Книга - The Innocent’s Sinful Craving

The Innocent's Sinful Craving
Sara Craven


Everything she’s ever wanted…Dana Grantham was abandoned as a child, and the stately mansion she called home symbolised the security she so desperately wanted. She dreamt of a future within its four walls – until a shameful scandal and billionaire Zac Belisandro drove her away.…at a price!Now Dana has the opportunity to return to the life she craves, but comes face-to-face with Zac. He’s tainted her life once before, and now he has an outrageous proposition – he’ll give Dana her heart’s desire if she gives him her hand in marriage…and her innocence on their wedding night!







‘Be my wife,’ Zac said lightly.‘And save Mannion from its fate.’

Her hand jerked, spilling coffee on to the coral dress. She said breathlessly, ‘If that’s a joke, I don’t find it amusing.’

‘I am perfectly serious,’ he said. ‘I am asking you to marry me, Dana mia.’

‘In which case you must be mad.’ She swallowed convulsively. ‘And the answer is no.’

Zac sighed elaborately. ‘And only moments ago you were declaring that no sacrifice was too great for the house you love.’

Oh, God, she thought. Why did I let my mouth run away with me?

She took a deep breath. ‘Marriage is totally different. I am not for sale.’


Seven Sexy Sins (#ulink_5fd28aa7-cb89-5f5c-bf07-035e527bbf63)The true taste of temptation!

From greed to gluttony, lust to envy, these fabulous stories explore what seven sexy sins mean in the twenty-first century!

Whether pride goes before a fall, or wrath leads to a passion that consumes entirely, one thing is certain: the road to true love has never been more enticing!

So you decide:

How can it be a sin when it feels so good?

Sloth—Cathy Williams

Lust—Dani Collins

Pride—Kim Lawrence

Gluttony—Maggie Cox

Greed—Sara Craven

Wrath—Maya Blake

Envy—Annie West

Seven titles by some of

Mills & Boon Modern Romance’s

most treasured and exciting authors!


The Innocent’s Sinful Craving

Sara Craven






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


Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel, Garden of Dreams, for Mills and Boon in 1975. Apart from writing (naturally!), her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became the UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire—Shakespeare country.


For Leo, stern critic and amazing support.


Contents

Cover (#u02cf0ed5-5b06-5838-a09f-179b8ca23be8)

Introduction (#u7ea985b5-603b-5790-a068-2f8d44ca5276)

Seven Sexy Sins (#ulink_d22c559f-90ae-50a1-b549-454478cc08f4)

Title Page (#u6a89af41-7705-5ea4-bf36-55a69df56dff)

About the Author (#u2a8651bb-235b-5a7f-9d55-1f002b2bd510)

Dedication (#u4744b9da-aa95-5081-a6c7-834c256717e9)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_3d63e655-22a1-5013-9dce-8543203ef6a4)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_cf2ff3db-5925-57f4-bd8b-f90f537055d4)

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_6095b32c-311f-5f13-87c0-7349cf70358e)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_8b2b74e7-c31b-5436-aa44-dfcbd1a2bcdd)

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)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Endpage (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_dc3d8d44-9212-5061-979d-42effbf6ff06)

AT THE TOP of the hill, she stopped the car on the verge and got out, stretching gratefully after the drive from London.

The house lay below her in its secluded green valley, a sprawl of stones like some ancient dragon sleeping in the sunlight.

Dana drew a long, satisfied breath, her taut mouth relaxing into a smile of pure pleasure.

‘I’ve come back,’ she whispered. ‘And this time I’m going to stay. Nothing—and no one—is going to drive me away again. You’re going to be mine. Do you hear me?’

And after one final, lingering look, she returned to the car and drove down the hill towards Mannion.

It would not—could not be the same. For one thing, there would be no Serafina Latimer with her kindness and smiling grace that could so suddenly change to severity. She was back in her beloved Italy, and Aunt Joss, of course, had gone with her.

But I’ve changed too, she thought.

She was a long way from the confused seventeen-year-old who’d left here seven years earlier, physically, emotionally and—yes, she supposed, even financially.

No longer the housekeeper’s niece, there on sufferance, for ever on the outside looking in, but a successful and well-paid negotiator with a top London estate agency.

And the past years of fighting her way up the ladder, reinventing herself into a force to be reckoned with, had taught her a lot.

I’ve helped a lot of people make their dream come true, she thought. Now, it’s my turn.

Except that Mannion wasn’t simply a dream. It was her birthright, whatever the law might say. There was such a thing as natural justice, and she would lay hold to it, no matter what means she had to employ. Or what the consequences might be.

She’d decided that a long time ago, and the passage of time had only deepened her resolve.

She drove through the tall wrought-iron gates and up the long drive through the sweeping lawns and formal gardens to the house. There were already cars parked on either side of the main entrance and she slotted her Peugeot into the nearest available space.

Climbing out, she stood for a moment, scanning the other vehicles, steadying the sudden flurry of her breathing, and smoothing any creases from her khaki linen skirt before collecting her weekend case from the boot.

As she turned she saw that the heavily studded front door had opened and a plump woman in a neat dark dress was waiting there.

‘Miss Grantham?’ Her voice was quietly civil. ‘I’m Janet Harris. Let me take your case and show you to your room.’

I probably know the way better than you do, Dana thought, amused, as she followed the housekeeper. How many times have I trotted round after Aunt Joss, making sure everything was ready for arriving guests? Sometimes even being allowed to put the flowers in the bedrooms.

I wonder if anyone’s done that for me?

The answer to that, she soon discovered was ‘no’, along with the fact that she’d been allocated the smallest of the guest rooms in the remotest part of the house, looking over the shrubbery to the slope of the valley where the summer house still stood.

The one thing she had no wish to see. That she’d hoped would no longer exist, although the memories it evoked were still potent. Bitterly and disturbingly so.

However the choice of view was probably not deliberate, she thought, turning from the window. Unlike the selection of the room with its faded decor and elderly carpet, seemingly intended to put her firmly in her place.

That’s fine, she thought. When the game’s over, let’s see who’s won.

‘The bathroom is just down the corridor, Miss Grantham.’ Mrs Harris sounded almost apologetic. ‘But you’ll have it to yourself. If there’s anything else you need, please let me know.’ She paused. ‘Miss Latimer asked me to say there is tea in the drawing room.’

How very formal, Dana thought with faint amusement as the housekeeper withdrew. And how very unlike Nicola. But perhaps she was finding it was rough going being a hostess.

She hadn’t much to unpack apart from her dresses for this evening and tomorrow night’s party which she hung in a wardrobe as narrow as the single bed.

The bathroom was basic but well supplied with towels, a tub with a hand shower and a full-length mirror.

So, having combed her hair, replenished her lipstick and freshened her scent, Dana inspected herself with the same critical intensity she expected to encounter downstairs.

Her light brown hair, well-cut and highlighted so that it glowed with auburn lights, hung, smooth and shining, to her shoulders, and the subtle use of cosmetics had emphasised the green of her hazel eyes and lengthened her curling lashes.

Her body, rounded in all the right places, was slim and toned thanks to the exercise and dance classes she attended with zealous regularity. Not cheap, but the end would justify the means.

And Nicola’s unstudied greeting of ten days ago had also been reassuring. ‘Dana, it’s wonderful to see you again. And you look amazing.’

A total exaggeration, but gratifying just the same, she thought as she started on her way downstairs.

Now that she had time to look around her, she realised it wasn’t only her bedroom that needed refurbishment. The whole house looked tired and shabby and it was all too evident that the high standards of cleanliness observed in Aunt Joss’s day had slipped badly.

Surfaces no longer glowed as they once had. There was no beguiling mixture of lavender and beeswax in the air, and in places there were even cobwebs.

