Taming the Rebel Tycoon. Ally Blake
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if I fetch my bag and give them a ring now.’
Damn! he thought. So much for trying to disarm her.
As she started to rise, he pressed her gently back. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll talk to reception while you drink your sherry.’
He crossed to his desk and, picking up the phone, queried, ‘Shall I make it tonight and tomorrow?’
Already regretting her decision, but knowing it was the right one, she said huskily, ‘Please.’
Depressing the receiver rest, he pretended to make the booking.
While she listened, and watched his broad back, she wondered what had made him give in so easily.
The answer came swiftly. Though it would no doubt have suited him if she had stayed, it was obviously of no great importance. If she wasn’t willing, there must be plenty of women who were.
But she wasn’t cut out for affairs. She couldn’t treat sex lightly, or as just another appetite to be indulged, as most men and a lot of today’s women seemed able to do.
If Richard had been an ordinary man and she and he had been in love with each other and intending to stay together, it would have been different.
But he wasn’t, and they weren’t.
And, no matter how much she wanted him, her pride, her self-respect, insisted that she shouldn’t let herself be swept up and then discarded at a rich man’s whim…
‘All settled,’ he said, replacing the receiver and returning to his chair by the fire.
‘Thank you.’In the end he’d been very civilized about it and she was grateful.
Though she couldn’t regret coming to Anders—it would always shine in her memory—she was guiltily aware that, despite his earlier polite denial, he would no doubt regard it as a wasted day.
As though reading her mind, he said, ‘I hope you’re not sorry you came to the castle?’
‘No, I’m not. I’ve loved being here and seeing over it. The only thing I am sorry about is that I’ve wasted your day.’
‘I can assure you I don’t regard it as a wasted day. Apart from enjoying your company, which I do very much, it’s a pleasure to have someone here who genuinely likes the old place…’
When her sherry was finished, he led the way to a long white-walled dining-room where a refectory table was beautifully set with fine linen, crystal glasses and fresh flowers.
Throughout an excellent meal, as though to put her at her ease, he played the suave host, talking easily about the history of the castle and the Anders family. ‘At one time the estate supported a lot of tenant farmers and labourers who owed their allegiance to the family…’
With a little crooked smile that made her heart start to beat faster, he went on, ‘It all sounds a bit feudal, doesn’t it?’
‘It does rather.’
‘But, from what I’ve read in the archives, most of the Anders were good overlords and their serfs and vassals—some of the descendants of whom still live on the estate—were well-treated.’
‘How big is the present-day estate?’
He told her, adding, ‘It used to be considerably larger. But, before my great-grandfather went into banking, the need to raise money for taxes and death duties had meant selling off certain of the more lucrative areas.
‘Luckily there was plenty to go at. The family, who were staunch Royalists, had been given huge tracts of land for their loyalty to the Crown.’
‘What happened when Cromwell came to power?’
‘It could well have been the end of them all. But when, after the battle of Worcester, a lot of Royalist strongholds were laid waste, because one of Cromwell’s closest friends and allies had married Lady Eleanor Anders, the castle and its occupants were mercifully spared…’
As soon as their coffee was finished, Tina—who had been psyching herself up to mention leaving—was about to speak when Richard forestalled her by asking, ‘About ready to go?’
‘I’ll just get my coat and bag.’
‘While you do that I’ll ring for Mullins to bring your case down and fetch the car round.’
She had just collected her belongings when Richard appeared and said, ‘I’m afraid Mullins is out at the moment, but his wife is expecting him back in half an hour or so…’
‘Oh,’ Tina said a little blankly. ‘But can’t we—’
‘It seems,’ Richard added smoothly, ‘that he has the car keys in his pocket and unfortunately I’ve left the spare set in town.’
Before she could think of anything to say, he went on, ‘As it’s a beautiful moonlit night, I suggest that, rather than just sitting indoors waiting for him, we take a stroll along the battlements.’
Helping her into her coat, he added, ‘We may be lucky enough to see our resident ghost.’
Distracted, she exclaimed, ‘A ghost?’
‘Have you ever seen a ghost?’
She shook her head. ‘Have you?’
‘No,’ he admitted.
‘I’m not sure I believe in them.’
‘But are you sure you don’t? There are quite a few sightings of Mag mentioned in the archives.’
‘Mag?’
‘Today we’d say Maggie, but apparently in the Middle Ages the short form Mag was common.’
Opening the top drawer of a walnut bureau, he took out a pencil torch and slipped it into his pocket. ‘Come along then, and I’ll tell you all about her as we go.’
Wondering why he needed a torch on a moonlit night, she allowed herself to be escorted to the east tower. There, they climbed the spiralling stone steps and at the top emerged on to the battlements.
The sky was a deep velvety blue with a huge silver disk of moon hanging above the eastern rim of trees. Though it looked shimmering and insubstantial as any mirage, its pale ethereal light was almost as bright as day, yet strangely eerie.
In this kind of setting, she could almost imagine seeing a ghost.
As they started to stroll along the walls, the scented air cool and silky against her face, she shivered a little with nervous excitement.
‘Cold?’ he asked.
‘No, not really.’
He put an arm around her all the same and she found herself glad of it.
‘You were going to tell me about your ghost,’ she prompted as they walked on.
‘According to the legend, Mag was the beautiful and chaste young daughter of Lord Anders’s household steward. She fell madly in love with Sir Gerwain, the son of a neighbouring nobleman.
‘He told her he loved her and promised that when his elderly father died and he was his own master, he would marry her. They used to meet in Daland Tower, away from prying eyes, and on moonlit nights he would ride over to keep their trysts.
‘Mag used to climb up to the battlements to watch for him and when she saw him coming she would slip down a hidden stairway to the cellars and take a secret passage that comes out inside the tower.’
Frowning, Tina asked, ‘But what about the moat?’
‘The passage runs beneath the moat. It’s quite a clever bit of construction.’
With a grin, he added, ‘As a boy, it used to be my escape route if I wanted to leave the castle without anyone knowing.’
‘Is it still