Reawakened By His Christmas Kiss
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‘I was thinking,’ Alex said with an impulsiveness that surprised her. ‘You and I should do something this Christmas. Skiing, maybe? Or we could have a city break somewhere wintry, like Vienna?’
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely. Why don’t you look into it? After all the hard work we’ve had over the last few months we deserve a short break.’
‘It will have to be short,’ Amber reminded her. ‘Your contract with Hawk lasts until Christmas Eve, and we have the Van Daemon New Year’s Eve charity ball, but we could do three days in between without any problems.’
‘Three days sounds perfect. Okay, I’ll get the press release straight back. Speak later.’
‘Give me a call when you’re fully briefed and settled in. I’m sorry you had to head out on another job without coming home first.’
‘It’s fine. It’s what we’re here to do. It’s a good sign, Amber. A sign we’re where we want to be.’
Alex finished the call and opened her laptop, connecting it to her phone’s data so she could access the press release Amber had mentioned. And then, she reminded herself, it would be time to investigate her new employers and check just why her every hackle was up and sensing danger.
But the press release needed far more work than she had anticipated, and between the pull of her work and the lull induced by the car’s steady process she soon got lost in it, any thought of research flying out of her head.
She didn’t notice the car turn off the motorway long before Swindon, and nor was she aware as they drove through a succession of idyllic villages, more like a film set than real places, with a succession of village greens, quirky pubs and thatched cottages.
It wasn’t until the car slowed and turned in at a pair of elaborate gates that she realised she’d arrived at her destination.
‘Already?’ she muttered, glancing at the time on her laptop.
Only an hour had passed. There was no way they had made it to Swindon in that time. Which meant they were somewhere else entirely; somewhere an hour west of London. Inhaling slowly, Alex looked up. There was no need to worry. She was in control; she was always in control.
Repeating the mantra, she looked straight ahead at the gates, taking in every detail of the ornate gilt-covered iron, the curlicues and symbols, time stilling as she noted every familiar detail. Her breath caught painfully in her throat, and her mouth was dry as the old, unwelcome panic, banished for a decade, thundered through her.
She hadn’t just arrived. She’d returned. She was at Blakeley. Ten years after swearing never to set foot here again. Ten years after renouncing her way of life and starting anew.
Calm deserted her. She couldn’t do this. Wouldn’t. The car would have to turn around and take her straight back to London.
Hands shaking, she began to bundle her phone back into her bag, snapping her laptop shut. But she couldn’t find the words to tell the driver to stop. Her chest was too tight, her throat swollen with fear and long-buried memories.
And still the car purred inexorably on. Every curve of the drive, every tree and view was familiar. More. It was part of her soul. Alex sat transfixed, fear giving way to nostalgic wonder, and for a moment she saw the ghost of a fearless long-limbed girl flitting through the trees.
But that girl was long gone. Lady Lola Beaumont had disappeared the day the Beaumonts’ fortunes had crashed and in her place Alexandra Davenport had appeared. Any resemblance was purely superficial.
Besides, who would recognise flamboyant Lola in demure Alex? Alexandra didn’t party or flirt, she didn’t dance through life expecting favours to be bestowed upon her, and she didn’t try to shock or crave publicity. She worked hard; she lived a quiet existence. Her clothes were fashionable and stylish, yes, but on the sensible side. Her hair was coiled neatly, her jewellery discreet. And it was Alexandra Davenport who had been employed to do a job. The fact that the job was at her old family home must be one awful coincidence.
It had to be. After all, no one knew who she once had been. Not even her best friends.
Alex sat frozen, still undecided. Turning tail and running wasn’t her style, but she had stayed clear of this entire region for a reason. She might not feel like Lola any longer, might not act like her, but what if someone recognised her?
Her hands folded into fists. She managed the story; she was no longer the story herself. She’d left her tabloid headline existence in the past, where it belonged, but she knew her reappearance at her childhood home would create nothing but speculation and the kind of publicity she’d spent a decade avoiding.