It all looked—unloved, but perhaps that was what happened when the mistress of the house was no longer in residence.

Not that Serafina Latimer had enjoyed much choice in the matter. Once she’d decided to avoid Inheritance Tax by gifting Mannion to Nicola’s older brother Adam, she was allowed only casual and infrequent visits to her former home in the seven-year period it took for the gift to become legal and Adam to become Mannion’s full owner.

Aunt Joss had explained it all to Dana in some detail, brushing aside all attempts at questions or protests, before adding with chill emphasis, ‘So, once and for all, let that be an end to this nonsense.’

Yet, how could it be, when Dana knew, as surely as the sun rose in the east, that she had been passed over?

Her rightful inheritance given away like some free bar of soap?

Knew too that her aunt was wrong, and the fight was far from over.

Poor Mannion, she thought, as she reached the foot of the stairs. But when you’re mine, you won’t be passed from hand to hand again.

And this time there’ll be no one around to stop me.

There was none of the expected buzz of conversation as she approached the dining room, and she found herself hesitating briefly before entering.

For a moment, as she took in the old-fashioned chintzes that covered the deep sofas and armchairs, and saw the long brocade curtains moving gently in the faint breeze from the open French windows, she felt as if she’d stepped back in time.

Then, in the same instant, she realised that she’d totally misread the housekeeper’s message, because it was quite another Miss Latimer waiting for her behind the tea table. A much older version, her plump girth squeezed into unbecoming floral silk, her bleached hair like a metal helmet, her lips pursed.

Nicola’s Aunt Mimi, she thought with a silent groan. Oh, God, I should have known.

‘Well, Dana.’ She was motioned to a chair by a beringed hand. ‘This is a surprise.’ Mimi Latimer’s tone suggested it was more of an unpleasant shock. ‘I didn’t realise that you and Nicola were still in touch, let alone so close.’

Dana smiled, unfazed. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Latimer. No, sad to say, we probably haven’t seen so much of each other lately.’ Seven years to be precise. ‘But I’m sure you remember that we were at school together.’

‘Yes,’ Mimi Latimer said with a touch of grimness as she poured straw-coloured Earl Grey into a fragile cup and held it out to Dana. ‘I certainly hadn’t forgotten that. Or that your scholastic career came to a sudden end. A poor reward for all Serafina’s kindness to you.’

‘Perhaps we both felt she’d been quite kind enough,’ Dana returned coolly. ‘And that it was time I stood on my own feet.’ Besides, it was recognition as her granddaughter I wanted—not her charity.

‘I don’t think anyone would argue over that,’ Miss Latimer said with a sniff, proffering a plate of sandwiches smaller than a child’s finger.

That, and a Madeira cake, comprised the entire spread, Dana realised, remembering coming back for the school holidays to find the table laden not just with sandwiches but scones and cream, or buttered crumpets, depending on the season, to be followed with a rich chocolate cake and a Victoria sponge oozing strawberry jam. And Serafina presiding over these delights, gently questioning Nicola and herself on how the term had gone.

‘And your family. Are they well?’

Memories scattered under Mimi Latimer’s acidly pointed question.

‘All fine, thank you.’ At least on the rare occasions when I have news.

But the older woman had not finished. ‘And your mother? Still living in Spain?’

‘Yes,’ Dana confirmed evenly. ‘She is.’

‘And you seem to be doing well too. Trying to sell Nicola and Eddie an expensive flat, I gather.’

‘I’ve shown them a very beautiful flat,’ Dana corrected, helping herself to an egg and cress sandwich and making it stretch to two bites. ‘Well within the price guidelines she and her fiancé had established, and which they both seemed to like.’

‘How strange it should be you showing them round.’

‘I prefer to call it serendipity,’ Dana said lightly. ‘A happy discovery by accident.’ Apart from the wheeling, dealing and sheer manipulation it took to ensure I conducted that particular viewing.

She took a reluctant sip of cooling tea. ‘Where is Nicola, by the way?’

‘Taking Eddie and his parents to see the village church.’ Miss Latimer’s mouth tightened sourly. ‘She’s decided she wants to be married there. Quite ridiculous when London would be so much more convenient for everyone.

‘But she’s managed to persuade Eddie that they should have a quiet country wedding with just family, close friends and local people. As this weekend’s gathering was supposed to be,’ she added pointedly.

‘Heaven only knows what the Marchwoods will think,’ she went on peevishly. ‘I’ve tried to talk some sense into the child, but, for some reason, that cousin of Serafina’s, the Belisandro man, has taken her side.’ She sniffed again. ‘Of course, he’s always spoiled Nicola, encouraging her to have her own way. I’m only surprised he isn’t marrying her himself.’

Dana felt her heartbeat stumble and her throat tighten. She forced down another mouthful of Earl Grey.

When she spoke, her voice was remarkably steady. ‘Zac Belisandro hardly seems the marrying kind.’

Besides being safely on the other side of the world. Although it seemed that had not stopped him again pulling strings in the Latimer affairs.

‘Well, I dare say his father will have something to say about that before he’s much older,’ Miss Latimer opined snappishly. ‘Not that it’s any concern of mine,’ she added hastily. ‘Or yours for that matter.’

Dana managed a serene smile. ‘You’re quite right. Gossip can be so damaging.’

The silence that followed seemed to be waiting for her to ask, ‘And where is Adam?’

But all hell would freeze over before she said any such thing. Especially to Mimi Latimer.

Anyway, I shall see him soon enough, she thought, allowing her mind to dwell pleasurably on his windblown blond hair and almost boyish good looks, enhanced by the laughter lines at the corners of his blue eyes and the mouth that seemed always ready to smile.

A man that any woman would want, even without the riches he was bringing with him, and she knew it. Had reminded herself over and over again that it justified the course of action she was set upon.

Even so, she was suddenly struggling to hold on to that inner picture. To prevent it being superseded by another image, as disturbing as it was unwelcome. By another face, olive-skinned and saturnine, the features strongly marked, the eyes as dark and impenetrable as a starless winter night.

She put her cup with what remained of the tea carefully back on the table. ‘This has been most enjoyable, but, if you’ll excuse me, I need to stretch my legs after the drive.’

And, with another smile, she walked across the room and out through the French windows on to the terrace. Where she paused, staring at the lawns below as if in rapt admiration of its billiard table smoothness.

In reality, and in spite of herself, she was listening to her brain frantically re-echoing the name—Zac Belisandro.

His father’s only son and heir to the vast Belisandro International empire. Currently running its holdings in Australia and the Far East with an aplomb and success that was becoming legendary.

‘The man who makes Midas look like a beginner’ had been a headline in the business pages of a popular daily.

And to Dana—the man who’d caused her to be sent away from Mannion seven years ago. Her enemy, who would still want her barred now, if he wasn’t thousands of miles away.

Don’t think of him, she told herself fiercely. Concentrate on Adam. He’s the only one who matters and always has been.

But her mind—her memory—would not obey her. Because Zac Belisandro was still there like a shadow in the sunlight.

In spite of the heat, Dana shivered. Just let him stay away, she whispered silently. Don’t make me have to see him again. Ever. Or at least until I’ve got what I want and it’s too late for him to interfere and ruin everything a second time.

Until I’m Mrs Adam Latimer and Mannion belongs to me as it always should have done.

Captain Jack Latimer, she thought. Serafina’s soldier son and my father. If he hadn’t been killed in that ambush in Northern Ireland, my mother’s life—and mine—would have been very different. They would have been married, and whatever Serafina thought, she would have had to accept it.

He wouldn’t have allowed the girl he loved to be sent away in disgrace.

