Bride By Friday
TRISHA DAVID
About the Author (#u560ab17e-8332-54e2-bf87-c3f51df88ce9)Title Page (#u8423d455-9c1d-5676-a1ff-9a104cb08f6d)CHAPTER ONE (#ue84b1f69-fff7-52e7-b36e-4a5c780a05ca)CHAPTER TWO (#u6810426a-7878-53db-903d-81a6fdb8fb96)CHAPTER THREE (#u21e9291b-7b5d-51ad-a42a-d2f07e44e4d8)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“I have a problem here,” Charlie confessed
“I’m not sure who I am.”
“You’re not sure?” Tessa glared This was getting crazier by the minute.
“Well...” Charlie’s blue eyes glinted with laughter.
“Until a week ago, I was Charles Cameron, cattle farmer But now... According to this, I’m Lord Charles Cameron, thirteenth Earl of Dalston. Owner of a grand-sounding title, and—if you’ll agree to marry me—owner of one rather decrepit castle and all it contains..”
Trisha David is a country girl, born on a dairy farm in southeast Australia. She moved on—mostly because the cows just weren’t interested in her stories! Married to a “very special doctor,” Trisha writes medical romances as Marion Lennox and Harlequin Romance
stories as Trisha David In her other life she cares for kids, cats, dogs, chickens and goldfish She travels, she fights her rampant garden (she’s losing) and her house dust (she’s lost!) Oh, and she teaches statistics and computing to undergraduates at her local university
Bride by Friday
Trisha David
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
‘MARRY me?’
‘I...I beg your pardon?’
On second thoughts, maybe this was rushing things. He’d been sitting beside Tessa Flanagan for all of five minutes.
‘It was just a thought,’ Charlie said hastily. Uh-oh. His gorgeous fellow passenger was staring at him as if he’d landed from Mars, and he really had only been thinking aloud. How to retrieve a situation like this?
If ever there was a time to lay on the Cameron charm, this was it.
Charles Cameron lifted a pile of papers from his drop-down table, and let it fall again as if the weight of the pile explained all. Then he sighed, giving Tessa the benefit of his very nicest smile. It was a totally heart-stopping smile, and it usually worked a treat.
‘I know it’s sudden, but the way I’m reading this, it’s either marriage or lawyers,’ he told her. ‘And you sure beat lawyers!’ Charlie directed his fantastic smile straight at Tess, and it showed absolute appreciation.
Which just showed how deranged the man was, Tess decided, staring at him in astonishment. She hadn’t slept since she’d heard about Christine. Tessa’s trim figure was disguised by the jogging suit she was wearing for comfort on the long flight. Her short, blonde curls were tousled and unkempt, and her eyes were shadowed and way too large for her face.
And this man—a complete stranger—was asking if she’d marry him!
She eyed him warily for all of ten seconds, as if he was about to sprout Martian antennae. Charlie kept smiling. Finally Tess came to the conclusion that he was nuts, but harmless nuts. Maybe even nice nuts.
‘Yeah, right,’ she said blankly and turned away, trying to block him out.
She couldn’t block out his presence. Nutcase or not, Charles Cameron was a difficult man to block.
Charlie was six foot three without his boots on. He had broad shoulders, but he didn’t carry one ounce of spare fat. The man was sheer muscle, his body narrowing to long, long legs stretched out under the airline seat. He was wearing a short-sleeved, open-necked shirt and moleskin trousers, and his clothes suited his muscled, tanned and weather-beaten body to perfection.
Despite her distress, it was impossible for Tess to ignore the sheer maleness of the man. He was thirty or so and weathering magnificently. Charlie’s thick black hair was bleached at the tips as if exposed to too much harsh sun. His deep blue eyes twinkled and danced and made you want to smile...
He looked a man apart. Charles Cameron fitted into the surrounding sea of suits like a bull fitted into a china shop—and Charles Cameron was some bull!
Oh, for heaven’s sake... Ignore him, Tess thought desperately, as she clenched her eyes shut. She had enough to worry about without a grinning lunatic she’d never met before proposing marriage from the neighbouring seat.
Like thinking about Christine...
The thought of Christine was enough to stop any hint of a smile. Christine was Tessa’s twin sister—and Christine was dead.
Maybe it was stupid for Tess to feel this bad. Donald had told her over and over that she shouldn’t care. He didn’t understand Tessa’s grief-stricken reaction one bit.
‘For heaven’s sake, Tess, you haven’t seen Christine or your snobbish brother-in-law for six years. Not since your twenty-first birthday. She met that creep and she hasn’t been home since. She’s hardly written. They didn’t even come to your mother’s funeral. And you’ve never been to England to visit her. You’ve never even wanted to visit...’
That was how much Donald knew! Tess had ached to visit her twin, and she longed to travel.
But Tess couldn’t ignore family ties as Christine had done. Their mother had been an invalid and, after her death, her legacy of medical bills had made visiting Christine impossible.
And now Christine was dead. Her mother was gone, and now her sister. It was the end of her family.
Only it wasn’t the end, of course. There was Ben...
She had to see him. She must! Even if she wasn’t wanted.
‘Hey, if it’s my proposal making you look like this, then forget it.’ The deep male voice rumbled beside her and Tessa’s eyes flew open. It was such a nice voice. Low and growly, but warm and with such depth..
The lunatic’s voice. The Martian.
For a moment, Tess wished she was back in her economy class seat—but only for a moment. As a last-minute passenger, she’d been wedged between a twenty-stone woman who reeked of garlic, and the airline toilet. The tap on her shoulder after the hour’s stop at Singapore—‘Miss, we have a seat available in business class if you’d like the offer of a free upgrade’—had been a gift from heaven.
‘Am I making you look like this?’ the man asked anxiously, and then answered his own question. ‘Nope. I’m sure it’s not me. You looked like this before.’
‘Like what?’ Tess asked before she could help herself, and the man smiled his blindingly attractive smile
‘Like a mermaid who’s lost her sea,’ he said gently. ‘Who’s floundering on the beach and who doesn’t know how to get home.’
A mermaid. Honestly!
Tess glared. ‘I just need some sleep,’ she managed.
‘Hey, I guessed that,’ he told her. ‘That’s why I suggested you come up here.’
‘You suggested...’
‘The seat beside me was empty all the way from Australia.’ He grinned at her look of astonishment. ‘I stretched out and luxuriated no end but, truth to tell, I was lonesome. Then I saw you in Singapore looking like a waif who was about to topple over, and I thought if there was company to be had I wouldn’t mind if you were it. So I pointed you out to the airline people and told them you looked too young to be travelling alone.’ His smile deepened. ‘They agreed—and here you are.’
‘They agreed...’ The man’s audacity took Tessa’s breath away. So that was why she was sitting in business class.
She’d wondered. She looked unimportant and unkempt—the last person suitable for an upgrade to business class. But now... As well as having to humour an obvious lunatic, she also had to be grateful.
‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly. ‘But—’
‘But you have to sleep and I’ve just thrown you a proposal that’s got you all in a tizz,’ he said sagely. ‘I can see that. Don’t answer all at once. Tell you what. You catch forty winks while I sift through these papers again and see if there isn’t any other way out of this mess-and we’ll talk about it later.’
His smile was warm and gentle and infinitely comforting. As if he weren’t a lunatic at all.
‘Here,’ he said, offering her an eye mask. ‘And here.’ A pillow and blanket were added to the ones the hostess had already given her. ‘Now just push this little but-ton...’ He leaned over and pushed the little button and her seat sank back to almost fully reclining. Then, to her absolute bewilderment, he kissed her lightly on the nose. ‘Sweet dreams. See you in London!’