If she turned around now she wouldn’t be running away, she’d be making a prudent retreat. She could claim a double booking and send one of her many capable temps in her stead, with a discreet discount and an apology. It was the right—the only—thing to do.
Only at that moment the car swept round the last bend and there it was, gleaming gold in the winter morning sun. Blakeley Castle. Alex could only stare transfixed at the long, grand façade, at the famous turrets, the formal gardens, now autumnal in browns and oranges and red, the trees bare of leaves, their spindly branches reaching high to the grey-blue sky. Her breath quickened and she leaned forward as if in a trance.
Blakeley Castle was beautiful. There was nowhere like it. Nowhere as steeped in myth and legend and history. Kings had fallen in love within its walls; queens had fallen from favour. Dukes had lost their hearts, and sometimes their heads, and the Beaumonts had gambled their fortunes, their titles, their freedom, their looks and their marriages on games of chance, of love, of treason.
Until one had gambled too much and lost it all. His freedom, his family, his home.
And now his daughter, the last Beaumont, was returning to Blakeley. But as an anonymous employee, no longer the spoiled darling of the house.
Alex took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders. She might have changed her name and changed her destiny but the old ancestral cry of ‘Semper porsum’, always forward, ran through her veins. This was just a job. And Blakeley was just a house—well, a castle. But it was still bricks and mortar. There were no ghosts here apart from the few that still haunted her dreams. And she made sure they vanished in the cold light of day.
She wasn’t Lola Beaumont. She was Alexandra Davenport. She was calm and capable and she always saw her commitments through. Her life was sensible and measured and it was ridiculous to think of upsetting any aspect of it because of an old link to a mere place. A link that had been severed ten years ago. Nobody here knew her. She would do her job to the best of her ability and leave without looking back once. No regrets. She’d had too many of them.
Mind made up, Alex sat back as the car swept into the parking area at the side of the house, checking herself in her mirror. Her lipstick was in place, her hair neat, her expression coolly inscrutable. All was as it should be. The panic had gone. It was back in the past where it belonged. Nothing fazed her, nothing touched her, and her walls were firmly back in place.
She couldn’t help noticing the changes in the familiar. Everything looked better cared for, and the flag flying from the highest turret bore a bird of prey, not the Beaumont crest. The car park was freshly laid, not a pothole to be seen, shielded from the castle by a tall hedge. She glimpsed the grand front entrance as the car turned. Doors stood open, the old faded steps were now gleaming, and the rug half covering them sported the same golden bird as that flying overhead on the flag.
Alexandra Davenport had never been to Blakeley Castle before. She would wait for the driver to open the door and then look around her in curiosity as she exited the car, asking if she should go in through the back door or report somewhere else. All would be unfamiliar, all new. She would be focussed on the task ahead. The beauty of the old house and grounds were of secondary importance, and her curiosity about the new owners confined to a moment’s idle speculation before work took over, as it always did.
One deep breath and any dangerous traces of Lola disappeared as Alexandra stepped out of the car, her expression bland, her smile practised, and turned to face the person who had appeared to greet her.
The smile only wavered for one infinitesimal second as she took in the tall, broad-shouldered man, his dark jacket and jeans showcasing lean, powerful muscles, his hair swept back off his face, dark eyes as cold as the December air.
‘Hello.’ Her voice stayed calm and in control as she held out a hand. ‘Alexandra Davenport.’
The man’s gaze only grew more sardonic as he took her hand in his. His clasp was strong, almost too strong, as if he had something to prove.
‘Finn Hawkin. But you knew that. Didn’t you, Lola?’
CHAPTER TWO
FINN LOOSENED HIS grip and Alex withdrew her hand from his in a smooth gesture.
‘I go by Alexandra now.’
‘I know. Alexandra Davenport, I believe? Of course Alexandra is your middle name.’
He noted her slight blink of acknowledgement with satisfaction. Maybe she wasn’t quite as calm as she seemed. ‘Where’s the Davenport from?’
