Harriet opened her eyes to see James standing in a shaft of moonlight at the end of the bed.

She smiled at him drowsily for a moment, and then shot upright in shock. It was no dream. He was here, in the flesh.

“I frightened you,” said James tersely. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to find you here.”

She pulled the sheet up over the heart banging against her ribs. “But you knew I was coming to La Fattoria.”

“I meant here in my room.”

“Oh.” She heaved in a shaky breath. “I didn’t know it was your room.”

James took in a deep breath. “Go back to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

The door closed behind him and Harriet’s heart was still thumping from the shock of finding a man in her room. Only it wasn’t just a man, it was James. She slid out of bed, and then snatched at her dressing gown as the door flew open and James strode in again….

CATHERINE GEORGE was born in Wales, and early in life developed a passion for reading that eventually fueled her compulsion to write. Marriage to an engineer led to nine years in Brazil, but on his later travels the education of her son and daughter kept her in the U.K. And instead of constant reading to pass her lonely evenings, she began to write the first of her romantic novels. When not writing and reading she loves to cook, listen to opera, browse in antique stores and walk the Labrador.

The Unexpected Pregnancy
Catherine George

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

HARRIET let herself into the still, empty house, but instead of making her usual nostalgic tour went straight to the kitchen to make a pot of the expensive coffee brought along for brain fuel. It was crunch time. She had to get to grips right away with the problem she’d taken a week’s holiday leave to solve. Before she went back to London a decision had to be made about her legacy. Her grandmother had made it very clear in her will that End House and its contents were to be left to Harriet to dispose of exactly as she wished. But what she wished, thought Harriet fiercely, was that her grandmother were still alive, and that any minute she’d come in from the garden with a bunch of herbs in her hand, demanding help to make supper.

When the coffee-pot was empty Harriet took her bags upstairs and, because this might be the last time she ever slept here, put them in her grandmother’s room for the first time instead of her own. She ran a caressing hand over the brass rails of the bed, hung up some of her things in the oak armoire, and folded the rest away in the beautiful Georgian chest. Olivia Verney had disapproved of clothes flung down on chairs. Harriet grinned as she made up the bed. A good thing her grandmother had never seen her flatmate’s bedroom. Dido Parker was a good friend, and good at her job, but tidy she was not.

After supper Harriet made some phone calls to announce her arrival, watered the array of plants in the conservatory, and had just settled down to read in the last of the evening light when she heard a car stop outside. She got up to look, and dodged back in dismay when she recognised the driver. But there was no point in hiding behind the sofa. Tim had probably told his brother she was here.

When the knock came on the door, Harriet counted to five before opening it to confront the tall figure of James Edward Devereux.

She gave him a cool smile. ‘Hello. I’m afraid Tim’s not here. I came on my own.’

‘I know that. May I come in?’

As if she could refuse, she thought irritably, and showed him into the small, elegantly furnished sitting room.

Her visitor was silent for a moment as he looked at his surroundings. ‘It’s months since your grandmother died, but here in her house it seems only right to offer my condolences again, Harriet.’

‘Thank you. Do sit down.’

‘I liked your grandmother very much,’ he said, choosing Olivia Verney’s favourite chair. ‘I was deeply sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral. I went down with some virus at the time.’

‘I heard.’ She perched on the edge of the sofa, feeling edgy. She’d known Tim’s brother since she was thirteen years old, and lately she’d even run into him in London once or twice, but they’d never been alone together before. What on earth was he doing here?

‘It must have been a shock when she left you so suddenly,’ he said with sympathy.

Harriet nodded soberly. ‘A shock for me, but great for her.’

‘True.’ James Devereux became suddenly businesslike. ‘Right, then, Harriet, I’ll get to the point. Did Mrs Verney tell you I’d approached her about selling the house to me?’

She stared at him blankly. ‘This house?’

‘Yes. The others in the row already belong to Edenhurst—’

‘You mean to you.’

‘Yes, Harriet, to me,’ he said patiently. ‘I need more staff accommodation, and End House would be ideal.’

‘Sorry,’ she said instantly. ‘It’s not for sale.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Tim told me you were spending a week here to come to a decision.’

‘I am.’

‘So when did you arrive?’

‘A couple of hours ago.’

‘And the decision’s already made?’ His smile was mocking as he got to his feet. ‘Tell me, Harriet. If someone else had made the offer would you have accepted?’

‘It’s nothing personal,’ she said, lying through her teeth. ‘I just don’t want to sell End House right now.’

‘But Tim said you’d had it valued.’

‘On his advice, yes,’ she said curtly, making a note to have strong words with Tim Devereux.

He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘If I offered slightly more than the estimate, would that change your mind?’

‘It most certainly would not!’ Her eyes flashed. ‘And Tim had no right to discuss the price with you.’

‘He didn’t. I asked the estate agent who sold me the other three.’

‘You needn’t have bothered. End House is not for sale.’

‘Before I go, enlighten me, Harriet,’ he said, following closely as she marched out into the hall. ‘Why are you always so damned hostile towards me?’

She turned a scornful smile on him. ‘It’s no mystery. You make it pretty obvious lately that you disapprove of my relationship with Tim.’

‘You surely realise why?’

‘I’ve never given it a thought,’ she told him, amazed that her nose failed to grow a couple of inches at the lie.