And he placed her eye mask over her eyes and left her to her confusion.
Tessa slept the clock around, and when she opened her eyes her first thought was that she was warm and cared for and that the nightmare had receded.
She was being held.
She opened one eye cautiously—and then another.
In sleep, her head had drooped sideways. The man by her side was now wearing a cashmere jumper—soft and warm and bulky. His seat was also reclining. She was using the stranger’s sweater—his shoulder!—as her pillow, and she could hear the beating of his heart under her right ear.
She sat up as if she’d been hit by an electric cattle prod, and the broad arm around her shoulders was reluctantly withdrawn.
‘Hey,’ the man said dolefully. ‘I was asleep.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Tessa struggled sideways in a muddle of blankets and tried to make her eyes work. The cabin lights were dim and the darkness was intimate.
Sleeping with a stranger...
‘No need to be sorry.’ The arm came back around, possessive and strong. ‘Half an hour till they turn on the lights for breakfast. Snooze a little.’
‘What... what time is it?’ Still she struggled, hauling herself back in the luxurious comfort of her velvet seat.
He sighed and checked his watch. Luminous dials. Expensive watch. ‘It’s three a.m. British time, or midday Australian. Take your pick.’
It didn’t feel like either.
Tessa struggled with the sense that she was dreaming, blinked, blinked again, and then the lights came on.
‘Damn,’ the deep voice said mournfully. ‘My prediction was wrong Now you won’t think me a seasoned traveller.’
‘Are you one?’ Tess asked cautiously. The man looked like a farmer. He didn’t come across as someone who flitted frequently around the world on business.
‘Yep. I fly from Warrnambie to Melbourne once a month, rain or shine.’
Tess thought this through.
‘You mean—Warrnambie, Victoria, Australia, to Melbourne, Victoria, Australia? A distance of about a hundred miles?’
‘That’s right.’ His smile told her she was a clever girl. As if he were humouring her instead of the other way around.
‘That makes you a seasoned traveller?’
‘Hey, I’ve been to England before,’ he told her, wounded. ‘But not once a month. Mostly because I don’t like aeroplane breakfasts.’ He yawned and stretched, his big frame touching her shoulder as he moved. The warmth from his body seemed to flow straight through the blankets and into hers.
‘So...’ Tess was making a Herculean effort to keep the conversation sane. This man had organized her a seat and lent her a shoulder. She had to be nice, no matter how breathless he made her feel. ‘So you live at Warrnambie?’
‘That’s where my farm is.’ He was interrupted by the hostess. A moist, warm towel was handed to each of them, held aloft with a pair of silver tongs. Tessa’s companion disappeared under his white towel for a minute or two, rubbing himself down with the enjoyment of a bear under a waterfall. Then he emerged to redirect his attention to Tess. ‘That’s better. A shave and I’ll almost be up to introductions. Don’t go away.’
He stretched his large frame into an upright position and disappeared toward the rest room. Tess was left staring blankly after him, wondering just what it was that made the world seem to hold its breath in this man’s presence.
In fact, it was an hour and breakfast later before they finally got around to introductions, and by that time Tess was almost starting to feel human. She’d washed, repaired the worst of the ravages to her face and, despite her companion’s disparagement of airline food, managed to put away a decent breakfast. It was the first full meal she could remember eating since she’d heard about Christine’s death, and she hadn’t realized just how hungry she was.
Charles watched her with growing concern.
‘You don’t say you like this stuff?’ he demanded, prodding an omelette which bore a strong resemblance to a piece of bath foam. ‘The hens that laid these eggs have serious problems. I think they’ve been fed a diet of rubber pellets and orange cordial.’
Tess chuckled, and was faintly astonished at the sound. That she could laugh...
Charlie Cameron’s smile broadened.
‘Now, how did I know it’d sound like that?’ he said approvingly. ‘The very nicest chuckle...’ He held out his hand and took hers, enveloping her fingers in a strong, warm clasp. ‘Allow me to repeat my proposal. I’ve been through all the papers and there’s nothing else for it. You’ll just have to marry me.’
‘Don’t be...’ Tessa tried unsuccessfully to draw her hand away. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said nervously, glancing up to see just where the hostess was, just in case she needed help to haul off a deranged and disappointed lunatic. ‘You don’t even know me.’
‘I know enough. You’re not wearing a wedding ring and you have the nicest chuckle I’ve ever had the privilege of hearing,’ Charles said. ‘And when we stopped at Singapore and the old Indian lady dropped her baggage, you were the one who got down on her hands and knees and hauled it back together.’ He noted her look of surprise and smiled again. ‘I was in the business class lounge or I would have dashed to the rescue myself—as befits my status as hero and husband material—but I could see what happened through the glass,’ he added. ‘That’ll do as an introduction.’
‘Well, I don’t know you,’ Tessa said breathlessly. ‘For heaven’s sake, this is ridiculous. I don’t know you from Adam and you’re asking me to marry you?’
‘I know you. I’ve read your baggage labels. Tessa Flanagan, and a very nice name too. Tessa Cameron sounds better. But I guess you don’t know me.’ Charles considered. And then he frowned. ‘I have a problem here,’ he confessed. ‘I’m not really sure yet who I am.’
‘You’re not sure?’ Tessa glared. This was getting crazier and crazier. ‘What do you mean—you’re not sure?’
‘Well, I think I’m sure,’ he told her, and smiled apologetically ‘Until a week ago, I was Charles Cameron, cattle farmer from Warrnambie.’
‘And now?’
‘Well...’ He sighed. Then he lifted up one of the papers he’d been studying. ‘According to this, I’m Lord Charles Cameron, thirteenth Earl of Dalston. Owner of a grand-sounding title, and—if you’ll agree to marry me—owner of one rather decrepit castle and all it contains.’
CHAPTER TWO
VERY little was said for the next hour until they came in to land at Heathrow. Too much had happened to Tess for her to continue humouring this nutcase. She was polite—but only just.
‘I’m very pleased you’re going to be an earl,’ she told him, ‘but it has absolutely nothing to do with me. If you don’t mind, I want to read. Go back to your papers and figure out how you can inherit your castle all by yourself.’
She turned her shoulder resolutely away, and ignored him.
Charles Cameron didn’t ignore her. He delved back into his documents but she was aware of him silently watching her out of the corner of his eye.
Drat the man! He threw her right off balance and she had to concentrate.
Tess had a folder full of travel documents given to her by the agent in Yaldara Bay. And instructions that scared the life out of someone who’d travelled three times to Sydney for her nursing exams and that was as far from home as she’d ever been.
Now... she had to go through Customs in Heathrow, find the Airbus office, catch the bus to the coach station-then walk about five blocks to the cheap bed and breakfast the agent had booked for her. She had a map. It was all here. Just follow the instructions.
‘I’m being met by a driver,’ Charles said in her ear and made her jump. ‘I can give you a lift.’
‘I don’t want a lift,’ Tessa said crossly. ‘Thank you. My bus fare is paid.’
‘Very efficient.’ Charles lifted her travel documents and frowned down at the page of instructions telling her where to go. ‘Backblow Street. I don’t know about my future wife staying here.’
‘Well, you go and ask your future wife where she wants to stay,’ Tessa managed. ‘Just leave me alone.’
‘But...’
‘No,’ she said flatly. ‘Please...just leave me be.’
They parted soon after landing.
Charles somehow managed to stay by her side until they hit the queue for Immigration. Then there were two queues—one for British subjects and one for aliens. To her surprise, Charles headed for the local queue.
