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Lovers Touch
PENNY JORDAN


Penny Jordan needs no introduction as arguably the most recognisable name writing for Mills & Boon. We have celebrated her wonderful writing with a special collection, many of which for the first time in eBook format and all available right now.Lady Eleanor de Tressail was simply mortified.Bad enough that before his death, her old-fashioned grandfather had ensured that their impoverished estate wouldn't have to be sold–by arranging her marriage. But to Joss Wycliffe of all people–the self-made millionaire who despised her!Mistaking Nell's shyness for aristocratic disdain, Joss contemptuously told her that he was marrying her only for her social status. He never suspected that icily untouchable Nell loved him desperately. Her wounded pride kept her from revealing her true feelings.Particularly when Joss's jealous secretary did her best to widen the rift between them…












Lovers Touch

Penny Jordan







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Table of Contents


Cover (#u5b23d9e8-e488-59ad-885a-e00b921fc4f1)

Title Page (#ue728d17e-f507-5f4e-9955-aa483a93f4a2)

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE (#u57b84373-d697-59b5-85a8-627980b55ca3)


‘IS THAT the bride? Where on earth did she get that dress?’ Grania demanded disparagingly. ‘Honestly, Nell, if Gramps had known what you were going to do with this place when he left it to you, he’d have had forty fits. It’s so …’ she wrinkled her small nose ‘so …’

‘Enterprising?’ Nell suggested drily.

They were in the book-room. And the bride whose pretty white dress her stepsister had so disparaged was making her way on the arm of her groom beneath an archway of roses into the marquee that Nell and her small staff had spent the whole of the previous day putting up and organising.

‘Enterprising or not, I still say Gramps wouldn’t have approved. And you know it.’

That was the trouble. Nell did. Her grandfather had been one of the old school: a stiff, military gentleman, fiercely proud of the tradition of his family and its service to its country. Fiercely loyal to everything he believed in, and that included an old-fashioned and outdated belief that he owed a responsibility, not just to his immediate family, but also to the small village that nestled less than a mile away from Easterhay’s front gates.

The village had been there long before the first Hugo de Tressail had built his home there, but it had been under his auspices that the shabby collection of untidy dwellings had been superseded by his manorial hall, and the Norman church with its square tower that overlooked the gentle roll of the Cheshire plain.

In the small church itself, a tomb marked the burial place of that first de Tressail, his stone effigy lying at rest on top of it in the classic medieval pose. Alongside him lay his wife, a small dog curled at her feet.

She had been a Saxon Thane’s daughter, well born but poor, and it was supposed to be from her that every now and then throughout the generations a de Tressail woman would inherit her wheat-blonde Saxon hair.

Nell had it herself, a straight waterfall of pale straw which she privately thought colourless. She would much rather have had her stepsister’s more vivid colouring, with its inheritance of Latin ancestry.

‘I wish I’d known you’d got one of these dos on this weekend,’ Grania continued disagreeably. ‘I’d never have bothered coming down.’

‘Then why did you?’ Nell asked her calmly.

At first sight many people dismissed her as timid and withdrawn, but Nell had her own quiet strengths, her own firmly held beliefs and, so some people considered, more than a touch of her grandfather’s notorious stubbornness.

‘I need an advance on my allowance,’ Grania told her curtly. She saw Nell’s face and said sharply, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t look so po-faced. Joss won’t mind …’

‘Maybe not, but I don’t like you taking money from him,’ Nell told her stiffly.

‘Why ever not? He is our trustee and it is our money, although I’ll never understand why Gramps insisted on leaving everything tied up so stupidly. An allowance until I marry … then a small lump sum. I’d rather have the whole lot now, and I’ve a good mind to tell Joss as much.’

‘No, don’t do that.’

Nell spoke more sharply then she had intended. Outside, the last few remaining guests had gone into the marquee. She had been rather surprised at the success of her small venture into commercialism, although as yet it was true that she had not made much of a profit, barely enough to pay the wages of the staff, in fact; but it was a start. A first small step on the road to independence …

She and Grania were so different, and not just in looks. Grania had the fiery temperament of her Italian parents, Nell’s stepmother and her first husband, and she also had her careless, insouciant attitude towards money.

Her success as a model should have made it possible for her to earn more than enough to live on, and not need the small allowance Nell’s grandfather had organised for her, but Grania had never seemed to realise exactly what their financial situation was. For all her sophistication—and she was sophisticated, far more so than Nell herself, who was three years her senior—she had appeared to have no idea that the allowance she spoke of so glibly came not from their grandfather’s estate, but from Joss Wycliffe’s own pocket.

But, most shamingly of all, Nell knew that if she were to tell Grania the truth, she would not feel in the least mortified but would probably make some mocking quip about Joss being able to afford to pay her ten times as much as he did … which of course was true.

There had been a time, some months before her grandfather’s death, when Nell had wondered if Joss’s constant visits to Easterhay were perhaps because he hoped to make Grania his wife. It had seemed the only explanation for the unlikely relationship which had sprung up between her grandfather and the man who had no compunction at all about saying that he had clawed his way up virtually from the gutter to achieve the multi-millionaire status he now had.

He had moved into the area three years ago, buying a house on the opposite side of the village. Nell had heard the gossip about him before he moved in, but had scarcely expected that her grandfather would make a close friend of him, not for any snobbish reasons, but simply because her grandfather was a very reserved man, with few friends and the kind of sharp tongue that made people view him askance.

And if it hadn’t been for that fateful fall, she doubted if Gramps would even have met Joss.

Despite his age, and the handicap of a severe wound incurred during the action that had earned his KBE, her grandfather had always insisted on walking the five-mile perimeter of the parkland every morning after breakfast. The morning he first met Joss, just after the younger man had moved into the village, it had been frosty, and despite Nell’s protests Sir Hugo had insisted on going out, taking with him the German pointer that was his favourite companion. He had been seventy-eight then, crusty and irascible; and Nell had loved him desperately. He was virtually the only family she had.

There was Grania, of course, but she and her stepsister had never been close. Grania had been with her mother and Nell’s father at the time of the horrific road accident in Italy which had robbed Lucia de Tressail of her life, and reduced Nell’s father to a speechless, bedridden form who never regained consciousness. He had survived his father by a matter of days, never knowing that he had inherited the earldom, and died before Nell had taken in the shock of her grandfather’s death. Grania had rung from Italy to break the news, saying, ‘It’s quite convenient in a way. That hospital must have been dreadfully expensive, and it wasn’t as though poor Daddy knew anyone, was it?’

Grania had been taken in by the Italian relatives her mother and Nell’s father were on their way to visit. Nell had not accompanied them on that trip, primarily because someone had to remain at home with her grandfather. Naturally, when the news came through of her stepmother’s death and the full extent of her father’s injuries, it had been to her grandfather and Easterhay that she had turned.

