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Bedded For The Italian's Pleasure
Anne Mather
Mills & Boon are excited to present The Anne Mather Collection – the complete works by this classic author made available to download for the very first time! These books span six decades of a phenomenal writing career, and every story is available to read unedited and untouched from their original release.When desire overrules all sense… When Juliet meets broodingly handsome Italian Raphael Marchese, there is an instant and dangerous attraction between them. But because of the pretense Juliet has agreed to in order to help a friend, Rafe mistakenly thinks she's a gold-digger who's engaged to another man!However, the tension between Juliet and Rafe is stronger than reason, and it erupts. Raphael makes love to her–passionately and ardently. He reasons that though he can never have her, he can enjoy the pleasure of her body….


Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author
ANNE MATHER
Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the
publishing industry, having written over one hundred
and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than
forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.
This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance
for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,
passionate writing has given.
We are sure you will love them all!
I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.
I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.
These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.
We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com (mailto:mystic-am@msn.com) and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

Bedded for the Italian’s Pleasure
Anne Mather


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
Cover (#u1e6edcf0-8533-5b9f-bb3c-ab97f3c989a1)
About the Author (#ue3ebb355-80c0-5804-ae5e-8ae925ef2114)
Title Page (#u3dc1e5c7-b84b-5744-8e1f-a646990e7d43)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EPILOGUE
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#u311e9e0a-db3c-5077-803f-a76d52bde6a7)
JULIET wondered what it was like in the Caymans at this time of year. Pretty much like Barbados, she assumed. They were all islands in the Caribbean, weren’t they? But she’d never been to the Caymans.
Still, whatever they were like, they had to be better than this gloomy employment agency, whose sickly green walls and wafer-thin carpet were a poor substitute for the comfort she was used to. Had been born to, she amended, fighting back the tears of self-pity that formed in her eyes. Beautiful violet eyes, her father used to call them. They reminded him of her mother, who’d died when she was just a baby. How long ago it all seemed.
One thing she knew, her father would never have allowed her to be duped by a man like David Hammond. But her father, too, had died of a brain tumour when Juliet was just nineteen and a year later David had seemed like a knight in shining armour.
If only she’d realised that his main interest in her was the trust fund her father had left her. That just a handful of years after their society wedding he’d take off with the woman he’d introduced to Juliet as his secretary. With her stupid indulgence, he’d taken charge of her trust fund. By the time she’d realised what was happening, he’d transferred the bulk of it to an offshore account in his own name.
She’d been so naïve. She’d let David’s good looks and boyish charm blind her to any faults in his character. She’d believed he loved her; ignored the advice of friends when they’d told her he’d been seen with someone else. Now the few pounds he’d left in their joint account were running out fast.
Of course, those friends that had stuck by her had been sympathetic. They’d even offered to help her out financially, but Juliet had known their friendship couldn’t last under those circumstances. No, she had to get a job; though what kind of a job she could get with no qualifications she dreaded to think. If only she’d continued her education after her father died. But David’s appearance in her life had blinded her to practical things.
She glanced round the waiting room again, wondering what sort of qualifications her fellow applicants had. There were five other people in the room besides herself: two men and three women, all of whom seemed totally indifferent to their surroundings. If she didn’t know better, she’d have said they were indifferent to being offered employment, too. At least two of them looked half-asleep—or stoned.
Which could be good news or bad, depending on the way you looked at it. Surely after interviewing someone dressed in torn jeans or a grungy T-shirt, or that girl whose arms were covered with lurid tattoos, Juliet, in her navy pinstripe suit and two-inch heels, would be a relief. Or perhaps not. Perhaps unskilled jobs were more likely to be offered to people who didn’t look as if they could afford to be out of work.
‘Mrs Hammond?’
It’s Ms Lawrence, actually, Juliet wanted to say, but all her means of identification were still in her married name. Not that everyone who got divorced reverted to their previous identity. But Juliet had wanted to. She’d wanted nothing to remind her that she had once been Mrs David Hammond.
Now she got nervously to her feet as the woman who’d called her name looked expectantly round the room. ‘That’s me,’ she said, aware that she was now the centre of attention. She tucked her clutch bag beneath her arm and walked tentatively across the floor.
‘Come into my office, Mrs Hammond.’ The woman, a redhead, in her forties, Juliet guessed, looked her up and down and then led the way into an office that was only slightly less unprepossessing than the waiting room. She indicated an upright chair facing her desk. ‘Sit down.’ Juliet did so. ‘Did you fill in the questionnaire?’
‘Oh—yes.’ Juliet produced the sheet of paper she’d been rolling into a tube as she waited. When she laid it on the woman’s desk—Mrs Maria Watkins’ desk, she saw from a notice propped in front of her—it remained in its half-curled position and she offered a little smile of apology as Mrs Watkins smoothed it out. ‘Sorry.’
Her apology was neither acknowledged nor accepted. Mrs Watkins was too busy reading what Juliet had written, pausing every now and then to glance at her as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. So what? Had the slick business suit fooled her? Or was she admiring Juliet’s dress sense? Somehow, she didn’t think so.
‘It says here that you’re twenty-four years old, Mrs Hammond.’ Mrs Watkins frowned. ‘And you’ve never had a job?’
Juliet coloured a little. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
It was straight question, but Juliet had the feeling she shouldn’t have asked it. She had some pride. Did this woman have to rob her of every single drop?
Taking a deep breath, she said, ‘Is that relevant? I need a job now. Isn’t that enough?’
‘No, I’m afraid it’s not, Mrs Hammond. Would-be employers require CVs; references. It’s important for me to understand why a would-be applicant has none of these things.’
Juliet sighed. ‘I was married,’ she said, deciding that was the least controversial thing she could say.
‘Yes, I see that.’ Mrs Watkins consulted the sheet again. ‘Your marriage ended some nine months ago, did it not?’
Nine months, eight days, recited Juliet silently. ‘That’s right.’
‘But no job?’
‘No. No job.’
Mrs Watkins sucked in a breath through her nostrils that was clearly audible. It was the kind of sound her father’s butler, Carmichael, used to make when he disapproved of something she’d done. That Mrs Watkins disapproved of her lack of experience was obvious. Juliet wondered if she would have fared better if she’d come in a grungy shirt and jeans.
‘Well,’ Mrs Watkins said at last, ‘I have to tell you, Mrs Hammond, it’s not going to be easy finding you employment. You have no discernible qualifications, no employment history, nothing in fact to convince an employer that you’re a good worker. And trustworthy.’
Juliet gasped. ‘I’m trustworthy.’
‘I’m sure you are, Mrs Hammond, but in this world we don’t work on word-of-mouth. What you need is an erstwhile employer to vouch for you, someone who is willing to commit his opinion to paper.’
‘But I don’t have an erstwhile employer.’
Mrs Watkins gave a smug smile. ‘I know.’
‘So you’re saying you can’t help me?’
‘I’m saying that at the present time, I don’t have a vacancy you could fill. Unless you wanted to wash dishes at the Savoy, of course.’ She chuckled at her own joke. Then she sobered. ‘You’ll find details of courses you could take at the local college—classes for everything from cookery to foreign languages—in the waiting room. I suggest you take a few of the leaflets home and decide what it is you want to do. Then, come back and see me when you feel you have something to offer. Until then, I’d advise you not to waste any more time.’
Waste my time, was what she meant, Juliet decided gloomily, getting to her feet. ‘Well—thank you,’ she said, the good manners, which had been instilled into her since birth by a series of nannies, coming to her rescue. ‘I’ll think about what you’ve said.’ She paused. ‘Or find another agency.’
‘Good luck!’ The latter was said with some irony and Juliet left the office feeling even more of a pariah than before. But what had she expected? Who had she imagined would employ someone without even the sense to recognise a con man when she saw one?
Outside again, she looked up and down Charing Cross Road, considering her options. Although it was only the beginning of March, it was surprisingly warm, though a light drizzle had started to dampen the pavements. She lifted a hand to hail a taxi and then hastily dropped it again. The days when she could swan around in cabs were most definitely over.
Sighing, she started to walk towards Cambridge Circus. She would catch a bus from there that would take her to Knightsbridge and the tiny one-bedroom apartment where she lived these days. The large house in Sussex where she’d been born and lived for most of her life had been sold just after her marriage to David. He’d said the house he’d found in Bloomsbury was much more convenient. It wasn’t until he’d left her that she’d found out the house had been rented by the month.