‘I’ll wait for you on the other side,’ he said, but she shook her head resolutely. Her passage through was surprisingly swift, her luggage was the first off the conveyor belt and then she was at the Airbus terminal knowsing she need never see Charlie Cameron again in her life.
She should be relieved. She should be shaking off the memory of such a lunatic with speed. Instead, she boarded her bus feeling as desolate as she’d ever felt in her life.
It must be Christine’s death, she told herself, and the fact that she was on the other side of the world from Donald. From anyone she knew.
But as she sat on the top of her double-decker bus, heading for central London, the thought of Charlie Cameron’s gentle smile stayed with her.
He was a nut but a nice nut, she decided as she buried herself in the map showing her where to go when she left the bus. She could afford to remember him with affection.
But a tiny voice at the back of her head told her she didn’t want to remember him at all. The thought of his strong arm around her—the feel of his cashmere sweater—the sheer maleness of the man—that was what she wanted.
Oh, yeah? And the thought of being wife to the Earl of Dalston? she told herself grimly. If he’s the Earl of Dalston then I’m travelling on a flying pig. Now stop thinking about lunatics and start thinking about maps.
It took Tess an hour to find her hotel and by the time she did it was still only seven in the morning and she was exhausted.
Donald had presented her with a set of baggage wheels as a farewell present. ‘Because taxi prices are sky high and you’ll be using enough of our house savings as it is,’ he’d told her. ‘Using these wheels, you can walk pulling your things behind you. They’ll make you independent.’
Which they might have if they’d been good quality, Tess thought gnmiy. The streets were rough and the plastic wheels were weak. Tess walked a block before the first wheel buckled. Then she was left with no choice but to carry everything by hand. There wasn’t even a rubbish bin where she could dump her broken wheels. She had to carry them as well.
It was the middle of June. At home it had been crisp and cool in the beginning of winter. Here it was summer. It was too early to be hot but it was humid enough to be uncomfortable, and Tessa’s jogging suit was way too heavy. By the time she stopped outside a dubiouslooking lodging house, she was exhausted.
At least she’d made it. Primrose Place. Bed and breakfast.
Tess looked up at her lodgings with dismay. She had to stay in London for a couple of nights—she needed to see her sister’s lawyer before she went north—and accommodation in the city was expensive. Donald and the travel agent had chosen this place for her from a brochure. Surely it hadn’t looked like this in the advertisement?
The place looked just plain seedy. The last primrose to grace Primrose Place had hoisted its roots and departed centuries ago, breathing a sigh of relief as it did. All that was left was a dingy, soot-covered building. The cracked window in the front was plastered with newspaper, and a smell of stale grease hung about the front door.
She had no choice. She had to stay here. Her accommodation was paid.
Tess looked up and down the street. All the buildings here—a long line of terraces three storeys high—were much the same, all slightly unkempt and grubby. The street was early-morning quiet, milk bottles standing empty on each doorstep. A large black car nosed its way into the end of the street and stopped, its engine still running. Its occupants didn’t emerge.
This was like something out of a second-rate whodunmt movie.
Maybe it was because she was very much alone that she felt uneasy. Despite the heat, Tess shivered, and rang the bell fast.
The bell echoed hollowly inside, and she heard a mass of dog flesh hurling itself against the other side of the door. Hardly a welcome. All she heard was snarling.
The snarling ended with a human curse and then the door opened. Her landlord stood before her, still in the bottom half of dirty pyjamas, bald, unshaven and his flabby white chest bare.
‘What d’ya want?’
Tess caught her breath.
‘I’m...I’m booked in here.’ She held out her accommodation voucher. The man took it, kicked the dog back from behind him and sniffed as he inspected it. Then he thrust the voucher back at her.
‘This is for tonight. Come back five o’clock when the doors open. Not before.’ And he slammed the door in her face.
Tess hadn’t cried. Not once. Not when the phone call had come telling her Christine was dead. Not when Christine’s mother-in-law had told her she was crazy to come and she wasn’t wanted. Not when she’d said goodbye to Donald.
She came very close now.
She stood on the greasy doorstep and took great lungfuls of humid air and fought for control. It was seven o’clock in the morning in a strange city and she had nowhere to go.
A hand landed on her shoulder and held.
Tess yelped. There was no other word to describe the sound that came out as she jumped about six inches in the air. When she came down to land, the hand was still on her shoulder, turning her around to face whoever it was accosting her.
But Tessa Flanagan was no victim. As charge nurse at Yaldara Bay Hospital, Tessa’s reactions to emergencies were tuned to be lighting-swift-and now was no exception.
She attacked right back.
During one very boring winter in Yaldara Bay, Tess had enrolled in a self-defence course for women. Then, after an incident with a drunk in Casualty, she’d taught the same class to the junior nurses on her staff. Over and over.
Sometimes she’d wondered whether it really would work. If she was attacked, would she be so frightened that she’d freeze?
Obviously not. Her training worked a treat.
As her attacker hauled her around to face him—before she even saw who was attacking—she thumped her fist fair across his left eye. In the same instant, Tessa’s spare hand dropped and came upward fast, crunching as hard as she possibly could. Right into his private parts.
And Charlie Cameron grunted in agony, fell back and clutched himself where it hurt most.
Tess stared... and stared some more.
‘Charlie...’
‘So who were you expecting?’ Charlie managed, groaning and bent double. ‘Jack the Ripper? Hell, Tess, you’ve damaged me for life!’
‘But...’
‘You’ll have to marry me now. I’m damaged goods. You can’t return me.’
Charlie Charlie, the Earl of Dalston. Charlie, the lunatic.
It was too much. It was all too much. Tess stared down, appalled, and the world spun around her. And finally, after all this time, the tears came.
‘Oh, Charlie, I’m so sorry...’
Charlie straightened and stared. ‘Tess... what’s going on here? You hit me where it hurts most and you cry!’
‘I don’t cry. I never cry.’ It was as much as Tessa could do to make her voice work through her tears.
‘Yeah? And I’m Peter Pan.’ He groaned again. ‘Come to think of it, I might be. Isn’t Peter Pan the boy who can’t grow up? Any minute now I’ ll be back to singing soprano.‘ He winced again. He shook his head. ’I don’t believe this. You’ve interrupted the succession of the Dalston line with one fell fist, you’ve given me a black eye and you cry...’
Tessa didn’t stop. She couldn’t. And Charlie, the Earl of Dalston, pulled himself together. He groaned again, but in resignation. Somehow he made it up the steps to haul her in against his broad shoulders, and Tess wept and wept against Charlie-the-lunatic’s shirt for all of two minutes.
She soaked him. Tessa’s tears made a sodden circle against his shoulder, and she didn’t stop howling until the shirt fabric was almost transparent and she could feel the warmth of his skin underneath her cheek.
Somehow she took a ragged breath and pulled away. Charlie allowed her room to back twelve inches, but his hands held her shoulders, his face creased in concern.
‘I... I’m so sorry,’ she managed finally. ‘Really...I I don’t cry.’
‘I can see that,’ he said approvingly and gave her a wry smile. ‘It’s another reason I’ve decided you should marry me. Apart from needing you for self-defence. Some of us earls employ bodyguards. I’ll just keep you around. Here. Have a handkerchief.’
There was nothing to say to that. She really did need that handkerchief.
‘Blow,’ Charlie told her. ‘And before you ask, I don’t want it back.’ His smile deepened. ‘One thing I’ve decided about being an earl, I can afford to be generous with my handkerchiefs.’
Tess sniffed, gave a watery chuckle—and blew. And blew again, while Charlie smiled down at her in gentle concern.