Easterhay had been her home for as long as she could remember. Her father, an army man like his father and grandfather before him, had brought her there when she was little more than a few weeks old, leaving her in the care of his father and unmarried aunt.

His wife, Nell’s mother, had died at Nell’s birth and she had grown up here at Easterhay, unknowing of how out of date her grandfather’s mode of life was, because she had never experienced anything else.

She had been five when her father had remarried, but because of his overseas postings Nell had been eight years old before she had ever been able to spend anything more than a brief holiday with her father and new stepmother.

Lucia had tried to be kind to her; she was naturally warm-hearted, Nell recognised; but she, a child reared by a crusty retired general and his maiden sister, had shrunk from Lucia’s attempts to embrace and mother her, both literally and metaphorically. A shy, withdrawn child, she had grown up into an equally withdrawn adult, quite happily giving up her job in London to come home and nurse her grandfather when her aunt died, and Gramps announced that she would have to return home to take up her aunt’s duties.

She had been just twenty then, and that had been over four years ago. Four years during which she had been forced to mature abruptly, once she realised how precariously balanced her grandfather’s finances were.

The care of his son had eaten into his last small reserves of cash, and now with Gramps himself dead and the ominous threat of double death-duties hanging over Easterhay, Nell had no idea how on earth she was going to keep her promise to her grandfather.

Deathbed promises were like something from Dickens, she told herself as she watched her efficient staff close the entrance to the marquee. In a few mintues she would have to go down and preside over the buffet. No matter how much Grania might choose to deride today’s bride, her parents had still paid and paid well for their daughter to have her wedding reception here in Easterhay’s beautiful parkland, and the pride Nell had inherited from her grandfather, the sense of duty which living with him had instilled in her, would not allow her to do less than her very best for anyone.

‘Promise me you will keep Easterhay,’ Gramps had demanded almost with his last breath, and she, tears in her eyes and clogging her throat, had agreed.

But she still had no idea how that promise was going to be kept.

Oh, she was doing what she could … These weddings brought in a small income, kept the staff busy and paid, and also allowed her to give much needed weekend work to some of the youngsters from the village.

There was also her plan to take in weekend guests, but first some of the bedrooms needed to be renovated. She could hardly expect people to pay to use the one cold and very draughty bathroom installed on both of the two bedroom floors. Deftly she added up her small profit, wondering if she could manage to get three more bathrooms installed by Christmas. She had the workforce to do it … Gramps had insisted on keeping on a large staff even though there was little enough for them to do, other than to try to continually repair the fabric of the house as best they could.

Peter Jansen, the estate carpenter, had made the tables for inside the marquee. Harry White, the gardener, had supplied the flowers and helped her make the decorative arrangements. Mrs Booth, the cook/housekeeper, had organised the food, all of them only too glad to be doing something to lift a little of the burden from Nell’s shoulders.

Once, they and their children would have found well-paid work in Manchester or Liverpool, but those days were gone. Work wasn’t easy to come by anywhere now, and scarcely a week went by without Nell being asked if it was possible for her to find a job for ‘our Jane’ or ‘our Robert’ …

It was true that the staff lived relatively cheaply and well in the row of cottages owned by the estate, but the cottages were in need of repair, and Nell had no idea how on earth she was going to manage to finance her wages bill once it was winter.

It had occurred to her that she could always hire out the ballroom for private dances, but how many times? This was a very quiet part of Cheshire not favoured by the wealthy, and there was very little demand for such affairs, especially with Chester and the very prestigious Grosvenor Hotel so close.

Weddings were different, and there could be no better setting for a summer wedding than the parkland of Easterhay, with the house itself as a backdrop, sunlight reflecting on the ancient leaded windows set into their stone mullions.

It had been a Jacobean de Tressail who had added the impressive frontage and extra wings to the original house. One wing connected to the stable block, the other via a covered walkway to the orangery, now sadly denuded of its glass and in a state of disrepair.

‘I must go out and check on how thing are going …’

‘Do they pay extra for having the “Lady of the Manor” serve them?’ Grania asked her with a sneer. ‘They should do.’

Nell lost her temper with her. She had been under a constant strain since her grandfather’s death, and although she sympathised with her stepsister, she couldn’t stop herself from saying tartly, ‘You shouldn’t sneer at them, Grania, since it’s people like the Dobsons who have the commodity you seem to covet. They’re extremely wealthy.’

Compunction swamped her when she saw the way that Grania’s eyes filled with tears.

‘There’s no need for you to be so horrid to me, Nell,’ she complained tearfully. ‘It’s not my fault that I hate being poor. Mama always said that …’

She broke off and bit her lip, and Nell guessed that she had been about to say that her mother had always told her that the de Tressail family was a wealthy one.

Sighing faintly, Nell dragged her attention away from the wedding and turned to her stepsister.

‘Gramps always liked to pretend that there was more money then there was. His pride wouldn’t allow him to admit how bad things were. And then, when Dad died … the death-duties …’ She saw Grania’s mutinous face and reflected that, in her way, her stepsister was as stubborn as her grandfather.

‘You must have noticed just from the house how bad things are, Grania,’ she counselled gently.

‘I thought it was just Gramps being mean. You know how he was … if things are that bad why on earth don’t you sell this place? It would fetch a fortune. It’s not fair!’ she burst out passionately. ‘Why should Gramps have left it all to you? It should have been split between us …’

Nell stared at her, her heart sinking. She knew these temperamental moods of Grania’s of old, and winced mentally at the thought of the fiery outburst to come. Why was it that her stepsister always made her feel like such a pale shadow, a mere reflection when contrasted with her own glowing, brilliant colour?

Her stepsister had so many advantages … She was young, beautiful, intelligent … She had an excellent career, every advantage, and yet still she resented Nell. And why? Because she had inherited Easterhay.

Nell bit down on her bottom lip, gnawing at it, worrying at it as she tried to find words tactful enough to explain the reasoning behind their grandfather’s decision.

Grania and Gramps had never got on. Gramps had never really approved of his son’s second marriage, and he had been even less pleased when he’d learned that his second wife already had a child from a previous marriage. Where was the grandson who would inherit the title? Where was the next Sir Hugo? he had demanded when the new bride announced that she didn’t want any more children. That had shocked him, Nell knew, and he had never really forgiven Lucia for not providing an heir for Easterhay.

In her grandfather’s eyes, Nell knew, Grania was not a de Tressail, and that was one of the reasons he had left Easterhay itself solely to Nell.

Now that title would go to Nell’s son … always supposing she had one. Always supposing she met a man willing to marry her and shoulder with her the problems of her inheritance.

At heart, she knew that Grania had a valid argument. The property should be sold either as a home to someone rich enough to afford it, or perhaps even to a developer. But Nell knew she would rather have torn out her own heart than agree to such a course of action. Perhaps after all there was more of her grandfather in her than she knew. Or perhaps it was simply conditioning … simply the fact that she had been brought up to put Easterhay and all that it stood for before herself and her own needs and desires.