She walked down the terrace steps and headed across the lawn to the shrubbery. Ever since she’d first come to live at Mannion, it had been her favourite bolthole, a place to hide in when she was missing her mother and wanted to cry in peace. Aunt Joss was kind enough but too busy and often too harassed to devote much time to her. And taking charge of her young niece was something Dana knew had been thrust upon her, because her sense of duty would not allow the little girl to be fostered during her mother’s frequent and often lengthy absences in hospital.

So, a lot of the time, she was lonely. Not the kind of desolation where she knelt on the other side of a locked door listening, frightened, to her mother’s harsh weeping.

It was more a sense of bewildered abandonment which remained even when she and her mother were reunited in some new poky flat, while Linda, each time more fragile, more diminished, struggled with yet another dead-end job, and promised the brisk women who visited her in the evenings with their files of paperwork, that this time she would make an effort—make it work for Dana’s sake as well as her own.

She paused, fists suddenly clenching at her sides, as she wondered if she, a small child, had been the only one to see it was never going to happen.

And by that time all that filled her heart and mind was Mannion.

‘Our home,’ Linda had told her over and over again, murmuring to her at night in the bed they shared. ‘Our security. Our future. Taken away because I was only the housekeeper’s sister.

‘I thought your grandmother would welcome me when I went to her. Be glad that Jack had a child. I thought we could mourn for him together. Instead she sent us both away. I felt my heart break when I lost your father, but she shattered it all over again.

‘But she won’t beat us, my darling. Mannion was your father’s inheritance, so it belongs to us now and one day we’ll take it back. Say it, sweetheart. Let me hear the words.’

And obediently, eyes closing, voice fogged with sleep Dana would whisper, ‘One day we’ll take it back.’

Not that it helped. Because, all too soon, it would begin again—the soft monotonous sobbing from behind the closed bedroom door, interspersed with the periods where Linda sat by the living room window, unspeaking and unmoving as she stared into space.

When Dana would find herself whisked back to Mannion and Aunt Joss, each time finding herself more secure. Feeling a sense of possession growing as the seeds her mother had planted took root.

Mrs Brownlow, one of the brisk ladies who visited her mother, was now calling at Mannion for regular conferences with Aunt Joss.

Sometimes, she caught snatches of their conversation. ‘Such a difficult situation...’ ‘Not the child’s fault...’ ‘Very bright at school, but suffering from these disruptions...’

And over and over again from Aunt Joss: ‘This unhealthy obsession...’

One day, Mrs Brownlow had been soothing. ‘Linda seems much more upbeat—a real change. We’re hoping that this complete break will help get her back on track. She seems to be looking forward to it.’

‘Two weeks in Spain?’ Aunt Joss had sounded doubtful. ‘Without Dana?’

‘This first time, yes. To see how she copes. Perhaps we can arrange a joint holiday later on.’

Dana was thankful. Not that she was particularly happy at the village school where the children, confused by her arrivals and departures, treated her as an outsider. But she wasn’t altogether sure where Spain was—except that it was almost certainly a long way from Mannion, the only place she really wanted to be.

And where she would fight to stay.

But Linda, it seemed, had given up the fight because, towards the end of the two weeks, Aunt Joss got a letter from her to say she’d got a job in a bar and had decided to stay in Spain for a while.

Her decision had caused uproar among the officials who were handling her case, but Aunt Joss was calm, even philosophical, informing them that it could be for the best and would, at any rate, give Dana the chance of a stable upbringing.

Dana missed her mother but she also felt grateful that the burden of Linda’s seemingly endless despair had been lifted from her.

And at least she was living in the place that Linda had wanted for them both, and maybe, in time, Serafina’s attitude might soften and she would accept Dana as her granddaughter.

And in another way, Dana’s life took a definite change for the better when Nicola arrived to spend the summer at Mannion.

Another orphan of the storm, Dana recalled wryly, her parents acrimoniously divorced, with custody of Nicola and her older brother being awarded to their father. Megan Latimer was now living in the wilds of Colombia with the millionaire boyfriend who had caused the marriage breakdown on an estate rumoured to be like an armed fortress.

‘And I’m not allowed to go there,’ Nicola had confided as Dana was rather awkwardly showing her the gardens on Serafina’s instructions. ‘The judge said so, even though I said I liked Esteban.’

She looked woebegone. ‘Daddy said we could all go on a sailing holiday, but I didn’t want to, because I can’t swim very well and I get seasick. So he’s just taking Adam, and got Aunt Serafina to say I could come here.’

‘It’s lovely here,’ Dana said. ‘You’ll like it.’ And they exchanged cautious smiles.

In the kitchen garden, Mr Godstow, face ruddy under his faded cap, filled a trug for them with the pods of young, sweet peas, raspberries and gooseberries which they carried off to share in the den Dana had constructed in the shrubbery.

It was a curious form of bonding, but it worked. They’d both been on an emotional see-saw and now, unexpectedly, had found a friend in each other.

Until, of course, Zac Belisandro had engineered their separation.

But I’ll have my revenge, she told herself, when Mannion’s mine and it’s his turn to be barred.

And it would happen. She’d been thwarted once, but since then she’d had a long time to prepare for this second crucial attempt on the glittering prize that had possessed her heart and mind to the exclusion of so much else for so long.

The reunion at the flat viewing had gone like clockwork. Nicola’s delight at seeing her again was quite unfeigned, and while Dana might tell herself it was just a means to an end, she knew it wasn’t true, and that she was equally thrilled.

‘Eddie has to go back to work now,’ Nicola said when they joined Dana in the spacious living room after their second, private tour of inspection. ‘So why don’t we find a bar and have a double celebration?’

‘Double?’

‘Of course.’ Nicola’s wide grin was just the same. ‘Finding our future home and you, again, at the same time.’

‘Two wonderful reasons,’ Dana laughed back. ‘Let’s go.’

‘So what happened to you?’ Nicola asked as they toasted each other in Prosecco in a local wine bar. ‘Why did you suddenly disappear like that—before your final year at school?’

You mean that Zac Belisandro didn’t tell you...

Aloud, she said lightly, ‘It wasn’t really that sudden. I’d already decided against university, so when that London job came up again, I took it.’

‘But you went without a word.’ There was hurt in Nicola’s voice. ‘And you never answered any of my letters although your aunt promised she’d send them on.’

Except her first loyalty was to Serafina, not her own disgraced, illegitimate niece, exiled before she caused more trouble.

Dana swallowed. ‘Well, I did move around quite a bit. The letters are probably still in the system, trying to track me down.’

‘Well, I shan’t let you slip away again,’ Nicola said resolutely. ‘We’re having a family get-together down at Mannion the weekend after next to talk wedding plans and you’re going to be there. And I won’t take no for an answer.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Dana said with perfect truth, her mind reeling.

‘It will be just like old times,’ Nicola went on. ‘Jo and Emily are going to be there, as they’re my bridesmaids, and they’re bringing their blokes.’ She paused. ‘So, if you’ve got someone in your life, invite him along.’

Dana took another mouthful of Prosecco. ‘There’s no one serious. Not at the moment.’

But that would all change—down at Mannion.

Nicola sighed. ‘You sound like Adam. As soon as I get to like one of his girlfriends, he’s on to the next.’ She pulled a face. ‘And Zac, the serial monogamist, sets him a bad example.’

‘I can imagine.’ Dana’s mouth felt suddenly stiff. ‘Maybe Adam just hasn’t met the right woman yet.’ Or not at the right time.

Afterwards, she’d been assailed by doubts, telling herself that it couldn’t possibly be that simple, half expecting a call from Nicola telling her that the weekend had been cancelled or making some other excuse.

Instead she’d had a call from Eddie offering the full asking price on the flat, and when Nicola phoned a few days later, it was to confirm the invitation and say how much everyone was looking forward to seeing her again.

Including Adam? wondered Dana, but did not dare ask.

Although she would soon find out, she thought now, glancing at her watch. It was time to stop skulking in the grounds and begin her campaign.