‘Better?’
‘Better.’ Tess emerged from his linen and gave him a wavering smile. ‘I’m sorry. What you must think...’ Her smile faded. ‘Oh, Charlie, your eye...’ She stared up at him with guilt. ‘It’s changing colour already.’
Charlie fingered his bruised face and winced. ‘No matter,’ he said nobly. And winced again. ‘They say you only feel one pain centre at a time and they’re right. Your other area of attack is of more concern. Hell, Tess, what did you think you were doing?’
‘Defending myself,’ she told him, indignation flooding back as she saw the twinkle in his eyes. Drat the man, was he never serious
She looked down the street to where the sleek black car—a Jaguar—was waiting by the kerb. ‘It was you in the car,’ she said accusingly. ‘Waiting m the street like a gangster. You scared me to death!’
‘Yeah, well, you’re not showing any long-term damage.’ Charlie managed another heartfelt groan. ‘Whereas I just may start singing falsetto. Besides, I thought it was your fnend in the hotel who scared you,’ he said mildly. ‘Your friend with the sexy pyjamas.’
‘You saw.’ Tessa was so confused that for a minute she forgot this man was a nutcase. She thought of the pyjamas in question and gave another tearful chuckle. ‘Oh, isn’t he awful? I can’t stay here.’
‘No. You can’t stay here.’ Charlie’s hands came back to grip her shoulders. ‘That’s what I was trying to tell you on the plane. You wouldn’t listen. This address is seedy and this hotel has to be the seediest in the district.’
‘But...’ Tess took a ragged breath and steadied. And pulled away from his hands. ‘Charlie, I’ve paid for it. I can’t...’
‘You can’t have paid very much.’
‘We didn’t. But Donald says...’
‘Donald?’
‘My fiancé.’
Silence.
My fiancé. The word echoed in the silence of the street and Tess bit her lip. She’d had to say it, though. It wouldn’t do this man any harm to know there was a man in her life. A man who cared for her. But Charlie’s eyes were snapping down in a frown. He hauled up her ring finger and held it in the sunlight for inspection.
‘No ring,’ he said accusingly.
‘I don’t have to wear a ring,’ she told him, her voice just a trace unsteady.
‘It’d help. When a man’s looking out for a bride under desperate circumstances...’
‘You mean a man like you.’
‘Yes. A man who needs to be married.’
‘He wants a sign, I suppose.’ Tess glared. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Cameron, but I don’t see why I should wear “claimed” labels just for you.’
‘Doesn’t Donald believe in diamonds?’
‘We’re saving for a house,’ Tess said with asperity. She was back under control now, and growing more indignant by the minute. ‘Now, if you’ve finished the inquisition...’
‘If you were my fiancée, I’d make sure you were wearing a diamond so large every other man could see it for miles,’ Charlie told her ‘I’d be so proud. You’re gorgeous, you’re kind, and you’re a warrior maiden to boot I’d buy you an engagement ring before any bricks and mortar.’
‘Even a castle?’ Tess said before she could help herself, and Charlie had the temerity to grin.
‘Well, who knows? What price a castle?’ And then he leaned over and lifted her baggage. ‘Hell. This weighs a ton. We saw you walk into the street. Walk! What the hell were you doing walking instead of taking a cab?’ And then he sighed and held up a hand. ‘No. Don’t tell me. I know. Donald and his house saving. You know, I’ve decided to take no notice of Donald. You mock my castle and I’ll mock your Donald. Until the man comes charging to rescue you, bearing diamonds, he can be set aside of no import. I’ve decided, Tessa Flanagan, that you need a hero, and I’m it.’
‘I don’t need anything of the kind.’
‘How about an earl?’
‘I especially don’t need an earl.’
‘Well, how about a simple farmer from home?’ Charlie’s voice suddenly gentled and the eyes looking down at her were warm and direct. ‘A farmer with a flat in Belgravia, very close to here. It’s a flat with four bedrooms, one of which is a guest suite.’ And then, as Tessa’s face froze, he smiled and shook his head. ‘And yes, my intentions are far from honourable, but I’ll respect the horrid Donald by making you a promise. You’ll be absolutely safe from all harm in my house, Tessa Flanagan, for however long you stay.’
And he made a signal to the man behind the wheel of the car. The lid of the car’s luggage compartment flipped up and he heaved Tessa’s bag into it.
‘But...I’m not coming with you,’ Tessa stammered.
‘Where are you going, then?’
‘I don’t know. Anywhere!’ Tess looked wildly around the deserted street, but there were no warm and welcoming little cafés within sight. No more hotels. Nowhere she could go and dump her gear.
So what would she do? Would she sit on her suitcase right here and wait until five o‘clock? Or drag her belongings along to Christine’s lawyer?’
Charlie watched the doubts flit across her face and he lifted a hand and touched Tessa’s cheek with a gentle finger.
‘There’s little choice here, Tess,’ he said softly. ‘You can trust me. I swear.’
Tess looked up at him. His eyes were crinkled and kind and absolutely direct.
‘I don’t trust you. How can I? You’re nuts,’ she managed. ‘Do you really have a flat in London?’
‘I really do and it’s quite close,’ he assured her.
‘And it’s yours?’ she asked.
‘It was my uncle’s. Now it seems that it’s mine.’
Tess bit her lip. ‘That must mean your uncle, the twelfth earl.’
‘Clever girl,’ he said approvingly. ‘You’ve worked out the family tree. Now...do you want to trust me?’
Tessa didn’t. She badly didn’t want to trust him. There was something about Charlie Cameron that said she should steer as far away from this man as possible. Lunatic or not, he left her feeling as if her feet weren’t quite steady on the ground.
But the street was sordid and empty, her baggage was heavy and her feet hurt. There were blisters on her palms from carrying the weight this far.
And this man was her only link with home.
What was the worst that could happen here? That he take her to this imaginary castle, lock her with his harem of slaves and keep her for his own personal pleasure?
She looked back at her hotel and her creepy landlord was peering over the newspaper in the front window He was scratching his flabby white chest and scowling, and she just knew that any minute he’d rush out and order her off his filthy front step, or set the dog on her.
She looked up at Charlie and her fear receded. Maybe there was something to be said for harems, after all.
Charlie’s house wasn’t quite a harem but it was a lot closer to a palace than anywhere Tess had ever been before. She’d sat silently in the rear seat of the Jaguar while the driver negotiated London’s early-morning traffic, and ten minutes later they had pulled up outside a place Tess could only describe as a mansion.
She gazed out in astonishment. The house was gleaming white stone, three storeys high, with Gothic columns at the entrance and a vast, overwhelming front door.
‘Before you get the wrong idea, only the top floor’s mine,’ Charlie said quickly, seeing her jaw drop. ‘And there’s no garden. We use the square over the road.’
The square. Tessa turned to see. On the other side of the road was a park, filled with mature trees, lush green lawns and immaculately groomed gardens.
‘There’s ten houses with access,’ Charlie said apologetically. ‘We have to share.’
‘Oh, poor you,’ Tess managed.
‘We bear it,’ Charlie told her, and he grinned. ‘We earls live in hard times. Come on in. Henry will bring in our gear.’
Henry. Tess looked doubtfully at the man in the front seat. He was in his sixties, dapper and trim and dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform. Henry hadn’t said a word the whole time she’d been in the car.
‘This isn’t a hire car?’ she asked cautiously.
‘Well, no. I guess it’s mine. Or it might be mine.’
‘Might?’
Charlie spread his hands. ‘Tess, this is my uncle’s home, my uncle’s chauffeur, my uncle’s lifestyle. He’s left it all to me—conditionally.’