Whatever the case, she knew that her grandfather had left her Easterhay because he saw her as its custodian, that to him she was little more than a trustee holding the house and its lands for the future. But could she hold it?

She had no idea … but she meant to try.

Trying was one thing, succeeding was another. Her initial approaches to the National Trust on the advice of her solicitor had proved fruitless. If Nell only knew of the houses they were offered, but had to turn down; houses of far more national importance than Easterhay.

The trouble was that Easterhay was too large to be run as home without wealth to support it, and yet too small to be developed in the way that some of the more well known National Trust houses had been.

And so it was down to her to find a means of keeping the estate going, to use what skills she had to bring an income into the bank account, with perilously little in it, to cover the looming death-duties.

She was doing what she could. These weddings that paid so well but demanded so much …

Perhaps next year they might even invest in buying their own marquee—that would save money in the long run, and …

As always when money worried at her mind, she became totally engrossed in the problems of maintaining the house, and it took Grania’s sharp voice to bring her out of her mental financial juggling.

‘Well, if you won’t be reasonable, I’m sure that Joss will … He is here, isn’t he?’

‘If by here you mean in the village, then yes, I believe he is at home at the moment,’ Nell acknowledged stiffly.

Grania laughed, her angry mood lightening as she teased, ‘Poor Nell, you’ve never liked him, have you? Far too much the rough diamond for you, I suppose. I must say, though, that he does have a rather exciting aura of sexuality about him. I wonder what he’s like in bed.’

‘Grania!’ Nell protested, her face suddenly hot. It was true that she had always felt uncomfortable in Joss’s presence, but not because she didn’t like him—far from it!

‘Poor Nell,’ Grania pouted. ‘Honestly, you’re like something out of Pride and Prejudice. Sex does exist, you know. And so does sex appeal, and believe me, Joss has it by the bucketful. All that and money too …’ She closed her eyes. ‘Mmm …’ She opened them again and looked at her stepsister, saying tauntingly, ‘You haven’t the foggiest idea what I’m talking about, have you? You wouldn’t recognise sex appeal if it … Honestly, you’re archaic. I suppose you don’t even approve of me going to see Joss. You probably even think I should wait for him to get in touch with me. Poor Nell—you’ve no idea what you’re missing.’

Oh, but she had, Nell acknowledged painfully. She was all too well aware of what Grania described as Joss’s sexiness … She herself would have put it slightly differently, but in essence her stepsister was right. Joss had about him an animal quality of vitality and maleness that no woman could fail to be aware of. And Joss himself knew exactly what he had … and he used that knowledge ruthlessly.

He wore the beautiful girls who flocked around him as a hunter wore his trophies. He never seemed to be without some lissom beauty clinging to his arm, and was often photographed on the society pages of the newspapers with some scantily clad female clinging possessively to his dark-suited arm.

Nell often felt that they were deliberately posed, those photographs, for all their apparent artlessness; the girls were invariably blonde and frail, Joss invariably clothed in the dark formality of a business suit, his face in profile so that the hawlike, almost cruel harshness of his features was thrown into relief.

It was hard to imagine, looking at Joss today, that there had ever been a time when he had been forced to steal to get food … when his clothes had been little more than rags.

Now only the faint burr in his voice betrayed him, and even that was a deliberate policy, Nell was sure of it. He was an excellent mimic, and could quite easily have adopted the clipped, classless accent of her grandfather and his kind had he wished. But for some reason he didn’t choose to do so; for some reason, as she had good cause to know, he seemed to delight in forcing people to remember the life from which he had sprung.

Nell had once attended a local dinner party with her grandfather when Joss had almost shocked one of the female guests senseless by replying to her polite dinner-table queries about his life by telling her in graphic detail exactly what could happen to small children, both male and female, left to scavenge for a living on the streets of the country’s inner cities. He hadn’t minced his words and Nell herself had winced, not due to any distaste for the forthrightness of his speech, but for the vivid picture he was drawing.

Unfortunately he had misinterpreted her reaction, and had taunted her for it during the drive home.

It seemed that she and Joss were destined to be at loggerheads with one another, and now if Grania went to him to complain of the unfairness of Gramps’ will …

Nell could still remember the look on Joss’s face when the will was read; the tightening of his mouth that presaged anger; the hard, flat look in his eyes. Odd how well she could recognise every slight nuance of his moods. Or not odd at all, really … her stomach quivered and she suppressed the sensation as she had taught herself to suppress every similar sensation and emotion that dwelling on Joss brought.

‘Well, I’d better get a move on if I’m going to see Joss … I can take your car, can’t I?’

‘Grania, I’d rather you didn’t. I think he’s got visitors,’ Nell responded stiffly.

‘Visitors?’ Grania stared at her for a moment, and then burst out laughing.

‘You mean one of his women? Oh, he won’t mind me interrupting. He’s probably bored with her already, knowing Joss.’

‘Grania, I’d rather you didn’t talk about Joss’s private life like that,’ Nell interrupted her sharply.

She felt Grania turn to look at her, her stepsister’s gaze sharpening.

‘I don’t believe it,’ she said gleefully, after a moment’s pause. ‘I do believe you’ve actually fallen for him yourself! Oh, Nell … you fool. He’d never look twice at someone like you. He goes for the high-profile glamour types …’ She eyed Nell’s plain skirt and blouse contemptuously. Her stepsister was attractive enough in her own way—she had the most fabulous hair, and her oval face with its wide grey eyes and straight nose had a tranquil beauty which might be out of step with the times, but which was still very appealing.

The trouble with Nell was that she had no idea how to make the most of herself, how to package herself, so to speak. With a modern, voluptuous hair-style, fashionable clothes, heels to give her slim frame height and something fitted to show off her figure, she’d look a million times more appealing … but still not appealing enough to entice a man like Joss.

‘You’d be much better off with someone like David … How is he, by the way?’ Grania asked carelessly.

Personally she found the young solicitor who handled their grandfather’s business deadly dull, but he would do nicely for Nell, and he would be bound to want to persuade her to get rid of the house. That would suit Grania very well. Once the house was sold, Nell could hardly refuse then to split the proceeds between them. With her share … well, the world would be her oyster. She could travel … see things … do things … enjoy the freedom and excitement that she deserved, instead of having to pinch pennies and go cap in hand to Joss for more money.

‘Look, I must fly,’ Grania announced. ‘I’ve arranged for Terry to pick me up at four. We’re having dinner with some friends of his at Aux Quatre Saisons tonight.’

‘Terry?’ Nell queried.

‘You don’t know him,’ Grania responded brightly. ‘I met him at one of the shoots for the underwear commercial. He’s in television. By the way,’ she added mockingly, ‘you do realise, don’t you, that what you’re doing with the house won’t get you into Joss’s good books? He doesn’t approve at all …’

Grania’s taunt and its implied hint that she, Grania, was far more au fait with Joss’s opinions than her dull, boring elder sister, set a spark to the over-dry tinders of Nell’s temper. She had borne so much these last eight months; struggled so hard to keep her promise to Gramps; carried the dual burden of its responsibility and that of knowing their true financial position, which she was sure Grania did not. The allowance she talked about so glibly for instance … the money she believed Gramps had left her. That came from Joss, and it galled Nell more than anything else on earth that she was forced to keep silent, to accept his charity.