‘Then think about it now,’ he said crisply. ‘I’ve had to be father, mother and brother to Tim since he was ten. I don’t want to see him hurt.’

She bristled. ‘You think I’m going to hurt him?’

‘Yes.’ His eyes held hers. ‘Tim’s a one-woman man, but I know that you have other men in your life. I’d say the odds on Tim getting hurt are fairly high.’

Not for the first time in their acquaintance Harriet wanted to punch James Edward Devereux on his elegant nose. Instead she opened the door wide to speed him on his way. ‘Tim’s perfectly happy with the fact that I have friends of both sexes.’

‘In the same situation I couldn’t be happy with that.’

‘You and Tim are two very different people,’ she said coldly.

‘True. Everyone loves Tim. Goodnight, Harriet.’ James Devereux glanced back as he reached his car. ‘The offer will stay on the table for a while. Ring me if you change your mind.’

Harriet closed the door, rammed the bolts home and stormed to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee black and strong enough to counteract the effect James Devereux invariably had on her.

She’d met his brother Tim in the village post office when she first came to live with her grandmother in Upcote, and the two orphaned thirteen-year-olds had taken to each other on sight. Tim had raced back to End House with Harriet right away to ask Olivia Verney’s permission to take her granddaughter fishing in the stream that ran through Edenhurst grounds. And afterwards he’d taken Harriet off to meet his brother, who was twelve years Tim’s senior, and possessed of such striking good looks he’d seemed like a god from Olympus to the youthful Harriet.

Tim so openly worshipped his brother that for a while Harriet had found it natural to follow suit. Unlike her friends at school, who had crushes on rock stars and football players, Harriet Verney’s naive form of hero-worship had centred on James Edward Devereux. Tall, self-assured, with glossy dark hair and the tawny Devereux eyes, he was the archetypal Corsair to a teenager just introduced to Byron’s poetry.

During that first summer vacation with her grandmother, Harriet had come to terms with her first experience with grief. The double loss of her parents in a storm on a sailing holiday had broken her world in pieces, and it had taken all her grandmother’s loving care to put it back together again. The meeting with Tim accelerated the healing process. That summer Harriet spent most of her daylight hours with him. Totally comfortable in each other’s company, they ate at the kitchen table at End House with Olivia Verney, or ran free on the acres of land belonging to Edenhurst, the beautiful, but increasingly dilapidated home of the Devereux brothers.

By that time both Devereux parents had been dead for some time and life had become difficult for the heir to the estate. Crippling inheritance tax, plus school fees for Tim and wages for even the bare minimum of staff required to keep Edenhurst going had all been a huge burden for a young man only just qualified as an architect. Through Tim Harriet had learned that some of the antique furniture and the more valuable family paintings had to be sold. With the proceeds as back-up James Devereux had taken a gamble, and with a partner set up a company to convert derelict warehouses into expensive riverside apartments.

The gamble paid off, the apartments sold like hot cakes, and riding high on the success of the enterprise James Devereux eventually went on to transform Edenhurst into the first of a series of hotels with integral health spas. He married an established star in the modelling world, and the only cloud on the dynamic young entrepreneur’s horizon had been his brother’s flat refusal to join the company.

Tim Devereux insisted on taking a fine art degree instead, and went straight from college to work in a London gallery owned by Jeremy Blyth, an art dealer highly respected in his field. None of Tim’s choices had been influenced by Harriet, but James made it plain he blamed her for all of them, even though Tim was adamant that nothing would have persuaded him to go into property developing. The new job suited him down to the ground. Jeremy Blyth was charming, witty, openly gay and knew all there was to know about the art world. The job would provide invaluable experience, also allow spare time for Tim’s own painting. He shared a house with two friends from art college and he had Harriet. What else could he want in life?

‘His lordship’s blessing?’ she’d said bluntly.

‘I don’t know why you’re always so down on Jed.’ Tim had given her a coaxing smile as he put an arm round her. ‘Come on, Harry. Get if off your chest at last. You and I don’t have secrets, remember. What is it with you and my brother?’

He’d kept on about it until at last, desperate to shut him up, Harriet finally told him that one Sunday afternoon she’d stopped to stroke the dog outside the open kitchen door of Edenhurst, overheard James lecturing Tim, and suffered the usual fate of eavesdroppers.

‘He felt great sympathy for my situation, but thought you should see something of the lads from the village as well, instead of spending all your time with a girl—even one who looked just like a boy with such close cropped hair and a gruff little voice.’ She growled at the memory, which still burned. ‘I wanted to kill him with my bare hands!’

Tim had roared with laughter. ‘You’ve changed a bit since then, tiger. The hair grew, the girl equipment arrived, and that voice of yours could earn a fortune these days on one of those sexy chat lines—ouch!’ he howled as she hit him. ‘And now he’s shackled to the fair Madeleine surely you feel some sympathy for Jed.’

‘Not a scrap! He’s far too overbearing and sure of himself to merit any sympathy from me.’

From that day on Harriet never thought of or referred to James Edward Devereux as Jed, as he was known to family and friends. And she never told a soul that her teenage self-esteem had been dealt such a blow that summer afternoon it had taken years afterwards for her to think of herself as even passably attractive.

Harriet rang Dido early next morning to say she’d received an offer for End House. ‘Tim’s brother wants to add it to the Edenhurst estate, but I just can’t face giving the house up yet, so I turned him down.’

