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‘Watch out for the two large German shepherd dogs when you get to the gates,’ had been Stephen’s final warning when she had left the house this morning.
She could see now exactly what he meant by ‘large’!
They must be two of the biggest of their breed Arabella had ever seen, with almost identical black and brown coats which seemed to imply some sort of relationship between them. But it wasn’t their size, or their loud barks, that kept her firmly enclosed inside her car. It was the fact that they weren’t behind the tall gates at all, but leaping up and down outside her car window, the two gates at the entrance of the house having been left open, and so allowing the two dogs their freedom.
Obviously Merlin had been expecting her, she decided ruefully as she watched the two huge beasts slavering on the other side of her car door.
They didn’t give any indication of stopping their cacophony of noise. Or of going away. She had a feeling that if she tried to back out onto the road the dogs would follow her, possibly go under the wheels of her car. And, much as she found their behaviour irritating, she didn’t want to injure either of them. To drive down the driveway would probably produce the same reaction. Or worse! Which left her with a dilemma: what should she do now?
She had seen a film once in which the leading character had confronted some dogs on their own territory and thereby succeeded in totally disarming them, throwing them into confusion. After all, dogs of this size would be more used to people running away from them than going towards them. It had worked in the film, anyway...!
But this was real life, and both dogs looked to have large teeth and wide jaws, the former, she would imagine, able to do great damage to soft human skin in a matter of seconds. But, by the same token, she couldn’t sit here all day just looking at the beasts, and they certainly didn’t look as if they were tiring of the game!
Taking a deep breath, she took the bull by the horns—or rather, she challenged the two dogs. She didn’t get out of the car slowly or apprehensively but simply thrust open the door, and two seconds later she was standing on the gravelled driveway confronting the animals.
If the situation hadn’t been so fraught with tension, the look on their faces might have been laughable; the two huge beasts dropped back several feet in surprise, although their barking continued intermittently. But, as Arabella continued to stare at them, even that died down, and after several minutes they viewed her with what she could only describe as puzzlement. If dogs could look surprised! These two certainly did.
‘Where’s all the noise gone now, then?’ She spoke to them derisively, although inwardly she was mightily relieved still to be in one piece. ‘Now, are you going to take me to your master, or do I have to find him myself?’
The dogs continued to look at her quizzically, obviously wondering what she was saying, but seeming to accept, for the moment, that she spoke with a certain amount of authority. Although quite what she should do next she wasn’t sure. Would the dogs continue to keep their distance if she made an attempt to walk down the driveway? After all, at the moment she wasn’t quite inside the property; maybe the two of them would decide to become protective again if she took a step in the direction of the house?
Well, she could hardly stand here all day hoping someone would come along and rescue her, or that the dogs wouldn’t attack. In the circumstances she decided to risk it. The worst they could do was tear her limb from limb.
What a cheery little thought!
She began to walk, the dogs trotting along behind her down the driveway, seeming confused after her audacity in daring to challenge their authority. Which was what she had hoped for.
It was a longer walk than she had thought, though, and as she finally approached the house the two dogs were walking one at either side of her, like escorts, although, to give them their due, they hadn’t made any threatening moves.
Arabella could hear the sound of male voices as she neared the house, which became even louder as she turned the last corner.
She came to a gasping halt as she rounded that last bend and saw the house, not impressed by the building itself, but by the two men in the garden outside. Merlin was exactly as she had always imagined him, seated on a low veranda overlooking the garden: a wizened old man well into his sixties, his hair long and grey, skin weathered brown by the many seasons he had seen in his lifetime. Although she had omitted his raggedy beard in her imaginings, a beard as grey and unkempt as his hair.
But it wasn’t Merlin who made her gasp, it was the younger man working in the garden below hint—a tall man with over-long blond hair, the muscles of his shirtless golden-brown torso rippling as he struggled with the roots of a tree stump that seemed to be proving stubborn. His only clothing, as far as she could see, was a pair of faded denims that rested low down on his hips.
As he became aware of her presence in the driveway he slowly straightened, looking at her with a pair of the deepest blue eyes Arabella had ever seen in her life, and she found herself face to face with the man she was already half in love with. A man straight out of the pages of Merlin’s books. Obviously not a complete figment of his imagination, either.