As her grandfather’s executor, he was well aware of the exact state of their finances, and probably had been beforehand.

It was odd in a way how much her grandfather had confided in him … how in those last few months, when it became apparent that he had not long to live, he had drawn strength from Joss’s presence … had even come to rely on him in a way that he had never relied on her. But to Gramps she was just a woman—a frail creature who need protecting and directing.

Joss was different. Joss was a man. During those last months he had called regularly two and sometimes three times a week, making time in what Nell knew must be a hectic schedule to come and play chess with her grandfather in the old-fashioned panelled library. Yes, there was very little about the de Tressail finances and the de Tressail family that Joss didn’t know.

Only the week before his death, still chuckling over some reminiscence of when Joss had described his roving teenage years when he had falsified his age and travelled the world working on the huge oil tankers, Gramps had claimed, ‘He’s cut out of the same cloth as the first Sir Hugo, is Joss. A man who makes his own rules. A bit of a rogue perhaps, but tough enough to hold on to what he considers to be his own. Strong enough to stick by what he believes in. I like him,’ he had added staring fiercely up at Nell, as though half expecting her to argue with him.

Now Grania’s taunt about Joss’s views on what she was trying to do to bring money into the estate infuriated her, and she responded fiercely, ‘Well, then, that’s just his tough luck, isn’t it? Easterhay belongs to me, and what I choose to do or not do with it is my business and no one else’s, especially not someone like Joss Wycliffe,’ she added with far more scorn in her voice then she really felt. The scorn in actual fact was for herself, for feeling hurt by Grania’s revelation that she and Joss had discussed her and Joss had revealed his disapproval. Although why she should feel so hurt, so let down …

‘Unfortunately, that’s not strictly true.’

The dry, controlled male voice shocked her, making her spin round, her hand going to her throat in an age-old gesture of self-protection.

‘Joss … I didn’t hear you come in,’ she said weakly, knowing that she was flushing to the roots of her pale hair … knowing the contrast she must make to Grania’s vivid dark beauty, Grania who had no hesitation at all in running lightly across the room and flinging herself into Joss’s arms.

Only she didn’t quite make it. He fielded her off very neatly just before she reached him, holding her at arm’s length while she pouted and eyed him with wicked flirtatiousness.

Oh, to be Grania and not her dull, boring self!

‘Joss, the very person!’ Grania exclaimed. ‘I need to talk to you desperately. How on earth did you know I was here?’

‘I didn’t,’ Joss told her flatly. ‘I came to see Nell …’

‘Oh, well, that can wait. Besides, Nell’s just about to go and do her boring duty by the wedding party. Honestly Joss, you ought to see the fright of a dress the bride’s wearing. Home-made, I’m sure …’ Chattering blithely, linking her arm through Joss’s she led him out of the room.

Nell watched them, her face shadowed with pain. What a striking couple they made, both so tall and dark. Joss lithely male in his casual clothes, the leather blouson jacket he was wearing so soft that it promised to feel like purest silk to the touch; Grania, dressed in something wildly fashionable and no doubt wildly expensive, while she …

She looked down at her serviceable tweed skirt and blouse. They were good-quality separates, but she had had them for about six years, and they had not been bought for fashion’s sake then. What on earth had prompted her to choose beige in the first place? Her aunt, of course. Aunt Honoria had strong views on the dress and manners of young women. Nell had been eighteen when those clothes had been bought. Just leaving college and starting her first job at the small publishers’ run by an old friend of her grandfather, and the clothes had been those Aunt Honoria had deemed most suitable for her business life.

Like everything else in her wardrobe, they had simply become things to put on so that she could get on with the business of living … dull and worthy, like herself.

The sound of Grania’s excited laughter floated back towards her. In the dimness of the corridor, she could just see how Joss’s dark head inclined slightly toward her stepsister’s, and a pain she knew she ought to have learned to control three years ago knifed through her.

Joss Wycliffe … the very last man on earth she ought to fall in love with. And yet she had … instantly … on sight … and without any chance of ever recovering from the blow that fate had dealt her.

It was just three years ago that she had first met Joss, and she would never forget that heart-stopping moment when she had come to the door in answer to its imperative summons and discovered Joss standing outside supporting her grandfather, who had fallen over and hurt himself while out for his walk.

Joss had been wearing brief running shorts and a singlet, his dark hair sweat—slick, but still inclined to curl slightly. He had been tanned, his skin like Grania’s, naturally far darker than her own.

The sight of him had totally overwhelmed her, and she had behaved, she suspected, like an idiot, staring at him as though she had never seen a man in her life before. Who knew what foolish dreams she might have started weaving in her head if Joss hadn’t looked at her and said coolly, ‘Yes. Shockingly disreputable, aren’t I, and hardly dressed to make the acquaintance of a lady?’ And he had stressed that last word unmercifully, making her colour up painfully.

And she had seen in his eyes his contempt and dismissal of her; had seen how totally unattractive as a woman he found her, and for the first time in her life she had truly appreciated her Aunt Honoria’s training. As she had gone on appreciating it ever since. If nothing else, it enabled her to act out the role life had designed for her: the unmarried, unattractive daughter of the house who knew her place; and to conceal from Joss exactly what effect he had on her, or so she hoped …




CHAPTER TWO (#u57b84373-d697-59b5-85a8-627980b55ca3)


BY TUESDAY the wedding marquee had been taken down, the tables and chairs packed away and the lawn restored to its normal pristine splendour.

Nell was sitting in the library, working on her accounts. She kept these meticulously, amused to discover that she had quite a talent for bookkeeping; but unfortunately, like all her other talents, it wasn’t enough to build a career on—at least, not the kind of career that would support a house like Easterhay. For that, one needed a business empire to rival Joss’s.

She looked again at her neat figures, her heart sinking. It didn’t matter how many corners she tried to cut, how many economies she made, she just wasn’t making enough money. Last weekend’s wedding had been the next to the last of the season. So far she had managed to keep on all the staff, but with winter approaching …

Her grandfather’s pension had died with him, and although Joss might have come to some arrangement with her grandfather to ensure that Grania had her allowance, Nell was damned if she was going to allow him to support her as well.

Outside, her car sparkled in the autumn sunshine. She ought to drive into Chester to collect some supplies. Her car was only two years old, an expensive model that she would never have dreamed of buying, but which her grandfather had insisted on giving her as a birthday present. Each time she looked at it, she mentally calculated how much she could get for it, but how could she sell Gramps’ last gift to her … a gift she was sure he could barely afford himself?

