Taming the Rebel Tycoon

‘Very good, sir.’ There was gladness and relief in the man’s voice. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘I suppose you know your favourite team’s on the box this afternoon?’ Richard queried with a grin.

Jervis returned the grin. ‘Don’t I just! And they stand a good chance of winning.

‘There’s a special preview before the run-up to the match,’ he went on, ‘so as soon as Mrs Baxter gets back—they’re her favourite team too—we’ll have an early lunch and get settled.’

So the housekeeper wasn’t back. Richard must have been mistaken. Or lying deliberately.

Oh, don’t start that again! Tina scolded herself and wondered what had got into her. Usually she was well-balanced, not one to harbour foolish thoughts, but somehow, since yesterday lunch time, she had lost her common sense along with her equilibrium.

As soon as her case was in the boot and she was installed in the passenger seat, with a word of thanks and a nod to the chauffeur, Richard slid in beside her. A moment later they had left the quiet square and joined the busy Saturday morning mêlée.

As they headed out of town, the traffic proved to be very heavy and it was stop-start for most of the way. Once the suburbs had been left behind them, however, and they reached the quieter country roads, things improved enormously.

When it was obvious that the most stressful part of the journey was over, she asked, ‘Where exactly is Castle Anders?’

‘Some five miles from the picturesque market town of Anders Cross and a couple of miles from the village of West Anders.’

It seemed that Anders was a name to be reckoned with, Tina thought a shade dazedly and asked, ‘How long have the Anders family lived there?’

‘Our branch of the family have lived at the castle for well over six hundred years.’

She was still marvelling at that when he went on, ‘My mother, who lost both her parents in a plane crash when she was just a toddler, was brought up there by her grandparents.

‘When she met and fell in love with my father, Richard Cavendish, and wanted to marry him, they gave the couple their blessing on condition that he changed his name from Cavendish to Anders and made his home at the castle. Which he did.

‘When my great-grandfather passed away at ninety-three, he left me his business empire and bequeathed Castle Anders to my mother on the understanding that after her death it should come to me…’

‘So your parents still live there?’

He shook his head. ‘They’re both dead.’ Heavily, he added, ‘My mother died earlier this year.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You must miss her.’

He acknowledged her condolence with a glance from those tawny eyes and a little nod.

‘Have you any brothers or sisters?’

‘No. I’m the last of this particular branch of the family—at least until I marry and have children of my own.

‘Then, as great-grandfather knew, it’s always been my intention to take my wife and family and live at Anders on a permanent basis.’

Tina felt a queer tug at her heartstrings to think that some lucky woman was destined to be everything to him—his friend and confidante, his lover and his wife, the mother of his children.

Trying to push the poignant thought aside, she relapsed into silence and stared out at the scenery. Without being particularly dramatic, the countryside was pleasantly picturesque and rolling.

The woods were decked in bronze and gold and russet, the newly washed meadows were green and lush and the silver flash of water told of quiet streams and rivers.

As they breasted a rise to see a pleasing panorama spread out below them, Richard broke the silence to say, ‘A mile or so ahead, there’s a nice old coaching inn called the Posthorn. I thought we might stop there. The place has character and the food’s good.’

She nodded agreement. ‘That sounds lovely.’

The Posthorn was a black and white half-timbered place with tubs of trailing scarlet geraniums adding a vivid splash of colour.

Richard drove through an archway into a cobbled yard and parked outside what had obviously once been stabling and now appeared to be a small brewery.

‘As you can see, they brew their own ale here,’ he remarked, ‘and it’s excellent.’

They went in through a back door and into a panelled lounge, where the windows were open to the balmy air and sunshine streamed in.

In the huge fireplace the grate was screened by a large jar filled with beech and autumn foliage and the polished furniture smelt of apples and honey.

Having settled her in a seat by a window, he handed her a menu and asked, ‘What do you fancy to eat?’

‘I’m not particularly hungry after such a good breakfast…’ she began and, recalling the intimacy of that breakfast, felt her cheeks grow hot.

Seeing the gleam of amusement in his eyes and knowing he’d guessed the cause of her confusion, she found herself blushing even harder.