She knew her friends had been appalled at her naïvety, but, dammit, she’d never encountered David’s kind of ruthlessness before. It was just luck that the apartment had been in her name and David couldn’t touch it. It had been her father’s pied-à-terre when he’d had business to attend to in town, and she’d hung on to it for sentimental reasons.
Halfway to her destination she passed a pub and on impulse she went in. It was dark and smoky in the bar, but that suited her. She hardly ever drank during the day and she’d prefer it if no one recognised her in her present mood.
Slipping onto one of the tall stools, she waited for the bartender to notice her. Short and fat, with a beer belly that hung over his belt, he managed to look both businesslike and cheerful. Much different from Mrs Watkins.
‘Now, then,’ he said, sliding his cleaning cloth along the bar, ‘what can I get you?’
Juliet hesitated. It didn’t look as if it was the kind of place that had a bottle of house white waiting to be poured. But who knew?
‘The lady would like a vodka and tonic, Harry,’ said a voice at her shoulder and she swung round, ready to tell whoever it was that she could choose her own drinks, thank you very much.
Then her eyes widened in surprise. She knew the man. His name was Cary Daniels and she’d known him since they were children. But she hadn’t seen him for years. Not since her wedding, in fact.
‘Cary!’ she exclaimed. ‘Goodness, fancy seeing you here.’ The last she’d heard he was living in Cape Town. ‘Are you on holiday?’
‘I wish.’ Cary slid onto the empty stool beside her, handing a twenty-pound note to the bartender when he brought their drinks. He’d apparently ordered a double whisky for himself and he swallowed half of it before continuing. ‘I’ve got a job in London now.’
‘Really?’
Juliet was surprised. Although they’d lost touch for a few years, when his parents died and he’d had to go and live with his paternal grandmother in Cornwall, he had attended her wedding. At that time he’d been excited about the great job he’d got with the South African branch of an investment bank and everyone had thought he was set for life. But things had changed, as they do. Didn’t she know it?
‘So how have you been?’ he asked, pocketing his change and turning on his seat to face her. Although the dim light had prevented her from noticing before, now she saw how haggard he looked. There were bags beneath his eyes, his hair was receding rapidly, and his thickening waistline told of too many double whiskies over the years. She knew he was twenty-eight, but he looked ten years older. What had happened to him? she wondered. Was he suffering the after-effects of a bad relationship, too?
‘Oh—I’m OK,’ Juliet said lightly, lifting her glass in a silent salute and taking a sip. It was much stronger than she was used to and she just managed to hide a grimace. ‘Getting by, I suppose.’
‘I heard about your divorce.’ Cary was nothing if not direct. ‘What a bastard!’
‘Yes.’ There was no point in denying it. ‘I was a fool.’
‘I wish I’d been around when it happened. He wouldn’t have got off so lightly, I can tell you. What’s the son of a bitch doing now?’
Juliet pressed her lips together. It was kind of Cary to be so supportive, but she couldn’t see him tackling someone like David. He simply wasn’t the type. ‘Um, David’s in the Caymans, or so I believe,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘But do you mind if we don’t discuss it? There’s no point in harbouring old wounds. I was a fool, as I said. End of story.’
‘You were gullible, that’s all.’ Cary was assertive. ‘As we all are from time to time. It’s easy to be wise after the event.’
Juliet gave a rueful smile. ‘Isn’t that the truth?’
‘So—what are you doing?’ Juliet tried not to resent his curiosity. ‘And where are you living? I guess the house in Sussex has had to be sold.’
‘Yes.’ Juliet acknowledged this. ‘I’ve got a small apartment in Knightsbridge. It used to be Daddy’s and it’s not the Ritz, but at least it’s mine.’
‘Bastard!’ said Cary again. Then, ‘I suppose you’ve had to get a job.’
‘I’m trying to,’ said Juliet honestly. ‘But I’ve got no qualifications. I don’t even have anyone I could apply to for a character reference. Except friends, of course, but I wouldn’t do that to them.’
‘Ah.’ Cary swallowed the remainder of his drink and signalled the barman that he wanted another. He gestured towards Juliet’s glass, too, but she shook her head. She’d barely touched the drink. ‘So—do you have any plans?’
‘Not yet.’ Juliet was getting tired of talking about her problems. ‘What about you? Are you still working for the bank?’
‘No such luck!’ Cary reached for his second whisky and downed a generous mouthful before going on. ‘I’ve been black-balled by the banking community. Hadn’t you heard? I’m surprised you didn’t read about it in the papers. It was all over the financial pages.’
Juliet was tempted to say that she’d had other things to do than study the financial pages, but she was disturbed by what he’d said. ‘What happened?’
Cary grimaced. ‘I gambled with clients’ funds and lost a packet. The bank was down a few million dollars and I was lucky to escape without being charged with negligence.’ He lifted a careless shoulder. ‘Apparently Grandmama still has some pull in financial circles. I was just chucked out of the bank with a severe slap on the wrist.’
Juliet was amazed. ‘But a few million dollars!’ she echoed disbelievingly.
‘Yeah. I don’t do things by halves.’ He took another mouthful of his drink. ‘It sounds a hell of a lot more in South African rand, let me tell you. But, dammit, you’re encouraged to take risks and I took ’em. I guess I’m not such a clever dealer, after all.’
Juliet shook her head. ‘I don’t know what to say.’ She paused. ‘Was your—was Lady Elinor very cross?’
‘Cross!’ Cary gave a short laugh. ‘She was livid, Jules. Positively fire-breathing. She’d never approved of my chosen career, as you probably know, and getting thrown out of South Africa pretty well burnt my boats with her.’
Juliet looked down at the liquid in her glass. She remembered Lady Elinor Daniels very well. Mostly because when Juliet was thirteen she’d been quite a frightening figure. She remembered feeling sorry for Cary, too, whose parents had disappeared while sailing in the Southern Ocean. At seventeen, he’d been taken away from everything and everyone he was used to, forced to go and live in some old house in Cornwall with a woman he barely knew.
Juliet lifted her head. ‘But you say you’ve got another job?’
‘A temporary one, yeah.’ Cary scowled. ‘Believe it or not, I’m working in a casino. Oh, not handling money. They’ve got more sense than that. I’m what you’d call a meeter and greeter. A kind of—bouncer, with class.’
Juliet gasped. ‘I can’t believe your grandmother approves of that.’
‘She doesn’t know. As far as she’s concerned I’ve got an office job. She still hasn’t given up hope of me settling down with a good woman and taking over the running of the estate. And that low-life, Marchese, is just waiting for me to put a foot wrong.’
Juliet would have thought he’d already put more than one foot wrong, but she didn’t say so. ‘Marchese?’
‘Rafe Marchese!’ exclaimed Cary half-irritably. ‘Surely you remember? My aunt Christina’s deliberate mistake?’
‘Oh, your cousin,’ said Juliet, understanding. But Cary took offence at that.
‘The bastard,’ he corrected. ‘A real one this time. Surely you don’t expect me to be friendly towards him. He’s made my relationship with Grandmama almost impossible over the years. I don’t forget how he treated me when I first went to live at Tregellin.’
‘He’s older than you, isn’t he?’
‘A couple of years. He must be thirty now. Or maybe a little older. Whatever, he’s there all the time, like a thorn in my side, and Grandmama loves to taunt me about leaving the estate to him.’
‘To taunt you?’
‘Yeah. Not that she would, of course. Leave the place to Marchese, I mean.’ Cary laughed again. ‘She’s far too conventional for that.’
Juliet hesitated. ‘If your aunt was never married to his father, why is his name Marchese?’
‘Because she put his father’s name on his birth certificate.’ Cary was dismissive. ‘A bit of a joke, that, considering I don’t think Carlo even knew he was going to be a father. Christina was such a flake, always taking off for some new destination, finding one distraction after another.’
‘I thought she was an artist,’ said Juliet, trying to remember what her father had told her.
‘She’d have liked to think so,’ said Cary, with a sarcastic smile. ‘Anyway, like me, Rafe was orphaned at a fairly early age. One too many Martinis for Christina and she fell from the balcony of the hotel in Interlaken where she was staying with her latest conquest.’
‘How awful!’ Juliet was amazed that he could be so blasé about it. She had been his aunt, after all. She took another sip of her drink, taking a surreptitious glance at her watch as she did so. It was time she was leaving. She needed to buy one or two items of food from the local delicatessen before heading home.
‘Anyway, I’ve got to go down there next week,’ Cary went on, apparently unaware that she was getting restless. He grimaced. ‘I told her I’d got a girlfriend and she wants to meet her.’