‘My grandmother’s maiden name.’ She stepped back and looked around before her cool gaze rested on him once again, understanding in her grey eyes. ‘Hawkin...hawk. Of course. I see. You always did say you’d earn enough to own somewhere like Blakeley some day. I didn’t think you actually meant Blakeley itself, but that wasn’t the first time I underestimated you. Congratulations, Finn, you’ve obviously done very well.’
Finn had been rehearsing this meeting for the last few hours. Ever since he’d heard about his Head of PR, Penelope, having an accident. No, longer than that. Since the summer, when he had glimpsed Lola across the ballroom floor and done some digging into the agency which had organised the Armarian Midsummer Ball and its four founders. From the moment he’d realised that Alexandra Davenport was exactly who he thought she was.
Lola Beaumont was unfinished business. Business he needed to resolve in order to move on once and for all—especially now that he was master of Blakeley and all that entailed. He had to focus on the future, on his nieces, and let go all the regrets that still haunted him. And he could only do that by confronting the past—and the woman who dominated it.
And then the fates had aligned, for good or for ill, and he had taken advantage of them. Penelope’s accident was more than unfortunate, coming at such a very crucial time. The castle would be opening to the public for the first time in its history this weekend, and he needed an experienced pair of hands to manage all the resulting publicity. Who better than the woman who had grown up here? Who now worked as a PR consultant?
The Lola he’d known would have reacted to her homecoming in some dramatic fashion, with tears or laughter equally likely, but this new version radiated a disconcerting cool calmness. A calmness he hadn’t anticipated, hadn’t prepared for. Nor had he missed her slight emphasis on the words ‘underestimated’.
His mouth tightened. He didn’t reply, not at first, taking a moment to observe the woman who had been his oldest friend—and his first love.
‘You didn’t know I founded Hawk?’
He didn’t hide his polite disbelief. Maybe she’d walked away and never so much as typed his name into a search engine or on a social media site, but his business was a global brand, and as founder and CEO he had been extensively profiled.
Alex was a PR professional. It didn’t seem possible that she had no idea of who he had become and what he’d achieved.
But her smile was apologetic. ‘Sorry. Outdoor pursuits aren’t my speciality and nor is clothing. I’m aware of Hawk, of course, but you’ve never been a rival of any of my clients, so I haven’t ever needed to investigate further. That was why I was so surprised when Amber said you had requested me specifically. I have to say I am even more surprised now I’m here. Finn, obviously it’s flattering that you would like me to cover your PR. But, given everything, I don’t think that our working together is in any way a good idea.’
‘Everything?’ He kept his voice icily smooth, but she still didn’t react, her expression unruffled.
‘Our shared history.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Shared history? That’s one way of putting it, I suppose.’
He stopped himself from saying anything else, from letting the bitter words he’d been holding back for ten years come spilling out. He was no longer a young man with no idea how to handle his emotions, how to cope with accusations and betrayal and heartbreak.
‘However, that’s exactly why you’re perfect for this job. After all, you know the castle better than anyone else.’
Again, just a blink as her reaction. Finn folded his arms and waited for her to respond, refusing to allow her calmness to throw him. After all, whether she called herself Alexandra Davenport or Lola Beaumont, there was one thing he knew for sure: she didn’t just know Blakeley Castle, she loved it with every fibre of her fiery being.
But, he conceded as he studied her, this woman wasn’t fiery. Gone was the platinum blonde hair and dramatic eyeliner, the cutting-edge fashion and almost fey wildness. Instead Alexandra’s hair was her natural light brown, neatly pinned up, her make-up discreet, her clothes professional. There was nothing wild in the way she stood, nor in her eyes. Instead Finn noted her absolute air of control. Was there any trace of Lola trapped inside this stranger?
‘The castle, yes. Your brand, no.’
‘But you specialise in short-term jobs, in getting up to speed quickly,’ he pointed out silkily. ‘I have a whole team who can manage Hawk’s PR work. What I need is someone to help me launch Blakeley Castle as a destination. Your expertise and knowledge make you the logical choice. Your colleague, Amber, didn’t think there would be any problem.’
