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‘As you wish,’ Larenz replied. ‘But I’m going to hold you to showing me the grounds later today.’ He left before Ellery could make a response, but she already knew she had no intention of showing Larenz de Luca anything while he was here. She intended to stay completely out of his way.
The weekend seemed as if it were getting longer by the minute.
Larenz wandered through the empty reception rooms as he waited for Ellery to make his breakfast. The heavy velvet curtains were still drawn against the light, although pale autumn sunshine filtered through the cracks and highlighted the dust motes dancing in the air.
Larenz gazed around the drawing room, with its high ceiling and intricate cornices, a beautiful marble fireplace and long sash windows. It was a stately, elegant room, and if he tried he could almost see it as it had once been, grand and imposing, despite the faded carpets and moth-eaten upholstery, the peeling gilt and wide crack in the marble surround of the fireplace.
He thought he could hear Amelie upstairs rather forcefully throwing her things back into her suitcase. She had been less than pleased to be summarily dismissed from the manor.
Larenz had caught her coming out of her bedroom—she looked as if she’d had a better night’s sleep than he had—and said with a little smile, ‘I’ve been thinking about your idea of using the manor as the location for Marina’s fashion shoot. It’s a good one.’
Amelie’s lipsticked mouth curved into a satisfied smile. ‘I knew you would.’
‘And,’ Larenz added in an implacable tone, ‘I need you to head back to the office this morning to start the paperwork. I’ll deal with Ellery.’
‘Ellery, is it?’ Amelie noted, her eyes narrowing. She forced a smile. ‘Well, I for one will be glad to see the last of this hovel for a little while at least.’ Larenz felt only relief as he headed downstairs.
Now, wandering restlessly through the drawing room, Larenz thought of how Ellery had whirled around when he’d come into the kitchen that morning, surprised and jumpy and aware, and he smiled, all thoughts of Amelie wiped clean away. This weekend was going to be very interesting and, he had no doubt, very pleasurable, as well.
Ellery placed the scrambled eggs, fried mushrooms, bacon, stewed tomato and a heap of baked beans on a plate, grabbed the rack of toast and a bottle of ketchup with her free hand, and made her way into the dining room.
Somewhere in the distance a door slammed and Ellery winced at the sound of a car starting, along with the telltale spray of gravel. More ruts in the road.
‘That would be Amelie leaving,’ Larenz said pleasantly. He stepped from the shadows of the dining room where he’d been standing. Hiding, more like, Ellery thought. At least this time she didn’t jump.
‘In a hurry, is she?’ she asked dryly. She ignored the sudden pounding of her heart and the fact that her mind—and body—were very aware that she and Larenz de Luca were now alone. She placed the food on the table and turned around to fetch the coffee. ‘I’ll be right back.’
‘You are getting a plate for yourself, I hope?’ Larenz enquired. A frisson of feeling—could it possibly be hope—shivered through Ellery. She stiffened, her back to him. ‘I prefer not to eat alone,’ Larenz clarified, a hint of laughter in his voice.
‘I eat in the kitchen,’ she said without turning around.
‘Then allow me to join you.’
She heard Larenz reach for his plate, the clank of cutlery as he scooped up his dishes, quite prepared to follow her into the kitchen. Slowly Ellery turned around. ‘What exactly do you want from me, Mr de Luca?’
‘Is friendliness not part of the weekend special?’ he asked lightly. He didn’t answer her question.
‘I like to be friendly and professional,’ she replied curtly.
‘As a matter of fact, this is professional,’ Larenz returned. ‘I have a business proposition to put to you.’
Ellery didn’t bother hiding her disbelief. The idea of this wealthy man having anything to do with her or Maddock Manor was utterly absurd. ‘You can’t be serious—’
Larenz gave her a playful, mocking smile. ‘Is that your reaction to most business propositions?’
She gritted her teeth. She’d been doing that quite a bit since Larenz de Luca and his lover had arrived—although now she was gone, no doubt dismissed by Larenz. He’d discarded one woman—and why? To move on to another?
To move on to her?
Ellery pushed the alarming—and tempting—possibility away. Surely there had to be another reason for his continued presence. He was far too wealthy to enjoy staying in a place like Maddock Manor; he was clearly used to five-star hotels with matching service. Amelie had told her as much yesterday, and everything Ellery had noticed about Larenz de Luca confirmed this opinion, from the navy-blue Lexus he’d driven up in last night to the way he stood there, arrogantly relaxed in his supposed Saturday slumming clothes. He was, Ellery noticed, wearing buttery-soft loafers of Italian leather that had to have cost several hundred pounds at least. The man reeked of power and privilege.
Maddock Manor was way, way beneath him. She was way, way beneath him. And yet he stayed?
It made her nervous, anxious and even a little bit afraid.