She was halfway across the lawn when she realised she was being watched. That a man was standing, silent and unmoving, at the head of the terrace steps.

For one jubilant instant, she thought, Adam...

Then her footsteps faltered as she realised her observer was much too tall to be Adam. And much too dark.

Dark as midnight. Dark as a bad dream.

Only she wasn’t dreaming. Not this time. She was looking at Zac Belisandro—not on the other side of the world but, by some ill chance, right here.

Waiting for her.


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_dd01bbff-79b3-5d74-b967-65a03457ff5a)

NO!

The word was in her throat like a silent scream. Because it couldn’t be true. Yet the wild, unruly thud of her terrified heart told her there was no room for doubt.

She couldn’t run. There was nowhere to go and, anyway, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of putting her to flight.

But he wouldn’t be able to get rid of her this time. Serafina was no longer around to sit in judgement on a young girl who’d offended her code of conduct.

This time, she was Nicola’s guest. One of the gang. And Nicola would laugh to scorn any attempt to discredit her.

‘Come off it, Zac.’ Dana could hear her now. ‘She can’t be the first girl who’s come on to you and the others have all been old enough to know better. Besides, it was a long time ago.’

A long time ago, she repeated silently. So why did it feel as if it were only yesterday?

And what if he replied, ‘But it wasn’t me she wanted. Not then. Not now. It’s Adam—and this house.’

He could blow her plans clean out of the water with one sneering remark. Could—and probably would.

Her legs were shaking, but she dragged every rag of calm she possessed around her, to get her safely up the steps.

But not past him...

He was standing, hands on hips, his face a mask, his eyes raking her from head to foot, as he said softly, ‘So you have come back. I thought you would have more sense.’

Dana met his gaze, hard as obsidian. ‘I accepted an invitation from an old friend, nothing more.’ She lifted her chin. ‘And how are things with you, Mr Belisandro? Still devouring the world?’

‘In small bites, Miss Grantham.’ His voice was a drawl, his tone tinged with ice. ‘And never more than I can comfortably chew. A policy I recommend to you, signorina.’

The close-fitting charcoal pants he wore had the sheen of silk, while the matching shirt was negligently unbuttoned revealing more of the muscular bronze of his chest than she’d any wish to see.

It made her feel uneasy—almost restless, and she shrugged, fighting to regain some equilibrium. ‘That depends, I suppose, on the size of one’s appetite.’

‘And yours, if memory serves, borders on the voracious. If you wish to discuss mine, I suggest we choose somewhere more private. The summer house, perhaps.’

He watched the swift flare of colour in her face and nodded, smiling a little. ‘So this new sophistication is only skin-deep after all. But how fascinating. And what temptation.’

‘I’d say—what arrogance, Mr Belisandro.’ Her hands curled into fists at her sides. ‘You clearly haven’t changed at all.’

It wasn’t true. He’d matured, wearing his thirty-two years with toned grace. He’d always been attractive. Even she had to admit that. But now he was—spectacular. And, as such, formidable.

‘I have never found a reason to do so,’ he said. ‘Although I may have become a little more compassionate than I was seven years ago, so let me offer you some advice.’

He took a step towards her and it needed every scrap of self-command she possessed not to back away.

He went on quietly, ‘Recall some pressing engagement and return to London. Meet Nicola for lunch occasionally, if both of you so wish. But hope for nothing more. That way you may remain unscathed.’

He paused. ‘Continue on your present path, and you will regret it.’

Her throat tightened but she managed a little laugh. ‘How very melodramatic. Is this how you threaten your business competitors?’

‘I rarely find it necessary. They listen to reason. I suggest you do the same.’

‘Thank you.’ Dana drew a deep breath. ‘Please believe that if ever I need your advice, I’ll ask for it. In the meantime, I plan to enjoy a pleasant weekend in these beautiful—and desirable—urroundings. I hope you do the same.’

‘If you’re looking for Adam,’ he said as she turned towards the French windows. ‘He has not yet arrived. He is driving down with his latest girl, Robina Simmons, whose lack of punctuality is legendary, so they have probably quarrelled.’ He smiled. ‘Let us hope the disagreement will not last.’

‘Unlike ours,’ Dana threw over her shoulder. ‘Which I’m sure will run and run.’

Not much of a last word, she thought shakily, but better than nothing.

The drawing room was empty so she was able to escape to her room without another unwanted confrontation to add to the inner turmoil, already threatening to tear her apart.

Zac Belisandro—here, she thought as she sank down on the edge of the bed. How was it possible? And why hadn’t Nicola warned her?

Because she had no reason to do so, she answered her own question. To Nicola, Zac was simply Serafina’s billionaire cousin and Adam’s friend. Someone she’d known and trusted for most of her life.

Whereas to me, she thought bitterly, he’s the man who’s already tried to ruin my life once, and who hasn’t finished yet. He’s made that more than clear.

Just as he’d relished telling her that Adam wasn’t arriving alone, although she wouldn’t let herself worry too much about that. According to his sister he had a rapid turnover in girlfriends—and if they were already quarrelling...

“Adam wanted me once,” she whispered to herself. “I have to make him remember that—and want me again, even more. To the point of desperation, no less. Because only he can give me Mannion, and I’ll settle for nothing less.”

Not that he would have any reason to feel short-changed. She would make him a good wife—the best—and be the perfect hostess in a house she would restore to its former glory.

Even Zac Belisandro would have to admit as much...

She paused right there, shocked at herself, her heart skipping a nervous beat.

Because what did his opinion matter—or his empty threats? His presence here was temporary. His work—his life—belonged thousands of miles away and soon he would be returning there to resume both of them.

While she would still be here. So why was she letting him get to her—invading her consciousness even marginally?

She drew a deep, steadying breath.

She’d waited so long for this day when she’d finally return to Mannion that it was hardly surprising she found herself on edge, making mountains out of what would prove to be molehills.

What she needed now was to relax—and regroup.

A warm bath would be good, followed by a brief nap before she dressed for dinner.

Tonight’s outfit had been chosen with care, because she needed to make it count. It was a simply cut dress in a silky and striking fabric the colour of amber, which added lustre to her skin, while the low square neck, revealing the first creamy swell of her breasts and the brief flare of the skirt was gently but enticingly provocative.

She had amber drops set in gold for her ears—a present to herself bought from her first bonus at Jarvis Stratton, to mark the moment when she’d thought of herself as having a career instead of just a job. When she’d started to believe in herself again, and feel a growing conviction that she would succeed where her mother had failed.

When conviction had become stony determination.

Not that marrying Adam would impose any kind of hardship, she mused, as she made her way to the bathroom. On the contrary, it could be an additional perk.

As she lay in the scented water, she looked down at her body, examining it as if it belonged to a stranger. Trying to judge it through a stranger’s eyes. A man’s eyes.

Wondering what Adam would think the first time he saw her naked. When she allowed that to happen.

Asking herself too if he would be glad to find her still innocent and know that she had kept herself for him.

It was a decision that had caused problems with the men she’d dated during the past seven years. A few had been bewildered, some hurt and most of them angry when they discovered that her ‘no’ meant exactly that. ‘Commitment-phobe’ had been one accusation. ‘Frigid’ had been another.

But Adam would have no reason to say that, she told herself as she stepped out of the bath, reaching for a towel.

She smoothed body lotion in her favourite scent into her skin, aware how close to her a man, intrigued by its subtle fragrance, would need to be in order to appreciate it fully.

And she intended Adam to get pretty damned close, no matter how many girlfriends he might have in tow. Because she would be the one who would count.

She was back in her room applying a final coat of mascara to her lashes when Nicola came knocking at the door.