‘Conditionally?’
‘On me being married by the time I’m thirty,’ Charlie told her. ‘That’s in six weeks. So you see why I’m so interested in ladies who don’t sport engagement rings?’ And he gave her his most engaging smile. ‘Now, are you coming into my parlour, said the spider to the fly, or am I leaving you to London’s tender mercies out here on the street?’
He slid his long form out of the car.
There was nothing for Tessa to do but to follow.
The house was as breathtaking as its facade.
The entrance hall was vast, and the lift whisked them to the third floor in silent opulence. The lift was bigger than Tessa’s bedroom at home. Tess was almost too flummoxed to speak.
The lift drew to a silent halt, the doors slid wide and Charlie Cameron was welcomed to his world.
‘Mr Charlie!’ A stout lady, aproned, motherly and beaming goodwill, bustled forward to greet Charlie before he’d stepped out of the lift. ‘Oh, it’s so good to have you home.’ And she enveloped as much as she could of him in an enormous bear hug.
To which Charlie responded in kind. He lifted the little lady high, swung her round so her feet didn’t touch the floor, kissed her soundly and then set her down on the marble tiles. He grinned down at her dimply figure and sighed.
‘It’s good to be here, Mary.’ Then he turned to Tess.
‘Mary, this is Miss Tessa Flanagan. Tessa, this is Mrs Henry Robertson but she only answers to Mary. Mary, Tessa’s from home and she needs a bed. Henry and I found her stranded with her suitcase in Backblow Street and we couldn’t just leave her there, now could we?’
Mary’s bright eyes took in Tessa from the toes up. It was a fast, cursory glance, but it appeared Tess passed inspection. It seemed that this was no stately home with dress requirements to match.
‘Oh, of course you couldn’t,’ Mary said warmly. ‘Backblow Street? What on earth were you thinking of, letting your friends go there, Mr Charlie? It’s a filthy place. Miss Tessa can have the blue room, if you think that’s suitable.’ Then she stared, for the first time focussing properly on Charlie. ‘Mr Charlie, what on earth have you done to your face?’
‘It’s a modern equivalent to a love bite,’ Charlie told her, grinning wickedly at Tess. ‘And that’s not the half of it, Mary. If I told you the full damage, you’d be shocked to the core. Just look after Tess and don’t give her any lip.’
Mary’s eyes widened. She looked from Tess to Charlie and back again—but finally decided she wouldn’t get anywhere with enquiries. She obviously knew Charlie well.
She shrugged and smiled. ‘Well, no matter. You’re always getting yourself into some scrape or another, Mr Charlie. Now, would you like time to wash before you have breakfast?’ she asked Tess. Once again, that kindly, perceptive appraisal. ‘Oh, of course you would, child. In fact, what you look like you need, Miss Tessa, if you won’t take this personally as I’m sure you won’t, is a long, hot bath, up to your neck in bubbles. Does that sound good?’
Good. Good!
Tessa’s face said it all, and Charlie chuckled behind her. ‘Take her away, Mary, and soak her. I’ll look after myself.’ He turned away to go left down the hall but Mary stopped him with a hand on his arm.
‘I’ve put you in your uncle’s room,’ she said softly, watching his face. ‘I thought...’
Charlie’s smile faded. He stood looking down at Mary for a long, long moment. Then he sighed.
‘This is going to be hard, Mary.’
‘It is.’
Charlie closed his eyes. When he opened them, his face was grim. The twinkle had disappeared entirely.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Let’s start this now.’
Tessa’s bath was glorious. The bedroom itself was sumptuous, with plush white carpet, a vast, canopied bed and blue and gold curtains over a wall of windows which looked over the square and the rooftops of London beyond.
The en suite bathroom had the same fantastic view, and the bath—which could have accommodated three of Tessa—was amazing.
‘It’s a shame to bathe at night because you need to close the curtains or turn off the Light if you’re not to shock the neighbours,’ Mary told her as she handed her an armload of bath towels. ‘But the good thing about English summer is our lack of night-time. Enjoy your bath, lass.’ And she left her to soak.
Tess soaked. And soaked.
It was the first quiet time Tess had had since she’d heard of Christine’s death. It was the first time her responsibihties and need for organization had eased. The shadow of Christine’s death receded, with the image of Charles Cameron superimposing itself on her thoughts. Tess lay back under the foam, stared up at the ornate plasterwork on the high ceiling and wondered just what she had got herself into.
The image of Charlie Cameron as a lunatic was fading. Henry and the maternal, perceptive Mary seemed dependable and trustworthy, and they formed a respectable backdrop for the man. Tess was almost starting to believe in the earldom. And the castle. Almost.
‘Surely he doesn’t seriously expect to get married in six weeks?’ she asked the ceiling. ‘But then...to lose all this if he doesn’t...’
It was too hard. She drifted in and out of her bubbly haze until Mary’s call pulled her back to reality.
‘That bathwater’ll be getting cold, lass. You pull on a bathrobe and come for breakfast’
A bathrobe.
Tess looked about her warily. She didn’t want to put on her soiled jogging suit again but...
There was a thick white bathrobe hanging from the door. Tess towelled herself dry and examined it with caution.
It was a gorgeous garment. It wrapped completely around her with heaps to spare and came down to her toes. The white towelling was absolutely plain except for a rich purple letter embroidered on the breast pocket.
‘D’.
D for Dalston?
If this was all a hoax then it was some elaborate setup, Tess decided. But...Charlie as an earl? Charles Cameron wasn’t like any earl Tess had ever met.
Tess made a silly face at herself in the mirror, grabbed a comb from her handbag and attacked her washed and tangled curls with force.
Yeah, well, exactly how many earls have you met before, Tessa Flanagan? she asked herself. Heaps and heaps? Or only one? An earl called Charlie. And he’s waiting for you at breakfast. So put some clothes on and go and find him.
Easier said than done. Her clothing had disappeared. Tess came cautiously out into her bedroom to find no sign of her baggage.
There was a pair of soft, fit-all slippers by the bed—also engraved with D. Tess slid them on and padded out into the hall. She was feeling stranger and stranger.
As if she really were in a harem.
‘Any minute now a slave or two will pop out, perfume me and cart me off to the master,’ she said grimly.
‘Hey, I’d like that!’
Tess swung around like a scalded cat. Charlie was standing at the door of the room opposite, dressed in a bathrobe identical to hers.
The master himself. And he’d heard what she had said.
Tess blushed scarlet from the toes up.
‘You don’t need a slave to perfume you. You look cuter than I do in that thing,’ Charlie complained, ignoring her blush. ‘It isn’t fair.’
She might look cuter—but Charlie looked staggeringly male. Charles might be wearing an identical bathrobe to Tessa’s, but on him it looked completely different. The robe only came to Charlie’s knees. His brown legs emerged beneath like solid trunks.
Because the robe didn’t have quite the capacity to wrap round Charlie’s much larger body, his chest was bare to the waist. His chest was tanned, muscled and coated with deep black hair—just like the hair on his head which, wet from his shower or bath, was clinging in damp tendrils across his brow. The strands were just touching the bruise across his eye. Tess hauled back on an almost irresistible urge to brush the strands back. To soothe the hurt...
Ridiculous! She kept her hands strictly to herself.
‘I...I couldn’t find my clothes.’