‘Good God, are you mad?’ said Dido, shocked. ‘I know your grandma left money to keep the place going for six months, but from now on you’ll have to pay running costs yourself.’

‘I know all that. But it’s been my home for the past ten years, remember. I just can’t bear to part with it yet. In fact,’ added Harriet, bracing herself, ‘I thought I might even live here myself for a bit, Dido.’

There was a pause. ‘You work in London,’ Dido reminded her, sounding close to tears.

‘I could look round for something in this area instead—Cheltenham, maybe.’

‘You really want to desert me?’

Harriet felt a guilty pang. ‘You earn serious money these days. Couldn’t you manage the mortgage on your own?’

‘I don’t care about the beastly mortgage. I just want you here with me. Besides, what about Tim?’

‘We can see each other at weekends.’

‘I think you’re making a huge mistake, Harriet. Please don’t make any snap decisions.’

Harriet spent some time reassuring her friend, then walked to the village shops to buy a newspaper, stopped to chat with a couple of people she knew, and, because it was such a beautiful day, took the longer route back along the small tributary that formed the boundary to Edenhurst. She paused as she reached the stepping stones she’d hopped across so often with Tim in the past, and on impulse took off her sandals to see how far she could get. Halfway across she discovered that the water was faster and deeper than she remembered. She turned to retrace her steps, wobbled precariously as she hung on to her sandals, but lost her newspaper to the current when she spotted James Devereux in the shade of the willow hanging over the far bank.

‘Want some help?’ he asked, grinning broadly.

‘No,’ she said through her teeth.

To her annoyance he kicked off his shoes and strolled across the stones towards her, sure-footed as a panther. ‘Give me your hand,’ he ordered.

Harriet hesitated, almost lost her balance, and James grabbed her hand and hauled her across the stream straight up the bank into Edenhurst territory.

‘Now I’ve saved you from a ducking I claim a reward,’ he said, collecting his shoes. ‘Have lunch with me, Harriet. No wedding or conference this weekend. It’s fairly peaceful here for once.’

Harriet eyed him in astonishment as she thrust damp feet into her sandals. ‘If this is a ploy to win me over about End House it won’t work.’

‘Certainly not. I just think it’s time you and I tried to get along better, for Tim’s sake.’ His lips twitched. ‘Besides, when I’m bent on persuasion—of any kind—I tend towards champagne and caviare.’

‘I detest caviare.’

‘I’ll make a note of that.’ He smiled persuasively. ‘But right now a humble sandwich is the only thing involved. So what do you say?’

She looked at him for a moment, then gave a reluctant nod. ‘All right.’

His lips twitching at her lack of enthusiasm, James rang the house to order a picnic lunch in the folly. ‘I remember the days when you ran wild round here, Harriet,’ he commented as they began climbing the steep, winding path. He glanced at her fleetingly. ‘You’ve changed out of all recognition since then. The clothes are not much different, I suppose, but the resemblance ends there, full stop. At one time it was hard to tell you from Tim, whereas now—’

‘Whereas now,’ she cut back at him, ‘my hair’s long and you can tell exactly what sex I am. But I’m stuck with the voice.’

He stopped dead at a stile blocking the path, comprehension dawning in his eyes. ‘Is this something I said?’

‘I once overheard you trying to persuade Tim to spend less time with me and more with the village boys.’ Harriet smiled sweetly. ‘If you were trying to turn him off me it didn’t work.’

‘Quite the reverse! Tim’s been crazy about you since he was fourteen years old.’

‘Thirteen,’ corrected Harriet.

‘Unlucky for some,’ James said lightly, and startled her considerably by picking her up to deposit her on the other side of the stile.

By the time they reached the mock-Grecian temple where she’d once played endless games with Tim, their lunch was waiting on the stone bench girdling the interior. The tray held fresh fruit, a covered silver dish of sandwiches and an opened bottle of red wine.

James poured a glass for Harriet, and sat down beside her on the bench to remove the cover from the platter. ‘Definitely no caviare,’ he assured her.

‘Quite a choice just the same,’ she said, impressed. ‘Is that how things work for you all the time, James? You just wave a wand and—what have I said?’

‘You actually allowed my given name to pass your lips!’ He raised his glass in mocking toast. ‘To truce, Harriet, long may it last. Now, what would madam like? Ham, smoked salmon, and, yes, I do believe there’s good old cheese as well.’

‘Very good old cheese,’ she said, tasting it.

Harriet took a long, affectionate look at the house while they ate in surprisingly comfortable silence for a minute or two. Edenhurst’s limestone architecture was typical of the area, with dips built into the steeply pitched roof to keep the tiles in place, and small-paned casement windows protected by stone mullions and drip-courses. But Harriet felt a sudden, sharp stab of nostalgia. Now it was restored and renovated as a luxury hotel, with park-perfect gardens, Edenhurst wore an air of affluence very different from the shabby charm of the past.

‘What are you thinking?’ said James.

‘That in some ways I preferred the house the way it was when I first came here.’

He smiled wryly. ‘A romantic viewpoint! To me it was an endless juggle of resources in those days, to decide which repair to do next.’

‘Tim told me that.’ Harriet cast a glance at him as she took another sandwich. ‘My grandmother was deeply impressed by the way you tackled the problem.’