His face straight, he suggested, ‘Then perhaps just a sandwich?’

Not knowing where to look, she bent her head over the menu and studied it with unnecessary care.

Oh, why was she acting like an overgrown schoolgirl? she wondered crossly. Where had yesterday’s cool, self-contained young woman gone?

But, after all that had happened last night and this morning…She pushed away the uncomfortable thought, determined not to go along that route, and dragged her mind back to the present.

There was an extensive range of light snacks and, by the time a cheerful buxom woman came to take their order, Tina had decided on home-cooked ham in a piece of French stick and a side salad.

Richard followed suit.

‘And to drink?’ he queried. Adding, ‘They have a good wine cellar here.’

‘I was thinking of trying half a pint of ale.’

Looking surprised, he said, ‘A good choice. I’ll have the same.’

Their ale came almost at once and, when she had sampled it and agreed that it was some of the best she’d ever tasted, he said, ‘Tell me a bit about yourself. Are you London born and bred?’

‘No. I was born and brought up in a small village. I only went to live in London when I started to work for Cartel Wines.’

‘So which do you prefer? Town or country?’

She smiled wistfully. ‘I quite like London but I’d much sooner live in the country.’

‘Have you any brothers or sisters?’

‘I’ve a stepsister, Didi. My mother died when I was seven and a year later my father married a widow with a daughter of almost the same age.’

‘Did you get on well?’

‘Not too well,’ Tina admitted. ‘Despite the fact that we were born in the same month and within three days of each other, we were completely different both in character and temperament.’

‘Does your stepsister still live in the country?’

Tina shook her head. ‘No. Didi left home and got a job in London when she was seventeen.’

‘What about your parents?’

‘A couple of years ago a relative left my father a hotel in Melbourne and they decided to give up their house and go to live in Australia.

‘Before they went, they asked me to keep an eye on Didi—she’d been ill and was having problems.

‘By that time I was working for Cartel Wines and renting a two-bedroomed flat, so when I found she couldn’t pay the rent for her crummy bedsit and was about to be thrown out, I persuaded her to move in with me.’

Frowning, he asked, ‘But she doesn’t still live with you?’

‘Oh, no. She moved out when she was offered a place at the Ramon Bonaventure School of Drama.’

‘She wants to be an actress?’

‘Yes. Though her mother had been very much against it, it was something Didi had always hoped to do…’

Tina stopped speaking as their lunch arrived, accompanied by various jars of homemade chutney, all with frilled muslin covers.

‘I can thoroughly recommend the mango,’ Richard told her.

‘Mmm,’ Tina agreed when she’d tried some. ‘It’s absolutely delicious.’

‘I thought you’d like it. It’s almost as good as Hannah makes.’

‘Hannah?’

‘Our old cook/housekeeper at the castle. Her family have been retainers there for donkey’s years. Though Hannah’s semiretired, she still rules the staff with a rod of iron.

‘She was born there and stayed on when she married one of the estate workers. Mullins, her son, is a general manservant who takes care of just about everything, including the cars, and her youngest granddaughter, Milly, is a maid.’

For a while they ate without speaking and, though Tina strove to appear relaxed and easy, she was aware of him—of his presence, his nearness, his every slight movement.

From beneath her thick lashes she watched him as he helped himself to more chutney and lifted his glass to drink. He had strong, well-shaped hands with lean fingers and neatly trimmed nails.

Masculine hands.

Exciting hands.

A half-remembered line from Donne started to run through her mind: ‘Licence my roving hands, and let them go—’

She snapped off the thought like snapping a dry twig and, feeling the sexual tension tightening, hurried into speech. ‘How did the castle come to have a vineyard?’

‘While my great-grandfather, who was a merchant banker, was staying in a French château in the Loire Valley, he became very interested in wine-making. When he got back to Anders, he planted vines on some south-facing slopes on the edge of the estate and set up a small winery.

‘By the time he passed away he had quite a successful little business which eventually my father took over. But when he became ill it was neglected and after his death I regret to say that it was closed down altogether.

