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CHAPTER THREE

‘WHERE have you been?’ Jordan demanded the following morning, as Stephanie unlocked the kitchen door and let herself back into the house accompanied by a gust of chilling wind, the plastic shopping bags she carried in her hands necessitating she gently nudge the door closed behind her with her foot.

The cold shower Jordan had taken the night before had briefly succeeded in dampening some of his arousal. Unfortunately that arousal had returned with a vengeance the moment he had heard Stephanie making her way up the stairs to use one of the bedrooms for the night.

Because Jordan could no longer negotiate the stairs, Lucan had had the dining room converted into a bedroom before Jordan had moved in, and he’d lain on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, aware of nothing but the throb of his own arousal and easily able to imagine Stephanie McKinley stripping off in the room above his. Jordan had got up to impatiently pull on his clothes before going back out to the kitchen. In the circumstances, the nearly full bottle of red wine on the table had seemed very appealing!

Which had turned out not to be such a good idea on an empty stomach. Consequently, Jordan was like a bear with a sore head this morning, his temples aching almost as much as another part of his anatomy had continued to do for most of the night.

He had already made a pot of strong coffee and brought it to the kitchen table, and had drunk half a cup of the rich and flavoursome brew before he’d become aware of the silence in the rest of the house. Unable to go up the stairs himself, to check on whether Stephanie had left or not, he had instead looked out of the kitchen window to see that her car had gone from the driveway. Leading Jordan to believe that she had taken his advice and left, after all.

Which, strangely, hadn’t given him as much satisfaction as he had thought it would. Making him wonder if Lucan could be right when he said Jordan had been here on his own for too long. And now, if he actually felt pleased at the return of the physiotherapist his interfering big brother had hired without even consulting him, he knew he probably had!

‘Where does it look like I’ve been?’ Stephanie said sarcastically—a question that required no answer as she dumped the heavy bags of shopping on top of the wooden table before removing her jacket to reveal she wore a yellow fitted T-shirt today, with those low-slung faded blue jeans.

Another short T-shirt, that once again revealed a tantalising glimpse of her flat abdomen and clung to what Jordan was pretty sure were completely bare breasts above…

‘Why don’t you pour me some of that delicious-smelling coffee while I find the croissants I bought for our breakfast?’ she suggested lightly, and she began to look through the bags, that thick braid of red-cinnamon-gold hair falling forward over her shoulder as she did so.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he murmured dryly, and he leant back in the wooden chair to snag a clean mug from the side before sitting forward to lift the coffee pot and pour the hot and aromatic brew into both mugs.

‘It was a request, not an order,’ she sighed.

Jordan raised dark brows as he placed her mug down on the other side of the table, frowning his irritation as he realised he was actually enjoying having his verbal sparring partner back in the house. ‘I telephoned Lucan last night,’ he informed her coolly.

She continued to search through the bags for the croissants. ‘I know.’

Jordan became very still as his gaze narrowed on her suspiciously. ‘You know?’

‘Yep.’ Stephanie smiled her satisfaction as she found the box of freshly baked pastries and took it out of the bag, putting it on the table along with the butter and honey she had obviously bought to go with them. ‘I telephoned and spoke to him before I went out shopping. He didn’t seem too happy about the fact that you woke him up at two o’clock this morning to tell him how much you didn’t appreciate him sending me here.’

She lifted the rest of the bags unconcernedly down onto the floor to be unpacked later, moving to take out the plates and knives they needed to eat the croissants before sitting down at the table in the chair opposite his.

Jordan’s already frayed temper hadn’t been improved the night before by his consumption of two-thirds of a bottle of red wine, and he hadn’t even noticed what time it was when the idea to telephone Lucan and take his temper out on his brother had occurred to him. Lucan’s growled responses to Jordan’s complaints had left him in little doubt as to his big brother’s displeasure at the call.

‘Then maybe he should have thought of that before he sent you here without asking me!’ he snarled.

Stephanie gave a dismissive shrug as she helped herself to one of the deliciously buttery croissants. ‘He obviously completely underestimated just how rude and unreasonable you’ve become.’

Jordan’s mouth twisted derisively. ‘No doubt you took great pleasure in enlightening him.’

‘I didn’t need to after you had called him at such a ridiculous hour to complain.’ Stephanie took a bite of the butter-and honey-covered croissant, almost groaning at the sensory pleasure she experienced. After being assailed with the delicious aroma of the croissants, first in the supermarket and then on the drive back to the gatehouse; they tasted just as wonderful as she had imagined they would. ‘Try one of the croissants, Jordan,’ she advised him. ‘They might help to get rid of your hangover,’ she added naughtily, before taking another delicious bite.

