Because she couldn’t even read the damned book title.
“Claudia.” He was so close. Her fingers wrapped around the doorknob to her room and she pushed it inwards but he was there, his hand closing over hers, holding her still, preventing her from moving inside, from reaching sanctuary.
“What are you doing?” She demanded in her best, most haughty voice.
He stared at her, his frown one of puzzlement. “You haven’t read the play,” he murmured, running his thumb soothingly over the flesh of her inner-wrist. But it didn’t soothe her. It spread desire like wildfire, making her body stir and awaken in ways that were dangerous and new.
“I shouldn’t be surprised, given that I saw your report cards for English,” he teased. And it was the worst thing he could have said.
“Oh, go to hell.” She pulled away from him and stormed into her room, slamming the door behind her. Only he caught it before it landed in the door frame, and pushed it open once more, following her into her room.
“The Taming of the Shrew is a classic,” he said quietly. “And I felt there are similarities to our current predicament.”
She glared at him, her face pale, her eyes showing disbelief. “You do realise everything you say is making this worse?”
“I am getting that idea,” he said with a nod.
“Then stop talking.”
His eyes narrowed and he prowled towards her, his attention caught by her anger and the beauty of it. “You cannot see the funny side?”
“Of being called a Shrew?” She compensated, knowing that she wasn’t upset about the book he’d chosen so much as the fact he’d chosen to gift her a book. A simple, ordinary present that shouldn’t have resulted in a complete breakdown.
He shook his head, his lips compressed in frustration.
“I suppose you’ve called me worse!” She snapped, spinning away from him and stamping across the bedroom to the window that overlooked the swirling river.
She felt his presence in the room but she didn’t turn around again. She stared broodingly at the river, wishing he would leave, wanting him to go.
Needing him to stay.
“Claudia, I am not a man who apologises often,” he said softly. “But I’m doing so now. It was a silly, spur-of-the-moment joke. I was trying to lighten the mood after what happened in the car.”
She blinked rapidly, warning her tears not to fall. “And I said, thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.” His words were low and hoarse. “Where you are concerned, I don’t think I am capable of doing anything worth your gratitude.”
She turned around slowly, needing him to clarify his remark, but he was gone.
She was alone in the room, and finally, she let her tears fall.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“IT’S A DISASTER, CLAUDIA. I know you said you can’t make it but we’re in such a pickle. Is there any chance you can make yourself available once more?”
Claudia paused, mid-way through stirring the pudding mix and gnawed on her lower lip. She tossed a guilty look at the clock above the old Aga stove.
Patrick had said they would leave that evening. If she hurried, she could beg a lift back to London. When push came to shove, she doubted Stavros was going to carry through with his threat to withhold her allowance. He wasn’t actually kidnapping her.
“I thought you’d organized Elizabeth Magento to take my place?”
“No one can take your place, dear. You’ve been introducing the event every year since it began.”
“That’s three years,” Claudia pointed out, biting back a smile.
“Yes, three years in which you’ve excelled.”
Claudia began to stir the pudding once more, breathing in the sweetly fragrant combination of cinnamon, nutmeg, brandy and dried fruit.