‘Oh.’ Juliet smiled. ‘Well, I hope she likes her. Is it someone you met while you were in Cape Town, or does she live in London?’
‘I don’t have a girlfriend,’ declared Cary flatly. ‘I just told her that to get her off my back. You know what I said about her wanting me to settle down and so on? I thought if she believed I was getting serious about someone, she’d lay off for a bit.’
‘Oh, Cary!’
‘I know, I know.’ He scowled and summoned the bartender again to order another drink. ‘Where am I going to find a suitable girlfriend between now and next Thursday? I don’t even know any “suitable” girls. My tastes run in another direction entirely.’
Juliet stared at him. ‘You’re—gay?’
‘Hell, no!’ Cary snorted. ‘But the kind of girls I like, you don’t take home to introduce to your grandmama. I’m not interested in settling down, Jules. I’m only twenty-eight. I want to have some fun. I don’t want some good woman and a couple of sprogs hanging about my feet.’
Juliet shook her head. He’d changed so much from the shy boy he’d been when they were children. Was this his grandmother’s doing, or had he always had this streak of selfishness in him? Perhaps he wasn’t so different from David, after all.
She was suddenly aware that he was staring at her now. There was a distinctly speculative look in his eyes, and she hoped he had no designs as far as she was concerned. She might be desperate, but Cary simply wasn’t her type. Sliding down from her stool, she nodded pointedly towards the door.
‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Go where?’
Was it any of his business? ‘Home, of course.’
Cary nodded. ‘You wouldn’t fancy having dinner with me, I suppose?’
‘Oh, Cary—’
‘It was just a thought.’ He chewed vigorously at his lower lip. ‘I wanted to put a proposition to you. But I can do it here, just as well.’
‘Cary—’
‘Hear me out.’ He laid a hand on her sleeve and, although Juliet badly wanted to pull away, she had accepted a drink from him and that made her briefly in his debt. ‘Would you consider coming down to Tregellin with me? As my pretend girlfriend,’ he added swiftly, before she could object. ‘You say you need a job. Well, I’m offering you one. Well-paid, of course.’
Juliet couldn’t believe her ears. ‘You’re not serious!’
‘Why not? We’re friends, aren’t we? We’re male and female. Where would be the harm?’
‘We’d be deceiving your grandmother. And—your cousin.’
‘Don’t worry about Rafe. He doesn’t live at the house.’
‘All the same—’
‘You’d be doing me the greatest favour, Jules. And Grandmama is bound to believe it when she sees it’s you. You know she’s always liked you.’
‘She hardly knows me!’
‘She knows of you,’ persisted Cary. ‘And when we get back, I’ll be able to write you a reference you can use to get another job.’
‘A real job, you mean?’
‘This is a real job, Jules, I promise you. Oh, please. At least say you’ll think it over. What have you got to lose?’

CHAPTER TWO (#u311e9e0a-db3c-5077-803f-a76d52bde6a7)
THE tide was in and the mudflats below Tregellin were hidden beneath a surge of salt water. There were seabirds bobbing on the waves and the sun dancing on the water was dazzling. For once, the old house had an air of beauty and not neglect.
It needed an owner who would look after it, Rafe thought, guiding his mud-smeared Land Cruiser down the twisting lane that led to the house. Though not him, he reminded himself firmly. Whatever the old lady said, she was never going to leave Tregellin to the illegitimate son of an olive farmer.
Not that he wanted her to, he reflected without malice. Now that the studio was up and running, he hadn’t enough time to do what he had to do as it was. Oh, he collected the rents and kept the books, made sure the old lady paid her taxes. He even mowed the lawns and kept the shrubbery free of weeds, but the house itself needed a major overhaul.
The trouble was, he didn’t have the money. Not the kind of money needed to restore the place to its former glory anyway. And if Lady Elinor was as wealthy as the people in the village said she was, she was definitely hiding it from her family.
He knew Cary thought his grandmother was a rich woman. That was why he seldom refused an invitation, ran after her as if her every wish was his command. It was pathetic, really. If Rafe had had more respect for the man he’d have told him the old lady was just using him to satisfy her lust for power. If she did intend to make Cary her heir, she was going to make him work for it.
Whatever happened, Rafe doubted Tregellin would survive another death in the family. Unless Lady Elinor had some hidden cash that no one knew about, when she was gone the estate would have to be sold. It was probably Cary’s intention anyway. Rafe couldn’t see his cousin moving out of London, giving up the life he had there. Nevertheless, with death duties and lawyers’ fees, Rafe suspected he’d be lucky to clear his grandmother’s debts.
Rafe was fairly sure the old lady had been living on credit for some time. The tin mines, which had once made the Daniels’ fortune, had been played out and dormant for the past fifty years. The estate, with its dairy farms and smallholdings, had struggled in recent years. Things were improving but, like everything else, they needed time.
Time they might not have, he acknowledged. It was sad, but the old lady wasn’t as robust as she’d once been. He hated to think of what might happen when she died. Tregellin deserved to be resurrected. Not sold to fund another loser’s debts.
He skirted the tennis court and drove round to the front of the house. Tregellin faced the water. It occupied a prime position overlooking the estuary. When he was a kid he used to love going down to the boathouse, taking out the old coracle Sir Henry had taught him to use.
He pushed open his door and got out, hauling the bag of groceries he’d bought at the local supermarket after him. Lady Elinor wouldn’t approve of him spending money on her, but Josie would. Josie Morgan was the old lady’s housekeeper-cum-companion, and was almost as old as Lady Elinor herself.
Although he’d parked the Land Cruiser at the front of the house, Rafe followed the path that led round to the kitchen door. Hitchins, the old lady’s Pekinese, was barking his head off as usual, but when Rafe came through the door he stopped and pushed his snub nose against Rafe’s leg.
‘Noisy old beast, aren’t you?’ Rafe chided him, bending to scratch the dog’s ears with an affectionate hand. Hitchins was almost fourteen and blind in one eye, but he still recognised a friend when he saw one. He huffed a bit, wanting to be picked up, but Rafe dropped his bag on the scrubbed-pine table and started to unpack it instead.
Josie bustled through from the hall, carrying a tray, and Rafe saw an empty cafetière and two cups, and a plate that still contained three chocolate digestives. He picked up one of the biscuits and bit into it as Josie welcomed him, making light of her thanks as she examined what he’d brought.
‘Fillet steak!’ she exclaimed with some enthusiasm. ‘You spoil us, Rafe, you really do.’
‘If I don’t, who will?’ he retorted philosophically. ‘How is the old girl this morning? I intended to get over yesterday evening, but then I got caught up with something else.’
‘The something else wouldn’t be called Olivia, would she?’ she teased him, putting the steak and other perishables he’d brought into the ancient fridge.
‘You’ve been listening to too much gossip,’ retorted Rafe, stowing a warm loaf in the bread bin. ‘Where is the old lady, anyway? I’d better go and say hello.’
‘Shall I bring another pot of coffee?’ Josie paused in what she was doing, but Rafe just shook his head.
‘I’ll take one of these,’ he said, picking up a can of ginger ale he’d bought for his own use when he was here. ‘No. No glass,’ he deterred her, when she would have taken one from the cupboard. He paused. ‘The conservatory, right?’
‘Oh—yes.’ Josie pulled a rueful face and tucked a strand of iron-grey hair behind her ear. ‘She’ll have heard the car, I don’t doubt for a minute. She may be old but her hearing’s as sharp as ever.’
Rafe grinned, and with Hitchins at his heels he walked across the mahogany-panelled hall and into the morning room opposite. Beyond the morning room, a vaulted conservatory basked in sunlight. It was built at one side of the old house, to take advantage of a view of the river. Weeping willows trailed their branches in water that mirrored their reflection, while kingfishers dived from the river bank, their speed only equalled by their success.
Lady Elinor was seated in a fan-backed basketwork chair beside a matching table. The morning newspaper resided on the table, turned to the crossword that was almost completed. It was the old lady’s boast that she could finish the crossword before eleven o’clock every morning and, glancing at his watch, Rafe saw she still had fifteen minutes to go.
‘Don’t let me keep you!’ she exclaimed shrewishly, noting his momentary distraction, and Rafe pulled a face before bending to kiss her gnarled cheek.
‘I won’t,’ he assured her. ‘I was just checking the time, that’s all. It looks like it’s in danger of defeating you today.’
‘If you’re talking about the crossword, that fool, Josie, has kept me gossiping again. She brings my coffee and then thinks she has to keep me entertained. I’ve said to her a dozen times, I don’t need her company.’