‘I was at Oxford at the time and after I graduated, though my mother begged me to go back to live at Anders, I decided, in the end, not to.’

‘So you prefer to live in London?’

‘No, not at all. Though I’ve lived in London since I left university, it isn’t really from choice.’

‘Oh.’

‘My father died when I was eighteen and two years later my mother married again. She and my father had been very close and it was when she was alone and grief-stricken that she met Bradley Sanderson, a childless widower fifteen years older than herself.’

Seeing Tina’s slightly puzzled frown, Richard explained, ‘My mother decided that she would keep her own name. It seemed like the simplest solution—there is always meant to be an Anders in the castle. Though they had the same surname, he wasn’t a blood relation. When he was five or six he’d been adopted by JonathanAnders, a member of the Wiltshire branch of the family, whose wife was unable to have children.

‘Unfortunately Bradley and I didn’t get along. I disliked and distrusted him and he hated my guts for opposing the marriage.

‘That’s why, after leaving university, I decided it would be better all round if I lived in London. So I bought the house in Pemberley Square and just paid periodic visits to the castle, where I had my own suite of rooms.’

It must have been hard to visit a place he’d always regarded as home and confine himself to a suite of rooms, while a man he disliked intensely was, nominally at least, master there.

Impulsively, she said, ‘It couldn’t have been easy for you.’

For a moment he looked surprised, then he admitted, ‘It wasn’t. Especially when I realised Mother wasn’t very happy…

‘To give Bradley his due, he did a good job of running the estate and she was grateful. But he turned out to be a difficult man to live with and, though she never admitted as much, I think she regretted marrying him, and felt guilty that she did regret it.

‘Shortly after she had been diagnosed with a terminal illness, Bradley was found to have a heart disease which cut his life expectancy to a year or two at the most.

‘I promised Mother that if she predeceased him, I wouldn’t turn him out. But he wasn’t happy with that assurance. He wanted her to put a codicil in her will to the effect that he could continue to live at Anders until his death, and I agreed.’

‘Then your stepfather’s still living there?’

‘He was until he died of a heart attack a little while ago.’

‘So now the castle’s all yours and you intend to keep it?’

Richard’s handsome face looked oddly grim and his voice was steely as he answered, ‘Oh, yes, I intend to keep it.’

The casement clock in the corner struck a sonorous two-thirty and, his voice and manner back to normal, Richard asked, ‘About ready to move?’

Realising that at the rate they were going it would be quite late by the time they got back to London, she said, ‘Yes, I’m ready,’ and rose to her feet.

Apart from some brief embarrassment, it had been a very pleasant interlude and she had learned quite a lot about him and his family.

None of it had given her any hope that she might be lucky enough to fit into his life, but even so, knowing more about him, getting to understand him, was oddly precious to her.

While they continued their journey she mulled over what she had learned and was still thinking about it when Richard said with satisfaction, ‘Almost there.’

A minute or so later they left a quiet country road for an even quieter lane, with open countryside on their right and a high mellow-brick wall on their left. In a few hundred yards they came to an imposing entrance guarded by two huge stone lions crouched on stone plinths.

As they swung between them, the tall electronically operated wrought iron gates slid aside and a moment later the Porsche was purring up a well-kept serpentine drive. On either hand, rolling, lightly wooded parkland studded with sheep stretched away into the distance.

‘Time’s getting on, so I suggest that before I show you the castle we take a quick look at the vineyard,’ Richard said.

She nodded. ‘Whatever suits you best.’

Having agreed to come with him, she could hardly refuse to look at the vineyard. Besides, rather against her will, she was interested. If things had been different, the job would have been ideal.

After about three quarters of a mile they turned down a side road and eventually came to a collection of purpose-built sheds and buildings that housed the wine-making plant. On the nearby south-facing slopes stretched row upon row of vines.

Having stopped the car, he asked, ‘Ankle up to a little walking?’

‘Yes, certainly.’

He came round to help her out and, with an intimate little gesture that made her catch her breath, reached for her hand and tucked it under his arm.