He had excused his generosity, saying testily that, since he was no longer allowed to drive, she would have to act as his chauffeur, and that he was damned if he was going to be driven about the place in one of those poky modern things.

But a Daimler … for someone in her financial position? She leaned back in the leather chair which had once been her grandfather’s. It was too large for her, and not very comfortable.

She closed her eyes tiredly, only to open them again in shock as she heard Joss saying tauntingly, ‘Finding the old man’s chair too big for you, Nell? Just like his shoes, eh?’

‘Joss! What are you doing here?’

She sat up, flustered that he should have caught her off guard. She was already all too well aware of the most comical contrast she must be to the women in his life … beautiful, expensively groomed women. She hated him seeing her when she wasn’t prepared.

‘It’s quarter day—remember?’

Quarter day … of course Her grandfather still had stuck by the old-fashioned calendar all his life, and he had left intructions in his will that every quarter day she was to present her household accounts to Joss, as first his wife and then his sister had once presented theirs to him.

‘Oh, yes, the accounts. Well, they’re all here.’

She got up tiredly, so that he could take her seat and study the books open in front of her. As she stood, her body reacted to its tiredness and she stumbled awkwardly, catching her hipbone on the corner of the desk. The impact sent a shock-wave of pain through her, making her catch her bottom lip between her teeth.

She saw Joss frown, the amber eyes flaming as they always did when he was annoyed. Of course, her clumsiness would be offensive to a man used to women who only moved with elegance.

‘You look as though you haven’t slept in a month, and you’re too thin,’ he told her brutally. ‘What the hell are you doing to yourself?’

‘Nothing,’ Nell countered, adding pettishly for some reason she couldn’t define, ‘I wish you wouldn’t allow Grania to believe that her allowance comes from Gramps’ estate, Joss. It makes it difficult for me.’

‘You know she believes this place should be sold and the proceeds split between you?’ he interrupted her.

Nell gripped the edge of the desk with slender fingers and agreed bleakly. ‘Yes.’

‘But of course your grandfather felt, as she isn’t a de Tressail by birth, that she should be excluded from inheriting from the estate. A court of law might very probably take a different point of view.’

Nell swallowed painfully. Was Joss telling her that he shared Grania’s view that Gramps had been unfair in not leaving the house to them jointly?

‘Gramps wanted the house to stay with the family. He hated the thought of it being sold.’

She had to blink back emotional tears and keep her face averted from him. She wasn’t like Grania, she couldn’t cry prettily. At Gramps’ funeral she had been too anguished to do anything more than simply watch in frozen silence. It had been Grania who wept, silent, pretty tears that barely touched her make-up, her head restling vulnerably against Joss’s chest.

She had watched them, telling herself she was a fool for the jealousy she felt. Joss would never look at her. In the three years she had known him, the only time he had come anywhere near embracing her had been the first Christmas. He had arrived at the house on Christmas Eve to see her grandfather. Nell had let him in and his eyes had gone briefly to the mistletoe hanging in the hall, and then to her mouth as he stepped inside. Even now she could still feel her pulses flutter dangerously at the recollection of that moment when she had known he was going to kiss her.

His mouth had been hard and warm and she had quivered in his arms, unable to hold back the sensations storming her. He had released her immediately, stepping back from her, and she was sure she had read derision in his eyes as her grandfather came into the hall to welcome him.

He had not touched her since, and she could hardly blame him. She was not his type of woman and she never would be.

‘I know,’ Joss told her drily. ‘One could almost say, in fact, that he was obsessed with it, to the point where the continuation of the de Tressail name and the family’s occupation of this house were more important to him than anything else. More important than you, for instance, Nell,’ he added cruelly.

‘Yes … he never really got over the fact that my father had no son,’ she agreed evenly, ignoring the look in his eyes.

‘Do you know what his plans were, had he remained alive?’ Joss asked her abruptly.

Nell looked at him. ‘Plans for what?’

‘For the continuation of the de Tressail family,’ Joss told her mockingly. ‘For your marriage, Nell, and the production of a great-grandson to carry on the name.’

‘He had no plans,’ Nell told him huskily, frowning as she saw the derision in his eyes. ‘Joss, the days are gone when families arranged marriages.’

‘Are they? Your grandfather was a desperate man, and desperate men do strange things. Six months before he died, your grandfather asked me if I would marry you.’

Nell was stunned, her white face giving away her feelings.

‘Surprised, Nell, that he should even consider such a marriage? With a self-made man like myself with no breeding or background; no family history stretching back for generation upon generation? But you forget one thing. I have one valuable asset: I’m rich … very rich. I have the money that Easterhay so desperately needs.’

Nell wasn’t listening. She swung round, her face in her hands as she murmured frantically, ‘How could he? Oh, how could he?’

‘Quite easily,’ Joss told her calmly. ‘To him, it was an almost ideal solution to your family’s problems.’

Beneath the weight of her shame and betrayal that her grandfather should humiliate her in such a way, she was desperately aware of how amused and contemptuous Joss must be. She was the very last woman he would want as his wife, and no doubt he was now going to enjoy letting her know it.

To stop him she said frantically, ‘The whole thing’s absurd. Poor Gramps. He was so ill towards the end that …’

‘His mind was as sound as yours or mine,’ Joss interrupted brutally,’ and you know it. What’s wrong, Nell? Having second thoughts now that you’re actually being called upon to make the ultimate sacrifice? It was all all right when you were playing at being the struggling Lady of the Manor, proudly trying to keep things going, but when a real solution to your problems presents itself, you flinch from taking it. No need to ask myself why, of course. I’ve no doubt that given your choice, you’d much rather have someone like Williams as a husband.

‘Unfortunately though, my dear, he has even less money than you do yourself, and you’d never keep this place going with what he earns as a country solicitor. Make your mind up to it, Nell. It’s either marry me or sell up.’

‘Marry you?’ Nell stared at him, her eyes dark with shock. ‘Joss, you can’t possibly be serious about this.’

‘Why not?’

‘But why? Why would you want to marry me?’

She missed the look he gave her.

‘How very modest you are,’ he said silkily after he had controlled it. ‘Surely it’s obvious, Nell? I’m a self-made man who’s made it financially in life, but, like all self-made men, I now want to crown my financial success with social acceptance. Not just for me, but for my children, especially my sons … my eldest son,’ he added meaningfully.

And then, in case she hadn’t understood, he added coolly, ‘Marriage to you will open doors which would otherwise have remained closed. Our son will inherit your grandfather’s title … Surely, Nell, you know how much men of my class yearn to become members of the aristocracy?’

She was sure he was mocking her. In all the three years she had known him, Joss had never once exhibited the slightest degree of envy for her grandfather’s social standing, and it stunned her to discover now that he was actually contemplating marrying her for the reasons he had just stated.

It was her grandfather’s fault, of course. He was the one who had initially put the idea in his head, but Joss had obviously not been slow to pick it up.

