Reawakened By His Christmas Kiss. Jessica Gilmore
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crave publicity. She worked hard; she lived a quiet existence. Her clothes were fashionable and stylish, yes, but on the sensible side. Her hair was coiled neatly, her jewellery discreet. And it was Alexandra Davenport who had been employed to do a job. The fact that the job was at her old family home must be one awful coincidence.
It had to be. After all, no one knew who she once had been. Not even her best friends.
Alex sat frozen, still undecided. Turning tail and running wasn’t her style, but she had stayed clear of this entire region for a reason. She might not feel like Lola any longer, might not act like her, but what if someone recognised her?
Her hands folded into fists. She managed the story; she was no longer the story herself. She’d left her tabloid headline existence in the past, where it belonged, but she knew her reappearance at her childhood home would create nothing but speculation and the kind of publicity she’d spent a decade avoiding.
If she turned around now she wouldn’t be running away, she’d be making a prudent retreat. She could claim a double booking and send one of her many capable temps in her stead, with a discreet discount and an apology. It was the right—the only—thing to do.
Only at that moment the car swept round the last bend and there it was, gleaming gold in the winter morning sun. Blakeley Castle. Alex could only stare transfixed at the long, grand façade, at the famous turrets, the formal gardens, now autumnal in browns and oranges and red, the trees bare of leaves, their spindly branches reaching high to the grey-blue sky. Her breath quickened and she leaned forward as if in a trance.
Blakeley Castle was beautiful. There was nowhere like it. Nowhere as steeped in myth and legend and history. Kings had fallen in love within its walls; queens had fallen from favour. Dukes had lost their hearts, and sometimes their heads, and the Beaumonts had gambled their fortunes, their titles, their freedom, their looks and their marriages on games of chance, of love, of treason.
Until one had gambled too much and lost it all. His freedom, his family, his home.
And now his daughter, the last Beaumont, was returning to Blakeley. But as an anonymous employee, no longer the spoiled darling of the house.
Alex took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders. She might have changed her name and changed her destiny but the old ancestral cry of ‘Semper porsum’, always forward, ran through her veins. This was just a job. And Blakeley was just a house—well, a castle. But it was still bricks and mortar. There were no ghosts here apart from the few that still haunted her dreams. And she made sure they vanished in the cold light of day.
She wasn’t Lola Beaumont. She was Alexandra Davenport. She was calm and capable and she always saw her commitments through. Her life was sensible and measured and it was ridiculous to think of upsetting any aspect of it because of an old link to a mere place. A link that had been severed ten years ago. Nobody here knew her. She would do her job to the best of her ability and leave without looking back once. No regrets. She’d had too many of them.
Mind made up, Alex sat back as the car swept into the parking area at the side of the house, checking herself in her mirror. Her lipstick was in place, her hair neat, her expression coolly inscrutable. All was as it should be. The panic had gone. It was back in the past where it belonged. Nothing fazed her, nothing touched her, and her walls were firmly back in place.
She couldn’t help noticing the changes in the familiar. Everything looked better cared for, and the flag flying from the highest turret bore a bird of prey, not the Beaumont crest. The car park was freshly laid, not a pothole to be seen, shielded from the castle by a tall hedge. She glimpsed the grand front entrance as the car turned. Doors stood open, the old faded steps were now gleaming, and the rug half covering them sported the same golden bird as that flying overhead on the flag.
Alexandra Davenport had never been to Blakeley Castle before. She would wait for the driver to open the door and then look around her in curiosity as she exited the car, asking if she should go in through the back door or report somewhere else. All would be unfamiliar, all new. She would be focussed on the task ahead. The beauty of the old house and grounds were of secondary importance, and her curiosity about the new owners confined to a moment’s idle speculation before work took over, as it always did.
One deep breath and any dangerous traces of Lola disappeared as Alexandra stepped out of the car, her expression bland, her smile practised, and turned to face the person who had appeared to greet her.
The smile only wavered for one infinitesimal second as she took in the tall, broad-shouldered man, his dark jacket and jeans showcasing lean, powerful muscles, his hair swept back off his face, dark eyes as cold as the December air.
‘Hello.’ Her voice stayed calm and in control as she held out a hand. ‘Alexandra Davenport.’
The man’s gaze only grew more sardonic as he took her hand in his. His clasp was strong, almost too strong, as if he had something to prove.
‘Finn Hawkin. But you knew that. Didn’t you, Lola?’
FINN LOOSENED HIS grip and Alex withdrew her hand from his in a smooth gesture.
‘I go by Alexandra now.’
‘I know. Alexandra Davenport, I believe? Of course Alexandra is your middle name.’
He noted her slight blink of acknowledgement with satisfaction. Maybe she wasn’t quite as calm as she seemed. ‘Where’s the Davenport from?’
‘My grandmother’s maiden name.’ She stepped back and looked around before her cool gaze rested on him once again, understanding in her grey eyes. ‘Hawkin...hawk. Of course. I see. You always did say you’d earn enough to own somewhere like Blakeley some day. I didn’t think you actually meant Blakeley itself, but that wasn’t the first time I underestimated you. Congratulations, Finn, you’ve obviously done very well.’
Finn had been rehearsing this meeting for the last few hours. Ever since he’d heard about his Head of PR, Penelope, having an accident. No, longer than that. Since the summer, when he had glimpsed Lola across the ballroom floor and done some digging into the agency which had organised the Armarian Midsummer Ball and its four founders. From the moment he’d realised that Alexandra Davenport was exactly who he thought she was.
Lola Beaumont was unfinished business. Business he needed to resolve in order to move on once and for all—especially now that he was master of Blakeley and all that entailed. He had to focus on the future, on his nieces, and let go all the regrets that still haunted him. And he could only do that by confronting the past—and the woman who dominated it.
And then the fates had aligned, for good or for ill, and he had taken advantage of them. Penelope’s accident was more than unfortunate, coming at such a very crucial time. The castle would be opening to the public for the first time in its history this weekend, and he needed an experienced pair of hands to manage all the resulting publicity. Who better than the woman who had grown up here? Who now worked as a PR consultant?
The Lola he’d known would have reacted to her homecoming in some dramatic fashion, with tears or laughter equally likely, but this new version radiated a disconcerting cool calmness. A calmness he hadn’t anticipated, hadn’t prepared for. Nor had he missed her slight emphasis on the words ‘underestimated’.
His mouth tightened. He didn’t reply, not at first, taking a moment to observe the woman who had been his oldest friend—and his first love.
‘You didn’t know I founded Hawk?’
He didn’t hide his polite disbelief. Maybe she’d walked away and never so much as typed his name into a search engine or on a social media site, but his business was a global brand, and as founder and CEO he had been extensively profiled.
Alex was a PR professional. It didn’t seem possible that she had no idea of who he had become and what he’d achieved.