‘You’re clearly a very wealthy, important person,’ she finally said with frank honesty. ‘I can’t imagine any business proposition of yours that would involve me or Maddock—’
‘Then you’re wrong,’ Larenz said softly. ‘And my breakfast is getting cold.’ He lifted the plate once more. ‘Shall we?’
Ellery capitulated. She realized she had little choice, for Larenz was clearly the kind of man who was used to getting his own way. And she was tired of fighting; she was exhausted already. After breakfast she’d fob him off with the list of errands she had to do. She couldn’t quite see him tagging along while she dug for the last potatoes or raked over the gravel that Amelie had sprayed everywhere.
‘Fine,’ she said curtly and then, because it was obvious he had no intention of being an ordinary guest, she threw over her shoulder, ‘we can eat in the kitchen.’
Ellery fixed herself a plate of eggs and mushrooms while Larenz took a seat at the big scrubbed pine table. He popped a mushroom into his mouth and surveyed the huge room with its original fireplace big enough to roast an ox and the bank of windows letting in the pale morning sunshine.
‘I’d say this was quite cosy,’ he murmured, ‘except this table could seat a round dozen. And I imagine it once did, in this house’s heyday.’ He smiled, raising his eyebrows. ‘When was that?’
Ellery stiffened. ‘The house’s heyday?’ she repeated and then, to her surprise and dismay, she sighed, the sound all too wistful and revealing. ‘Probably some time in the seventeenth century. I think the Dunants were originally Puritans in good standing with Cromwell.’
‘And did they lose it all in the Restoration?’
Ellery shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. They changed sides a dozen times or more.’ She reached for two heavy china mugs and poured coffee. ‘The Dunants aren’t particularly known for being faithful.’ Too late she heard the spite and bitterness in her voice and closed her eyes, hoping Larenz hadn’t heard it, too. Yet, even without turning around, she knew he had; he was far too perceptive for his own good—or hers.
‘Here.’ She placed a mug of coffee in front of him on the table and then walked around to her own seat, all the way on the other end of the table. It looked a little ridiculous for them to be sitting so far apart but Ellery didn’t care. She wasn’t about to give Larenz any excuse to touch her.
Even if you want him to…
Ellery just barely kept from closing her eyes again. It was a good thing Larenz de Luca wasn’t capable of mind reading—except when she looked at him and saw that faint knowing smile on his face she felt as if he was.
‘Thank you,’ he murmured and took a sip of coffee. Ellery began to eat her eggs with grim determination. She didn’t want to talk to Larenz, didn’t want him to flirt or tease or tempt her. Yet, even as these thoughts flitted through her mind and her eggs turned rubbery and tasteless in her mouth, Ellery knew she was already tempted. Badly. She thought of how Larenz’s flutter of fingers on her wrist, skin sliding on skin, had jolted her, an electric current wired directly to her soul.
Except, Ellery thought as she speared a mushroom, souls had nothing to do with it; the temptation she felt for Larenz de Luca was purely, utterly physical. It had to be, for he was exactly the kind of man she despised. The kind of man her father had been.
She glanced up from her breakfast to look at Larenz, to drink him in, for he really was the most amazingly beautiful man. Her gaze lingered on the straight line of his nose, the slashes of his dark brows, those full moulded lips—she imagined those lips touching her, even somewhere seemingly innocuous, like where his fingers had been, on her wrist—and she nearly shuddered aloud.
‘Is something wrong?’ Larenz asked. He lifted his mug to take a sip of coffee and his eyes danced over its rim.
‘What do you mean?’ Ellery asked sharply. She returned her fork to her plate with a clatter. She’d been caught staring, of course, and she pulled her lip between her teeth, nipping hard, at the realization.
Larenz lowered his mug. His eyes still danced. ‘It’s just you looked a bit—pained.’
‘Pained?’ Ellery repeated. She rose abruptly from the table and grabbed her plate, moving to scrape the remains of her mostly uneaten breakfast into the bin. ‘I’m afraid I have rather a lot on my mind,’ she explained tartly. Too much on her mind to be thinking about Larenz the way she had. Too many worries to add temptation to the mix, especially when she knew he could only be amusing himself with her. The thought stung.
‘Breakfast was delicious, thank you,’ Larenz said. He’d moved to the sink, where Ellery watched in surprise as he rinsed his plate and mug and placed them in the dishwasher.
‘Thank you,’ she half mumbled, touched by his little thoughtfulness. ‘You don’t have to clean up—’
‘Amazingly, I am capable of putting a few dishes away,’ Larenz said with a wry smile that reached right into Ellery and twisted her heart. Or maybe something else. She turned away again, busying herself with the mindless tasks of wiping the table down and turning off the coffeemaker. From the corner of her eye, she saw Larenz lean one shoulder against the door, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. ‘So it looks to be a beautiful day out. How about you show me the grounds and we can discuss this business proposition?’