Unless, of course, he was simply making fun of her, constructing a hugely elaborate joke at her expense. Her common sense told her this was hardly likely.

‘Joss, I can’t marry you,’ she protested, struggling to deny the emotions churning inside her. Our son ̣. our son … the words seemed to reverberate inside her head, until she couldn’t hear anything else. In those two words, he had conjured up such an enormity of complex emotions and sensations within her that she could barely accommodate them all. To have a child by this man whom she loved so desperately. To live with him here in this house. To be his wife … but she was allowing herself to be swept away into a fantasy world.

Joss wasn’t talking about marriage as she envisaged it; he was talking about a coldly calculated business arrangement; a marriage that would have no emotions, no feelings, no love, and that would be nothing other than a mere exchange of assets. His money for her title and home.

It happened, of course it happened, even in these enlightened times, but not to her … never to her.

‘It was what your grandfather wanted, Nell,’ he warned her. ‘An ideal solution to a problem which never ceased to worry him.’

How dared he add to her guilt? He knew what he was doing to her by telling her that, although she didn’t doubt for a moment that he was telling the truth and that her grandfather had seen it as an ideal solution to their financial problems.

‘I can’t,’ she whispered painfully.

‘No …? Then I’m afraid you leave me no choice. As Grania’s trustee, I really have no alternative but to support her claim to half of your grandfather’s estate. In the courts, if necessary. Of course, if we were married, I’ve no doubt I could come to some suitable arrangement with Grania … a lump sum in lieu of what she considers due to her …’

Nell stared at him in disbelief and then whispered frozenly, ‘That’s blackmail.’

The dark eyebrows rose, and her mouth trembled as much with anguish as with anything else.

‘These days we call it gamesmanship … the art of being one step ahead of your rival.’ He flicked back the cuff of the jacket he was wearing. ‘I’ve got to be back in London this evening, and I shan’t be back until the early hours. I’ll come over in the morning, Nell. You can give me your answer then,’ he told her, ignoring her protest that he already had it.

He had no mercy … no mercy at all, Nell acknowledged half an hour later. She was huddled over the empty fire, her grandfather’s dog at her knee.

The pointer had been a birthday gift from Joss to Gramps, and with the loyalty of her breed had attached herself to him devotedly. She had pined after his death, and although Nell walked her and fed her she came way down the list in the pointer’s affections. She was a man’s dog, and never failed to place herself at Joss’s feet whenever he came to visit. It was unusual for her to show such affection to Nell, but today, sensing her despair, she had come to sit beside her and Nell welcomed the warmth of her body, hugging her in her arms as she rocked slowly to and fro, trying to come to terms with Joss’s proposal.

Even now she could hardly take it in. Joss wanted to marry her, and how brutally he had made sure that she was not likely to harbour any illusions about the reasons behind his proposal.

He didn’t want her … No, what he wanted was her home … her name … her family title … for his son … their son … And he had made no apology for wanting them either; but then, why should he? To Joss, everything in life was a commodity with a price on it. The price of the gift he wanted to give his son was marriage to her. It was as simple as that.

The phone rang abruptly, making her jump. It was the vicar’s wife, reminding her that she was bringing the Young Wives up to the house to tour round the greenhouses later in the week.

If only there was someone she could turn to for advice and counsel. Her closest friend throughout her schooldays was now married, with a busy household, her husband being a doctor. They lived near Cambridge, and as well as her own baby girl there were also two older children from Robert’s first marriage. It hadn’t been easy for her friend to make the decision to take on a widower with two young children, and there had been many long telephone calls between Liz and Nell before Liz had finally decided to commit herself to Robert.

Now she was blissfully happy, and fully deserved to be, and yet for all the confidences they had shared over the years, Nell had never told her how she felt about Joss. Perhaps she had hoped that by keeping silent she could somehow pretend that those feelings didn’t exist?

But they did, and today Joss had scoured her soul by what he had said to her; by the ruthlessness he had displayed; by his total lack of any consideration of her own feelings.

How could she possibly marry him? And yet, how could she not …? She had promised Gramps that she would do everything in her power to hold on to Easterhay; how could she live with herself if she refused to honour that promise?

It was easy to tell herself that her grandfather was the product of a different age, that her promise need not be kept … that no one would blame her for refusing Joss, bearing in mind his reasons for marrying her. It should be the easiest thing in the world for her to simply say ‘No’, but she couldn’t. Conscience … pride … or just sheer, stubborn love for her home and her family … She didn’t really know which, or if it was a combination of all three. Or even perhaps if she had inherited more from her reckless ancestress then just her blonde hair, and, for the first time in her life, was actually going to throw herself blindly into the arms of fate.

The morning papers brought in the shocking realisation that Joss wasn’t leaving anything to chance. There was a photograph of him prominently displayed on the society page of The Times, and underneath the caption, ‘Millionaire entrepreneur Joss Wycliffe announces that he is shortly to be married. The bride is not Naomi Charters, the actress whom he has currently been escorting, but the daughter of an old friend, Lady Eleanor de Tressail. The couple will marry within the next few months.’

Nell sat down at the breakfast-table, feeling faintly sick. How dared Joss take her acceptance for granted like this! He wasn’t allowing her anything … no pride, no compassion … nothing.

She pushed away her bowl of cereal and reached for the coffee-pot, her hand trembling.

There was a large pile of mail beside her plate, and it contained far too many ominous buff envelopes. She picked up the top one, her heart sinking as she recognised the familiar Inland Revenue stamp. When she opened it her heart sank even further.

It was a reminder that there were still death-duties to be paid, and the sum seemed astronomical. On the other side of the panelled dining-room was a lighter piece of panelling where a Gainsborough had once hung. It had been sold when her grandmother died. Now there was nothing more to sell … Other than herself … She shivered tensely. Dear God, why on earth couldn’t Joss have at least tried to make it easy for her … at least pretended to feel something for her, even if they both knew it was a pretence? This way … this way … he was making sure that she knew exactly what it was he wanted out of their marriage, and it wasn’t her.

The phone rang, and she knew before she picked it up that it would be Joss.

She was right; his clipped, slightly accented voice was abrasive on her ear.

‘I’m coming over at twelve, and I’ve arranged for Williams to be there at one. There’ll be certain legal arrangements to be made and I thought you’d want him there, seeing as he’s your solicitor …’

He was moving too fast. Bullying her … pushing her in a direction she wasn’t sure she wanted to go; but when she tried to protest he hung up on her. She could picture him without even trying. He would be standing in his study, an anonymous square room, which like the rest of his house looked more like an expensive hotel than a home.

He would probably be wearing one of those fine Savile Row wool suits in some dark, formal fabric. Joss liked good clothes and he wore them well, but nothing could totally disguise what her grandfather had described as his buccaneering quality; that arrogant maleness that no amount of city suiting could tame.

His dark hair would be lying flat to his skull, thick and clean, his mouth curled into that thin, taunting smile he gave her so often; nothing like the smile he gave other women.