‘You love it really.’ Rafe was laconic. He picked up the Pekinese and walked across to the French windows, gazing out across the river to the meadows beyond. ‘So—what have you been talking about? Or am I not supposed to ask?’
‘Since when has that stopped you?’ Lady Elinor was impatient. ‘I was telling her that Cary’s bringing his fiancée to meet me on Thursday. I’m hoping they’ll stay for a few days. At least over the weekend.’
‘His fiancée, eh?’ Rafe turned, and put the dog down again. Ignoring its complaints, he pushed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, a heavy strand of night dark hair falling over his eyes. ‘That must please you. Him settling down at last.’
‘If it’s true.’ The old lady massaged the handle of the malacca cane that stood beside her chair and Rafe thought how difficult it would be for Cary to put one over on his grandmother. Her brain was as sharp as it had ever been, despite the many wrinkles that lined her patrician features. ‘I’ve met the girl, actually. She and her family lived in the same road as Charles and Isabel, when they were alive. Her name is Juliet Lawrence—well, it used to be Lawrence, but she’s a divorcee, so who knows what she calls herself now? She’s younger than Cary. Her father used to work in the City. Her mother died when she was just a baby and I believe her father died five or six years ago.’
‘A comprehensive history,’ remarked Rafe drily, and Lady Elinor gave him a darkling look.
‘I need to know these things, Raphael,’ she said irritably. ‘I don’t want Cary marrying some strumpet. At least this girl is from a decent family.’
Rafe shrugged. ‘You don’t think entertaining Cary and his girlfriend might be too much for you right now?’ he ventured, and saw the look of indignation that crossed the old lady’s face.
‘I’ve had a cold, Raphael. Not pneumonia. It’s the time of year. I always catch a cold in the spring.’
‘If you say so.’ Rafe knew better than to argue. ‘OK. If that’s all, I’ll go and see if Josie needs any help. If you’re putting them in the Lavender Room, I’d better check the bathroom for leaks.’
Lady Elinor looked positively offended. ‘I’m not putting them anywhere,’ she declared, laying great emphasis on the pronoun. ‘Cary will stay in his own room, as usual, and Miss Lawrence can use Christina’s apartments.’
Rafe’s jaw tightened. ‘I’ve never heard you call them that before.’
‘Haven’t you?’ The old lady was dismissive. ‘Christina was my daughter, Raphael. Just because she chose to live the kind of life I could never approve of doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten her.’
‘Or forgiven her?’
‘I’m too old to bear grudges, Raphael.’
‘OK.’ He inclined his head and strolled towards the door. ‘Is there anything else you need?’
Lady Elinor pursed her lips. ‘Josie told me that you had a reception at the studio last night,’ she ventured, with some reluctance. ‘Why wasn’t I informed?’
Rafe sighed, pausing in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the frame. ‘I didn’t think you’d be interested.’
The old lady scowled. ‘And why would you think that?’
‘Why would I think that? Let me count the ways,’ he misquoted mockingly. ‘Because you don’t approve of my painting portraits for a living? Because you don’t want me to turn out like my mother? Because my independence sticks in your craw? Am I getting close?’
‘I don’t approve of some of the people you mix with,’ conceded Lady Elinor testily. ‘But I never stopped your mother from doing what she wanted, and I shan’t attempt to stop you. Remember, it was she who chose to live in all those exotic places, hauling a small boy around whose existence I knew nothing of. When she died, however, I didn’t hesitate in offering you a home here with me.’
Rafe’s shoulders rounded. ‘I know.’
‘Just because we don’t always see eye to eye—’
‘Look, I’m sorry, OK?’
‘—doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, Raphael.’
‘I know.’ Rafe closed his eyes for a moment and then said wearily, ‘I should have told you about the reception. You’re right, I was thoughtless. The local paper took some pictures, so when I get copies I’ll show them to you. It wasn’t a very grand affair. Just a glass of wine and a chance to view the studio.’
‘I’m sure it was very exciting,’ said Lady Elinor, but Rafe could hear the reluctance in her voice. ‘Before long, you won’t be spending any time at Tregellin at all.’
‘I’ll always have time for you, old lady,’ retorted Rafe harshly. ‘Look, I’ve really got to get moving. I’m meeting Liv Holderness at half-past twelve.’
‘Olivia Holderness?’ Lady Elinor’s eyes narrowed. ‘Would that be Lord Holderness’ daughter?’
‘Lord Holderness doesn’t have a daughter,’ said Rafe flatly. ‘Or a son either, as you very well know. Liv’s his wife. She wants to discuss having her portrait painted as a gift to her husband on his sixtieth birthday.’
‘I see.’ The old lady frowned. ‘You seem very familiar with her. I seem to remember Holderness hasn’t been married to her for very long.’
‘Eighteen months, I think.’ Rafe’s tone was sardonic. He knew nothing went on in the surrounding area that Lady Elinor didn’t hear about sooner or later. ‘She’s his third wife. The old guy turns them in at regular intervals for a new model.’
‘Don’t be coarse.’ Lady Elinor was disapproving. ‘And you be careful what you’re doing, Raphael. It seems significant to me that she’d choose a local studio over any number of more famous establishments she and her husband must know in London.’
Rafe grimaced. ‘Damned with faint praise,’ he said drily. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve known Liv for a few years. Her father owns the Dragon Hotel in Polgellin Bay.’
‘Ah.’ The old lady nodded. ‘So she’s one of the Melroses?’
‘The youngest daughter,’ agreed Rafe, wishing the old lady didn’t make them sound like the Doones.
‘So she’s a lot younger than Holderness?’
Rafe nodded. ‘About thirty years, I think. But they seem happy enough.’
‘Well, you keep what I’ve said in mind,’ declared Lady Elinor, unexpectedly getting to her feet and coming towards him. She was tall, though not as tall as he was, and leaning heavily on her cane. She was wearing her signature pleated skirt and silk blouse, with a heather-coloured shawl draped about her shoulders, and her once dark hair was now liberally threaded with grey. She laid a hand on his sleeve and looked up at him with eyes as blue as the gentians that grew higher up the valley. ‘You take care,’ she added, reaching up to kiss him. ‘I may not always show it, but I’m very fond of you, Raphael.’

It was the electric bill that had done it.
It had been waiting for her when she’d got back to the apartment and she’d stared at the figure she owed with wide disbelieving eyes. She couldn’t believe she’d used that much electricity. For heaven’s sake, she’d rarely used the oven and she’d religiously turned out lights as she’d gone from room to room.
But she had used the microwave, she’d acknowledged. And the underfloor heating system was expensive. A neighbour had warned her of that. But seeing what she’d owed in black and white had really scared her. The fact that it had been the heaviest season of the year had been no consolation at all.
That was why, when Cary had rung two days later, asking her if she’d reconsidered, she’d given in to his persuasion. The figure he’d offered her for four days work had been impossible to refuse. She’d known it would pay her immediate bills and leave her a little bit over. Possibly enough to survive until she got a proper job.
All the same, as Cary turned off the A30 just beyond Bodmin on Thursday afternoon, Juliet couldn’t deny the butterflies in her stomach that were telling her she’d made a terrible mistake. She liked Cary; of course she did. Or perhaps she’d used to like the boy she’d known all those years ago. These days, she knew very little about him. His attendance at her wedding hardly constituted grounds for a friendship.
And, despite the fact that he kept telling her she was going to love the area where his grandmother’s house was situated, the idea of being introduced to Lady Elinor Daniels as Cary’s fiancée left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. When he’d first broached the idea, he’d said he needed a girlfriend. Now it had metamorphosed into a fiancée, which was a whole different ball game.
‘Not long now,’ Cary said, taking her silence for tiredness. ‘We could still stop for lunch, if you like. That would give us a break.’
Juliet, who didn’t want to spend any more time alone with him than was necessary, managed a faint smile. ‘We don’t want to be too late arriving,’ she said, keeping her eyes on the road ahead. ‘Besides, didn’t you say your grandmother is expecting us for lunch?’
Cary’s mouth compressed and Juliet got the feeling that he wasn’t looking forward to this visit any more than she was. Which was understandable, she supposed, if the old lady kept interfering in his private life. But, let’s face it, she thought, without Lady Elinor’s intervention he could be languishing in a South African prison. She’d read enough stories about rogue dealers who’d almost bankrupted the banks they’d worked for.