‘So she told me. She was a very special lady.’ His mouth turned down. ‘It went against the grain to part with any family possessions, but I had no choice. Then I had a stroke of luck when a college friend put some capital in with mine to found the company.’ He shook his head reminiscently. ‘God, how we worked—twenty hours a day in the beginning.’

‘It certainly paid off. The rest is history.’ Harriet smiled crookedly. ‘You know, it amazes me that this is happening.’

‘You and me, alone, breaking bread together?’

‘Exactly.’

His eyes glinted as he refilled her glass. ‘Even though I’m the wicked squire trying to evict you from your home?’

‘Trying to tempt me out of it with an inflated offer!’

‘Not inflated at all. End House possesses a larger garden than its neighbours, remember, plus a conservatory.’

Harriet sighed. ‘My friend thinks I’m mad to refuse such a good offer, but it’s hard to part with the house. It’s been my home for a long time. Besides, selling it is too much like a final break from my grandmother—who was a practical soul, and would laugh me out of court for being so sentimental.’

‘I see your point.’ James looked at her searchingly. ‘But if selling is out of the question are you thinking of letting it instead?’

‘I did consider that, but a solicitor friend of mine pointed out some of the drawbacks of being a landlord.’ She sighed. ‘If I thought I could get work in the area I’d live at End House myself.’

‘You might find life in Upcote a little quiet after London, so think it over very carefully before you make a decision,’ he advised.

‘I came down here to do just that. But it means a week less for my holiday in Italy with Tim later on,’ added Harriet with regret.

‘Tim told me he’s persuaded you to go to La Fattoria at last.’ James frowned. ‘Doesn’t he mind that you’re cutting the holiday short?’

‘Only my part of it.’ Harriet shrugged. ‘Tim’s going on ahead for the first week. He doesn’t mind.’

‘Because where Tim’s concerned you can do no wrong.’

She put her glass down on the tray with a click. ‘You just don’t understand my relationship with Tim. We don’t live in each other’s pockets. If he wants to do something independently I’m perfectly happy with that, and the reverse also applies.’

James shook his head. ‘I’d be anything but happy in the same circumstances.’

‘Really?’ said Harriet sweetly. ‘If that was your attitude with Madeleine no wonder she took off.’

He got up, his handsome face suddenly blank as he stacked the remains of their lunch on the tray. ‘You know nothing about my marriage, young lady.’

‘No, indeed—I beg your pardon.’ Harriet jumped to her feet, her face hot. ‘I’d better go.’

‘Why? What’s so pressing at End House that you can’t stay for coffee?’ He smiled a little, his eyes warming again. ‘You know how easy it is to get service round here. I just wave my wand.’

Harriet shook her head. ‘No, thanks.’

‘Then I’ll walk you home.’

‘Unnecessary.’

James raised an eyebrow. ‘Truce over already?’

‘Of course not. It’s only practical to keep on civil terms.’ She gave him a direct look. ‘If only for Tim’s sake.’

‘Point taken. By the way,’ he added, ‘Tim’s been throwing out hints about a wedding.’

‘It’s far too soon to talk about that.’

James shrugged. ‘He’ll tell me soon enough when you name the day. He couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. He’ll be pleased that we had lunch together,’ he added.

‘I’m sure he will.’ She smiled politely. ‘Thank you. It was delicious.’

‘My pleasure. I take a walk round the grounds every morning when I’m here, but I’ve never been lucky enough to meet a fair maiden in need of rescue before.’

‘At one time I could hop across those stones with no trouble at all.’ She pulled a face. ‘My sense of balance was better when I was thirteen.’

He smiled ruefully. ‘I apologise for trying to turn Tim off you all those years ago, Harriet. I just wanted to give him some back-up with the village lads when you weren’t around. Without you he was always like a lost soul.’ The familiar tawny eyes, so like and yet so unlike Tim’s, held hers. ‘Am I forgiven?’

‘Of course,’ she said lightly. ‘Goodbye.’

Harriet chose the more formal route home via the main gates in preference to getting her feet wet again, called in at the village stores to buy another newspaper, and walked back to End House deep in thought. The unexpected picnic had by no means been an ordeal. For most of the time the atmosphere over lunch had been relatively amicable. And Tim would be delighted that she’d thawed even a little towards his brother. Not that she was likely to see more of James while she was here. She knew from Tim that to keep his staff on their toes James made brief unheralded visits to all his properties and at Edenhurst the stable block had been converted into private quarters for the Devereux brothers. But James was the only one to use them. Tim had taken to metropolitan life like a duck to water and kept well away from Edenhurst now it was a hotel.

The two brothers, thought Harriet, could hardly be less alike. Tim was slight and fair, with boyish good looks and a natural charm that made women yearn to mother him. Her lips curved in a cynical smile. Of all the emotions James Devereux stirred up in the opposite sex, maternal leanings probably never made the list.

CHAPTER TWO

HARRIET found a note pushed through the door when she got back to End House.

‘Harriet, if you’re here for the week will you want me on Monday as usual? Regards, Stacy.’

Harriet was more than capable of looking after one small house for a week, especially on her own, without the mayhem Dido created in their London flat. But because Stacy Dyer was a single parent who needed the money Harriet rang to ask her to come in as usual.

