"Thank you. Water, please," Jack said.
She had rehearsed this carefully, and knew exactly what she was going to say to the prospective purchaser. In her head, the phrase began with a word that rhymed with luck and ended with off. In reality, she would listen to whatever he had to say. She didn't have much of an option. They were massively in debt with no hope of a bailout, and the bank was threatening to foreclose. She had this vague idea that maybe the new owner of the estate could be persuaded to work with her in opening the house to the public—maybe he'd even fund it—
And maybe she was going off her head.
She would handle this calmly. If she could persuade him to loan her the money to carry out repairs, she could have the house paying for itself in no time. Who knew the area better than she did? She'd lived here all her life. Some of the faithful staff might agree to come back if she could afford to pay them a decent wage. She'd take paying guests—she'd scrub and clean—she'd cook—she'd wash their smalls—she'd run a gift shop—anything to keep the old house in the family.
She went still, hearing muffled voices moving from the hall to the library. So he was here! She'd better get in there fast. Harold was already well oiled.
She stopped outside the door to smooth her dress and lift her chin. That done, she turned the handle and walked in.
"May I present my wife, Lady Frost? Darling...this is Jack Castle."
She froze to the spot, stunned into silence. Harold sounded very pleased with himself, while Jack—Jack Castle, as she must now think of him—the monster who was determined to buy up the house at any cost to add to the rest of the estate he'd already gobbled up, was staring at her with a mixture of amusement and frowning interest on his handsome face. He could at least have the decency to look a little bit embarrassed.
"Well, don't just stand there," Harold rapped. "Get our guest a drink. I trust you bought some more booze for tonight," he added in an oily tone.
She had. Harold had all sorts of cunning ways to get her to lay in more stock for his cronies, and she had wondered if this supper for an important guest was just another ruse to get her to restock. They could have met in town, over coffee, after all.
"Why don't I help you?" Jack suggested.
She looked up, and if she hadn't been so sensible, she might have overheated. Jack was the type of man that, in different clothes, would make a fine Regency rake. He had a wicked glint in his eyes, and was as swarthy as the pirate she'd first thought him. Pirate...she preferred pirates to Regency rakes...
She quivered into full awareness as he joined her behind the bar. Just being close to him again made her super–aware of her body, which she never was, except to be embarrassed about it. He made her feel warm inside, as well as unusually safe and comforted. He also made her feel emotional for some reason.
She had to get over that fast. If Jack was a friend of Harold's he was no friend of hers.
"That's okay. I can manage, thank you." She glanced over her shoulder to see Harold was already pouring himself another drink.
"I insist," Jack murmured, dipping his head so his mouth was very close to her ear. "What would you like to drink, Lady Frost?"
"Bella," she said, staring up into his eyes with the tiniest glint of humor tugging at the corner of her mouth. "And I don't drink."
"Not even champagne?" Jack queried.
"Not even champagne," she confirmed. She'd seen enough alcohol in this house to last her a lifetime.
Something about Jack made it hard to move away. He was everything that was missing from her life—from her fantasy life, anyway. Men like him just didn't come riding to the rescue on their Harley every day of the week.
"Shall I get you some sparkling water?" he suggested, still holding her gaze in a way that made her heart go crazy. He was standing far too close—so close, in fact, that the side of her body touching his had started tingling. She didn't move. She liked the sensation. Being close to Jack felt good.
She would have done better to recognize the danger.
Chapter Four
The danger Arabella had sensed didn't take long to show itself. She was so fascinated by Jack that she didn't see Harold coming.
"You sad old cow!"
Before she could respond, Harold had barged her out of the way—quite a feat in itself, as she was twice his size. Grabbing her chest as her ribs collided with the metal corner of the bar stool, she w
ould have crashed to the floor if Jack hadn't caught hold of her in time.
"You clumsy old bag," Harold jeered as Jack brought her close.
"Are you okay?" Jack murmured as she tried to suck in a breath and groaned.
"Stupid me." She forced out a laugh, but it was hard to pretend nothing had happened when she was grimacing with pain.