‘I suppose it is a bit late now,’ he conceded at last, and she realised he was responding to her question. Then, pointing away to the west, ‘Have you ever seen sea that colour before? In England, I mean. It’s almost tropical. It reminds me of a holiday I had in Mauritius. God, that was some hotel we stayed in. A whole floor given over to our suite.’
‘Expensive,’ murmured Juliet drily, and Cary turned to glance at her.
‘Yeah, I wish I had that kind of cash now,’ he agreed, without a trace of remorse. ‘That’s why I have to be so careful how I treat the old girl. Without her money, I’d be taking a package holiday in Spain every year.’
Juliet’s eyes widened. ‘Does she know you spend the money she gives you on expensive holidays?’
Cary frowned. ‘Hey, that information’s not for public consumption,’ he said. ‘Don’t you be discussing my financial arrangements with her. If she chooses to sub me sometimes, I’m not going to refuse it, am I? The old girl’s loaded! You might not think it to look at the house, but, believe me, I know she’s got a fortune hidden away somewhere.’
Juliet was feeling less and less enthusiastic about her part in this deception. She told herself that if Cary had been totally honest with her from the beginning, she’d never have agreed to come. Or was she being totally honest with herself? she wondered. Damn it all, she was doing it for the money, too.
‘Tell me about your cousin,’ she said, trying to distract herself. ‘What’s he like? Does he look like you?’
Cary scowled. ‘As if.’ And then, when she was obviously waiting for him to go on, he muttered irritably, ‘He looks like a gipsy, if you must know. Swarthy skin, greasy black hair and an attitude you could cut with a knife.’
Juliet’s brows ascended. ‘You really don’t like him, do you?’
Cary shrugged. ‘I’ve told you what he’s like. Always ingratiating himself with the old woman. I’ve no doubt she’ll sing his praises while you’re here. She does it just to wind me up.’
‘Oh, Cary—’
‘I mean it. I’ve got better things to do than mend light switches and plug leaks. I’m a banker, Jules, not a labourer. Or rather I was until the futures market stuffed up.’
Juliet chose her words with care. ‘He probably only does these things to help your grandmother. I mean, it isn’t always easy to find a plumber or an electrician when you need one.’
‘Yeah, well, he needn’t think that doing all these things gives him some claim on the estate when the old lady snuffs it. As soon as the will’s read, I’m going to tell him I don’t want him trespassing on the place in future. Tregellin’s mine. I’m the only legitimate heir and he knows it. But that doesn’t stop him from hanging around, pretending he’s helping her out.’
Juliet shook her head. ‘You’re so bitter!’
‘No.’ Cary wouldn’t have that. ‘Just practical. Anyway, we’re almost there. That’s the chimneys of the house you can see over the treetops. It’s set on a promontory overlooking the Eden estuary. The River Eden, I mean.’ He grimaced. ‘It may be a beautiful spot, but it’s no Garden of Eden.’
They approached the house down a winding track between hedges of rhododendron and acacia. Juliet guessed that in late spring and early summer these same hedges would be a riot of colour. Right now, the glossy leaves hid the buds of any blossoms, and because there were lowering clouds overhead it was rather gloomy.
The grounds of the house seemed quite extensive. A tennis court and a croquet lawn, a vegetable garden behind a lichen-covered stone wall. They circled the building and Juliet saw that it was the back of the house that faced the road. The front looked out across the river estuary, the water shallow now as the tide receded.
There was a big SUV already parked on the forecourt and as Juliet thrust open her door and got out she heard Cary give a grunt of irritation. Turning to see what had caused his annoyance, she saw that a man had just appeared from around the side of the house. He was a big man, tall and powerfully built, wearing a worn leather jacket and jeans that clung to lean muscular thighs. Scuffed boots completed his attire and Juliet didn’t need a sixth sense to know that this must be the infamous Rafe Marchese.
He looked across the width of the courtyard towards her and she felt a disturbing flutter of awareness in the pit of her stomach. But goodness, he was attractive, she thought, realising that Cary’s scornful description hadn’t done the man justice.
His hair was dark, yes, and needed cutting, but it wasn’t greasy. His skin was darkly tanned and there was the stubble of a beard on his jawline, but she wouldn’t have called him swarthy either. He wasn’t handsome. His features were too hard, too masculine for that. And she’d bet her last penny that it wasn’t only for his technical skills that Lady Elinor liked having him around.
‘Cary,’ he said evenly, as the other man got out of the car, and Cary was obliged to acknowledge him in return.
‘Rafe.’ His voice was tight and he turned at once to take their luggage from the back of the car, making no attempt to introduce Juliet.
Which really annoyed her. More than it should, probably, she admitted, but dammit, she was supposed to be his fiancée. Deciding she didn’t care what Cary thought, she walked around the bonnet of the car and held out her hand.
‘Hi,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’m Juliet. Cary’s—girlfriend.’

CHAPTER THREE (#u311e9e0a-db3c-5077-803f-a76d52bde6a7)
THE lunch had been cold, but Juliet knew they couldn’t blame the housekeeper for that. They’d been expected at one; they’d actually arrived at a quarter-past two. However expert the cook, no one could have kept a mushroom risotto hot indefinitely.
Not that she’d been particularly hungry. The encounter between Cary and Rafe Marchese had robbed her of her appetite somewhat. The two men obviously disliked one another, but Cary had behaved like a boor and she’d been sucked into his game.
Perhaps some of the blame was hers. She’d initiated his anger when she’d introduced herself to his cousin. But, dammit, she’d been angry with Cary for ignoring her and she hadn’t thought about the possible consequences of her actions when she’d approached the other man.
The truth, however unpalatable, was that she’d wanted Rafe Marchese to notice her. Which was weird, considering that since David had walked out on their marriage over a year ago she’d had no interest in other men.
Not that she flattered herself that Marchese had felt the same way. He’d been polite, but distant, his first words succinctly delineating her reason for being there. ‘Ah, yes,’ he’d said. ‘Cary’s fiancée.’ He’d paused. ‘Lady Elinor was beginning to think you’d changed your minds.’
All the same, when he’d touched her hand she’d reacted as if she’d accidentally touched a hot wire. The heat that passed from his hand into hers shocked her to the core. Then she’d looked up into eyes that were as dark and brooding as the storm clouds massing over Tregellin and known that, whatever happened, she was already out of her depth.
Of course, she’d snatched her hand away, rather rudely, and Cary had come charging over, like some mad bull defending his mate. ‘What’s going on?’ he’d demanded, laying a possessive hand on Juliet’s shoulder. ‘What have you been saying to my fiancée? As you apparently knew we were coming, I thought you’d have had the decency to stay away.’
Rafe Marchese didn’t seem at all perturbed by Cary’s bluster. ‘It’s good to see you, too, Cary,’ he’d said, as faultlessly polite as before.
‘Well…’ Cary had been indignant. ‘Grandmama told me how you’re too busy for her these days. Spending time with your artsy-craftsy friends, was how she put it. But I might have known you’d be around when I was here.’
Rafe’s lips had tilted humorously. ‘I shouldn’t take what the old lady says too seriously,’ he’d remarked, his eyes lingering on Juliet’s now burning face. ‘You know she likes to play us off against each other. If you weren’t such an easy mark, she’d never get away with it.’
‘Oh, and you know her so well,’ Cary had sneered, but Rafe had only lifted his shoulders in a self-deprecatory shrug.
‘I’d say I see more of her,’ he’d declared mildly. ‘Whether that constitutes knowing her better remains to be seen.’
‘Well, don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do,’ Cary had continued. ‘You think that, because I live in London and you live here, you’ve got the advantage.’ His hand had squeezed Juliet’s shoulder. ‘Once we’re married, I think you can kiss any chance of changing her mind goodbye.’
Dear God, Juliet had wanted to die, she thought now as she unpacked her suitcase. For heaven’s sake, it was bad enough pretending to be Cary’s fiancée without him talking about them getting married as if it were going to happen in the next few weeks. She had no idea what Rafe Marchese had thought. If his mocking smile was anything to go by, he was used to Cary’s bombastic behaviour and he didn’t take offence from it. But she wished she hadn’t been a part of it all the same.
The altercation had been thankfully brought to an end by the advent of a small dog. It was a little yapping Pekinese that had made straight for Cary and dug its teeth into his trouser leg. ‘Damn stupid mutt!’ Cary had exclaimed, kicking out angrily, sending the dog scuttling across the yard.