It had been obvious from the used wine glass and the completely empty bottle of red wine she had found left on the table this morning that Jordan must have returned to the kitchen some time during the night. From the look of the dark shadows under his eyes and the pallor in his cheeks the red wine had done little to dispel whatever pain had been keeping him awake.

Although he had at least brushed his hair and shaved this morning, his cleanly shaven jaw revealing its perfect squareness and the beguiling cleft in the centre. A beguilement that Stephanie resisted responding to by concentrating on the fact that he was also wearing a clean white T-shirt and faded jeans, hopefully meaning he wasn’t completely bereft of the social niceties, after all. Although she wouldn’t like to bet on it!

Stephanie hadn’t slept that well herself the night before, aware as she had been of Jordan’s presence somewhere in the house, and discovering this morning that there was nothing she could eat for her breakfast—not even bread for toast!—hadn’t improved her mood.

A quick telephone call to Lucan St Claire, to confirm that she had arrived safely and so far hadn’t been bodily thrown out into the Gloucestershire countryside, had resulted in his informing her that Jordan had already telephoned him during the night with the same news. Although in Jordan’s case it had obviously been in the nature of a complaint. A complaint that the older St Claire brother didn’t appear in the least concerned about. In fact, his comment had been the one Jordan had predicted—that any response from Jordan was better than the uninterest he normally showed to everything and everyone nowadays.

Stephanie waited until Jordan had taken one of the croissants onto his plate, smothered it in butter and taken a bite before speaking again. ‘I decided to refrain from telling your brother that you had decided on sexual innuendo as the best way of getting rid of me.’

Jordan continued to slowly chew the first mouthful of food he’d had for a couple of days, swallowing the buttery pastry before answering her. ‘Only because you knew Lucan wouldn’t be interested.’

She shrugged. ‘Or maybe I’m just saving that complaint for another day.’

Jordan decided there was a lot more to Stephanie McKinley than that unusually coloured hair and a taut and supple body. It surprised him how curious he was to know exactly what that lot more was.

He leant back in his chair. ‘I should have asked last night whether or not there’s a Mr McKinley waiting for you at home.’

She glanced down at her bare left hand. ‘No ring.’

‘Not all the married women I know wear a wedding ring,’ Jordan drawled.

‘That’s probably because the married women you meet don’t want you to know that they’re married,’ Stephanie pointed out.

Jordan’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t get involved with married women.’

‘No?’

His mouth firmed. ‘No.’

‘Because of your parents’ divorce?’

Jordan drew in a sharp breath. ‘And what do you know about my parents’ divorce?’

She shrugged as she stood up to place her empty plate neatly inside the dishwasher. ‘Only that during interviews you use it as an excuse for never having considered marriage yourself.’

‘It happens to be a fact, not an excuse.’ He pushed his empty plate away to stand up abruptly.

Stephanie knew she had annoyed Jordan intensely with her mention of his parents’ divorce. Not quite the reaction she’d wanted from him, but it was probably better than no reaction at all!

She gave a knowing smile. ‘I can’t imagine any woman ever daring to be unfaithful to the famous Jordan Simpson.’

His eyes glittered a bright, intense gold. ‘My father was unfaithful, not my mother.’

Reason enough, Stephanie decided, for Jordan never to know that she was being named—albeit completely falsely—as the ‘other woman’ in an ex-patient’s divorce!

He thrust a hand through his hair. ‘I’ll be in my study for the rest of the morning.’

‘Doing what?’ She moved so that she was standing in front of the door that led out into the hallway.

He frowned at her. ‘None of your damned business!’

‘Maybe I could help?’

‘And maybe you could stay the hell out of my face!’ He glared down at her.

Maybe getting in his face hadn’t been such a good idea, Stephanie recognised uncomfortably, as she became aware of the heat of Jordan’s body and the glittering intensity of those mesmerising gold-coloured eyes. ‘When I spoke to Lucan this morning, he mentioned that there’s a heated indoor pool at Mulberry Hall…’

Jordan raised a brow. ‘And?’

‘And a swim might be fun.’

Those gold eyes hardened. ‘Am I right in thinking it might also be regarded as good exercise to strengthen the muscles in my leg?’

Stephanie felt the guilty heat of colour in her cheeks and her expression became defensive. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

He shrugged those wide and powerful shoulders. ‘Absolutely nothing.’ His mouth thinned. ‘If I wanted to exercise the muscles in my leg. Which I don’t,’ he added emphatically.

She sighed. ‘Why don’t you?’

A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw. ‘Get out of my way, Stephanie.’

She gave a firm shake of her head, her chin raised. she refused to move. ‘Not until you explain to me why you don’t even seem to want to try to get back the full mobility of your leg.’

A red haze seemed to pass in front of Jordan’s eyes as this woman’s persistent questions managed to pierce his armour once again. ‘Don’t be so stupid!’