After spending the rest of the day in the sunshine in the back garden Harriet had an early night, and next morning, in contrast to the hectic rush of London routine, she read in bed for a while before getting up to enjoy a leisurely bath. But as she lingered over breakfast later she felt a touch of panic. What was she going to do for the rest of the day, let alone the rest of the week? After all her fine talk about living here it was a bit of a blow to find she’d had enough of it already. Living alone here on a permanent basis was very different from odd weekends away from London.

Harriet faced the truth as she washed her breakfast dishes. Her knee-jerk reaction to James’ offer had been ill-advised. She might never get another as generous. And, painful though it was to part with End House, she needed the money as security now she was alone in the world. She would stay until the weekend to save face, and then sell End House to James Devereux.

Harriet found an old cagoule in the closet, put money in the pocket and went off with an umbrella to the village stores to buy a Sunday paper. By the time she got back the sun was out, and she could hear Livvie’s voice reminding her that a garden needed weeding whether she was selling the house or not. Armed with fork and trowel, and a large waste bag for the weeds, Harriet prepared to do battle. End House gave directly onto the street in front, but owned a sizeable garden at the back, with apple trees and flowering shrubs. The laurel hedges were still reasonably neat, courtesy of the man who’d always helped her grandmother, but now Harriet could no longer afford to keep him the lawn needed mowing, and the herbaceous borders were fast getting out of hand.

Harriet got to work, but after only half an hour or so she was sweating and grubby, her neck ached, and only a discouragingly small portion of border was weed-free. She went indoors, gulped down a glass of water, and then set to it once more, determined to clear at least as much ground again before she took another breather. One thing was certain, she found, panting as she tugged and pulled, she’d hit on a sure way to kill time. Gardening looked a lot easier on television. She got to her feet at last to stretch her aching back, and groaned silently in frustration when she saw James Devereux strolling along the side path towards her.

‘Hello, Harriet.’

‘Hi. You’re still here, then.’ Oh, well done, Harriet. Top marks.

‘Interviews this week,’ he said briefly. ‘Am I interrupting?’

‘No, I’ve just finished. Did you want something?’

He looked at her levelly. ‘I just called in to say hello.’

Or to put pressure on her about the sale, more likely. Reminding herself that this was a good thing now she’d made her decision she smiled brightly. ‘Come inside. I’ll just dispose of this stuff first.’ Harriet put her gardening tools away and led her visitor into the kitchen. ‘Would you like a drink, or some tea?’

‘Tea would be good.’

Harriet washed her hands and filled the kettle, wishing that her shorts were longer and less encrusted with mud and sweat. ‘Do sit down,’ she told him as she hunted out teapot and cups.

James took one of the rush-seated chairs at the table, watching her objectively as she laid a tray and put tea bags in the pot. ‘You were the same height at thirteen. I remember those long legs of yours.’

She glanced up in astonishment as she filled the teapot and splashed boiling water on her wrist in the process.

James leapt from his chair at her anguished gasp. ‘Did you scald yourself?’ he demanded, seizing her hand.

‘Not much,’ she said faintly. ‘It’s just a drop or two.’

James turned the cold tap on in the sink and held her wrist under the water. ‘You’re trembling,’ he said gently, and put his arm round her. ‘Shock, probably.’

If so he was making it a whole lot worse. She could feel the heat of his body through the thin shirt, a faint aura of citrus and spice mingled with the scent of warm male skin—and he’s Tim’s brother, she reminded herself in horror, limp with relief when James released her and turned off the tap.

‘That’s better. Sit down, Harriet.’ He put the lid on the pot, poured tea, passed a cup to her, and sat down at the table. ‘Why didn’t Tim come down with you for the weekend before going off to Paris?’

‘I needed time on my own to make my mind up about the house,’ she told him gruffly, utterly floored by the discovery that James Devereux was a man she was attracted to. At least, her body was. Her brain flatly refused to believe it.

James eyed her downcast face thoughtfully. ‘If you change your mind and sell the house to me, Harriet, you could buy a flat of your own. Tim tells me you’re tired of sharing with your friend.’

Tim, she thought irritably, should keep his big mouth shut. ‘It’s a tempting prospect,’ she agreed.

James leaned forward. ‘But frankly it astonishes me that you and Tim haven’t set up house together long before this. Are you waiting to get married first?’

Harriet paused for a heartbeat, and then raised dark, demure eyes to his. ‘I’m old-fashioned that way.’

James sat back again, frowning. ‘And how does Tim feel about that?’

‘He agrees with me.’

‘This time you really do amaze me! No wonder he’s talking about a wedding soon.’

She looked him in the eye. ‘Frankly I’m surprised you’re such a keen advocate of marriage.’

‘Don’t be put off by my example.’ His face shadowed. ‘You and Tim are soul mates. Madeleine and I were not. But I apologise for snapping at you on the subject yesterday, Harriet. Tim would create hell if he knew I’d upset you in any way.’

‘You didn’t,’ she assured him. ‘Have some more tea.’

James shook his head and got up. ‘I must go. How is your hand now?’

‘Fine.’

‘Good. Be more careful in future.’

