Fated Attraction

Her cheeks were flushed. ‘I told you——’

‘Surely working for me, once you’ve ceased being a walking bruise, of course—even I’m not that much of a taskmaster that I would expect you to work while you’re still in pain …!’ he derided what he had guessed had been her opinion of him ‘… has to be better than returning to a man you obviously have no desire to go back to!’ he said exasperatedly.

‘What do you know about how I—work?’ Jane repeated slowly as all of his words sank in. ‘What sort of work are you talking about?’ she asked suspiciously.

His mouth twitched. ‘Well, I’ve asked you if you can type—so I obviously want you to start cooking for me!’ He shook his head. ‘What sort of work do you think I mean?’ he scorned.

Work. Raff was actually offering her a job! But why? He had treated her as nothing but a nuisance since he had first met her. Probably because she had been one, she ruefully acknowledged. He wasn’t the type of man to take lightly having his life interrupted as disastrously as last night had done. But he also wasn’t a man to shirk what he considered his responsibility either.

Responsibility. How she was coming to hate the very sound of that word!

She looked up at Raff uncertainly. ‘By working for you, do you mean——?’

‘I can afford to pay you a small wage, plus your room and food, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ he cut in harshly, his eyes narrowing resentfully. ‘The estate may be in difficulties, but I’m not bankrupt yet.’

And she had obviously hit upon a very raw nerve!

But the offer of a job was so tempting. Any job. It was exactly what she had been looking for, praying for. It meant so much more to her than just no longer being dependent upon Jordan. Not that she intended telling Raff Quinlan about that.

She looked at him quizzically. ‘Why?’

He gave an impatient sigh, as if already regretting having made the offer at all. ‘Don’t think I would be doing you any favours, Jane Smith,’ he rasped. ‘I have correspondence that needs answering dating back three months or so, have been so tied up with work on the estate these last few months that I just haven’t had time to tackle answering any of the mail.’

She frowned. ‘You usually do the typing yourself?’

Not that he didn’t look capable of coping with any problem that came his way—it was just unusual for a man in his position; she certainly couldn’t see Jordan doing his own typing, no matter what the circumstances!

Raff gave a dismissive shrug. ‘I have an aunt who comes down from town occasionally and does it, mainly so that she can keep an eye on exactly what’s going on here,’ he added derisively. ‘But she hasn’t found the time recently in her busy schedule.’ The last was said sarcastically.

Jane wasn’t the world’s best typist, as the last week of job-hunting has proved, although that was mainly because it was a lot of years since she had attempted any typing at all; but if Raff didn’t mind her lack of speed she was at least accurate.

My God, she wasn’t seriously thinking of accepting his offer, was she?

What did she know about the man—other than the fact that he seemed to be a law unto himself? She didn’t even know exactly where she was, let alone anything else.

And yet …

A job was all she needed. Just for three months. Until August the thirty-first. And there was Mrs Howard; she had seemed respectable enough …

Raff stood up abruptly. ‘Think about it,’ he bit out tersely.

‘Oh, but——’

‘I’ve wasted enough time already for one morning,’ he continued harshly. ‘Maybe when you decide what you’re going to do you’ll let me know?’ He strode across to the door, emanating physical power, stopping to turn back to her. ‘But I would advise you to consider very carefully before returning to a situation that was obviously stressful enough for you to have left it in the first place.’

And with that last, strangely gentle advice Raff left the bedroom.

Jane dropped back on to the pillows, totally dazed by this complex man. One minute so harsh and dismissive, the next almost caring. But of course he didn’t care for her, just felt a responsibility towards her because of last night.

But did that really matter?

If she accepted his offer of a job she wouldn’t be cheating him in any way, would work as hard as she was capable of, and they would both be getting something out of the situation—Raff a backlog of correspondence that was troubling him, and she—well, ultimately she would get so much more out of it.

But was this a frying-pan-into-the-fire situation? Wasn’t Raff more of an enigma to deal with even than Jordan?

But it was only for three months, she reminded herself again. What other offers had she had?

None.

Her whole situation could be completely turned around if she just agreed to work for Raff Quinlan …

Was that too high a price to pay for proving Jordan wrong?

She had left him so confidently, so sure she could support herself. And she could—if she just took the job Raff offered her …

Pride warred with necessity—and finally necessity won. She couldn’t let it bother her that Raff had only offered her the job because he felt he had rescued her like some stray from the street. She would do her job and, when the time came, leave without regret.

She hoped.

All she had to do now was let Jordan know she had succeeded. He had been sitting back, she knew, waiting for her to crawl back to him with her tail between her legs. And last night she had been so close to doing that, had never felt so miserable in her life.

The role of guardian angel sat oddly on Raff Quinlan’s shoulders!

Dressing proved as difficult as she had thought it might, and by the time she had donned the thin woollen top and loose, flowered skirt the sweat stood out on her forehead and top lip, and she once again felt nauseous. But there was no telephone in her bedroom, and she had to find one. Besides, she was very curious about her surroundings, interested to see this estate Raff had talked about.

She stepped out of her bedroom into a long corridor, portraits adorning the walls, the resemblance of some of the subjects to Raff Quinlan pointing to their being his ancestors. So much for his casual dismissal the night before of his family name!

Arrogant-looking men and haughtily beautiful women seemed to follow her slow progress down the hallway, and every window she passed showed countryside, long fields, and magnificently tall trees. But there was an air of neglect about the immediate grounds, the gardens slightly overgrown, the driveway having tufts of grass growing among the gravel. Jane could see stables off to the right of the house, but the stalls looked empty of horses. Raff seemed to have been telling the truth about the lack of funds to spend on the estate, at least.

There were signs of the same lack of money in the house, too, with the bare spaces on walls where paintings other than those depicting ancestors had obviously once hung, but had probably been sold over the years in an effort to hang on to the estate at all. The carpets were old and worn too, although everywhere was obviously kept spotlessly clean by the efficient Mrs Howard.

It was a pity that such a beautiful old house couldn’t be maintained in the way that it should have been, everything here in such sharp contrast to the luxury Jordan surrounded himself with.

Jordan.

He was the reason she had struggled down those stairs with her still painfully swollen ankle and stiff hip at all, her search for a telephone revealing one in the main hallway itself, her listening for Mrs Howard or Raff done almost furtively before she picked up the receiver and dialled.

The telephone rang and rang the other end. Jordan’s housekeeper was finally the one to answer the call, and Jane remembered it was Henson’s day off.

She asked for Jordan, knowing the call would be put through to his study at the back of the house where he couldn’t be disturbed by street noise. She could even picture him as he sat behind his desk, his dark hair kept severely short, a perpetual frown between his grey-blue eyes. Poor Jordan, he never seemed to stop working.

‘Yes?’ he barked impatiently into the receiver, and Jane instantly knew she had been right about his being engrossed with work at his desk.