‘Amber doesn’t know that I have any personal connection to Blakeley—or to you,’ she added in a low voice. ‘So of course she wouldn’t foresee any conflict of interest. But there are conflicts, and it’s my professional opinion that you would be better off with one of our excellent consultants instead of me. I can think of at least three who would be perfect. I propose I go back to London now and send you their profiles. I can make sure your preferred candidate is with you by the end of the day. I’m sorry you have wasted your time. It’s unfortunate that I was out of contact when you called.’
She picked up her bag and took a decisive step back.
‘I’m glad to see you’ve done so well, Finn. I look forward to our companies working together. I’m sure it will be a successful partnership.’
Not so fast. He hadn’t got her back just to watch her drive off into the sunset with nothing resolved.
‘You’ve signed a contract.’
Her eyes flickered. ‘And we’ll honour that contract...’
‘The contract specifies you, Alex. That you will work here at Blakeley Castle until Christmas Eve. Not one of your consultants, however excellent they may be.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘It’s you I have employed, your expertise I want, and your exorbitant rates I have agreed to.’
‘We can, of course, offer a discount to offset any inconvenience.’
‘I don’t need a discount. Either you fulfil the terms of your contract or I sue you for breaking them. Your choice. I’m sure you’ll be happy to stand up in court and tell everyone why you didn’t feel able to work for me.’
Her silence and stillness were absolute. ‘I see. I’m sorry that you hate me this much, Finn...’
‘I don’t hate you, Lola. I have absolutely no feelings at all towards you. This isn’t personal. This is business. So what will it be?’
He held her gaze, conscious of the lie. Of course it was personal, but his business reasons were more than valid. And he didn’t hate her. He never had.
She sighed. ‘If you’re absolutely adamant that I stay then of course I will, but I’d like to make it clear that I think you would be better letting me assign someone else to this job. Are you sure this is what you want?’
‘I’m sure. Come along and I’ll show you to your desk. Not that you need me to show you anywhere. I’m sure you remember your way around.’
Her eyes dipped briefly and she laid a hand on his arm, her touch light. Even her touch had lost its fire. Or maybe he was immune, their past having inoculated him against any spells she might cast.
‘Finn, I need to get one thing straight. If you really want me to work for you then please forget you ever knew me. Forget I ever lived here. Lola Beaumont is gone. I left her behind a long time ago.’
‘Shame. There was a lot of good in Lola behind it all.’
‘That’s neither here nor there. Do I have your word that you will respect my anonymity? The reputation I have built up? I don’t know how you tracked me down, Finn, but if you really have brought me here to do my best for your business and not to create a whole other kind of publicity then you’ll forget about Lola.’
She fixed her disconcerting gaze on him. Still no trace of visible emotion in their grey depths. No longer could a lovestruck boy compare them to stormy seas or windswept skies. Instead they were more like a glossy pebble, smooth and unreadable.
‘Unless, of course, it’s other publicity that you are after? Not my expertise but my past?’
Finn stared at her, incredulous as her meaning took shape. ‘You think I brought you here to expose you?’
She shrugged. ‘It would be excellent PR. The last Beaumont back at Blakeley... The papers would love it. They’ll rake up the old scandal anyway, you know that—you must be counting on it. Everyone loves the idea of an old, proud family brought down, and now they can stand on the spot where it happened. I am quite happy to facilitate that, Finn, but I am no longer personally part of that story.’
His hands curled once more into fists as he fought to match her calmness. ‘I don’t expect you to be the story. Blakeley is mine now. I prefer to concentrate on the future and on building prosperity for everyone who works here.’
‘Thank you. I’m glad we understand each other.’
Even with the toned-down make-up and hair, the professional clothes, he could still see traces of the vibrant girl he had known in the tilt of Alexandra’s pointed chin, the curve of her cheekbones, her elegant posture. But any resemblance was purely skin-deep.
Lola was gone, and with her all that fire and passion. It might have got her—and all who knew her—into trouble sometimes, but she had at least known how to live. He got the impression that the woman in front of him didn’t really live a single day of her ordered life. Rather she sleepwalked through it, merely existing. Of all the tragedies that had hit the Beaumonts, this seemed like the biggest tragedy of all.