She looked around her, pulling a face. ‘Dana, I’m so sorry about this. When Zac announced he’d be joining us, Aunt Mimi had a panic attack and gave him the room I’d picked for you. And we’re pretty full up, so I can’t really move you.’

‘It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.’ Dana returned her cosmetics to their purse. She kept her voice casual. ‘So you weren’t expecting him?’

‘Well, eventually, just not this weekend. But his father was having heart surgery which got rescheduled, and he flew back early to be around for the operation.’ She smiled. ‘Apparently it was a great success. He must be so relieved.’

I didn’t see many signs of rejoicing, thought Dana, examining her flawless nails.

‘And he didn’t feel obliged to rush back and make sure Belisandro Australasia hadn’t collapsed in his absence?’ she queried drily.

‘Oh, he’s not going back to Melbourne,’ said Nicola with appalling cheerfulness. ‘From now on he’ll be based in Europe, waiting to take over as chairman of the whole shebang when his father retires, which might be quite soon. And he’ll be working from London, so we’ll see much more of him.’

For a moment Dana felt the room sway about her. ‘I see,’ she managed.

She swallowed. ‘How—how did the visit to the church go?’

‘Brilliantly. The country wedding is definitely on, although I don’t know what Dad will say.’

Dana’s brows lifted. ‘He’s coming, then, to give you away?’

Nicola sighed. ‘Yes, and bringing the ghastly Sadie with him unfortunately.’

Diverted momentarily from her own troubles, Dana gave her a sympathetic look. That first sailing holiday had turned life upside down for Adam and Nicola. Francis Latimer had decided he’d found his true metier, and to the shock of the entire family, he’d thrown up his safe city job and bought a struggling sailing and diving venture in the Greek islands, which by sheer hard work and force of will, he’d turned into a roaring success.

Along the way, he’d met Sadie, an Australian working for one of the large tour companies supplying him with excursion business, and a summer fling had continued throughout the winter and thereafter.

Sadie was loud, determinedly jolly and convinced she would soon have her Frankie’s children eating out of her hand. When it didn’t happen, she became increasingly resentful and family holidays turned into a hostile nightmare.

Which was how Nicola, and Adam too, had come to pass the greater part of their school vacations at Mannion, while their father spent his winters in Queensland, running a boat chartering business with Sadie’s brother Craig.

‘Well, at least you’re seeing him again.’ Dana tried to sound consoling. ‘Have you heard from your mother?’

‘An occasional letter telling us she’s happy and staying where she is. How about you?’

Dana forced a shrug. ‘Much the same, although the information filters through from Aunt Joss.’

Apparently Linda found her daughter too strong a reminder of everything that had gone wrong in her life for direct contact, and Dana had been advised to accept that and let her find her own way back. If she ever did.

But if I can offer her Mannion, she thought, then maybe I’ll discover the mother I’ve never really known. The one with hopes and dreams who existed before Jack Latimer was killed. Not the woman disowned by his mother and left out on a limb to grieve with no way back, but the smiling, pretty girl who’d helped run the Royal Oak because the landlord’s wife drank.

‘Life and soul of the place, she was,’ Betty Wilfrey, the Royal Oak’s cook had once told her. ‘Reception, bar work, chambermaiding, she could turn her hand to anything. It was never the same after she left. No wonder Bob Harvey sold up and went too before a year passed.’

And now all too many years had gone by, thought Dana. Her throat tightening, she got to her feet. ‘Should we go down?’

‘I guess so. Dinner’s running slightly late because Adam’s only just arrived, in a bit of a strop and without Robina, because they’ve had a fight,’ said Nicola, adding with a touch of grimness, ‘I’ve had to remind him that this is my weekend, not his.’

Dana bit her lip. ‘Perhaps he’s upset because he really does care for her,’ she suggested reluctantly.

‘Adam cares for getting his own way,’ Nicola said shortly as they left the room.

* * *

Pre-dinner drinks turned out to be champagne on the terrace, poured, Dana saw, by Zac Belisandro, immaculate in a dark grey suit with a silk tie the colour of rubies.

As Dana accepted her flute with a murmur of thanks, she was acutely aware of his gaze slowly examining her, lingering on the roundness of her breasts.

His unashamed scrutiny revived memories she wanted very badly to forget, and she was glad to obey Nicola’s summons and greet her former schoolmates Joanna and Emily, with their respective fiancés.

Then Eddie was commandeering her to meet his parents, a handsome grey-haired couple, radiating contentment about their son’s engagement and openly—sweetly—about each other.

They were also with patient goodwill listening to Mimi Latimer bewailing Robina’s no-show and its detrimental effect on the placement at dinner.

‘It can hardly matter,’ Mrs Marchwood said soothingly. ‘Not at a family dinner when we’re all friends.’

Miss Latimer acquiesced reluctantly, but the look she sent Dana told a very different story.

But what did that matter when Adam had just appeared on the terrace, smiling and relaxed in a cream linen suit and an open-necked shirt as blue as his eyes, any earlier bad humour apparently forgotten or put on hold?

He saw Dana and stopped short, his eyes widening.

‘My God, I don’t believe it.’ He turned to his sister. ‘Nic, you little devil, so this is the surprise you promised me.’

He crossed to Dana, taking both her hands in a graceful gesture and laughing down into her face.

‘Where on earth did you spring from—after all this time? How long is it, exactly?’

She could have told him to the day, the hour, the minute, but was saved from temptation by Mimi Latimer.

‘She’s been selling overpriced flats in London, one of them to Nicola and Edward, it seems. I hope they have a survey done.’

‘A full one—before they made their offer,’ Dana said crisply. ‘Hello, Adam. It’s good to see you.’

‘So, you’re a career girl.’ Adam shook his head. ‘I often wondered what had become of you.’

Then why didn’t you try to find me...?

But she didn’t ask the question aloud. Instead she smiled back at him, keeping her tone casual. ‘Oh, I’ve never been that far away. And I can’t tell you how it feels to be here again—with all these memories.’

‘More champagne?’ said Zac Belisandro blandly, appearing beside them as silently as a dark ghost and refilling the glass she’d put down on a table. ‘To celebrate this joyous reunion.’

Hoping I’ll drink too much and make a fool of myself, no doubt, she thought as she gently removed her hands from Adam’s clasp. But it’s not going to happen, because this top-up is going to be poured away as soon as Zac’s back is turned.

Except, that never seemed to happen. He wasn’t actually following her. He was just—never very far away.

But then, when had he ever been?

But this weekend she would deal with it. She might not be able to distance herself physically, or not until she was the mistress of the house and could control the guest list, but she could and should excise him mentally once and for all.

Put the events of seven years ago in a box, close it securely, then let it drop from thirty thousand feet into the Mariana Trench or some other abyss. Wasn’t that what the therapists recommended?

It might not have worked for my mother, she thought bitterly, but I’ll damned well make it work for me.

She took judicious sips of champagne during the chilled cucumber soup and the poached fillets of sole, accepting half a glass of claret to accompany the beautifully roasted ribs of beef.

She’d been seated between Greg and Chris, the bridesmaids’ fiancés, well away from Adam who occupied the head of the table, but perfectly placed to hear the chunterings of Miss Latimer, stationed at its foot.

‘Such a shame dear Robina can’t be with us,’ she declared fretfully during a lull in the general conversation, adding, to Adam’s obvious displeasure, ‘I know lateness can be trying, but I understand even the dear Queen Mother was habitually unpunctual in her younger days.’

Dana felt a bubble of laughter welling up inside her. At the same moment, she realised that Zac was looking at her from the other side of the table, his dark eyes brilliant, alight with shared and quite unholy amusement and found her gaze locked with his.

Like being mesmerised, she thought, and a shiver ran through her.

Shocked, she bit her lip hard to break the spell, forcing herself to look down at her plate, knowing as she did so that her remaining appetite had deserted her.