‘Nor I, mine. If I know Mary, we’ll get them cleaned and pressed whether we want them cleaned and pressed or not.’ Charlie grinned his slow, lazy smile that did funny things to Tessa’s insides. ‘Last time I came here I brought my Dnzabone—the coat I use for mustering cattle back home. It’s useful when I go up north and don’t want to stay indoors. Mary attacked it with force. When I got back to Australia, I was the only cattleman in the country wearing a Drizabone with a starched collar!’
Tessa’s strain eased as the image made her grin. Drizabones were standard wear for Australian farmers—huge, brown waterproof coats that were only valued after they’d been worn in by hard work and grime. To wash one was almost sacnlege. And to starch it...
Charlie chuckled with her and the strain eased some more.
There was a wonderful smell wafting from the end of the hall and Charles was leading her toward it. He held open the door for Tess to precede him, and she brushed against his long body as she passed. Towelling against towelling...
He was so big and so male and... And his feet and legs were bare. And the strain came flooding back! Tess was having all sorts of irrelevant thoughts about what would happen as those bare legs stretched upward...
Good grief! The way she was thinking she almost deserved to be a slave. And she was engaged to Donald!
She fought her mounting colour and tried to concentrate on what was before her. That wasn’t hard. The dining table was groaning under a pile of food.
The table itself was vast, built to seat a dozen or more. The room was ornate and gilt and...
‘And too damned formal for words,’ Charlie growled. ‘What’s wrong with the kitchen, Mary?’
‘You know you only use the kitchen when you come here by yourself,’ Mary told him. ‘Your uncle always uses... used... the dining room.’
‘Well, that’s one way I don’t have to follow in his footsteps.’ Charlie pushed open the double doors. Beyond the dining room lay a kitchen, warm and fragrant with cooking, the vast Aga stove along the far wall a welcome in itself. Infinitely more comfortable than the ornate dining room. ‘We’ll eat in here.’
‘But I’m baking bread.’
‘Then Tess and I will watch you bake as we eat. Not that you need to bake for weeks by the look of this lot.’ He lifted a plate from the table and sniffed m delight. ‘Singing hinnies. Mary, now I know I’m back.’
‘Home,’ Mary said softly. ‘You’re home, my lord. Where you belong.’
‘Mary...’
‘Your place is right here now,’ she told him and her voice grew a little stern, as though she were a nanny reminding a child of his duty. ‘You’re the Earl of Dalston now, my lord. Whether you like it or not.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘SO TELL me how you come to be an Australian earl?’ Tess asked over her second cup of coffee. To her surprise, she’d packed away another vast breakfast.
‘I told you you shouldn’t have eaten the airline breakfast,’ Charlie had told her as she’d looked at her loaded plate in dismay, but in the end it hadn’t made any difference at all. She had been making up for lost time. Now Mary had whisked herself off to supervise unpacking and they were left alone.
It felt weird. It was eleven in the morning and she was sitting in a bathrobe over breakfast with the Earl of Dalston.
With Charlie.
‘You’ve already figured it,’ Charlie told her. ‘My uncle died without issue.’
‘Issue?’
‘Kids.’ He gnnned. ‘Toe-rags. Noisy little blighters who spend all your money. My uncle could never abide them. Or women either. He romanticized marriage—he thought every man should have a wife—but he was too lousy to get one for himself. Even sharing the toothpaste would have made him wince.’
‘He and your father were brothers?’
‘Yep. They were as unalike as two men could be, but brothers for all that.’ Charlie poured himself another coffee and leaned back. ‘As soon as he came of age, Dad took his share of the family fortune and set himself up on a farm in Australia. He married my mom—an American girl—and my uncle decided then that we were completely beyond the pale. Dad died two years ago, without ever having come back to the old country.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’ Charlie smiled. ‘My father had a better life than my uncle ever had. He and my mom were very much in love. He died just a few months after she did, and neither of them regretted a thing about their lives. Except maybe not having more children.’
‘There’s only you?’
‘Yep.’
Tess nodded, thinking it through. ‘But... if your father hasn’t been back...how come you’ve been here?’
‘I was heir to the earldom,’ Charlie said simply. ‘My father always knew my uncle wouldn’t marry and my mom and dad taught me what to expect early. They sent me over to stay with my grandparents.’
‘Your grandparents?’
‘My grandfather was the eleventh earl,’ Charlie told her. ‘He died eight years ago. He and I were best of friends. It was only my uncle who couldn’t bear the thought that I’d inherit.’
‘Why?’
‘I broke a Dresden vase when I was nine years old.’ Charlie’s lazy grin flashed out again—magnetic and intense. ‘The dogs and I were chasing my uncle’s cat at the time. A fatter, lazier cat you’ve never seen and I let my grandfather’s hounds into the house, just to stir her. I don’t think my uncle ever forgave me. He thought I was a wastrel and a scoundrel. And totally useless at taking on responsibilities.’
‘And a wife is supposed to cure all that?’
Charlie’s eyes widened. ‘Of course,’ he said blandly. ‘How can it not? If you take me on, how can I help but turn into the epitome of steadiness and sober duty?’
‘It doesn’t sound much fun,’ Tessa said doubtfully, considering. ‘Steadiness and sober duty.’
‘With you it would be.’
‘Charlie...’ Tessa’s colour mounted again. ‘Don’t!’
‘Because of Donald?’
‘Yes, because of Donald,’ she snapped. ‘And a thousand other reasons. The idea is totally crazy.’ She pushed back her cup. ‘Now...I need to find my clothes.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I have an appointment this afternoon somewhere in Kensmgton. I don’t know where that is and I need to find it.’
‘It’s ten minutes’ walk from here.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, it depends whereabouts in Kensington, but fifteen minutes at the outside.’ Charhe’s eyes didn’t leave hers. ‘I can take you there if you need me.’
‘I don’t. Thank you.’ Good grief, she had to start being independent soon.
‘And you’re not going to tell me what the appointment is?’
‘There’s no need.’
‘No need to tell me?’
He was watching her with that calm kindness of his—the kindness that could be her undoing. The kindness that made her want to place all her cares on his broad shoulders. Which was ridiculous. She was an independent woman. Tessa’s mother had been ill for years and Tess had taken over family responsibilities early. She was a trained nurse in charge of a small hospital. She was competent to fight her own battles.
But, independent or not, maybe Charles Cameron deserved to be told why she was floundering here. After all, he was giving her free accommodation. Even Donald would tell her to be grateful.
So she told him.
‘I have an appointment with my sister’s lawyer,’ she said slowly, the pain in her voice impossible to conceal. ‘My sister and her husband died last week in a car crash just north of London. My sister’s husband is English and they lived here. The funeral was five days ago. I’ve just come over to...’ Her voice faltered to a halt.
‘To say goodbye?’ Charlie said softly and Tessa’s eyes flew to his face.
‘I suppose you think that’s stupid.’
‘I don’t think anything of the kind.’ Charlie’s large hand came over the table and gripped hers. And held. ‘When my grandfather died I was in America with my mom’s people and didn’t hear of his death for two weeks. My uncle saw no need to contact me. But when I heard...I had to come. Just to stand by his grave and say what I had to say.’
Tess blinked. And blinked again.
‘I’m not going to cry,’ she said.
‘No. Of course you’re not.’ Charlie cupped her chin in his fingers and tilted her face so she was looking at him. ‘You’re the bravest...’
‘I am not!’ Tess shoved her chair back and rose. ‘And if you keep this up, I will cry again and it serves you right if I do.’
‘I agree.’
‘I don’t want you to agree,’ she said crossly. ‘I want you to tell me I’m stupid like everyone else does.’
‘Like Donald? Does Donald tell you you’re stupid?’
She retreated and glowered and Charlie laughed and held up his hands in surrender.