And to Harriet’s surprise he took himself off, leaving her mystified as to why he’d come to see her again. Surely not just to apologise for a remark he’d had every right to make! He’d made no further attempt to persuade her into selling, and if his aim was to sound her out about wedding plans he was out of luck. She smoothed her reddened wrist, reliving her physical reaction to James Devereux’s touch. At the mere thought of it a shiver ran through her entire body, right down to her toes, but she shook it off angrily. He was Tim’s brother, for heaven’s sake.

During the evening Tim rang up for a chat before his departure for Paris on business, astonished when she told him she’d seen his brother on three occasions so far, one of which had entailed a picnic lunch in the Edenhurst folly.

‘Which reminds me,’ she said, militant because she felt guilty for a sin not even committed, ‘in future don’t discuss my personal affairs with all and sundry.’

‘I do nothing of the kind,’ he said indignantly. ‘But if you mean End House, Jed asked about it so I told him.’

‘He wants it as staff accommodation for Edenhurst.’

‘Pretty urgently if he’s popping in on you all the time.’

‘Thanks a lot!’

‘You know what I mean, Harry.’

‘I do know. By the way, dearest, he asked why you and I aren’t living together right now.’

He whistled. ‘And what did you say to to that?’

‘I made it clear I disapprove of cohabiting before marriage,’ she said primly.

‘You’re kidding me!’ Tim gave the uproarious laugh that always had Harriet joining in. ‘I do love you, Harry.’

‘I love you, too. Enjoy yourself.’

Harriet put down the phone, unsurprised that Tim had no idea how miserable she felt under all the banter. Their relationship was unique and very special to them both, but secretly it was very different from the one they made it out to be. Usually she had no problem with this, but today she had experienced James Devereux’s touch for the first time. And found it was a dangerously inflammable sensation never experienced before with any man, including Tim. Especially Tim. Yet in the circumstances she had to try and forget it had ever happened. If she could.

Stacy Dyer arrived at nine on the dot the following morning, complete with black eye and a baby boy fast asleep in a pushchair.

‘I had to bring Robert with me today,’ she said anxiously. ‘Do you mind?’

‘Of course I don’t mind!’ Harriet smiled down at the sleeping child. ‘He’s gorgeous, Stacy. Have some coffee before you start. How did you get the shiner?’

Stacy wheeled the pushchair inside and sat down at the kitchen table. ‘His dad did it,’ she said, flushing.

Appalled, Harriet added a dollop of cream to a mug of strong coffee and passed it to Stacy.

‘Thanks.’ The girl stirred sugar into the steaming liquid and sipped it gratefully. ‘Yummy! I love real coffee.’

Harriet gave her a searching look. ‘What happened, Stacy?’

‘Greg came round last night when Mum was out, wanting to see Robert. He’d had a drink, so I wouldn’t let him. We had a bit of a struggle when he tried to get past me and he caught me on the cheek with his elbow. So I told him to get lost.’

‘I’m not surprised!’

‘He didn’t mean to hit me. He’s not like that.’ Stacy sighed, depressed. ‘But I won’t let him come near Robert if he’s had a drink. I had enough of that with my own father. Not that Greg drinks much, he can’t afford it, but he gets frustrated because he can’t get a full-time job, and I won’t get a place with him until he does.’

‘How old is he?’

‘Same age as me. I fell for Robert while Greg and I were still in school.’ Stacy shrugged philosophically. ‘At the moment cleaning is all I can do, but I go to computer classes two evenings a week, so by the time Robert starts nursery school I’ll be able to try for office jobs.’

‘How about Greg? Is he trained for anything?’

‘He’s got a couple of A-levels, but he likes to be outdoors, so he does whatever garden jobs he can get.’

‘It’s not easy for either of you, then,’ said Harriet. ‘Look, Stacy, there’s no need for you to do any cleaning today—’

The girl eyed her in dismay. ‘But I want to. Please! I’m sorry I had to bring Robert, but I couldn’t leave him with Mum in case Greg came back. She’d have given him what for over my eye, and Robert gets terrified when people shout.’

‘Bring Robert any time you like,’ Harriet assured her. ‘But for pity’s sake take it easy. If you feel rough at any point pack it in.’

Robert woke up while his mother was finishing the sitting room. Stacy changed his nappy with swift efficiency, but when she fastened her son back in the buggy the move met with heartbroken protests.

‘Why don’t I take him out in the garden?’ suggested Harriet. ‘Would he like to sit on a blanket for a bit in the sun?’

‘He’d just love it,’ said Stacy, and kissed her son’s wet cheeks as she popped a floppy cotton hat on his fair curls. ‘Thanks, Harriet. I brought some toys for him to play with.’

There was a sticky moment when Stacy left her son with his new playmate, but Robert soon decided that he liked sitting on a rug in the sunshine. His tears dried like magic when Harriet began building a tower with plastic bricks. He scooted nearer, demolished them with chuckles of delight, and made imperious demands for a repeat performance. Harriet obeyed, laughing, time and time again, and felt quite sorry when Stacy came out at last to say she’d finished for the day.

‘We’ve had a great time, Mummy.’ With reluctance Harriet gave Robert to his mother. ‘Are you going home now?’

‘No, I’m due at the vicarage first.’

‘Can you take Robert there with you?’

‘I don’t normally, but I’ll just have to for once. I just hope the vicar isn’t writing his sermon today.’ She gave Harriet an uncertain smile. ‘Would you mind if I gave Robert his lunch here, first?’