Though the sun was still shining, the air seemed appreciably cooler and a slight breeze had sprung up as they strolled through what had once been a thriving little vineyard.

Now the vines were overgrown and neglected and, through the grass and weeds that partially obscured them, Tina could see purple grapes hanging in great heavy clusters.

‘I presume that a lot of these vines will have to come out?’ Richard enquired.

‘Not necessarily if they’re healthy stock. Though some re-planting might be advisable, depending on what kind of wine you’re hoping to produce.’

‘I see…Well, I suggest that we discuss the whole thing later when you’ve had time to consider exactly what’s involved.’

‘I really don’t think there’s any point in—’

He pre-empted her refusal. ‘Unless, having seen how badly neglected everything’s been, you don’t feel you want to take it on?’

She shook her head. ‘No, it isn’t that.’It was exactly the kind of challenge she would enjoy. Or would have enjoyed had the circumstances been other than they were.

‘Then what is it?’

‘I would have liked the job, but…’

‘But?’

‘In the circumstances, it w-would be awkward,’ she stammered.

‘You mean after last night?’

Her silence was answer enough.

Once again she wasn’t acting as he might have expected but, as he’d only used the job offer as a ploy to get her to the castle, it didn’t much matter if she did refuse it.

She was here, out of harm’s way, so to speak, and here he intended her to stay just in case they tried to make contact by phone.

Following that train of thought, he frowned. They wouldn’t be able to reach her at Cartel Wines—he’d seen to that—but if they tried to contact her at home, the friend she was staying with would no doubt be able to give them her mobile number…

Which, come Monday, could pose a problem if he didn’t do something about it…

As the silence lengthened uncomfortably, she glanced at him and, seeing the grim look on his face, said unhappily, ‘I’m sorry…’

Collecting himself, he smiled down at her reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry about it…Let’s go on up to the castle, shall we?’

They had returned to the main drive and followed it for perhaps half a mile when, at the end of a narrow track to the left, she saw part of a ruined tower built on a mound.

‘That’s Daland Tower,’ Richard told her. ‘All that’s still standing of the original eleventh-century castle. Anders is a few hundred yards to the east. There, it’s just coming into view…’

She caught a brief glimpse of grey walls and battlements but, before she could take any of it in, it had vanished from view behind a stand of tall trees decked in their autumn livery.

It wasn’t until after they had climbed a little more and rounded the next bend that Richard stopped the car and she saw it clearly.

She caught her breath.

Small it might be, a castle in miniature, but it was a perfect little gem. Serene and enchanted, its grey towers and turrets etched against the deep blue of the sky, it was like something out of a fairy tale.

When, wholly entranced, she had gazed her fill, she turned shining eyes on her companion, who had been sitting quietly watching her reaction, and breathed, ‘I’m not surprised you love it. It’s wonderful.’

Her enthusiasm was so genuine, so spontaneous, that he found himself with very mixed feelings.

‘Of course an old pile like this has its drawbacks,’ he said carefully, ‘and, though over the years parts of it have been modernized to make it more liveable in, structurally it’s the same…

‘Which means it needs a great deal of maintenance and takes almost every penny the estate makes to keep it in good order.’

Turning her head to smile at him, she said dreamily, ‘But it must be well worth it to have a place like this.’

Throwing in his hand, he admitted, ‘I think so.’

Her eyes turned once more to the castle and, watching her glowing face, he thought she looked like a child gazing at something rare and magical.

He felt a strange pang. If only she hadn’t been who she was; if only she had been as sweet and innocent as she appeared. But she was, and she wasn’t.

After a few moments, as she continued to gaze, enraptured, he started the car and drove on.

As they passed a track to the right, he told her, ‘Down there, beyond the back entrance, is the old stabling and coach house, the orangery, the herb garden and the kitchen gardens…’

Half hidden behind the towering grey walls of the castle, Tina could make out a sizable area of outbuildings and glasshouses.

‘Apart from a couple of stalls that are in use,’ Richard went on, ‘the stabling has been converted into garages.’

‘So you still have horses?’