She got up unsteadily and called to the dog, Heicker. She came to heel obediently. Joss had trained her.

Outside it was one of those crisp September days when frost and the scent of woodsmoke mingled in the air and the sky was a clear pale blue with the sun dappling yellow and bright through the turning leaves.

Deliberately Nell avoided walking past the greenhouses and the stables which had once housed her grandfather’s hunters. She herself liked to ride, but she did not enjoy hunting other than for its pageantry. She was too squeamish, too conscious of the purpose for which the hounds were bred, and as a teenager she had always drawn a sigh of relief when the day ended without the fox being caught.

Her grandfather had had no such qualms, of course. To him, fox were vermin and hunting a sport. Right up until his death, the local hunt had started their Boxing Day meet at Easterhay. The traditional stirrup cup prepared in the kitchen for the huntsmen came from a recipe supposedly brought back from France by a de Tressail who had been exiled there by Henry VII and whose French wife was supposed to have been connected to the powerful de Guise family, uncles of Mary Stuart through her French mother. Whatever its true origins, it went down well with the huntsmen. She wondered if Joss would want to continue the tradition. Did he hunt? she wondered. Certainly not from birth as her father and grandfather had done, but at some point or other in his life Joss had taken enough time away from making money to acquire a sophisticated degree of polish.

Despite Joss’s taunts, Nell was no snob. Although he didn’t seem to realise it, she admired Joss for what he had achieved, and her doubts about the wisdom of marrying him had nothing to do with the fact that he had been born in a Glaswegian slum and she in an expensive private nursing home.

Twelve o’clock, he had said … it was gone ten now. And then David arriving at one … He was determined to make her agree, then. Even to the extent of involving the family solicitor. Poor David, how little he understood the Josses of this world. Nell suspected that David was terrified of Joss, although he hid it beneath a stiffly formal manner more suited to a man of fifty-odd than one of twenty-six.

Like her, David had been brought up in an old-fashioned tradition, knowing almost from the cradle that he was destined to succeed his father as a country solicitor. There had been a time when she had wondered if she might fall in love with him. But that had been before she saw Joss.

For some reason she couldn’t entirely analyse herself, she chose to wait for him, not in her grandfather’s library, the room with which she was most familiar in the house, but in a small, north-facing sitting-room which three centuries before had been the preserve of the ladies of the family, and which was now never used, as testified to by the fine film of dust on the small French escritoire. She touched it idly, admiring the delicate marquetry work. This desk had been part of the dowry of the family’s second French bride, Louise, a shy, prim-looking child of fourteen who had died giving birth to her first child, and whose portrait hung next to that of her husband in the long gallery.

The air in the room was faintly musty. A distinct chill penetrated through Nell’s thin blouse, and when she saw Joss drive up she shivered violently, hugging her arms around her body.

He wasn’t in his Rolls, but driving the Aston Martin. Its rich plum paintwork went well with his dark colouring, she noted idly, as after swinging long legs from the car, he straightened up and closed the door.

Even the way he moved had a certain animal assurance; no hesitation or doubts there, Nell reflected wryly as he walked towards the main entrance looking neither to his left nor his right, his head not downbent as so many people’s were when they walked, but tilted at an arrogant angle.

Anyone not knowing him would think he was more at home here in this house than herself, Nell acknowledged.

Her grandfather’s staff were old-fashioned and set in their ways, and she knew that Johnson, who had been her grandfather’s batman and then his valet, and who was now supposed to be retired, but who had begged her to allow him to stay on at the house, rather than retire to the estate cottage her grandfather had left him, would insist on announcing Joss formally to her before allowing him admittance to the room.

Against one wall of the small room, painted to pick out the soft colours of the faded blue silk wallpaper, was a small table decorated with gilded flowers, and above it a matching mirror.

It gave Nell back her reflection with the cruel honesty of the room’s northern light. Not plain precisely, but certainly not lushly beautiful like the women she had seen photographed with Joss. Her features were neat and regular, surprisingly dark lashes surrounding the clear grey of her eyes, her skin, that delicate, translucent, very English skin that looked its best under softly rainwashed skies.

All her life, almost, she had worn her hair plaited, and the neatly twisted coils lying flat against her skull heightened the delicacy of her bone-structure, but Nell saw none of the rare delicacy of her features, seeing instead only that she was a pale, washed-out shadow of her stepsister’s dark beauty.

As a teenager she had experimented with make-up, trying to copy the effects she had seen in magazines, but on her the effects had been garish, and so now she rarely wore more than pale pink lipstick.

Liz had tried to persuade her into Harvey Nichols the Christmas before last when they had met in London for a shopping trip, telling her that modern make-ups with their subtle colours were far more suited to her delicate colouring than those which had been fashionable during their early teens, but, all too aware of the fact that Grania was coming home for Christmas, Nell had shrunk from inviting Joss’s mockery by doing anything that might be construed as an attempt to catch his attention.

The salon door opened and Joss walked in, making her step back from the mirror.

‘Where’s Johnson?’ she asked him huskily, flustered to see him standing there when she had anticipated a few more moments’ grace.

Something gleamed in Joss’s eyes, something predatory and intimidating, but when he spoke his voice was cool and distant.

‘Since I’m shortly to become a member of the family, I told him there was no need to stand on ceremony.’

Nell gripped the edge of the table.

‘You told Johnson that we’re going to be married?’

‘You object? Why? We are going to be married, aren’t we, Nell?’

She looked mutely at him and then said sadly, ‘Do I have any choice?’

‘No—and I haven’t said a word to Johnson,’ he told her calmly. ‘I’m not totally without awareness, Nell … some of the rough edges have been rubbed off, you know. I know you will want to tell the staff our good news yourself …’

There was an ironic look in his eyes as he said the words ‘our good news’ and, despite her firm determination not to do so, Nell felt herself flushing … although surely there was nothing for her to feel guilty about. Joss was the one who had proposed their marriage. Joss was the supplicator, no matter how hard she found it to visualise him in that role. When she gave him her answer … And then she realised that she already had. Her lips parted on an uncertain breath, and, as though he read her mind, Joss said mockingly, ‘Too late, you’ve already committed yourself, Nell. Besides——’

He broke off as there was a discreet tap on the door and the housekeeper came in carrying a tray of coffee.

‘Thank you, Mrs Booth.’ Joss reached out and took the tray, giving the older woman a far warmer smile than Nell had ever received from him, making a faint flush of colour rise up under her plump cheeks as she left.

‘I didn’t ask for any coffee,’ Nell told him once they were alone.

She had been astounded by the way he already seemed to have taken control … by the way the staff, her staff, were already responding to him.

‘No? Just as well I did, then. When Johnson told me you were waiting for me in here, I thought we’d need it. As I remembered it, this room gets as cold as charity … No doubt that was why it was chosen by the French martyr …’

He looked amused at the astonishment on her face.