‘He’s actually quite intelligent,’ Rafe had remarked coolly, bending to rescue the little animal, massaging its ears with a long-fingered brown hand that was lightly covered with dark hair. Juliet had felt a momentary envy for the dog, which was ridiculous. But then Cary had hauled their bags out of the car and headed for the house and she’d been obliged to follow him.
She guessed now that he hadn’t wanted to argue with the animal. It was Lady Elinor’s dog and Juliet doubted she’d appreciate learning that her grandson had kicked the Pekinese. It was to be hoped Rafe Marchese wouldn’t tell her. Though after the way Cary had behaved, she wouldn’t blame him if he did.
Meeting Lady Elinor again had been a bit of an anticlimax after the confrontation outside. She was a lot older than Juliet remembered, naturally, but she was still an intimidating figure. If anything, Juliet would have said that Rafe resembled her far more than Cary. He had her height and that same air of cool breeding.
During lunch, Juliet had had to fend off quite a number of questions about her failed marriage to David. The fact that it was only nine months since her divorce was finalised had elicited the opinion that in her position Lady Elinor wouldn’t have been in any hurry to rush into marriage again.
Of course, Cary had come to her rescue, assuring the old lady that the reason Juliet’s marriage hadn’t worked was that she’d married the wrong man in the first place. ‘Hammond was only after her money,’ he’d said contemptuously, and Juliet had been glad Rafe Marchese hadn’t been there to see the faintly amused expression that had crossed Lady Elinor’s face at his words.
But at least it had given her a breathing space and, when the meal was over, she’d been relieved to hear her hostess bid Josie show their guest to her room. Evidently the old lady had wanted to spend some time alone with her grandson and Juliet prayed he wouldn’t make any more promises he couldn’t keep.
With her unpacking completed, Juliet contemplated the apartment she’d been given. It was much bigger than the rooms she was used to. Even the rooms at her father’s house couldn’t have competed with this. But the whole place was incredibly shabby, the high ceilings badly needed attention and the thick paper that must have once decorated the walls was now scuffed and peeling from neglect.
It was no wonder, really, if Josie was the only help Lady Elinor had. She was almost as old as her mistress, and Juliet doubted she had time to dust all the rooms, let alone attend to any repairs. Everything here was on a grand scale, including the furniture, and the bathroom next door sported a claw-footed tub and a lavatory that was elevated on a small dais.
Still, from the brief bounce she’d permitted herself on the bed, the mattress was comfortable. And the sheets were clean and smelled sweetly of a lavender-scented rinse. It was only for three nights, she assured herself. And Lady Elinor was unlikely to have anything more to say to her. Perhaps she could borrow Cary’s car and drive into the nearest town. She had little money to do any shopping, but at least it would keep her out of the way.
The room was at the front of the house and she had a magnificent view over the river estuary. At present the tide was out and there were dozens of birds strutting over the mudflats, looking for food. She saw gulls and waders; she even recognised a pair of sandpipers. She was no expert, but she guessed you could get really interested in stuff like this if you lived here.
It was still only about half-past four and, deciding she couldn’t stay in her room until suppertime, Juliet thought she’d go in search of the housekeeper. Perhaps Josie would tell her a little more about the history of the house—or the history of its occupants, she conceded, aware that she was more interested in Rafe Marchese than she was in anything or anyone else.
She rinsed her face at the crackled marble basin in the adjoining bathroom and then regarded her reflection in the spotted mirror. She still looked flushed, but that was probably just the cold water she’d washed with. Clearly Lady Elinor didn’t believe in heating the water during the day.
In her bedroom again, after assuring herself that the cream silk jersey top and matching linen skirt she’d worn to travel in would do for her explorations, she reapplied eyeliner and mascara, brushing a bronze gloss over her generous mouth. She wasn’t beautiful, she thought, but her heart-shaped features did have a certain appeal. Thankfully her hair, which was naturally curly, didn’t require much more than a brush running through it. It bobbed just below the level of her shoulders and, although it was some time since she’d been able to afford highlights, there were still golden streaks in its honey-brown mass. Or were they grey? she fretted, leaning closer to the mirror. After what she’d been through, she wouldn’t have been surprised.
She made her way to the head of the stairs and started down, keeping a wary eye open for either Cary or her hostess. She would prefer not to run into either of them just yet and, as the gloomy hall appeared to be deserted, she headed swiftly towards what she hoped was the kitchen. And found Rafe Marchese lounging on a corner of the pine table, sharing a pot of tea with the housekeeper.
Juliet didn’t know who was the most surprised, herself or Josie. ‘Why—Miss Lawrence,’ she said awkwardly, getting up from her place at the table to face her. ‘I was just about to bring up your tea.’
‘My tea?’
Juliet now saw the tray that had been prepared and left on one of the cabinets. There was a cup and saucer, milk and sugar, and a plate containing wafer-thin cucumber sandwiches and tiny butterfly cakes. Only the teapot was missing and she guessed Josie had been interrupted by her visitor.
If Rafe was disconcerted by her sudden appearance, he didn’t show it. He didn’t even get up, she noticed, merely raised the mug he was drinking from to his mouth and regarded her enigmatically across the rim.
‘Yes, your tea.’ Josie was anxious to assure her guest that it was all ready for her. ‘But as you’re down, would you like me to serve it in the drawing room instead?’
‘Oh—um—’ after the fiasco of lunch, Juliet had no desire to repeat the experience ‘—couldn’t I just have it here? With you and—Mr Marchese.’
‘Rafe,’ he said flatly, putting his mug down on the table. He had no desire to get to know this young woman any better than he did already, but he couldn’t ignore her. ‘I think Josie would prefer it if you allowed her to serve you in the drawing room.’
Juliet’s lips pursed. ‘And I’d prefer to have it here,’ she insisted smoothly. ‘Is there a problem with that?’
‘Of course not, Miss Lawrence.’ Josie was clearly disturbed by the sudden hostility between them. ‘If you’ll just give me a minute to boil the kettle and make some fresh tea—’
‘What you’re having is fine.’ Juliet sent Rafe a challenging look. Then, with what he thought was a reflection of his cousin’s arrogance, ‘I thought you’d left, Mr Marchese.’
‘I came back,’ said Rafe calmly. Then, mimicking her defiance, ‘Do you have a problem with that?’
Her cheeks darkened with becoming colour, proving she wasn’t as confident as she’d like to appear. ‘It’s not my place to comment,’ she retorted tartly, but he couldn’t let her get away with that.
‘But you have,’ he pointed out, picking up his mug again, and Josie clasped her hands together in dismay.
‘Rafe, please,’ she said, her eyes wide and appealing. ‘I’m sure Miss Lawrence was only making conversation.’ She hurriedly took the cup and saucer from the tray and lifted the teapot she’d been using. ‘How do you like your tea, Miss Lawrence? With milk and sugar or a slice of lemon?’
Juliet felt embarrassed. There’d been no tension in the room when she’d arrived, but there was now. And it was all her fault.
Well, maybe not entirely her fault, she defended herself, as Josie added to her cup the milk that she’d requested. She was beginning to wonder if Cary might have some justification for his resentment after all. There was no doubt that Rafe was being deliberately awkward with her.
‘Is your room comfortable?’ Josie asked, offering Juliet a seat—and a way out—and, although she would have preferred to remain standing, she realised the old woman wouldn’t sit down again unless she did.
‘Um—very comfortable,’ she said, casting another glance at Rafe as she pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘It has a marvellous view of the estuary.’
Rafe watched her through narrowed eyes, wishing the old lady hadn’t put her in his mother’s old room. Wondering, too, what a girl like her would see in a loser like Cary. What had Lady Elinor told him? That she’d already been married and divorced? She didn’t look old enough to have had so much experience of life.
Juliet was aware of him watching her, lids lowered, lashes to die for shading those disturbing dark eyes. What was he thinking? she wondered. Did he assume that like Cary she was only interested in the old lady’s money? For, despite what he’d said to his cousin, she’d seen the expression on Cary’s face when he’d thought Lady Elinor wasn’t looking, and it hadn’t been pleasant.
The silence had gone on too long and Josie, who had evidently been trying again to think of something non-contentious to say, turned appealing eyes to Rafe. ‘Your grandmother’s having a small dinner party on Saturday night. Did she tell you?’
Rafe’s mouth compressed. ‘Now why would she tell me a thing like that?’ he queried drily. ‘I’m not invited, am I?’
‘N—o.’ Josie had to be honest. ‘But the Holdernesses are coming.’
‘Are they?’ He pulled a wry face. ‘The old girl must be pulling out all the stops.’