‘Two. Jupiter and Juno. Though Bradley disliked horses and wanted Mother to get rid of them both, she refused to part with them.

‘Until she got too ill to ride, on my visits home I used to go out with her. Do you ride?’

‘I used to love to. Though it’s been years since I was on a horse.’

They were nearing the castle now and, craning her neck, she cried excitedly, ‘Oh, there’s a moat…’

‘Yes and quite a deep one. But where, in the past, it was one of the castle’s main defences, these days it’s simply home to a variety of ducks and carp.

‘It’s fed by an underground stream. The same stream supplied the household wells and, because of its pureness, kept the inhabitants free from the diseases caused by contaminated water.’

As they drew nearer she exclaimed, ‘And what a lovely old bridge…’

In truth it was a picture, its lichen-covered stones draped with delicate trails of small-leafed creeper spangled with tiny mauve and white flowers.

‘This bridge wasn’t built until about a hundred and fifty years ago,’ he told her as they drove across it and through an archway into a cobbled courtyard. ‘Before that there was a wooden drawbridge and a portcullis.’

His voice holding a hint of derision, he added, ‘Now it’s your turn to cry, “How romantic!”’

Flushing a little, she said quietly, ‘I’m sorry. Did I go over the top?’

Feeling ashamed, he brought the car to a halt in front of an imposing oak door and, taking her hand, raised it to his lips. ‘No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m just being a bear. As a matter of fact it’s nice to find someone genuinely enthusiastic about the old place.’

Despite his apology she still looked uncomfortable and, watching her half-averted face, he cursed himself for the way he had lashed out at her simply because she liked it.

For one thing, none of this mess was her fault and, for another, if he lost ground it could easily wreck all his plans.

Bearing that in mind, he released the hand he was still holding, then turned to unfasten both their seat belts.

He was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek and she sat still as any statue.

When she continued to look straight ahead, using a single finger he turned her face to his.

‘Forgive me?’

‘There’s nothing to forgive.’

‘Kind and generous as well as beautiful,’ he murmured softly.

His mouth was only inches from hers and she froze.

Afraid he was going to kiss her.

Afraid he wasn’t.

His kiss, when it came, was as light as thistledown, but it scattered her wits, brought every nerve-ending in her body zinging into life and effortlessly rekindled that morning’s burning desire. As her lips quivered beneath his, he ran the tip of his tongue between them, finding the silky, sensitive inner skin, teasing and tantalizing, coaxing them to part.

When they did, he deepened the kiss until her head reeled and, caught in a spell of sensual delight, she lost all sense of time and place.

Slipping his hand inside her jacket, he brushed his fingertips lightly over her breasts and, feeling the nipples firm beneath his touch, smiled to himself. She was obviously a passionate woman and quick to respond, as he’d discovered that morning.

The only problem was that in deliberately arousing her he’d been hoist with his own petard and had felt as frustrated as hell ever since.

But now wasn’t the time to take her to bed, he reminded himself, there were still things to do, things to be settled. There would be time for pleasure when everything was going smoothly.

CHAPTER FIVE

DRAWING away with reluctance, Richard said, ‘We’d better go in before Hannah, who never misses a thing though she’s nearly eighty, comes out to see what could be keeping us.’

As he spoke, one leaf of the heavy studded door opened and a small woman, hardly bigger than a child, with a silver bun and a very straight back, appeared.

‘What did I tell you?’ he murmured, and left the car to come round and help Tina out.

In something of a daze, she picked up her shoulder bag and allowed herself to be led across the cobbles to where the old woman waited.

As they approached, the housekeeper, who was neatly dressed in old-fashioned black and wore a jet necklace and earrings, came forward to meet them.

‘Mr Richard…’ Her wizened face creased into a beam of pleasure. ‘Welcome home! Everything’s ready for you.

‘It seems to have turned a shade cooler and, as I know how much you like a good fire, I’ve had one lit in the living-room.’ Then, with genuine emotion, ‘It’s nice to have you back.’

‘It’s nice to be back, Hannah.’ His arm around Tina’s shoulders, he added, ‘This is the lady I told you about when I rang.’