‘Did you really think me totally ignorant of the family’s history, Nell? Your grandfather told it to me … I am right, aren’t I? This sitting-room was furnished by Louise de Roget, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Nell told him bleakly.

‘Poor, unhappy little French child. I believe she spent more time at her prayers than in her husband’s bed. Our marriage won’t be like that, Nell.’

She looked up at him, shocked by the note of steel certainty in his voice.

‘I know you want a son, Joss,’ she told him with dignity.

‘More than one,’ he told her frankly. ‘And not just sons … I want a family, Nell.’

‘And if I don’t?’ she returned with spirit, but he ignored her challenge, smiling that cruel smile, and taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger so that she was forced to look directly at him.

‘Ah, but you do,’ he told her softly. ‘You were made for motherhood, Nell, and if you’re thinking of Williams as the father of your children, then forget him.’

‘David? But …’

‘Your grandfather seemed to think you might be fancying yourself in love with him—forget him. Nell, he might be able to afford you, but he can’t afford this house.’

What he said was in essence true, but that didn’t make it any the less insulting, not just to herself but to David as well.

To cover up the tremor in her stomach, she said sharply, ‘That remark is chauvinistic in the extreme.’

But Joss only laughed. ‘Give in, Nell. Admit that marriage to me will solve all your problems. No more closed-off cold rooms … No more pinching and scraping … No more nights lying awake, worrying about how you’re going to cope …’

How little he knew … Now her sleepless nights would be spent worrying about about how she was going to cope with loving him, living with him and trying to hide how she felt.

‘There’s another thing,’ he said as he released her chin and she jerked her head away.

As far as he was concerned, it was settled—they were to be married; and yet he had made not the slightest attempt to touch her … to embrace her … to make her feel that he felt something for her other than a mere desire to use her.

‘You’re going to need to buy yourself some new clothes. I’ll organise a credit card for you so that the bills can be sent direct to me. Fiona, my secretary, will help you. You’ll probably need to arrange to spend a couple of days in London. I’ll get her to organise something.’

Nell was furious. She had heard the gossip in the village about the relationship which was supposed to exist between Joss and the elegant woman who worked for him, commuting each day from her home in Chester to Joss’s house. But, even more than his assumption that she was not capable of choosing her own clothes, she resented the contemptuous glance he had given the outfit she was wearing, no matter how much it might merit it. With that single look he had made it more than clear how very unattractive he found her.

‘Thank you,’ she told him arctically, ‘but I really don’t need any new clothes, Joss. I already possess a perfectly adequate wardrobe.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed drily, ‘and I’m sure it’s as antiquated as its contents. What’s the matter with you, Nell?’ he demanded, rounding on her. ‘What possible pleasure can it give you to dress like a retired schoolteacher? Tweed skirts … twin sets. Wake up, Nell; not even the Royal family dress like that these days.’

It struck her as she listened to him that he was probably ashamed of her; embarrassed about how she would look in comparison with the women he normally favoured; worried that the outside world might take one look at her and know immediately why he had married her; and that hurt.

‘I’m sorry if my present appearance doesn’t please you, Joss,’ she told him when she had control of herself. ‘What a pity you can’t simply wave a magic wand and transform me, without all this tiresome fuss.’

She saw that he was about to say something and hurried on bitterly, ‘Of course, one other alternative would be to simply allow me to fade into the background of your life. After all, I can imagine how awkward it will be for you … Joss Wycliffe having a plain, dull wife …’

‘Oh, no, you don’t, Nell,’ he interrupted her harshly. ‘I’m not having you sneaking off with Williams behind my back. I want a wife who is going to play her full role in my life, in public and in private.’

Nell looked at him, astonished that he could actually think she was romantically interested in David, but forbearing to say anything. Let him think what he liked, she decided rebelliously, still deeply resentful of his insults about her clothes, even if she knew at heart that they were justified.

‘No need to look so tragic. I thought you’d be more sensible than this Nell. Your grandfather was almost proud when he pointed out to me the rich brides brought into the family through arranged marriage. Even down to the mill-owner’s daughter whose father’s millions came into the family after Waterloo. Pity her son turned out to be such a gambler and lost the lot. If he hadn’t …’

She lifted pain-blinded eyes to his face, desperately seeking some softness there, some glimmer of compassion, but there was none. She meant nothing to him, other than a means to an end, and she never would; she would die before she allowed him to guess how much she loved him.

She saw him glance at his watch. ‘I have to leave immediately after we’ve seen Williams, and there are several things we still have to sort out. The staff … As far as I’m concerned you are free to make whatever arrangements you choose, but Audlem, my chauffeur, will come with me, and I’d like you to make sure that there’s always a spare bedroom ready for Fiona. As you know, I prefer to work from home when I can. I suspect that the only place we’re going to be able to install my computer equipment is in one of the cellars. I’ll get someone round to check on that … I want it in before we get married. How much time will you need? I thought a month. That will give Williams time to draw up the agreements …’

He saw her face and smiled mirthlessly. ‘We may as well do this properly, Nell. I’ll make you a monthly allowance, for yourself, and open another account for you to run the house from. You’re going to find yourself very busy over the next few months with interior designers and the like. I want this place completely refurbished.’

‘All of it?’ Nell demanded faintly.

‘All of it,’ he confirmed. ‘So, Nell, can you be ready in a month? We’ll have the wedding breakfast here, of course. I’l give you a list of the people I want inviting. Fiona will help you with the invites, etc.’

‘Joss … Surely a quiet wedding …’

‘As though we’ve something to hide? I think not.’

He broke off as David Williams drove up.

This time Johnson did announce the visitor, and David came in, looking slightly flustered and concerned.

‘Nell!’ he exclaimed, going towards her, and Nell suspected he would have kissed her if Joss hadn’t suddenly placed himself between them and said forcefully,

‘You can congratulate me, Williams. Nell has agreed to become my wife …’

For a moment David looked too shocked to speak, and when he did it was to Nell, not to Joss.

‘Is this true, Nell?’

‘Yes,’ she told him quietly.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Joss watching them narrowly and then tranferring his attention to his watch, a slim, gold masculine timepiece. Odd, in someone so devoted to modern technology, that he should choose a very traditional kind of watch; traditional and expensive, but discreetly so; not for Joss the status symbol of the ‘in’ designer watch, she reflected acidly.

‘We’ve a lot to discuss, Williams,’ Joss announced, coming between them. The shock of his hand resting proprietorially on her arm made Nell flinch in surprise and then wince as she felt his fingers bite warningly into her flesh before he released her. She was trembling, slightly horrified at how very vulnerable she was to him physically.

David looked dazed when Joss had finished telling him exactly what was happening.

Nell felt equally dazed as she heard him name what seemed like an impossible sum, adding carelessly that he was giving it to her as a marriage settlement.

‘And I take it that Nell will be free to take it with her, should the marriage ever come to an end,’ David said stiffly.

Instantly Nell saw the golden eyes flash dangerously.




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