Knowing too that she couldn’t permit any kind of connection between them however trivial, however fleeting. Could not afford the slightest threat to her plans.

Chris was speaking to her and she turned to him in relief. ‘This is the most amazing house. It’s actually got a billiard room. When I went in, I expected to find Professor Plum with the candlestick.’ He paused. ‘I understand you and Nic grew up here together?’

‘Hardly,’ Miss Latimer put in tartly. ‘Dana’s aunt was the housekeeper here.’

‘She certainly was.’ Dana made herself speak lightly. ‘And I believe this is her version of lemon syllabub that we’re eating now. She must have left the recipe for her successor.’

‘There’ve been several of those.’ Mimi Latimer again. ‘It’s almost impossible to get reliable help these days. People simply don’t know their place any more.’

‘I think they do,’ Dana returned quietly. ‘Only these days they tend to choose their own.’

‘Adam was saying there used to be an Orangery,’ Greg put in quickly as Mimi bridled. ‘Only he’s turned it into a swimming pool.’

The Orangery gone, Dana thought, startled. But it had been Serafina’s pride and joy. Did she know what Adam intended when she handed over the house? If so, how could she have let it happen?

If I hadn’t been sent away—if I’d stayed here with Adam, I wouldn’t have let him do it, she thought. I’d have talked him out of it somehow.

‘Some Orangery,’ Adam said, taking another helping of syllabub. ‘I never remember a single orange, so I decided a pool would be more useful—and more fun.’

Practical, thought Dana. But depressing. And if something had to go, I wish you’d chosen the summer house.

She shivered again and Chris noticed.

‘Feeling cold?’ he asked, surprised.

‘No, just a slight headache,’ she improvised hastily. ‘Maybe there’s a summer storm on the way.’

And saw in a flash, like the lightning she’d just invented, the sardonic twist of Zac’s lips. Telling her the storm was already here—and waiting for her.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_43457536-50c3-5ed8-a40e-44d78b8cee6e)

AFTER DINNER, THE PARTY split up, the men going off to the billiard room for a knock-out snooker tournament, and the women congregating in the drawing room for coffee and wedding chat.

Dana had already resigned herself to the knowledge that there’d be no opportunity for a private conversation with Adam. Certainly not while Zac was hovering at his shoulder.

But she was annoyed to discover that her fib about a headache was coming true. That will teach me a lesson, she thought, as she made her excuses and took herself off to bed.

Even with the window open, the small room was stifling, and even lying naked under a single sheet, she felt as if she was suffocating. And her headache was getting worse.

Stress, she thought, searching vainly for a cool spot on the pillow. Tension. That’s all it is. And I know exactly who to blame for it.

She swallowed a couple of the ibuprofen she’d found in the bathroom cupboard, and eventually fell into a restless doze only to be woken again by a fierce rumble of thunder directly overhead, accompanied by a waft of cold, damp air and the splash of rain.

I don’t believe this, she groaned as she stumbled out of bed, closed the window and put on her cotton nightshirt. What else can I wish upon myself?

And now she’d be awake while the storm lasted, or even for the rest of the night. Just when she needed all her wits about her for the day ahead.

She hadn’t brought a book with her, but downstairs in the room which had once been Serafina’s study, there’d be the daily paper and a selection of magazines, to provide her with temporary distraction until the night became quiet again.

She put on her robe, tying the sash tightly round her waist and trod quietly along the passage to the stairs.

The house was still, as if she was the only one to be disturbed by the weather. She opened the study door, went across to the desk and switched on the lamp.

‘Buongiorno,’ Zac said courteously.

Dana spun round with a startled cry, her heart thumping.

He was sitting in the high-backed armchair beside the empty fireplace, fully dressed apart from his coat and tie, which were on the floor beside him.

‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded unevenly.

He got to his feet, raking back his hair with a lazy hand. ‘I needed some private time to think, after which I seem to have slept. Until, of course, you whistled up this storm, my little witch, when I stayed to watch nature’s light show. It has been quite spectacular. And you? Have you come down to dance between the raindrops?’

‘Very amusing.’ She picked up the nearest magazine—a county glossy—from the desk. ‘Please resume your viewing. I won’t disturb you any longer.’

He said quite gently, ‘If only that were true. But we both know it is not. Nor that simple.’

‘I know nothing of the kind,’ she said curtly, aware of his scrutiny and wishing her robe was infinitely thicker. And that she did not have to walk past him to reach the door.

And, more importantly, that she’d stayed safely in her room in the first place.

‘Then consider it now.’

As he spoke, another flash of lightning blazed into the room through the uncurtained windows and the lamp on the desk went out, leaving them first dazzled, then in total darkness.

Dana gasped. ‘What’s happened?’

‘A local power cut.’ His tone was laconic. ‘The storm playing havoc with the electrics. It often happens, as I am sure you remember.’

Yes, she thought, but she hadn’t bargained for it to happen here and now.

She said quickly, ‘I’d better go back to my room.’

‘Why the haste?’ He paused. ‘After all, we have been alone in the dark before, you and I.’

As if she could have forgotten, she thought shakily. And it was not a situation she could afford to repeat.

He hadn’t moved. She would swear to that, but she felt that he was somehow nearer. As if the walls of the room were closing in on them, and she needed to get out—to get away in the same way that she needed to draw her next breath.

She thought, I have to be safe.

She began to edge towards where she thought the door should be, only to catch her foot in something lying on the floor—oh, God, his bloody coat—and stumble forward, her balance gone.

Only to find herself grabbed and steadied, then held in the circle of his arms, feeling his warmth, inhaling the haunting trace of the cologne he still used after all this time. Aware that his grasp was tightening.

Panic closed her throat.

‘Let go of me, damn you.’ She choked the words then struck upwards, her hands curled into claws, finding taut skin stretched over bone and a hint of stubble.

She felt Zac wince, heard him swear under his breath before he stepped back, freeing her.

Another jagged flash lit up the room, and gathering the folds of her robe in clumsy hands, Dana ran to the door and across the wide hall to the stairs.

She tripped twice, clutching at the smooth oak bannister rail, almost hauling herself, panting, from step to step in case he was there behind her, following silently, cat-like, in the stifling darkness.

Wondering, if his hand fell on her shoulder, if she would have breath enough to scream and what she would say if she did and people came. How she could possibly explain when the real explanation must remain hidden. For ever.

In her room, with the door closed and the key turned in the stiff lock, she picked up the discarded coverlet from the floor and rolled herself in it, pulling a fold over her head and lying still, waiting for her heartbeat to slow and the rasp of her breathing to subside into normality.

But her cocoon provided no protection at all against the soft trembling deep within her, or the thoughts and memories she could no longer exclude from her consciousness, however hard she might try.

And, perhaps, in order to be free, she should allow her mind to travel back over seven years and—remember.

* * *

She should not even have been at Mannion that summer. Aunt Joss had visited the school to tell her with faint awkwardness about the planned alternative.

‘My friend Mrs Lewis has found you a job through her employment agency. A Mrs Heston needs an au pair to look after her eight-year-old girl and twin boys aged three. You’ll live as family and Mrs Heston will make sure you keep up with any holiday work set by the school.’

‘But I don’t want to spend my vacation with a bunch of strangers,’ Dana protested. ‘Nicola’s expecting me to come home with her. They’re having lots of people to stay, and there’ll be parties. And it’s Adam’s birthday.’

‘Thank you,’ said her aunt. ‘But I’m well aware of the social arrangements, as I shall be bearing the brunt of them.’

‘If I was there, I could help.’

‘I doubt that.’ Aunt Joss paused. ‘You have been excellent company for Nicola in the past, but you’re not children any more and you’re going to be leading very different lives, especially when Mrs Latimer’s arrangements over the house are complete.’