Robert Palfrey was Merlin’s gardener!
CHAPTER TWO
‘PALFREY’ recovered from the unexpected encounter a lot quicker than Arabella did, his eyes narrowing questioningly as he looked at her warily. Well, it wasn’t surprising he had got over his amazement quicker than her, he hadn’t just been confronted with a live, flesh-and-blood hero—more flesh than blood!
Arabella had been instrumental in commissioning the illustrations for the covers of the Palfrey books—and if she had met this man beforehand, and given the illustrator a description of him, she couldn’t have been more accurate. He—
‘Who the hell are you?’ he suddenly rasped, the harshness of his voice bringing her out of her dazed stupor.
Although not enough to actually be able to answer him, as she was still tongue-tied by all this glistening male beauty. He was beautiful, completely secure in his own maleness. And so he should be. He—
‘Daisy, May—heel!’ he instructed the dogs tersely, and the two animals trotted obediently over to sit at his feet, salivating for a different reason now as they gazed up at him, adoringly.
Arabella knew how they felt; she could cheerfully have sat at his feet and done the same thing herself. He was real! Robert Palfrey, alive, and standing just feet away from her.
‘I asked you a question,’ he rasped again. Those deep blue eyes narrowed flintily as he stood almost protectively in front of the house and its occupants.
‘Daisy and May?’ Arabella mused, aware that she still wasn’t answering his question as to who she was. But she found the names of the dogs so incongruous for two such fierce-looking creatures. They were obviously guard dogs, and yet it was doubtful that calling them Daisy and May would put the fear of God into anybody. Stephen would be mortified when she told him he had run away from Daisy and May!
‘Palfrey’s’ mouth tightened at her slightly mocking tone. ‘Don’t be fooled by the names,’ he bit out sharply. ‘They guard what they’re meant to guard!’
Merlin! Arabella realised, her mind suddenly returning to exactly why she was here. Coming face to face with this man had just thrown her totally.
‘I’m sure they do,’ she dismissed smoothly. ‘I’m actually here because I have a business appointment with Mr—er—Merlin,’ she amended awkwardly, peering around ‘Palfrey’ to where the elderly man still sat on the veranda.
Those deep blue eyes narrowed even more. ‘You do?’ He sounded sceptical.
Didn’t she look the part? She had checked her appearance very carefully before she’d left the house this morning to drive down here. Admittedly, the jacket of her dark grey pinstriped suit was still in the car at the end of the driveway, but, even so, the smart white blouse and straight skirt that reached just above her knees, the neutral-coloured tights and moderately heeled black shoes were surely quite businesslike? Her hair was in its usual bun at her nape, her glasses rested firmly on the bridge of her nose; in what way didn’t she look the part?
‘I do,’ she assured the younger man briskly, recovering a little now from the shock of actually meeting the real, live Palfrey; after all, she wasn’t here to see this man at all, but the elderly one seated behind him. Having got this far without actually being thrown out, she intended to make the most of her opportunity. Especially since she had been so angry with her father and Stephen two days ago; it would be too humiliating if she ended up being treated the same way. ‘I wrote to him and told him of my arrival this afternoon,’ she added pointedly, wishing he would get out of the way so that she might speak to Merlin himself.
The younger man scowled frowningly. ‘You did?’
Much as she had initially been bowled over by this man’s devastatingly good looks, she was now starting to find this conversation with him irksome. After all, it was Merlin she had come here to talk to, not his gardener! ‘If I could just have a few private words with Merlin.’ She tried to look around the younger man to where his elderly employer sat listening to them unconcernedly.
‘Concerning what?’ the young man prompted tersely.
There was something very odd going on here. Merlin hadn’t spoken a word since her arrival, and the blond man was distinctly hostile; surely the gardener was overstepping his duties by speaking for his employer in this way? Unless he also acted as security guard to the older man? But even so...! ‘My name is Atherton—’
‘It’s the publisher, boyo.’ The elderly man spoke for the first time, his voice gravelly, as if he didn’t use it very often. He stood up, moving to stand beside the younger man, the two of them looking slightly ridiculous together, one so tall and golden, the other shrivelled with age. ‘Is that right, miss?’
