An Enigmatic Man. Carole Mortimer
Читать онлайн книгу.
feelings. ‘I was trying to at least give it a decent burial by digging a grave in ground that hasn’t thawed since November.’ He flexed tired shoulder muscles. ‘And then, finally to make my day, my privacy is invaded by a female with an overactive imagination who seems to consider that my only companion resembles a hound from hell—and that I’m right down there with him!’ He viciously kicked a door open before striding forcefully into the house and into its kitchen. ‘With hindsight, I should have just left you where you fell!’ He dumped Crys down unceremoniously onto a chair before straightening and striding impatiently from the room.
Thankfully, the dog followed him!
Crys blinked dazedly, glad of the respite—no matter how brief!—from the man’s overbearing personality. And his dog.
As her head finally began to clear it took her all of two seconds to realise that here was her chance to escape. Perhaps her only chance. She doubted—
She couldn’t believe this kitchen!
The man had dumped her so ungraciously in a kitchen Crys could never have imagined in her wildest dreams. Never have imagined in this outwardly derelict castle, that was…
It was a beautiful room, with gorgeous mellow oak cupboards and a dark green Aga throwing out the heat that made the room deliciously warm after the cold January weather outside. A large oak work-table stood in the middle of the kitchen, and every implement a cook might need to work with hung from a rack overhead, with saucepans that gleamed with copper brightness. There was a stone-flagged floor beneath Crys’s feet, in warm browns and creams, and the chair she sat on was one of the kitchen dining set of mellow oak.
After the lack of care and the decay on the outside, this kitchen was—incredible.
‘Not what you were expecting, is it?’
Because of her utter surprise at these unexpected surroundings she had just lost her opportunity for escape, Crys realised.
She turned frowningly to look at her reluctant host. He stood silhouetted in the doorway, watching her from beneath hooded lids.
She took in his changed appearance—the overlong dark hair brushed into some semblance of order, the heavy black sweater removed in favour of a jumper of soft dark green cashmere. If the interior of the house was a surprise, then this man’s changed appearance was equally so. But, to Crys’s eyes, that didn’t make him any more approachable.
Her expression showed her puzzlement. ‘Why do you deliberately give the impression on the outside that the house is unlived-in?’ She was pretty sure it was deliberate…
He raised dark brows, moving forward to place a copper kettle on top of the Aga before turning back to face her. ‘Why do you think?’ he drawled scathingly.
He looked younger now he wasn’t looming out of the fog, and, without the bulky jumper, taller and leaner too. The face beneath the growth of beard appeared unlined. Crys put his age somewhere in his thirties. In fact, now that she could see him more clearly, there was something vaguely familiar about him…
Although no amount of feelings of familiarity could dispel the hard mockery in that dark green gaze!
Crys grimaced. ‘To keep at bay females with overactive imaginations…?’
Very white teeth showed briefly in the semblance of a grin. ‘In one,’ he confirmed with satisfaction, turning to remove the boiling kettle from the Aga. ‘Tea or coffee?’
After her terrifying thoughts of a few minutes ago—evoked by such an overactive imagination?—this man’s polite offer of a hot drink seemed slightly ludicrous. Or maybe she was the one who was ludicrous…?
‘Coffee. Thanks,’ she accepted distractedly as he took a tin and cups out of one of the cupboards, his back towards her. She reached up to remove her hat and unwind the scarf at her throat, now she was warmed by the heat of the room. ‘Er—where’s Merlin?’ she added somewhat nervously; the hound hadn’t returned with his master.
‘Off chasing rabbits, I expect,’ his owner dismissed unconcernedly. ‘I let him out of the front door a few minutes—’ he broke off abruptly.
Crys was so distracted by the comfort of her surroundings, the welcome warmth after hours of driving through cold damp fog, that for a few seconds she didn’t even realise he had stopped talking. She sat back in her chair, her eyes closed, as she began to thaw out. But she slowly became aware of a charged silence, the very air about her seeming to crackle with electricity.
She turned back to her host, colour warming her cheeks as she saw the way he stared gloweringly across the room at her. She knew what he would see, of course; long silver-blonde hair cascading silkily down her back, its colour even more startling against the black of her coat, eyes of clear grey, a light dusting of freckles over the bridge of her uptilted nose, her mouth wide and pouting, even if unsmiling at the moment.
Perhaps she had been a little precipitate in relaxing her guard enough to remove her scarf and hat…
She waited for his startled expression to change to one of recognition, steeling herself for what he would say next, her tension rising as he said nothing.
She swallowed hard, pointed chin raised challengingly. ‘Not what you were expecting either?’ She deliberately put a taunting lilt in her voice. Perhaps he hadn’t recognised her after all…?
Green eyes narrowed icily. ‘I wasn’t expecting you at all!’ he responded.
He really hadn’t recognised her!
But even if he wasn’t expecting her, someone else was, and the sooner she made her excuses and went on her way the better she would like it.
She stood up. ‘Perhaps I won’t bother with the coffee, after all—’
‘It’s made now.’ He put the mug of coffee down heavily on the table in front of her, consequently standing much closer to her than was comfortable. ‘You look cold. Drink it,’ he urged as she would have protested.
Crys wasn’t at all happy with his dictatorial tone. But in the circumstances, still uncertain of the man—and his mood!—she was hardly in a position to object.
He sat down opposite her at the table, looking at her expectantly as he cradled his own mug of warming coffee in large, well-kept hands.
Crys slowly sat down again, the smell of the rich coffee tantalising to her senses, she had to inwardly admit. It had been some time since her last rest stop; the coffee at the service station had been tepid and weak to say the least. Perhaps it wouldn’t do any harm to drink this mug of coffee before going on her way.
Besides, the unfriendly Merlin was outside somewhere, making it impossible for her to leave without this man’s protection. She frowned as another thought occurred to her. Perhaps that was the reason this man had put Merlin back outside…
‘An overactive imagination and a suspicious mind,’ the man pronounced, without even glancing across at her. ‘What a combination!’ He gave a disgusted shake of his head before sipping his black unsweetened coffee. ‘What comes next, I wonder…?’ he mused, glancing over at her, one dark brow raised sceptically. ‘Drugs in your drink? So that you don’t put up a fight when I carry you upstairs with the intention of having my wicked way with you?’
Crys’s cheeks coloured fiery-red at the laughter that could clearly be heard in his voice, but at the same time she glanced worriedly at the mug in front of her.
‘Tell me,’ the man continued in that deceptively pleasant voice, ‘do you watch a lot of television?’
His implication was more than obvious! But, as she had already pointed out to him, the last half an hour or so had been far from pleasant for her, either. She was the one who had found herself face to face with that growling monster of a dog and had then been confronted by a wild-looking man digging a grave—who had given every appearance of being more fierce than his dog.
Overactive imagination, indeed!