the dome? On the left side panel?’ She pointed it out as Sam looked up. ‘James always sneaked a yellow rose in somewhere. It was his trademark.’