Ellery jerked around, the dripping dishcloth still in her hand. She’d completely forgotten about his business proposition—what kind of proposal could he possibly have?
‘I’m really rather busy—’ she began and Larenz just smiled.
‘I promise you, it’ll be worth your while.’ He reached out almost lazily and took the dishcloth from her hand, tossing it easily into the sink where it landed with a wet thud. ‘An hour of your time, no more. Surely you can spare that?’
Ellery hesitated. Larenz stood there, relaxed and waiting, a faint smile curving those amazing lips, and suddenly she had no more excuses. She didn’t even want to have any more excuses. She wanted, for once, an hour to enjoy herself. To enjoy temptation instead of resist it. To see what might happen, even if it was dangerous. An hour couldn’t hurt, surely? That was all she’d give Larenz—or herself.
She let her breath out slowly. ‘All right. But we ought to wear wellies.’ She glanced pointedly at his leather loafers. ‘It rained last night and it’s quite muddy out.’
‘I’m afraid,’ Larenz murmured, ‘I didn’t bring any—wellies—with me.’
Ellery pursed her lips. She could just imagine the kind of clothes in the case Larenz had brought inside last night, and it didn’t run to rubber boots. ‘It’s a good job that we have plenty for guests,’ she returned, and Larenz quirked one eyebrow in question.
‘We?’
‘I mean I,’ Ellery clarified, flushing. ‘The boots are from when I was growing up—when we had house guests.’ Her throat suddenly felt tight. She tried not to think of those days, when she was little and Maddock Manor had been full of people and laughter, the rooms gleaming and smelling of fresh flowers and beeswax polish and everything had been happy.
Had seemed happy, she mentally corrected, and went to the utility room to fetch a pair of boots she thought might be in Larenz’s size.
Larenz followed Ellery out of the kitchen door to the walled garden adjacent to the Manor. He took in the remnants of a summer garden, now bedraggled and mostly dead, the grass no more than muddy patches. He wondered if the parsnips for last night’s soup had come from here. He imagined Ellery harvesting the garden by herself, a lonely, laborious task, and something unexpected pulled at his heart.
He felt a single stab of pity, which was most unlike him. He’d worked too hard for too long pulling himself up from the gutter to feel sorry for an aristocrat who’d fallen on hard times, no doubt in part due to her family’s extravagant living.
Yet, as he watched Ellery stride ahead of him, the boots enveloping her slender legs, her back stiff and straight, he realized he did feel a surprising twist of compassion for her.
She would be horrified if she knew. Ellery Dunant, Larenz thought with amusement, possessed a rather touching amount of pride. She seemed to love this heap of hers about as much as she disliked him, and was, he knew, most reluctant to spend time with him. She resented the attraction she felt for him, that much was obvious, but Larenz did not think she could resist its tug for long.
He certainly had no desire to. He wanted to release that platinum fall of hair from its sorry scraped little bun; he wanted to trail his fingers along her creamy skin and see if it was as soft as it looked—everywhere. He wanted to transform the disdain that pinched her face to a desire that would soften it. And he would. He always got what he wanted.
‘Did you plant a garden this summer?’ Larenz asked, nudging a row of withered runner beans. Ellery turned around, her hands deep in the pockets of her waxed jacket.
‘Yes—a small one.’ She glanced around the garden, remembering the vision she’d once had, the rows of hollyhocks, the cornucopia of vegetables, the neat little herb garden. She’d managed only a few potatoes and parsnips, things that were easy to grow, for she’d learned rather quickly that she did not have much of a green thumb. ‘It’s difficult to manage on my own,’ she explained stiffly. ‘But one day—’ She stopped, letting the thought fall to the ground, unnourished. One day what? Every day she stayed at Maddock Manor, Ellery was conscious of how futile her plans really were. She would never get ahead on her own, never have enough money to make the necessary repairs, much less the renovations, never be able to see Maddock Manor restored to the glory it had once known. She tried to avoid these damning realizations, and for the most part she did, simply living day by day. It was Larenz de Luca, with his knowing smile and pointed questions, who reminded her of the futility of her life here.
She turned away from the garden to lead Larenz out to the half-timbered barns that flanked the rear of the property. ‘So just what is this business proposition?’ she called over her shoulder.
‘Let me see the barns,’ Larenz returned equably, and Ellery suppressed a groan. She’d only agreed to show Larenz the grounds because she’d already discovered how persistent he could be, and in a moment of folly—weakness—she’d wanted to spend time with him. She’d wanted to feel that dangerous, desirable jolt again. Even—especially—if it went nowhere; there was nowhere for it to go.