‘Okay. Okay. I won’t sympathize any more and I won’t cast any nasturtiums at Dreadful Donald. Tell me why we’re going to see your sister’s lawyer.’
‘Not we.’
‘We,’ he said firmly. ‘Now I know for certain that you’re a damsel in distress, my hero instinct won’t be ignored. I refuse to let you battle lawyers on your own.’
‘I’m not battling...’
‘You always battle lawyers,’ Charlie said in a voice of sage experience. ‘Look at me. I’m marrymg to escape ’em.’
‘Charlie...’
‘Tell me.’
Tess took a deep breath and counted to ten, fighting for control. Fighting to ignore Charlie’s preposterous suggestion that she marry him.
‘I just need.. I need to find out where I stand with Ben,’ she said.
‘Ben? Another man?’ He was gently teasing, but Charlie’s eyes weren’t teasing. They were probing and intelligent and...
And knowing, Tess thought. As if he could see the trouble written across her heart.
‘Ben’s my nephew,’ she said stiffly. There was no laughter where Ben was concerned. ‘He’s three’
‘Christine’s child?’
‘Christine’s child.’
‘Oh, no.’ The trouble in Tessa’s face was mirrored in Charlie’s eyes. ‘He wasn’t hurt?’
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘He’s safe.’
‘And he’s with?’
‘His grandmother. Christine’s mother-in-law.’
‘I see.’ Charlie leaned back in his chair. ‘And you’re going to see the lawyers because—’
‘Because I need to know whether I can get access if Mrs Blainey refuses to let me see him,’ Tess said slowly, thinking it through as she spoke. ‘Mrs Blainey—my sister’s mother-in-law and Ben’s grandmother—didn’t want me to come. She says it’ll upset Ben. You see, Chnstine and I are twins. I look like...’
She faltered to a halt.
‘You look like Christine,’ Charlie finished for her. ‘But you’ve come anyway and you still want to see Ben. I can understand that.’
‘I can’t get any answers from the laywer over the phone,’ Tess said. ‘I’ve only been able to make an appointment with the junior partner in the firm—not with the lawyer who acts for Christine. He also acts for Mrs Blainey, you see. But if I see him...he’ll have to say whether I have a legal right to see Ben. ’
‘If he can’t then I have an excellent lawyer who can find out for us,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ll even put aside my aversion to lawyers in the cause.’ He rose and crossed to her, and before she could stop him he took both her hands and squeezed them together in his. ‘We’ll resort to his advice together. But before we revert to such drastic measures as bringing in more legal eagles, let’s see what we can do ourselves, Tess Flanagan. Together.’
Tess had been dreading her time with Christine’s lawyer. The junior who’d spoken to her on the telephone had been supercilious and condescending.
‘I’m sure Master Ben’s well taken care of, Miss Flanagan. Mr Walter Scott’s taking care of all the legal affairs of the estate. if you need any information, please write to this address.’
Mr Edward Scott, junior partner, had agreed to her request for an appointment with reluctance, and Tess had allowed herself two days in London in case of problems. She expected problems.
She hadn’t counted on Charlie.
Charlie at her side, dressed to face city lawyers, was a presence indeed.
Tess wore a simple linen suit, soft blue and pressed into looking its best by Mary’s careful ministration. Tess looked neat and presentable but not an imposing presence at all. Charlie made up for it.
Charles Cameron had stood out among the suits in business class in the aeroplane, and Tess had thought it was because he was wearing casual clothes. It was no such thing. In a dark, impeccably cut business suit, Charlie would turn Just as many heads as he had in his moleskins. After a couple of hours on her wonderful bed, Tess emerged from her blue bedroom to find him waiting for her, and the sight of him just took her breath away.
The bruise on his eye had darkened but it took nothing from his appearance. Rather, it heightened the impression of strength, as if he’d just come from battle—victonous.
‘You...you don’t have to do this,’ she managed, trying not to stare. ‘I can go by myself.’
‘I’ve put on a tie especially,’ he said reproachfully. ‘Don’t quibble.’
That was the only protest she was allowed to make. Tess subsided and didn’t quibble at all.
Scott, Scott and McPherson was a firm of lawyers of long standing. Henry drove Charles and Tess to a building steeped in history, and the worn brass plate outside said that whatever historic events had taken place here, Scott, Scott and McPherson had been around long enough to see them.
Tess took a deep breath, looking at the ancient stone lions guarding the portals. If this place had been purpose built to intimidate, it could scarcely have been more successful.
‘Gird your loins here, lass,’ Charlie said beside her.
‘Together we can conquer anything—even lawyers.’
‘What exactly does gird your loins mean?’ Tess asked carefully, and Charlie chuckled.
‘Whatever it is, I just bet you can’t do it in pantyhose. Just don’t let anyone push you around. I’m with you all the way.’ He thrust the double doors wide and ushered her inside.
Tessa’s reception was just as she had suspected it might be. Mr Edward Scott, junior partner, kept Tess and Charles waiting for twenty minutes in an outer waiting room that was as uncomfortable as it was austere. Finally he condescended to show them into his inner sanctum. His welcome was wintry. He sat them on two uncomfortable chairs and asked how he could help them in the tone of one who didn’t expect to help them one bit.
Tess introduced Charles simply as Charles Cameron—for heaven’s sake, what else was she to call him? The lawyer gave Charlie a long, assessing look, but Charles was keeping a low profile. He listened patiently while Tessa was effectively brushed aside as having nothing to do with her sister’s affairs.
‘As I told you on the telephone,’ Mr Scott junior explained yet again, ‘the estate is being looked after by Mr Scott senior and he’s in the north at the moment.’
‘But I’d like to see my nephew, and maybe have access to some of my sister’s things,’ Tess said meekly. ‘There are family things... Christine and I were twins and...’
‘All that will be sorted out when the estate is finalized. And as for having access, I believe Mrs Blainey has objected. She feels the family resemblance will unsettle the child.’
‘You don’t believe it might be good for Ben to know he has an aunt who loves him?’ Charlie asked diffidently, and the lawyer flashed him a look of disdain.
‘Mrs Blainey thinks not,’ he said flatly. It was said as a statement not to be argued with.
‘Well, I need to see Mrs Blainey face to face,’ Tess managed. ‘Christine gave me her telephone number some time ago, but I don’t have her address. Could you at least give me that?’
‘Mrs Blainey will give it to you if she sees fit. Telephone her and ask her.’
‘I have.’ Tess swallowed. ‘She won’t.’
‘Then there’s nothing more to be said.’ The lawyer rose. The interview, it seemed, was over. ‘I’m sorry, miss, if you’ve wasted your time coming to England, but I did warn you.’
‘Just a moment.’ Charlie hadn’t moved. Now he brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his immaculate trousers and searched for more. ‘We wish to see a copy of Mrs Blainey’s will,’ he said softly. ‘Now.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ The lawyer’s face showed astonishment. ‘Mrs Blainey’s not dead.’
Charlie sighed as if the man was being obtuse and gave up hunting for dust on his trousers. ‘I meant Mrs Blainey junior, of course. Christine. Tessa’s sister.’ He looked up and met the lawyer’s eyes and his face was implacable.
‘We have the right to see her will,’ he said flatly. ‘I understand Christine’s husband was killed instantly in the car accident and Christine died some twelve hours later. My lawyer tells me that anything her husband left her is therefore Christine’s to dispose of. As Tessa is Christine’s twin sister and Christine was a widow at the time of her death, it appears reasonable to believe something may be left to Tessa. The will was lodged in this office. We wish to see it.’
And he went back to dusting his trousers.