She meant when Adam took over.

As if Dana didn’t know that. As if it hadn’t been at the forefront of her mind since she’d first heard the news that her mother’s claim was being passed over yet again.

Something she would never accept.

Lying in her narrow bed at night, her brain seething, she’d invented and rejected all kinds of scenarios, but in the end it always came back to Adam.

She had never expected him to notice her, except as his younger sister’s friend and schoolmate, but thanks to Nicola that had changed a couple of years before, when Adam had come down to Mannion with a party of friends during the girls’ half-term break, and an impromptu tennis tournament had been organised.

Nicola had immediately turned down Adam’s invitation to partner him. ‘You should ask Dana,’ she’d declared. ‘She’s in the school team and a hundred times better than I am.’

If Adam was surprised at having the housekeeper’s niece foisted on to him, he hid it politely. In gratitude, Dana played out of her skin, and they ended as runners up in the tournament.

‘You should have won,’ said Zac Belisandro, who’d strolled down to watch the later stages. He looked at Adam. ‘You poached too many balls at the net, my friend, and failed to put them away.’

Dana felt a surge of resentment. He might be Serafina’s cousin and a ruthless and dynamic business tycoon, but she hated the way he appeared to stroll through life as if it had been created for his private amusement.

He was someone she tried to avoid when he was at Mannion—and he was there a lot.

‘It’s not Adam’s fault,’ she said impetuously. ‘He knows volleying isn’t my strong point and he was trying to protect me.’

There was a silence, then Zac’s brows rose. ‘Ah,’ he said softly. Mockingly. ‘So that is how it is.’ He turned back to Adam. ‘Serafina wishes to remind you there is tea on the terrace.’

‘Right, my shield and defender.’ Adam slid a casual arm round her shoulders. ‘Tea we shall have, and with strawberries and cream, even if this isn’t Wimbledon.’

Glowing, she allowed herself to be swept along.

She wasn’t invariably his partner that summer or the two that followed, but often enough to count, and to fill her with joyous anticipation at the start of every school holiday, as she waited for his usual visit. Then waited again for him to notice her and smile.

By the time she was seventeen, she was well past any lingering trace of puppy fat, spots or greasy hair. She had changed and so had the way that Adam had begun to look at her, his gaze considering, lingering and filling her with secret excitement.

Because he was acknowledging, she told herself exultantly, that she’d become a woman.

And he’d sealed his discovery by the kiss under the mistletoe they’d shared that Christmas in an unexpected moment of privacy. A kiss that had lengthened. Deepened, hinting at something far more, leaving her breathless.

‘My God,’ he’d whispered huskily as, reluctantly, they parted. ‘You’re full of surprises, Dana, my sweet, and I want to explore them all.’

Then, hurriedly, he’d let her go as the sound of voices signalled the end of the moment.

But there would be others. He’d said it and she knew it with a thrill of anticipation. Maybe at Easter...

But Adam did not come to Mannion at Easter.

‘He’s gone surfing in Cornwall with Zac and some other people,’ Nicola had told her casually.

Instinct told Dana that it would not be an all-male trip, but, then, why would it be? She knew through Nicola that he had girlfriends in London although they never accompanied him to Mannion.

‘Because Serafina wouldn’t let them share a room,’ Nicola had confided with a giggle. ‘She’s very strict about such things. And Adam wouldn’t want to upset her—especially now.’

What was so special about now? Dana had wondered, puzzled. And then Aunt Joss had told her about Serafina handing over Mannion, and she’d understood.

Understood and made her plans for the summer accordingly, only to have them completely blown out of the water, so that she could spend eight weeks running around after three children. It didn’t bear thinking about.

I need a miracle, she’d told herself.

A visit to the headmistress’s office wasn’t usually seen in that light, but as she came away Dana felt like cartwheeling down the corridor.

‘The Heston girls have got chickenpox and the whole family is in quarantine because none of them have had it—and neither have I,’ she told Nicola jubilantly.

‘Oh, thank heaven.’ Nicola’s face lit up. ‘It would have been awful without you. Now, we can have the best summer ever.’

Oh, yes, Dana had told herself. She would make sure of that—with Adam.

How sure I was, she thought now. And how terribly—shamingly wrong.

The storm had moved away into the distance, with only an occasional faint rumble as a reminder. She left the bed and walked to the window, drawing the rush of air deep into her lungs. She pulled over the solitary chair and sat, resting folded arms on the sill, looking out into the darkness. Still no lights anywhere. No moon. Not even the glimpse of a star.

And yet she could see the summer house as clearly as if it had been floodlit. Or simply imprinted on her mind in every detail.

Wooden, she thought, with a thatched roof and verandah where Serafina’s rattan lounger and footrest stood, because the summer house with its view over the house and grounds was her special place.

Thick wooden shutters over unglazed windows, and a wide door opening outwards. Inside, a small table holding a shallow pottery dish containing an assortment of tea lights. Folding chairs against one wall, and facing the door, an enormous elderly sofa, its once luxurious cushions now shabby and sagging, with an equally ancient fur rug on the floor in front of it.

And when she and Nicola had outgrown their shrubbery den, and Serafina did not require it, they were allowed to play there.

Strict rules applied. It had to be left clean and tidy, they were not allowed matches for the tea lights, and they had to close the shutters—‘Squirrels,’ Nicola had said succinctly—and lock up, taking the key back to the house and its hook in the boot room.

But that had been a small price to pay for all those long ago summer days and endless games of make believe.

And even when their fantasies had changed, they’d still enjoyed the occasional picnic there.

She was looking forward to more of them—perhaps with Adam, but Aunt Joss had other ideas.

‘There’s little to be done about chickenpox,’ she’d said grimly. ‘But I can’t have you kicking your heels here for weeks on end, so Mrs Sansom at the Royal Oak has agreed to take you on to help with the rooms and wait at table, although you can’t work behind the bar. She’ll pay you a small wage and you can keep any tips. Your shift will finish once the lunchtime bar snacks are over.’

Dana had listened, appalled. Even the thought of earning some money of her own couldn’t reconcile her to being Mrs Sansom’s dogsbody for half a day. ‘She likes a big cake for her ha’penny’ as a local saying had it.

Worse, Janice Cotton who’d been the leading bully when she was at the village school was working in the Oak’s kitchen, and would almost certainly be waiting to put the boot in.

And if, by some ghastly mischance, Adam and his friends ever decided on a bar lunch in the garden, she’d have to serve them wearing a hideous pink overall with a bright green oak tree emblazoned on the left breast.

And I thought being an au pair was the pits, she’d groaned inwardly.

But she seemed to have little choice in the matter, so the following morning saw her cycling to the village, where, as bad luck would have it, the first person she encountered was Janice.

‘Well, if it isn’t Miss High and Mighty,’ was the greeting, delivered pugnaciously, hands on hips. ‘Tired of your airs and graces up at the big house, are they? Sent you down here, slumming with us peasants? Sorry if I don’t curtsy.’

Dana made no reply as she parked her bike, reflecting that biting her lip hard might well become a way of life.

And, as she soon discovered, working her fingers to the bone.

Her initial encounter with Mrs Sansom had not raised her spirits one iota. Her employer, in her own much repeated words, ‘liked to run a tight ship’. Her tone suggested that any backslider would soon find they were walking the plank.

The Oak did a brisk bed and breakfast trade and the changeover in its six bedrooms had to be swift and efficient.

Theoretically, the rooms had to be vacated by 10:00 a.m., but this didn’t happen as often as it should, and it generally became a mad rush to get the laundry downstairs in time for the van, dust and polish the lounge bar and mop its flagged floor, check the garden parasols and check the ashtrays were clean before washing her face and hands, tidying her hair and changing into a clean pink overall for her waitress stint.