But whether she called herself Alexandra or Lola one thing was clear—she still thought he would use her, expose her for his own personal gain, just as she had believed ten years ago. No matter what he had achieved, to the woman opposite he was still the boy she thought had betrayed her. Well, his word might not have been good enough then, but she would have to believe in it now.
His future awaited him, and once Christmas was over Lola/Alexandra would be out of his life and his memories for good.
Control had been at the centre of Alex’s life for many years now, but she had never had to fight so hard for it as she did right now. Standing beside her old home, with its turrets reaching up into the skies, standing opposite the man she had once given her whole heart and trust to, only for him to rip them—and her—to pieces, had whipped up feelings and emotions she had long thought buried and gone. Nausea swirled through her and her hands shook, but she fought to keep her voice even and her expression bland.
Finn could never know the effect he had on her. She would never give him—or anyone—that kind of power again.
‘I think I’d better get started. Where shall I set up? I would usually arrive fully prepared, but I was told I’d be briefed when I got here.’
She allowed the merest hint of accusation to hang in the air. Finn had deliberately allowed her to turn up unprepared and wrong-footed. Although, she allowed, if she hadn’t been too absorbed in her work to do the background check she’d promised herself, then she wouldn’t have been quite so unprepared. She couldn’t blame Finn for everything. Not this time.
‘I’ll take you to meet your team and brief you on the way. Leave your bags. One of the staff will take them to your rooms. The Hawk offices are in the stables. This way.’
Finn indicated the freshly laid woodchip path which wound away from the car park into the small copse which separated the newly refurbished offices from the castle. Alexandra hefted her leather laptop bag onto her shoulder and followed him—as if she didn’t know the way to the stables just as well as he did.
‘Amber said you’re planning to open the castle up to the public and the launch is this week—is that right?’ She barely waited for his nod before continuing. ‘So, will you open all year round or just for Christmas? Seasonally? Weekends? What about the gardens? Will they have different opening hours and prices? Obviously I should have researched this before I started, but I only got off my flight a couple of hours ago.’
Every question was direct and to the point. Information-gathering for her job, no more. She had to treat this like any other job, Finn like any other client. It was the only way she was going to get through this.
‘My apartments are in the top two floors of the west wing, and private, but the rest of the castle, including the grounds, will be open every day. Houses like this should be for everyone, not just for the privileged few.’
Alex swallowed, tightening her hold on her bag. Finn was living in her home, her beloved castle. Once she had daydreamed of such a situation, only in her dreams she had been living there alongside him. Was there a woman living with him? He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring but that didn’t mean anything. Not that she cared. She just hoped he’d learnt loyalty in the last decade. How to love, not how to use.
Although, judging by the way he was using her right now, she wouldn’t bet on it.
‘I assume all the paintings and furniture are still here? I know the castle was bought complete.’
She fought to suppress a dangerously revealing wobble in her voice. This was a job, not personal. Blakeley and all its treasures meant nothing to her. She couldn’t think about the old oak furniture that dated back to Tudor times, or the famous collection of Pre-Raphaelite paintings. She couldn’t remember the old dolls’ house or Strawberry, her beloved pony.
Finn nodded. ‘Luckily for me the castle was bought by an oligarch who never actually visited the place. Rumour in the village is that he wanted a hunting lodge and didn’t realise the estate wasn’t suitable for the kind of stag-hunting he’d planned. I don’t think he even set foot in the place. Blakeley hadn’t been touched since the day you left.’
Alex allowed herself one dangerous moment of memory. One flashback to the desperate girl with tears streaming down her face, the police tape still flickering around the lake, the hardness on Finn’s face, the paparazzi pressed up against the gates. And the last look back before she had slipped out of the secret door in the wall and out of her life, leaving Lola in the headlines and her heart in Blakeley’s keeping.
And then she pushed that memory firmly back down and picked up the pace. ‘So, Finn,’ she said as brightly as she could. ‘Tell me more about your plans and what you need me to do.’
Work was the answer. Work had always been the answer. And for the next few weeks she suspected it was going to be her salvation.