‘Of course not. In fact,’ added Harriet on impulse, ‘why not leave him here with me afterwards?’

‘I can’t do that! It’s taking advantage.’

‘No, it’s not. If he gets restless I’ll take him for a walk in his buggy.’

‘If you’re really sure, that would be great,’ said Stacy thankfully. ‘I’ve got my phone, so just ring me if there’s a problem.’

When his young mother left later Robert showed a moment of lip-trembling doubt when she kissed him goodbye, but he cheered up when his new friend took him back into the garden. Harriet built brick towers again for a while, but when the blue eyes began to droop she laid the little boy down on the blanket with his teddy, opened an umbrella to shade him from the sun, then stretched out beside him, content just to watch over the child as he fell asleep.

‘Mum, Mum?’ he sobbed when he woke up, and Harriet picked him up, cuddling him close.

‘She won’t be long, my darling,’ she assured him. ‘How about some juice?’

Blessing efficient Stacy for leaving a beaker of his favourite tipple ready in the kitchen, Harriet took the tearful little boy inside to find it, and cuddled him on her lap, deeply relieved when he stopped crying to drink.

‘What a good boy you are,’ she said fervently, and then sniffed at him in deep dismay. ‘Now this,’ she told him, ‘is where you make allowances for an amateur, Robert Dyer. I’ve never changed a nappy before.’

He gurgled, and clutched a lock of her hair as she bent over him, but made no objection to lying on the changing mat his mother had left ready. Harriet had watched closely when Stacy changed her son, but in actual practice found that, like gardening, the process wasn’t as easy as it looked. Due to much chuckling and wriggling it seemed a very long time before Robert was clean, fragrant and put back together again. Flushed with success, Harriet praised him extravagantly, balanced him inexpertly while she washed her hands, then sat him on her lap and gave him a biscuit.

‘Where’s Stacy?’ demanded a voice from the open doorway.

Harriet jumped up in fright, clutching the child protectively at the sight of a thin, furious youth she’d never seen before.

Robert beamed, and the boy darted forward, arms outstretched.

‘Hand him over!’ he yelled.

Robert burst into tears at the loud noise, and burrowed his face against Harriet’s neck.

‘Who are you?’ she demanded, her arms tightening round the child. ‘What are you doing in my house?’

‘I’m Greg Watts, Robert’s dad. Give him to me!’ He tried to snatch his child, but Robert held onto Harriet, sobbing piteously when he dropped his biscuit.

‘Don’t be an idiot, man,’ she said, standing her ground. ‘Can’t you see you’re frightening Robert to death? Stacy left him in my charge so I’m holding onto him until she comes back.’

‘You’ve no right. I’m his father,’ he said, his voice cracking, but as he made another lunge for the child James Devereux strode through the open door, seized Greg by the scruff of his neck and marched him outside, then came back to check on Harriet.

‘Are you all right?’ James demanded.

‘I’m fine, but Robert’s very upset.’ She kissed the sobbing baby and cuddled him close. ‘Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry. I’ll ring Mummy and ask her to come right now. James, you didn’t hurt the boy, did you?’ she said anxiously.

‘Of course not. Greg says the child is his, but who’s the mother?’ he added.

‘Stacy Dyer, my cleaner.’

‘Give me the number and I’ll ring her. Then I’ll get Greg back in here and read the Riot Act.’

James’ lecture was so effective Greg Watts was trying to choke back tears when Stacy raced in, wild-eyed and distraught.

‘Greg, what on earth have you done?’ she wailed.

The young man stared in horror at her bruised eye. ‘Oh, God, Stace, did I do that? I’m sorry! You know I wouldn’t hurt you for the world. I just wanted to see Robert.’

Much to Harriet’s surprise the child had fallen asleep on her shoulder. ‘He’s fine,’ she assured the girl, handing him over with care. ‘He was a bit frightened by all the fuss, that’s all.’

‘Miss Dyer should really call in the police,’ James told the boy sternly. ‘You obviously intended to abduct the child.’

‘No!’ The boy stared at him in utter dismay. ‘I just wanted to take Robert home to my mother for a bit, Mr Devereux. Stacy wouldn’t let me near him last night.’

‘If you behave like this I never will, either,’ she snapped, glaring at him over her son’s damp curls.

‘Don’t involve the police, love, please,’ he pleaded. ‘I’ll never have a drink again if you let me see more of Robert. I’m not like your dad, Stacy, honest. I would never hurt you or my boy.’

She nodded slowly. ‘I know that, Greg.’

There was silence for a moment while the young pair gazed at each other, oblivious of the other two.

‘You can load the buggy in the car and I’ll drive you home, Stacy,’ said Harriet at last, but the girl shook her head firmly.

‘No way, Harriet. I’ll wheel Robert, and Greg can carry my things.’

The boy’s eyes lit up. ‘Can I give Robert his tea?’

‘Yes. And his bath, if you like.’ She fastened her sleeping son in his pushchair, and turned to Harriet. ‘After all this fuss do you still want me on Thursday?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Thanks.’ She eyed Harriet’s pallor anxiously. ‘You look shattered. I’d better make you some tea before I go.’

‘No need, I’ll do that,’ said James quickly.

Stacy smiled shyly at him. ‘OK, Mr Devereux. Come on, then, Greg.’