The lawyer stared down at Charlie for a long moment—and then he cleared his throat. All of a sudden he was uncomfortable. ‘I believe Mr Scott Senior has taken the documents north with him,’ he said.
‘But you knew Miss Flanagan was coming here today.’ There was an iciness in Charlie’s voice that Tess hadn’t heard before. His eyes swept up to meet the lawyer’s. His look was flint and steel. ‘Find her a copy,’ he said. ‘Now.’
‘I don’t believe we can...’
‘You can,’ Charlie said. ‘If Mr Scott senior, removed the only copy of the will when he knew Christine’s sister was due here today, then he’s been irresponsible to say the least. It’s two on a Tuesday afternoon. I imagine Mr Scott senior is somewhere near a telephone. Contact him and get the will faxed here. We’ll wait for as long as it takes.’
‘I don’t know whether I...’
‘We’re waiting,’ Charlie said inexorably. ‘Do it.’
‘May I ask what role you have here?’ the lawyer demanded, trying desperately to regain ascendancy. He stared at Charlie down his long, thin nose. His lawyer’s stare was intended to disconcert but Charlie simply stared blandly back. Undeterred, the lawyer continued. ‘I didn’t catch your name. I believe if this is no business of yours then I must ask you to leave.’
‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ Charles said softly. ‘I don’t know what game you’re playing here, sport, but I don’t intimidate as easily as that.’ He rose and placed a hand on Tessa’s shoulder. Pressed down with fingers that caressed as well as pressured. Sending tingles straight down to her toes and back again. But Charles was handing over his business card to the lawyer.
‘This is who I am,’ he said brusquely. ‘Tessa’s my affianced wife. We flew in together from Australia this morning and we intend to get some answers. And we want some answers. Now!’
Tess opened her mouth to speak—but no words came. Charles’ hand on her shoulder was urgently insistent and the sensation from his fingers was numbing all by itself. Sit back and say nothing, the hand said, and Tessa’s objections to what he’d just told the lawyer remained unvoiced.
The lawyer wasn’t watching Tessa to see her astonishment. He was astonished enough himself. He glanced down at Charlie’s business card and his jaw dropped a foot.
‘Lord Dalston... You’re Lord Dalston?’ His voice was frankly incredulous. Another glance at Charlie and he appeared to change his mind. Disbelief faded. Charlie’s bearing was every inch the aristocrat. ‘I’m sorry, but...’ He could barely stammer. ‘Lord Dalston...’
‘That’s the one,’ Charlie said pleasantly. ‘And I have lawyers of my own. One of whom I contacted this morning to find out Tessa’s rights. We’re entitled to see the will, so run along and fetch a copy, my lad, or I’ll have to instigate proceedings of my own. I don’t know what delaying tactics Mrs Blainey senior has instructed your firm to use, but I’m quite sure they’re illegal. Tessa’s time in this country is short and if you waste it, then we’ll sue for costs and for any unnecessary emotional hardship it might entail.’ His lips twitched mto a curve. ‘And believe me, I’m just the person to help her do it.’
Charlie sat down again, his hand still warm on Tessa’s shoulder, and he smiled up at the lawyer with a smile that Tess could only describe as dangerous. He crossed his legs, as though he was prepared to wait for what he needed—but not for very long. Not for very long at all.
‘How did you know when my sister died?’ It was all Tess could do to get her voice to work and it came out a squeak.
‘I was curious,’ Charlie told her blandly. The lawyer had left them alone and Tess had turned to Charles in astonishment. ‘While you were having your nap after breakfast, I did some research. It wasn’t hard to find the names of a couple killed in a motor accident a week ago. The details were in all the papers, including the fact that your sister died in a coma twelve hours after her husband.’
‘I see.’ Tess swallowed. ‘Does that make a difference?’
‘It might,’ Charlie told her. ‘Let’s wait and see.’ He frowned. ‘I’m beginning to think the will might be interesting. They’re going to such pains to keep it from you...’
‘They’re not keeping it. They’ve just taken it north...’
‘But why?’ Charles frowned. ‘That’s unusual. The original of a will should be kept in lawyers’ vaults and only copies taken out of the office. Tess, would Mrs Blainey know you couldn’t afford more than one tnp to England?’
‘She might,’ Tess said doubtfully and then firmed. Her head was finally starting to work again. ‘Yes, she would. Christine always bemoaned the fact that I couldn’t afford to come over for the wedding or come and visit her’
‘So...if she wants to keep you from Ben, or whatever the will says you’re entitled to, why not keep the will from you until after you return to Australia? That way, hopefully, you couldn’t return to stake your claim.’
‘But...why on earth would she do such a thing
’
‘Let’s wait and see what’s in the will.’
It took Scott junior only ten minutes to get a copy of Christine’s will. How he did, Tess neither knew nor cared. She took the document from the lawyer’s hands and there was a long silence as she read through to the end.
When she finished, Tessa’s face turned as white as chalk. She looked up at the lawyer. ‘But this says...’
‘I know what it says,’ the lawyer said heavily. ‘Mrs Blainey intends to appeal.’
‘May I see?’ Charlie leaned over and lifted the will from Tessa’s nerveless fingers. He read it through to the end. And whistled.
‘Good grief!’
Tessa closed her eyes. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she said faintly. ‘Why would Christine do something like this?’
‘She must have had her reasons,’ Charlie said softly. ‘But whether you ever know what they are or not, you have some serious thinking to do.’ He lifted the document and read aloud.
‘In the event of my husband predeceasing me, then I bequeath all my worldly goods to my son, Benjamin, these possessions to be held in trust solely by my sister, Tessa Flanagan, to be used and administered at her sole discretion until Ben reaches twenty-one years of age. And, also in the event of my husband’s death, I leave Ben’s guardianship to my sister and ask that she take sole care of him.’ Charlie paused.
Tessa was almost speechless. She shook her head, trying to clear the fog. ‘Is it... Is this legally binding?’
‘Mrs Christine Blainey didn’t use our services to draft the will,’ the lawyer said, in a tone that spoke of severe disapproval. ‘If she had, we would have advised her most strongly against such a course of action. She lodged it with us in a sealed envelope. Clearly her husband’s intention was not that all his possessions pass away from the family.’
‘They’re not passing from the family,’ Charlie objected. ‘They’re passing to his son.’
‘But they’re movmg out of his mother’s control.’
‘Is that such a crime?’
‘I believe Mrs Blainey thinks so.’ The lawyer hesitated and then relented a little. ‘Mrs Blainey’s a very determined lady.’
‘I imagine she must be.’ Charlie looked across at Tessa, his eyes speculative. ‘Well, Tessa, what are you going to do about this?’
‘Will Mrs Blainey fight the will?’ Tess asked. ‘Are there grounds?’
The lawyer looked from Charlie to Tessa and back again. Clearly he was coming to a decision. When Tess and Charles had walked into the room, this man had been loyal to a fault to the unknown Mrs Blainey. Now though... The lawyer’s loyalties were shifting before their eyes, and Tess wondered just how much that had to do with Charlie’s magic title.
‘I believe her only grounds for legal action are that her son would not have wished Miss Flanagan to care for her grandchild,’ the lawyer conceded. ‘Her son’s will didn’t mention guardianship at all, but...’
The lawyer paused. Warring loyalties were plainly written on his face. Another glance at Charles and his mind was made up. ‘I believe...if Mrs Blainey has the care of her grandson for a lengthy time, then she can apply to the courts for custody, saying it’s in the child’s best interests to stay with her long term. That hardly holds true now as the child’s been with her for only a week, but it may be her idea in refusing access now.’
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