At the same time, she had to contend with Janice, who had soon made her malicious intentions clear, focusing on the hated uniform.

It seemed hardly a day went by without some accident, a favourite being a jog to her arm as she was pouring breakfast juice or ladling soup into bowls, necessitating a change of overall, which could have its own problems.

‘You really are the clumsiest girl,’ Mrs Sansom snapped when Dana had to show her the only clean overall she had left, with a sleeve mysteriously hanging half torn from the armhole. ‘How on earth did that happen?’

‘I don’t know, Mrs Sansom,’ said Dana, although she could make an educated guess at the kitchen scissors followed by a good, hard tug.

‘Well, I suppose you must serve in your own clothes for once, but be more careful in future or I shall have to speak to your aunt. These uniforms cost money, you know, and you’re damned lucky I don’t deduct this damage from your wages.’

But it turned out to be her lucky day, because the cook, Betty Wilfrey, who’d allowed previous incidents to pass without comment, apparently decided enough was enough and took Janice aside for ‘a quiet word’.

For a week or two there was peace; then, after a long, weary day with the temperature up in the eighties, the hotel full and the busiest lunchtime ever, Dana emerged later than usual and well after the kitchen had closed, to find that her bike had disappeared from its usual spot.

‘I don’t believe it,’ she groaned under her breath. She hoped it might just have been moved elsewhere, but a search of the outbuildings and storage area proved futile and Dana could have sat down on the cobbles, put her face in her hands and wept.

It was no use trudging the half mile to the small estate where Janice lived, because she would only deny all knowledge of the incident. So, instead, Dana turned left and began to walk the length of the village, cursing Janice with every step.

She’d coped with the odd flat tyre in the past and said nothing, but this was different. This time she couldn’t suffer in silence—not with the prospect of a three-mile hike at the beginning and end of every working day.

She’d gone about half a mile when she was overtaken by a dark blue convertible, which stopped.

‘Good afternoon,’ said Zac Belisandro. ‘Isn’t it a little warm for a stroll?’

‘I didn’t plan it.’ She stared ahead of her fixedly, one glance having told her that he was more casually dressed than she had ever seen him, bare-legged and bare-armed in white shorts and a dark red shirt unbuttoned almost to the waist.

‘You have a bicycle, I think.’

Now, how did he know that?

‘I couldn’t find it. Someone must have—borrowed it.’

‘Without permission?’

She shrugged. ‘Obviously. Anyway, the walk will do me good.’ Even if my feet feel as if they’re about to burst into flames.

‘I disagree.’ He leaned across and opened the passenger door. ‘Get in.’

Oh, God, no...

She said swiftly, ‘No, thanks, I can manage. You really don’t have to bother.’

‘It will only trouble me if I am forced to put you in the car.’ He sounded faintly bored. ‘For both our sakes, do as you are told.’

The desire to tell him to go to hell almost overwhelmed her. Almost—but not quite.

So she obeyed, a picture of mutiny, fastening her seat belt quickly in case he offered assistance again.

He added, ‘And do not sulk.’

‘Does it occur to you that I might not wish to be driven by you, Mr Belisandro?’ She’d intended to sound dignified, but somehow the words emerged as juvenile and petulant.

His own tone was silky. ‘Then it is fortunate we have only a short journey to endure.’ He paused. ‘Besides, I am not convinced that you yet know what you truly want. I also believe you should be careful what you wish for.’

The car moved forward and began to gather speed. The languid heat of the day seemed suddenly to be pulsing in Dana’s veins and, in spite of herself, she lifted her face welcoming the rush of air.

‘I’ve simply mislaid my bike,’ she returned. ‘I hardly require counselling.’

‘Is that what I’m offering?’ His mouth twisted in the way that always put her on edge. ‘I believed it was kindness, but perhaps you have little reason to recognise it.’

‘But I do know, however, when I’m being patronised,’ Dana said stonily.

‘Then let us change the subject. Do you know who has your bicycle?’

‘I think—Janice Cotton who works in the pub kitchen. I—I expect she meant it as a joke.’

‘She has a strange sense of humour.’ His tone was dry.

‘Well, that’s the English for you.’ She attempted airiness. ‘Unpredictable.’

‘You include yourself in that category?’

‘Why not?’

He said softly, ‘Because I can already foresee the future you have chosen for yourself. The decision you have made to remain anchored to the ground when you could fly.’

Dana stiffened. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Che peccato. What a pity. Yet again totally predictable.’

She said huskily, ‘You know nothing about me. Nothing. So what gives you the right to speculate?’

‘Aesop wrote a fable about a little dog who, through greed, mistook fantasy for reality and lost what was most precious to him.’ He paused. ‘I would not wish you to trade your substance for a mere shadow, Dana mia.’

In the taut silence which followed, the car reached the crest of the hill and Dana saw Mannion waiting below, so familiar, so perfect, so desirable.

My substance, she thought. No matter what I have to do to get you and keep you.

She said, her voice shaking, ‘I don’t believe in fables, Mr Belisandro. If I make mistakes, I’ll stand by them and the last thing I need is advice from you.’

She added fiercely, ‘And I am not your Dana.’

He said something softly under his breath, and after that there was silence.

It was only when she was safely back in the flat and in her room, that it occurred to her that the whispered words had been ‘Not yet.’

Except it couldn’t possibly be that, she told herself, dry-mouthed. It couldn’t be.

And she wouldn’t let herself think about it any more.


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_99e85d25-1b60-5230-b41a-8720278e927b)

AUNT JOSS HAD stared at her. ‘You can’t find your bicycle? What nonsense and typical of your slapdash approach to life, which Mrs Sansom has already mentioned to me.

‘Well, you’ll just have to get up an hour earlier and walk. And after work tomorrow, you get the bus to town and see what cycles Shaw have in their secondhand section, and let it be a lesson to you.’

As if, Dana thought wearily, I haven’t had enough lessons for one day.

She had money saved but she’d planned to spend it on new clothes, something more fashionable than those her aunt thought suitable, with an outfit for Adam’s birthday party heading her list. She needed a pair of high-heeled sandals, and a top to complement the brief flared skirt with its white flowers on a dark green background that she’d produced in sewing class the previous term.

She’d also hoped to visit the town’s smartest hair salon for a complete restyle, instead of the usual boring trim by the village hairdresser.

All of it now in abeyance through no fault of her own.

The encounter with Zac Belisandro had shaken her badly too, and telling herself endlessly that everything he’d said was pure speculation didn’t help one little bit.

Oh, why couldn’t it have been Adam driving from the village instead? Except being discovered at the side of the road hot, tired and sweaty, with her hair escaping untidily from the ponytail Mrs Sansom insisted on was hardly the image she wanted him to have of her.

Working at the Oak didn’t leave her the time or the energy for tennis, or very much else, so she needed some other way to put herself back in the frame for him.

His birthday party in ten days’ time, when Serafina would hand over Mannion was the obvious opportunity to make him notice her again and remember the pleasure of that mistletoe kiss. To make him want more...

But how much more? What could she find in her vast ocean of inexperience to keep him intrigued and interested without necessarily ‘going all the way’ as she knew many of the other girls at school had already done?

The last thing she wanted was for Adam to think she was easy or cheap.

On the contrary, she had, somehow, to make him fall in love with her so deeply that nothing else mattered.

That was the goal. Now she had to find the route and nothing and no one, especially Zac Belisandro, could be allowed to deflect her.

In fact, she wouldn’t give him another thought.

That was until she emerged from the flat the following morning, an hour earlier for the expected hike to work and found her bicycle propped against the wall outside with a brand new padlock and chain dangling from the handlebars, and a note taped to the saddle.

For a moment Dana stood transfixed, an inexplicable mixture of emotions going to war inside her as she read the words, ‘With my compliments. Z.B.’





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