‘Quite correct.’ She nodded in confirmation, at last feeling as if she was making some sort of progress. ‘I wrote to you—’
‘You’re A. Atherton?’ Again it was the younger man who spoke to her.
Irritation flickered in her eyes as she gave him a brief glance. ‘Arabella Atherton, yes,’ she dismissed impatiently, looking at Merlin with some surprise as he began to chuckle throatily. The chuckle soon became a fully fledged cackle.
What was so funny about her name? Admittedly it sounded as if it came from another century, but her mother had loved to read historical novels, her father often saying he thought his wife would rather have been born in earlier times. But, even though Arabella had found her name a bit of an encumbrance when she was younger, she now found it rather attractive. It was certainly different.
‘I realise the two of us have never been formally introduced.’ She held out her hand, taking a couple of steps closer to Merlin, careful of the dogs as they began to growl low in their throats. ‘But we have been writing to each other for the last five years.’ She smiled warmly. ‘I’m Arabella Atherton. And you’re—’
‘Andrew, the gardener.’ The chuckling had stopped, although the elderly man still grinned his amusement. ‘The aged family retainer,’ he added pointedly.
‘Your age only comes into it when it comes to uprooting stubborn tree stumps,’ the younger man said dryly. ‘The rest of the time you take pleasure in telling me how fit you are!’
‘But I am, boy.’ Andrew grinned at him before turning back to Arabella. ‘He’s Merlin.’ He nodded in the direction of the man Arabella had come to regard as Palfrey.
This young man, his muscular body still glistening and golden after the exertion from his efforts with the tree stump, a man who might have posed for the Palfrey book covers himself, was actually the author of those books? Merlin was Palfrey? No, Palfrey was Merlin! The two were one and the same person?
The elderly gardener chuckled again as Arabella and Merlin stared at each other. ‘I think you may have come as much of a surprise to her as she has to you, boy,’ he murmured wryly.
Merlin’s mouth tightened, his gaze flinty as it swept scathingly over her businesslike appearance. ‘I had assumed A. Atherton was a man,’ he finally acknowledged contemptuously.
He wasn’t pleased to discover his editor was actually a woman, Arabella realised, her cheeks becoming flushed.
‘I think the two of you made some erroneous assumptions concerning each other.’ The elderly gardener still sounded amused by the situation.
Merlin shot him a look of irritation. ‘Go and ask Stella to put the kettle on, and we’ll all have a cup of tea.’
‘Certainly, sir.’ Andrew pulled on an imaginary forelock. ‘Right away, sir.’ He nodded before turning to walk around the side of the house, disappearing into what Arabella assumed must be the kitchen.
Merlin’s irritation had deepened to a scowl. ‘I think I’ve allowed him too much familiarity over the years,’ he muttered with a shake of his head.
Familiarity breeding contempt? Somehow she didn’t think so. The two men obviously liked and respected each other very much; an easy affection existed between the two.
‘A cup of tea would be very welcome, thank you,’ she said, smoothly changing the subject. And it wasn’t a lie either; she had been driving for several hours and a cup of tea certainly wouldn’t come amiss.
He frowned across at her and then reached down to the ground to pick up a pale blue denim shirt, pulling it on over the wide width of his shoulders before buttoning it up the front.
Arabella’s breath left her in a gentle sigh. She hadn’t even been aware she was actually holding it until that moment, able to breathe a little easier now that Merlin was more formally attired. Although she was still stunned at his physical likeness to his character. She was always advising would-be authors to write about what they knew, but it was the first time she had actually found that the author and the hero of his books were one and the same person!
‘I told your husband the other day that we have nothing to talk about,’ he bit out coldly.
It took Arabella a couple of seconds to realise exactly whom he was referring to. ‘Stephen is my brother,’ she corrected him, smiling at the thought of someone like Stephen being her husband; there were only two years’ difference in their ages, but to her Stephen had always been a child. He had done nothing since joining the company to make her think any differently of him.
Merlin regarded her thoughtfully, head tilted to one side. ‘There’s no family resemblance,’ he finally murmured ruefully.