The boy looked at Harriet in remorse. ‘I’m really sorry. I know Stacy works here on Mondays so I came round to apologise for last night. I didn’t expect to find Robert here. When I saw him on your lap I just lost it.’

‘Because Stacy left your son with a stranger instead of with you,’ Harriet said with understanding.

‘Which gave you no right to terrorise Miss Verney, my lad,’ said James sternly.

‘I know that, Mr Devereux.’ Greg pulled a face. ‘When Dad hears about this I’ll probably get a shiner to match Stacy’s.’

‘He won’t hear it from me,’ James assured him, relenting.

When the young pair had finally departed with their son James drew out a chair. ‘You look exhausted, Harriet. Sit down. Is there anything to drink in the house?’

‘Wine in the fridge.’

‘No brandy?’

‘There might be some in the cabinet in the other room.’ She got up, but James pushed her down again.

‘I’ll look.’

Surprised by an urge to lay her head down on the table and howl once she was alone, Harriet combed her fingers through her untidy hair, brushed soggy biscuit crumbs from her T-shirt, and managed a smile when James returned with a bottle of cognac and two crystal brandy snifters.

‘My grandmother’s emergency kit,’ she informed him.

‘I think we can definitely class this as an emergency.’ He poured a small quantity into each glass and handed one over.

Harriet took a cautious sip from hers, shuddering a little as the fiery heat hit her. ‘Thank you for coming to my rescue. Greg gave me rather a shock.’

James nodded. ‘I know. That’s why I was so rough with the kid.’

‘It probably taught him a lesson.’ Harriet smiled ruefully. ‘When Stacy said the child’s father had hit her I visualised some bruiser with fists like sledgehammers, so Greg came as something of a surprise. It was sad, really. Robert was delighted to see his daddy until Greg frightened him by yelling at me. How do you know Watts Senior, by the way?’

‘You probably know him as Frank. He’s the head gardener up at the house. I’ve known young Greg all his life.’

‘His father must be good at his job. It all looked very perfect when I was up there the other day.’ Harriet sighed. ‘Poor Greg. I’m glad Stacy relented towards him.’

‘Talking of relenting,’ said James lightly, ‘did you tell Tim you had lunch with me?’

‘Yes. For once he was lost for words.’ She grinned. ‘I was pretty surprised myself.’

‘That you shared a meal with the ogre and survived?’

Harriet flushed. ‘I don’t think of you as an ogre.’

‘Liar!’

‘All right, a bit, maybe. When I was young.’

‘You’re young now, Harriet.’

‘Older than I was. You don’t scare me any more.’

He frowned. ‘Did I scare you in the past, then?’

‘Of course you did!’ She drained her glass. ‘You blamed me every time Tim disobeyed your orders.’

‘Because I knew he was obeying yours instead.’

‘Mine were always suggestions, not orders.’ Harriet gave him a straight look. ‘And Tim only fell in with them when they appealed to him. You must surely know by now that he goes his own sweet way.’

‘I do.’ He got up. ‘But in spite of that, or maybe because of it, I still feel protective towards him.’

‘And you’re convinced I’m going to hurt him in some way.’ She looked at him challengingly. ‘Do you really believe I’m sneaking into other men’s beds behind Tim’s back?’

His eyes flared dangerously for an instant. ‘Are you?’

They stared at each other in taut silence for a moment.

‘I don’t have to answer to you, James,’ she said hoarsely, and turned away.

He moved round the table and turned her face up to his. ‘Tears, Harriet?’

She jerked her head away, blinking hard. ‘Would you go now, please?’

‘Harriet, I’m sorry. I’ve no right to question your private life,’ he said wearily.

‘No, you haven’t.’ Harriet reached blindly for a sheet of kitchen paper to mop herself up, and James caught her in his arms, pressing her face against his chest as he smoothed her hair.

‘Don’t cry, little one,’ he said, in a tone that brought the tears on thick and fast. For a few blind, uncaring moments Harriet sobbed with abandon, but as she calmed down she grew aware of James’ heart thudding against her own, and pulled away in panic.

‘It’s just reaction to all the drama,’ she said thickly, knuckling the tears away. ‘Go away. I’d rather cry in private.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t cry at all,’ he said huskily. ‘Particularly when I’m to blame.’

She turned to face him, careless of tousled hair and swollen eyes. ‘The man you saw with me at the theatre is an old college friend, and Tim was perfectly happy about it. It’s absolutely none of your business, James Devereux, but just for the record I don’t sleep around. Now let’s drop the subject.’

For once James looked at a complete loss. ‘Harriet—’

She held up an imperious hand. ‘Look, I’m tired. Could you just go now?’

On his way to the door he paused, and turned to look at her. ‘On an entirely different subject, Harriet, I need an assistant gardener to help Frank Watts. If I offered the job to his son, my bar manager could move here to End House and young Greg could take Stacy and the boy to the garage flat,’ he added. ‘Think about it. I’ll be in touch.’

She stood utterly still for a while after he’d gone, staring at the door James had closed so gently behind him. Clever devil, she thought resentfully, then gave a wry little laugh. He might think he was persuading her in the one way certain of success, but he’d actually given her the perfect, face-saving way out of a dilemma. She could now sell End House at a very good price without revealing her change of heart. And no one need know that living alone there on a permanent basis had lost its appeal after only a day or two.

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