‘Well, that’s the thing…’
But Josie belatedly seemed to realise she’d gone too far in a guest’s presence and, meeting her troubled eyes, Rafe took his cue and said, ‘Well, don’t worry. I’ll be around if you need me.’
‘Oh, Rafe!’
The words were said with such heartfelt emotion that Juliet realised that, whatever she thought of him, the housekeeper didn’t share her view. In fact, there seemed to be a genuine affection between them and Juliet permitted herself another look in his direction.
Only to encounter his reflective gaze.
She looked away immediately, but not before she’d gained the impression that his opinion of her was no less critical than hers of him. He evidently did think she was some empty-headed bimbo who’d only latched on to Cary because of his expectations.
As if!
Deciding it was up to her to try and change that impression, she forced herself to meet his gaze again and say politely, ‘Cary said something about you being an artist, Mr Marchese. Should I have heard of you?’
‘I believe what he actually said was that I had artsy-craftsy friends,’ murmured Rafe rather maliciously, and heard Josie’s sudden intake of breath.
‘Rafe!’ she exclaimed again, barely audibly, but Juliet wasn’t listening to her.
‘And do you?’ she countered. ‘Have artsy-craftsy friends, I mean?’
Rafe sighed, putting down his empty mug and regarding her tolerantly for once. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘That’s just Cary’s way of denigrating anything he doesn’t understand.’
‘Please, Rafe…’
Josie was getting desperate and this time Juliet did hear her. ‘Oh, don’t worry, Mrs Morgan,’ she said, giving the housekeeper a quick smile of reassurance. ‘Mr Marchese doesn’t like me. That’s obvious. Well, that’s OK. I’m not especially fond of him either.’ She finished her tea and set down her cup. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll take a look outside, if that’s permitted?’
When she emerged into the hall again, Cary was just coming down the stairs. Oh, great! she thought. That was all she needed. And the situation wasn’t improved when the door behind her opened again. For some reason, Rafe had chosen to follow her.
Someone—Cary, she assumed—had turned on some lights and the hall didn’t look half as gloomy as it had done when she’d come downstairs. In fact, with what appeared to be a Waterford crystal chandelier picking out the reddish grain in the panelling, a little of its former grandeur had been restored.
The angle of the stairs meant that Cary didn’t immediately notice his cousin. ‘Where’ve you been, Juliet?’ he demanded peevishly. ‘I’ve been looking for you for ages. I went to your room, but you weren’t there. Obviously.’ He waved an impatient hand. ‘What the hell have you been doing?’
If Juliet had hoped that Cary’s words might deter Rafe from interfering, she was mistaken. ‘She’s been having tea in the kitchen, with me and Josie,’ he drawled lazily, stepping into the light. ‘I assume you have no objections?’
‘Like hell!’ Cary had reached the bottom of the stairs and now he looked suspiciously from Juliet to the other man. Then, scowling at his supposed fiancée, ‘How did that come about?’
Juliet sighed. ‘By accident,’ she said tersely, flashing Rafe an exasperated look. ‘I was looking for—for someone to talk to. I thought Josie might be able to tell me a bit more about the house.’
‘So what was he doing?’ Cary cocked his head towards Rafe.
‘I was having tea with Josie, if it’s any business of yours,’ replied Rafe before Juliet could answer. ‘This isn’t your house yet, Cary. I come and go as I please.’
‘Don’t I know it?’ Cary sounded aggrieved. ‘So where’s the old girl? In the conservatory, as usual.’
‘I imagine she’s resting.’ Rafe spoke with evident reluctance. ‘She usually rests in the afternoon, as you’d know if you spent more time at Tregellin.’
Cary didn’t bother answering him. Instead, he placed an arm about Juliet’s shoulders, causing a rather unpleasant shiver to ripple up her spine. He bent his head towards her. ‘How about you and me taking a walk in the grounds?’ he suggested. ‘I’d like to show you around.’
‘Oh—no.’ With some discretion, Juliet managed to ease herself out of Cary’s reach. ‘I—er—I was just thinking of taking a bath.’
She heard Rafe’s disbelieving exhalation of breath and determinedly avoided his gaze. It wasn’t anything to do with him if she chose to change her mind.
‘A bath, eh?’ Was Cary being deliberately provocative? she wondered. ‘Oh, yeah, that sounds like a plan. We could take a bath together, baby. Have you noticed how big the tubs are here? It makes you wonder what the people of Great-Grandmama’s generation used to get up to when Great-Great-Grandpapa used to throw those wild house parties between the wars.’
‘Not what you’re imagining, Cary,’ declared a cool, aristocratic voice from the direction of the morning room. Lady Elinor was standing in the open doorway, the little dog, Hitchins, tucked under her arm. ‘Rafe.’ She nodded towards her other grandson. ‘A minute before you leave, if you please.’

CHAPTER FOUR (#u311e9e0a-db3c-5077-803f-a76d52bde6a7)
JULIET had a bath, but it was a fairly cold one. The only shower was hand-held, and she used it to sluice herself down before stepping out onto the marble floor. Fortunately, she’d laid a towel beside the bath before getting into it. She was already shivering, and imagining bare feet on cold marble didn’t bear thinking about.
There was no hair-drier, but she’d washed her hair that morning, so that didn’t worry her. Nevertheless, she wished she’d brought her own drier with her. She’d been spoiled, she thought. She was used to staying in hotels where every amenity was provided.
Not any longer, of course, she told herself, the spectre of the electricity bill briefly rearing its ugly head. And, however awkward it was for her here, at least it would provide her with enough money to pay it. If she could just ignore Rafe Marchese, it wouldn’t be all that bad.
With the knowledge that Lady Elinor was giving a dinner party for her grandson on Saturday evening, Juliet studied the clothes she’d brought with her rather critically. It wasn’t that she was short of clothes. On the contrary, until David had cancelled her credit cards, shopping had been something she enjoyed. But she hadn’t brought a lot of clothes with her. Cary’s complaint that his grandmother never spent any money hadn’t prepared her for the real situation at Tregellin. Although the old lady might not have a lot of money, she lived in some style. The upkeep of the house alone had to be excessive, but there seemed to be no question of her leaving it and moving to smaller premises.
Which meant Juliet had to save her little black dress until Saturday. It was the most formal thing she’d brought, and when she’d tucked it into her case back in London she’d had real doubts about bringing it. She was glad she had now. Cary would expect his ‘fiancée’ to wear something suitable.
That evening she decided to wear a pair of cropped trousers in aubergine silk, whose low waist exposed a generous wedge of creamy skin. She’d wear a mauve and green patterned top with the trousers, its smock style successfully covering the breach.
It was a little after seven when she went downstairs. Cary had told her before they’d parted in the hall that his grandmother usually had supper at half-past. Although she would have preferred to stay in her room until it was time to eat, that would have been impolite, and, hearing the sound of voices from the drawing room, she headed in that direction.
The housekeeper was on her way out as Juliet entered the room, and after wishing their guest a good evening she hastened on her way. Expecting to find Cary with his grandmother, Juliet was perturbed to find it was just the two of them, though the old lady was graciousness itself as she offered her guest a sherry before the meal.
‘Oh…’ Juliet had never liked sherry, finding it too sweet, usually, but good manners dictated that she accept Lady Elinor’s offer. ‘Thank you.’
‘Perhaps you’d help yourself,’ added the old lady, gesturing with her cane towards the tray on the nearby bureau. ‘I have a little arthritis in my hands and I don’t find it easy lifting the decanter.’
Juliet nodded and went to do as she’d been asked, grateful that she need only pour herself a small amount. ‘My father suffered from arthritis in his hands, too,’ she said, coming to sit on the leather sofa opposite the old lady’s armchair. ‘He used to say it was with holding a pen for so many years.’
Lady Elinor acknowledged this. She was looking particularly elegant this evening in an ankle-length black skirt and a cream silk blouse. Once again, a shawl was draped about her shoulders, a Paisley pattern this time in autumn shades.
‘Your mother died before your father, didn’t she?’ she remarked, and Juliet conceded that this was so.
‘She died just after I was born. My father was devastated, as you can imagine.’
‘Of course.’ Her hostess absorbed this. ‘And your father was considerably older than your mother, I believe,’ she went on, startling Juliet by her knowledge. ‘But at least he had you. You must have been very close.’
‘Yes, we were.’ Juliet felt a twinge of the distress she’d suffered when her father had died. Then, frowning, ‘Did you know my father, Lady Elinor?’