Yet, now that they were actually outside, Larenz inspecting the overgrown gardens and crumbling brick walls, Ellery felt no enjoyment or excitement, only the ragged edge of desperation as a man who looked as if he’d never known a day of want or need strolled through the remnants of her own failure.
‘A lovely building,’ Larenz murmured as Ellery let him into the dim, dusty interior of the barn that had once stabled a dozen workhorses. She blinked in the gloom, the sunlight filtering through the cracks.
‘Once,’ she agreed, and Larenz just smiled.
‘Yours is hardly the first stately home to fall into disrepair.’
Ellery nodded rather glumly. It was a story being told all over England: estates crippled by rising costs and inheritance taxes, turned over to the National Trust or private enterprises, hotels or amusement parks or even, in the case of a manor nearby, a zoo.
Larenz stepped deeper into the dimness of the barn and ran his hand over a bulky shape shrouded in canvas tarpaulin that took over most of the interior. ‘Have you ever thought of turning the place into a park or museum?’
‘No.’ She’d resisted letting Maddock Manor become anything but the home it once had been—her home, her mother’s home, a place that had defined them—because she was afraid if she lost the Manor she’d have nothing left. Nothing that pointed to who she was—what she was. Her father’s daughter. ‘Letting rooms out for holidays is the first step, I suppose, but I couldn’t bear it if someone put a roller coaster up in the garden or something like that.’
Larenz turned to her, his eyes glinting with amusement even in the musty dimness of the barn. ‘Surely you wouldn’t have to do something so drastic.’
Ellery shrugged. ‘I don’t have the money to renovate it myself, not on a large scale, so the only choice would be to turn it over to developers.’
‘Have you had any offers?’
That was the galling bit, Ellery thought with a sigh. She hadn’t. Manor houses, it seemed, were all too available, and Maddock Manor was in enough disrepair to make developers turn away. At least they hadn’t been pestering her. ‘No, not really. We’re a bit off the beaten track.’
Larenz nodded slowly. ‘I’m amazed Amelie found this place, actually.’
Ellery bristled; she couldn’t help it. ‘I do have a website—’
‘Mmm.’ Larenz pulled at the canvas tarpaulin. ‘If I’m not mistaken, there’s a car under here, and probably a nice one.’
Ellery’s heart seemed to stop for a second before it started beating with hard, heavy thuds. ‘A Rolls-Royce,’ she confirmed as Larenz pulled the tarpaulin away to reveal the car. They gazed silently at the vintage vehicle, its silver body gleaming even in the dim light. Ellery wished she’d taken Larenz to another barn. She’d forgotten the car was kept in this one. Actually, she’d forgotten about the car completely, yet now she found the memories rushing back and she reached one hand out to touch the gleaming metal before she dropped it back to her side.
‘A Silver Dawn,’ Larenz murmured. He ran his hand over the engine hood. ‘From the nineteen-forties. It’s in remarkably good condition.’
‘It was my father’s,’ Ellery said quietly.
Larenz glanced at her. ‘Has he passed away?’
She nodded. ‘Five years ago.’
‘I’m sorry. You must have been quite young.’
‘Nineteen.’ She gave a little shrug; she didn’t want to talk about it, especially not with Larenz, a virtual stranger. She didn’t like talking about her father to her closest friend. She certainly wasn’t about to unburden herself to a man like Larenz.
‘You could sell the Rolls,’ Larenz commented as he covered the car back up; Ellery felt a sudden pang of loss. She’d ridden in that car as a child, stuck her head out of the window and laughed with joy as her father had motored down the narrow country lanes, waving at everyone who passed.
She’d also stood on the front steps and watched the Rolls disappear down the drive when her father had gone on his alleged business trips. She’d never known when he would be coming back.
‘Maybe I don’t want to sell it,’ she said, her voice coming out in something of a snap.
Larenz glanced at her, unperturbed. ‘It must be worth at least forty thousand pounds.’
Forty thousand pounds. Ellery had no idea the car could be worth that much. She felt foolish for not knowing and yet, even so she knew she would never sell it. Another emotional and irrational decision, but one she couldn’t keep from making. She turned away, walking stiffly out of the barn. ‘Some things aren’t for sale,’ she said quietly after Larenz had followed her out and she had closed the big wooden door, sliding the bar across.
‘Forty thousand pounds would make a big difference to a place like this,’ Larenz remarked mildly. ‘You could mow the lawn a bit more regularly, for starters.’
Ellery whirled on him, suddenly furious. ‘Why do you care?’ she demanded. ‘You’ve been here less than twenty-four hours. You already think my home is a wreck. And,’ she added, real bitterness now spiking her words, ‘I don’t recall ever asking you for advice.’ She turned on her heel—her boots splashing through a rather large puddle and, she noted with satisfaction, spraying mud onto Larenz’s jeans—and stormed back to the house without once looking back at her guest.
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