She knew that, had always been aware of the fact that Stephen had inherited their father’s undoubted good looks, whereas she—well, she wasn’t sure who she resembled! She wasn’t like her tiny, beautiful mother. She wasn’t exactly plain, but she certainly wasn’t a beauty either. She seemed to fall short, somewhere in the middle of the two, not ugly, but having nothing remarkable about her features.
More than one man in the past had assumed that, as in the movies, if her hair were loosened and her glasses removed she would suddenly be transformed into a beauty. Those men had been bitterly disappointed! Her red hair was indeed a beautiful colour, but released about her shoulders it took on a will of its own, becoming completely unmanageable. And without her glasses her eyes ceased to be big, blue and intelligent, surrounded by dark lashes, and simply became myopic; it was obvious at a glance that she was as blind as a bat. So much for the transformation!
‘I can assure you, he is my brother,’ she replied without rancour. After all, she was what she was. ‘I can only apologise for the way he just turned up here unannounced a couple of days ago,’ she added with a frown. ‘I wasn’t aware he had done so until he arrived back at the office.’
‘Spitting fire at my rough handling of him, no doubt,’ Merlin guessed—accurately!—a wry twist to his lips.
Arabella smiled in return. ‘To put it mildly,’ she acknowledged.
The dark blue eyes narrowed. ‘And now you’ve been sent to calm the troubled waters,’ he derided mockingly.
‘I haven’t been “sent” anywhere.’ She gave a firm shake of her head. ‘I’m hoping that the only troubled waters we have are those back at the office; I left my father and brother in no doubt as to how I felt about their interference in our relationship,’ she explained grimly, having assured her father before she left this morning that if she couldn’t straighten this situation out he was going to hear more on the subject.
‘“Our relationship”?’ Merlin echoed softly.
She could feel the heat in her cheeks at the obvious mockery in his tone. ‘That of author and editor,’ she clarified sharply. ‘I—’
‘Tea’s ready, boy,’ Andrew called from the house.
‘Perhaps Miss Atherton has decided not to stop for tea,’ Merlin returned dryly, although his gaze remained firmly fixed on Arabella.
‘Of course she wants tea, boy,’ the gardener admonished tauntingly. ‘Do you think she’s driven all the way down here to be sent away without even a cup of tea?’
Arabella knew that her father would agree with Merlin’s earlier remarks about Andrew’s familiarity; the servants at their family home were rarely seen, never heard, and the household ran like clockwork. But it was obvious that these two were more than employer/employee, that they had a friendship that seemed to go back years. Merlin should consider himself blessed, not cursed, she thought.
‘Tea would be lovely,’ she accepted lightly; at least she was going to get inside the house! ‘Although perhaps I should go and get my bag and lock the car up before I do that,’ she added thoughtfully.
This might not be London, but she still didn’t want to leave her bag in an unlocked car some distance from the house. When she’d arrived earlier she had thought it best not to have anything in her hands that might look in the least threatening. But she had some paperwork in the car that she would need if she were to talk to Merlin.
‘Will the dogs be OK now?’ She still hesitated about making any sudden moves in their presence.
Merlin eyed her with a scowl. ‘You took a risk earlier, just getting out of your car like that.’
It had either been that or turn tail and run, as her brother had done. After her contemptuous anger towards the two male members of her family, she’d had no intention of doing that. Although she had a feeling that might have been the reason Merlin had left them loose in the first place...!
‘I won’t be a minute,’ she assured him lightly.
‘No hurry,’ he dismissed with a careless wave of his hand. ‘Just make your way back to the house when you’re ready.’ He turned towards the house, the two dogs trailing obediently at his heels.
Arabella gave a rueful smile to herself as she walked back to her car. Although things had certainly changed since her father had first taken over Atherton Publishing twenty years ago, a time when the publisher had wielded the power, most of their authors were nevertheless still thrilled at a visit from their editor. Merlin had made it obvious her being here was just an inconvenience to him. But then, he was one of the best-selling authors of today and would immediately be snapped up by another publishing company if he were to find they were invading his privacy.
