The Innocent's One-Night Confession: The Innocent's One-Night Confession / Hired to Wear the Sheikh's Ring. Sara Craven
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out with me tomorrow, and I’ll put you on Caradoc.
‘My brother-in-law in Ireland bought him as a stallion, but he nearly wrecked the horse box, kicked out his stall and attacked his girl groom, as well as fighting with the other horses, so Patrick had him gelded and offered him to me as a point to pointer for Gerard.
‘But he was still a wild one, and I’d just decided to sell him on when Gerard’s cousin took a fancy to him. Came down here at weekends to work with him until Caradoc would come when he whistled.
‘Turned him into a lovely smooth ride with the manners of a saint, would you believe? But then,’ she added, shrugging, ‘gypsies always seem to have a way with horses. It’s in their genes, I dare say.’
It was the overt contempt in her voice that told Alanna that it was Zandor’s own grandmother who would never intend ‘gypsy’ to be a compliment—or even a joke. And how vile was that?
Mrs Harrington sent Alanna another bright smile. ‘So we’ll go out in the morning and see what you make of the darling boy.’
The smile was transferred seamlessly to the housekeeper, entering with a tray. ‘Set the coffee down here, Mrs Jackson dear, and we’ll serve ourselves.’
She picked up the heavy silver pot. ‘I’d guess cream but no sugar. Am I right?’
Alanna, whose mind’s eye had been suddenly filled with a sunlit image of a man riding a powerful bay as if they were fused into one, like some ancient Greek centaur, dragged herself back to reality with a start. ‘Actually, I take it black.’
Mrs Harrington tutted. ‘Ah, now, too much caffeine is bad for the system, so I’m told.’
‘I’ve heard the same thing,’ Alanna agreed, taking the cup her hostess handed her. ‘But I still prefer it that way.’
She hesitated. ‘And tomorrow we’ll be going back to London right after breakfast, so, sadly, I’ll have to miss out on another ride. But thank you for asking me.’ And produced a smile of her own. ‘Next time perhaps.’
‘Well, there’s always that,’ Mrs Harrington agreed tranquilly. ‘However, I’m afraid, my dear, that I have to disappoint you. Gerard, being the heir, has a number of responsibilities down here at Whitestone, especially now I’m not as young as I was, and we have tenants who’ll be wanting to see him tomorrow.’
She nodded. ‘I imagine that could take up most of the day, and then we’ll need to discuss everything, so he may well be spending the night. And I’m sure you need to get back to your busy life and your career in the big city.’
She sighed. ‘Ah, girls today have the best of it. Great jobs and their independence. My own family took it for granted I’d stay at home until I was married, and that’s what I did until the blessed day when Gerard’s grandfather came to claim me.
‘It will be so different for you, dear girl. You can enjoy your freedom.’
She paused, then went on more briskly, ‘But my Diana and her husband are leaving before lunch, so I’m sure they’ll be glad to give you a lift. I’ll ask them, shall I? Or you could speak to Joanne. I’ve noticed the pair of you hitting it off.’
I bet you have, thought Alanna, sipping her coffee with a fair assumption of composure. So that’s how it’s done. Nothing as crude as ‘Never darken my doors again.’
Just the subtle dagger between the ribs. And if I cared, I’d now be bleeding all over this Persian rug.
As it is, what’s twisting the knife is having to accept that Zandor was right. But at least I’ll never have to say so. Or not to him, anyway.
Knowing I’ll definitely never have to meet him again is actually one of the few advantages of the situation.
However, if Mrs H. thinks I’m going to leave in a huff right here and now, she’ll be disappointed. I intend to stick to my guns and depart with dignity.
Aloud, she said calmly, ‘Please don’t trouble yourself, Mrs Harrington. I can make my own arrangements.’
Or Gerard certainly can, she decided, stonily. I think he owes me that. Because I’m not going round begging for a lift as if I’m a Victorian servant turned off without a character.
Besides, he must know his grandmother’s plans for his future, so what on earth prompted him to invite me in the first place?
Therefore, I’m going to have some advice for him too. Grow a backbone before it’s too late.
Then, swiftly reverting to the theme of dignified departure, she smilingly accepted another ‘absolutely delicious’ cup of coffee.
Which proved to be a mistake.
‘I believe your father is a lawyer,’ Niamh Harrington remarked as she handed back Alanna’s cup. ‘One of the great professions, I always think. My cousin’s son is Dermot Connor-Smith, QC who’s made a great name for himself at the criminal bar. I expect your father knows him well.’
‘I doubt they’ve ever met,’ Alanna returned composedly after another fortifying sip. ‘My father isn’t a barrister, and he doesn’t work in London.’
‘Not in London?’ Mrs Harrington’s brows rose. ‘Isn’t that a strange choice?’
‘Not at all. He’s a partner specialising in probate and family law at a firm based in a small market town called Silworth.’ Alanna paused. ‘Perhaps you’ve heard of it?’
Mrs Harrington appeared to consider. ‘It doesn’t spring to mind. And he finds enough to occupy him there?’
Alanna smiled. ‘Oh, yes. He’s always busy.’
‘And your mother. Does she also have a job?’
‘She does part-time work in a charity shop for the homeless, but she’s also very involved with the local Women’s Institute, and both she and Dad are keen gardeners.’
And so the inquisition continued, demonstrating to Alanna with needle-sharp accuracy just how provincial her background would seem to the Harringtons of Whitestone Abbey.
By the time the meeting drew to its close and she was graciously released—‘I think some of the others are playing croquet on the lawn, my dear. I’m sure you’d be most welcome to join them...’—Alanna’s blood was close to boiling.
Whatever she’d resolved privately, it was still not pleasant to be dismissed in such a cavalier fashion. Treated as if she didn’t matter, she thought as she stormed upstairs. As if, God help her, she’d somehow been tried and found wanting.
As for croquet, she thought savagely, watch out, world, and Niamh Harrington in particular, if she got her hands on a mallet any time soon.
She flung open the door of her room and marched in, stopping herself just in time from slamming it behind her in case the sound echoed as far as the library and told Gerard’s grandmother that her knife had found its target.
Nor did she intend to permit herself to cry, although she knew tears were not far from the surface. She would not, she decided, grant Niamh Harrington that much of a victory either.
She stalked furiously into the bathroom and began to run water into the tub, adding a generous capful of gardenia bath oil, before stripping off her clothes and fastening her hair into a loose knot on top of her head with a small silver comb.
She slid down into the water, closing her eyes and resting her head against the small towelling pillow attached to the back of the bath, feeling the heat permeate through every inch of her chilled and shaking body. Relaxing gradually as she inhaled the fragrance of the gardenia and began to breathe softly and evenly again.
And there she remained, adding more hot water when necessary until she’d recovered a measure of calm, even managing to smile again as she thought what she’d have to tell Susie—strictly edited, naturally. Zandor Varga, if she mentioned him at all,