‘No.’ The old lady shook her head. ‘But I remember my son and his wife talking about Cary’s friendship with Maxwell Lawrence’s daughter. And I know Cary was dismayed when I removed him from all the friends he’d had in the village.’
Juliet took a tentative sip of her sherry and found it wasn’t as sweet as she’d anticipated. ‘That seems such a long time ago.’
‘Well, of course, it is.’ Lady Elinor sighed. ‘It’s easier to look back when you’re my age.’ She paused. ‘But you married someone else. Cary attended your wedding. Did you realise you’d married the wrong man?’
Juliet pulled a wry face. ‘You could say that.’
‘You’d prefer not to talk about it?’
‘No.’ Juliet bit her lip. ‘It was just a stupid mistake, that’s all. David never loved me. As Cary probably told you, he was only interested in my money.’
Lady Elinor’s brows drew together. ‘And your father didn’t insist that he sign some kind of agreement before you became his wife?’
‘My father died a year before I met David,’ explained Juliet ruefully. ‘And as I say, I believed him when he said that money didn’t matter to him.’
‘Money always matters,’ declared the old lady firmly. ‘Except perhaps to someone like Rafe.’ She paused. ‘You’ve met Rafe, haven’t you? He’s my daughter Christina’s son. Unfortunately she was never married to his father.’
‘Ah.’ Juliet pressed her lips together for a moment. ‘May I ask what you meant when you said Rafe wasn’t interested in money?’
It was a personal question, but happily the old lady didn’t appear to take offence. ‘Perhaps I should amend that to my money,’ she said, with a wry smile. ‘He does extremely well without it. The small gallery he’s just opened in Polgellin Bay has proved quite a success.’
Juliet’s eyes widened. ‘So he is a painter?’
‘He paints,’ agreed Lady Elinor consideringly. ‘He also teaches art at a comprehensive school in Bodmin.’
‘Really?’ Juliet realised Rafe had been deliberately vague on the subject. ‘How interesting!’
‘You think so?’ The old lady sounded as if she had her doubts. ‘His mother broke my heart with her—reckless disregard for propriety. She painted, too, and look what happened to her.’
‘Cary said she—fell from the balcony of an hotel.’
‘Well, that’s the official story, anyway.’
Juliet stared at her. ‘It’s not true?’
Lady Elinor smiled a little drily. ‘Ah, that would be telling, wouldn’t it, Miss Lawrence? Why don’t you tell me how you and Cary came to meet again? It seems such a coincidence. Do you visit the casino, by any chance?’
‘The casino?’ Juliet was taken aback.
‘Yes. That is where my grandson works, isn’t it?’ She pulled a wry face. ‘I can’t imagine how he persuaded them to employ him after the fiasco he was involved in in South Africa. You know about that, I suppose?’
‘Well, yes.’
Juliet didn’t know what else to say and for once she was relieved to hear heavy footsteps crossing the hall. A moment later Cary appeared in the doorway, somewhat overdressed in satin-seamed black trousers and a dark red dinner jacket.
He came into the room with a slight swagger, as if he expected to be complimented on his appearance. But all Lady Elinor did was raise her dark eyebrows at him. And when Hitchins, who had been asleep in his basket at her feet, awoke and started growling, she bent and lifted the little animal onto her lap.
‘Grandmama.’ Cary greeted her politely, gave the dog a less-friendly look and then came to seat himself beside Juliet. ‘You’re looking delectable this evening,’ he said, bestowing an unwelcome kiss on her neck just below her ear. ‘Hmm, and you smell delectable, too. Is it Chanel?’
‘No.’ Juliet refrained from saying that it was a simple herbal essence that wasn’t half as expensive. ‘Your grandmother and I have been waiting for you.’
‘Sorry.’ Cary would have kissed her again, but Juliet managed to avoid it. ‘If I’d known you were missing me, I’d have been much quicker, believe me.’
‘She didn’t say she’d been missing you, Cary,’ observed the old lady a little maliciously. ‘As a matter of fact, Juliet and I have been having a very interesting conversation.’
‘You have?’ Cary looked a little uneasy now.
‘Yes.’ His grandmother smiled her satisfaction. ‘She was just about to tell me where the two of you renewed your acquaintance.’
Juliet sighed, aware that Cary had stiffened beside her. This was an eventuality they hadn’t covered, though she realised in hindsight it had been foolish not to do so. ‘We—er—we met at the home of mutual friends,’ she lied, the glance she cast in Cary’s direction warning him not to contradict her. ‘It was the Bainbridges, Cary, wasn’t it? John and Deborah. We’ve both known them for years.’
‘Yes, the Bainbridges,’ agreed Cary gratefully, but Juliet, hearing the falseness in his tone, could well understand why Lady Elinor had chosen to investigate his employment for herself. It was to be hoped the old lady wasn’t a friend of the Bainbridges, too. Debbie would be most confused to hear that Juliet was planning on getting married again without telling her. Not to mention meeting her future fiancé at her house.
‘And that was when?’
The old lady wasn’t finished yet and this time Cary intervened. ‘Oh—it must be over six months ago!’ he exclaimed expansively, inspiring a silent groan from Juliet.
‘Over six months?’ queried his grandmother at once, as Juliet had known she would. ‘So why haven’t I heard anything about it? When you were down—let me see, six weeks ago—you made no mention of the fact that you were thinking of getting engaged, Cary.’
Cary looked blank-faced now and Juliet knew that, once again, she’d have to come to his rescue. ‘That was my fault, Lady Elinor,’ she lied, hoping her smile would hide her blushes. ‘I’m afraid I asked Cary to keep our relationship to himself. With it being such a comparatively short time since my divorce, I didn’t want anyone to think I was rushing into marriage again.’
The older woman’s lips thinned. ‘Even though you are,’ she commented drily, and Juliet gave a rueful shrug. But, fortunately, Josie returned at that moment to say that supper was ready and Cary got gratefully to his feet.
The rest of the evening progressed without further embarrassment. Juliet couldn’t decide whether Lady Elinor had been satisfied with the answers they’d given her or merely biding her time until morning. Whatever, the meal—roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with a fruit compote for dessert—passed without incident, and afterwards Juliet had the perfect excuse to retire early.
‘It’s been a very long day,’ she said, when Cary chose to question her departure, and, meeting her narrowed gaze, he evidently decided not to push his luck.
‘Yeah, you get a good night’s rest,’ he said, catching her hand as she passed him and raising it to his lips. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, darling. Sleep well.’
In fact, Juliet slept only fitfully. Although the bed was comfortable, it was a strange bed, and the knowledge that there were still three more days to go weighed heavily on her mind. After tossing and turning for hours she eventually rose just as the sky was lightening, padding barefoot across to the windows and peering out.
The view was calming. Sunrise on the estuary, and the mudflats were a veritable hive of activity. She’d never seen so many birds in one place before, cackling and squawking as they vied with one another for the grubs the receding tide had left behind.
It looked as if it was going to be a fine day. The clouds, such as they were, were thinning, and a delicate haze was lifting to reveal a pale blue horizon. Juliet knew a sudden urge to be outside, far from another round of interrogation. For no matter how amiable Lady Elinor had been the night before, she was fairly sure her curiosity hadn’t been totally assuaged.
In the bathroom, the hand shower ran lukewarm, but it was better than nothing. Chilled, but refreshed, Juliet dressed in jeans and a V-necked olive-green sweater, pulled on Converse boots, and left her room.
As on the night before, there seemed to be no one about, which wasn’t really surprising. It was barely seven o’clock. Much too early for Lady Elinor to want breakfast.
The kitchen was chilly. The Aga, which had evidently kept the place warm the afternoon before, was cold now and blinds still covered the windows. Juliet opened the blinds and, locating the kettle, set it to boil. If she could just find a jar of instant coffee, she thought, she’d be happy.
She found what she was looking for in the third cupboard she opened, and by then the kettle was boiling. She put two teaspoons of coffee in a mug and then filled it with hot water. Then she turned to a rather elderly fridge, looking for milk.
She had her back to the door when a key turned in the lock and it opened. She swung round in surprise to find Rafe Marchese letting himself into the house. He was carrying a couple of bags and the delicious aroma of newly baked bread came to her nostrils. She had thought she wasn’t hungry, but she’d been wrong.
‘Making yourself at home?’ he remarked lazily, putting the bags down on the pine table. He was wearing khaki cargo pants this morning and a navy body-warmer over an open-collared Oxford shirt. There was a disturbing glimpse of dark body hair showing in the opening, and his shirtsleeves were rolled back to display forearms that were deeply tanned and also spiced with hair.

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