After collecting her bag, she made her way into the house by the same way the gardener and Merlin had, finding herself walking straight into the kitchen. The two men were seated at a solid oak table that dominated the centre of the spacious room, while a lady in her sixties provided them with tea, cakes and scones. The latter looked mouth-wateringly home-made, but after her long drive Arabella had to admit it was the tea she was most interested in.
‘My wife, Stella.’ Andrew introduced her as Arabella came hesitantly into the room. ‘This is Rob’s publisher, Stella,’ he explained with relish, obviously still greatly amused that his employer’s editor had turned out to be a woman.
Arabella had hoped to discover what Merlin’s first name was; after all, not everyone could call him ‘boy’. Especially as he must be in his late thirties. Rob? She looked at him sharply. Could it be that his name was Robert, like his hero? He didn’t seem about to tell her!
‘Please call me Stella,’ the housekeeper invited warmly as she placed a steaming cup of tea on the table in front of Arabella, having seated her beside Merlin.
‘Arabella,’ she returned lightly, before gratefully sipping at the tea.
‘What a pretty name,’ the housekeeper said spontaneously. ‘Sounds like one of your heroines, Rob.’ She smiled at her employer; she was a small, plump woman, with hair almost as white as her husband’s, and brown eyes that twinkled as much too. Obviously this was a happy household, even if their employer was more than a little taciturn.
Merlin grunted at the comment, his gaze fixed morosely on the bottom of his teacup as he drank from it. Physically, Arabella acknowledged, he looked just like his hero, Palfrey, although there were no laughter-lines on this man’s face, no warmth or humour in his blue eyes, something the Palfrey character had in abundance. But Merlin wrote the Palfrey books, so he must be possessed of a sense of humour. Mustn’t he...? Not when it came to unwanted visits from his editor, obviously!
Suddenly he stood up abruptly. ‘Shall we take our tea and go through to my study?’ He looked at her with coldly compelling eyes.
‘Of course,’ Arabella agreed; at least he was going to talk to her. It was a step further than Stephen had got, and that had to be better than nothing. She directed an apologetic smile at the elderly couple as Merlin instantly turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving Arabella with no choice but to follow him. She wasn’t apologising for Merlin’s behaviour—the couple must be used to that by now—she was apologising for not doing justice to the afternoon tea the housekeeper had provided; Merlin hadn’t given her time!
His study was like that of so many other authors she had seen: the desk was the dominating feature, a large leather-topped mahogany one in this case, behind it a bookcase full of reference books. The only difference she could see in this room was the lack of a word processor; most authors used them nowadays. But Merlin’s, manuscripts were always neatly presented, so he had to have one somewhere, making her wonder if this was actually the room that he used to work in.
‘Sit down,’ he invited curtly, already seated across the desk from her himself, the dogs on either side of him.
Now Arabella knew what it felt like to be a prospective published author seated across from her in her own office: a bit like being back at school and being hauled before the headmaster for some misdemeanour. And the dogs definitely added to the feeling of menace in the room. As the seconds, and then minutes, passed once she had sat down, that feeling didn’t diminish!
‘I take it you did receive my letter?’ Arabella was finally the one to speak.
‘Yes,’ he confirmed harshly, leaning back in his high-backed leather chair to look at her with narrowed eyes.
‘So my being here isn’t unexpected?’ she persisted determinedly; remembering the dogs and the open gates, she knew damn well it wasn’t!
‘A. Atherton’s presence here isn’t unexpected,’ he acknowledged coldly. ‘Your presence...’ He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘I had no idea the A stood for Arabella.’
Or he would have asked for another editor years ago, the accusing statement implied. Did the fact she was a woman mean she wasn’t a good editor?
‘I had no idea your first name was Robert, either,’ she said lightly, but just as pointedly.
He was silent again for several long seconds, and then his mouth twisted wryly. ‘Touché.’ He nodded in acknowledgement of the challenge in her voice.
It was strange, really, but here, in the privacy of his study, Robert Merlin had taken on an even more familiar appearance. Of course he reminded her of his hero, Palfrey, but there was something else too, a definite feeling that she had seen him before somewhere. But where? And surely she would have remembered it if she had? With his golden good looks, and powerfully attractive face, he was a man who would be very difficult to forget Yet she knew she had seen him before somewhere, knew—