‘Well, on no account hire him to build you a swimming pool. We had endless problems and in the end Daddy had to sack him, and bring in someone else to finish the work.’
‘That won’t be a problem,’ said Jago. ‘I have no plans for a pool.’
‘But you must have, surely. There’s that big disused conservatory at the side of the house. It would be ideal.’
‘I have other ideas about that,’ he said. ‘And when I want to swim, I have a lake.’
‘You must be joking,’ said Fiona with distaste. ‘That’s a frightful place, all overgrown and full of weeds. You should have it filled in.’
‘On the contrary,’ he said. ‘I find it has a charm all of its own. And when it’s been cleared out, I intend to use it regularly. With its naked goddess for company, of course,’ he added reflectively.
Bastard, thought Tavy inexcusably, wondering how many bones she would break if she opened the car door and hurled herself out on to the verge.
On the other hand, there wasn’t far to go, and she was bound to be dropped off first, she thought, steeling herself, which would leave Jago and Fiona at liberty for—whatever.
Instead, she realised Charlie was taking the left fork for Hazelton Parva, and the White Gables stud, and groaned silently.
‘You will come in for coffee, won’t you,’ Fiona asked when they reached the house, adding perfunctorily, ‘You too, of course, Octavia.’
Jago shook his head. ‘Unfortunately, I have to get back to my hotel. I have early meetings in London tomorrow. I’m sorry.’
‘Well, I suppose I must forgive you.’ There was a pout in her voice, as Charlie opened her door for her. Jago got out too, walking with her to the front entrance.
Tavy turned her head and her attention to the semi-darkness outside the window again. She did not want to see if Jago Marsh was kissing Fiona Culham goodnight. For one thing, it was none of her business. For another...
She stopped right there, finding to her discomfort that she did not want to consider any alternatives.
Then tensed as she realised he was already back, rejoining her in the car. Her heartbeat quickened as she shrank even further into her corner.
He said, ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I mean—no. I shouldn’t be here. I should have stayed with Patrick.’
There was a silence, then he said drily, ‘Your loyalty is commendable, but I doubt whether he’d have been much good to you tonight.’
She said in a suffocated voice, ‘I think you’re vile.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Just practical.’ He paused. ‘Does he often get blasted like that?’
‘No,’ she said hotly. ‘He doesn’t. And he only had a few pints. I don’t understand it.’
‘I think it was rather more than that. He was drinking whisky chasers up at the bar too.’
She gasped. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘You can always check with the landlord,’ he said. ‘He warned me what was going on when I ordered the other bottle of champagne.’
‘He warned you? Why?’
‘I imagine in order to avoid trouble.’
‘Oh, it’s too late for that,’ she said quickly and bitterly. ‘Because you’re the real cause of the trouble. It started when you came here. When you decided to buy the Manor.’
She took a swift, trembling breath. ‘Mrs Wilding, Patrick’s mother, is afraid that her pupils’ parents will take them away from the school when word gets out that you’ve come to live in the village. That people won’t want their children exposed to your kind of influence. That there’ll be disruption—drunken parties—drugs.’
‘You’ve left out sex,’ he said. ‘But I’m sure that features prominently on the list of righteous objections to my loathsome presence.’
‘Can you wonder?’ Tavy hit back.
‘No,’ he said, with a brief harsh sigh. ‘The old maxim “Give a dog a bad name and hang him” has held good for centuries. Why should it be different here—in spite of your father’s benign guidance?’
He paused. ‘And now I may as well justify your dire opinion of me.’
He moved, reaching for her. Pulling her out of her corner and into his arms in one unhurried, irrefutable movement. Moulding her against his lean body.
The cool, practised mouth brushed hers lightly, even questioningly, then took possession, parting her lips with expert mastery, his tongue flickering against hers in a sensuous and subtle temptation totally outside her experience.