‘So you do want to get back the use of your leg?’

‘What I want and what I’ve got are two different things,’ he said pointedly.

Stephanie put a hand on his arm. ‘Then prove me wrong and come swimming with me this morning.’

‘Now who’s playing games?’

‘Come on, Jordan, it will be fun,’ she cajoled.

‘Don’t force me into making you move, Stephanie,’ he bit out between gritted teeth.

‘Could you do that?’ Her chin rose another determined notch. ‘Do you really think you’re physically capable at the moment of making me—or anyone else—do anything?’

Jordan’s fingers tightened about his cane as the taunt struck him with the force of a blow. ‘You vicious little—!’

She gave an unconcerned shrug. ‘No one said you had to like me in order for me to help you.’

‘I don’t remember asking for your help,’ he ground out as his eyes glittered down at her in warning.

‘Whether you ask for it or not, you certainly need it.’

Jordan breathed deeply as he continued to glare down at Stephanie McKinley’s five feet six inches of slender shapeliness. And stubbornness. Let’s not forget the bone-deep stubbornness so evident in her determined expression, Jordan told himself.

He deliberately, slowly, allowed his gaze to move lower, to where her breasts pressed against her T-shirt.

Having him staring so intently at her breasts wasn’t exactly conducive to her feeling as if she were in control of this situation, Stephanie acknowledged. And she had decided during her own virtually sleepless night that being in control was going to be necessary from now on, if she was going to get anywhere in bringing about this man’s recuperation.

Especially as that gaze alone was enough to cause her nipples to harden noticeably beneath the soft material of her T-shirt, so that they now stood out like ripe berries begging to be eaten!

Stephanie could never remember feeling this sexual tension with any of the men she had dated. Or the flare of electricity that seemed to spark between herself and Jordan whenever they were in a room together. Or the need to halt the impulse she felt to wrap her arms protectively over those betraying breasts!

She determinedly continued to resist that impulse as she kept her gaze fixed steadily on Jordan’s arrogantly handsome face. Instead, she drew in an irritated breath. ‘I’m here on a professional basis, Mr Simpson—or Mr St Claire—whatever I’m to call you—not to provide you with amusement!’

Jordan wasn’t as sure of that as Stephanie appeared to be. For days, weeks after the accident, there had been dozens of visitors to the hospital where he had been taken for treatment—many of them women he had been involved with in the past or who would have liked to have become involved with him in the future. Not a single one of them had succeeded in arousing the heated response in him that Stephanie McKinley had almost from the moment he’d first looked at her. Nor given him the perverse enjoyment he felt during their verbal exchanges…

Admittedly, he had been in even more pain immediately after the accident than he was now, and so hardly in the mood for physical arousal. But he was still in a lot of pain, and he only had to look at Stephanie to know he wanted to strip her bare and lie her down on the nearest bed, before kissing and caressing every freckled inch of her.

He focused his gaze on the fullness of her provocatively pouting mouth. Lips that Jordan could all too easily imagine taking him to the heights of pleasure…

‘Parts of your body don’t seem to be in agreement with that statement,’ he taunted, with a knowing glance at her full and obviously aroused breasts.

Stephanie’s cheeks burned uncomfortably as she felt an increase in the sexual tension that had flared so suddenly between the two of them. ‘It’s cold in here,’ she excused lamely.

Jordan chuckled softly. ‘Strange…it feels the opposite to me.’

To Stephanie too. The sexual heat between them was enough to make her cheeks flush even hotter. ‘I won’t delay you any longer,’ she muttered as she finally stepped aside to allow Jordan to leave. Willing him to leave so that she could try to calm her overheated body.

Jordan leant on his cane and walked slowly over to the door. ‘Let me know if you decide to leave, after all.’

‘Why, do you intend to come and wave me off?’ she shot back dryly.

‘No, I’d just like to have the key to the door returned before you leave,’ came his parting shot, and he gave her one last challenging glance before leaving the kitchen.

Stephanie sank back down into the kitchen chair once she was alone, and poured herself another cup of the deliciously strong but now cooling coffee Jordan had made earlier.

What was it about the male patients she had worked with recently? She was pretty sure she hadn’t suddenly turned into some sort of sex siren or temptress, so it had to be that her job brought her into such close proximity to those patients that it made her an easy target.

Whatever the reason, Stephanie knew she was going to have much more trouble resisting Jordan’s advances than she ever had the lecherous and totally obnoxious Richard Newman’s!

CHAPTER FOUR

‘What do you want now?’ Jordan asked impatiently as he looked across the desk to where Stephanie loitered in the open doorway of the study where he had been working for the last hour.

She was completely undeterred by his obvious lack of enthusiasm. ‘I was thinking of going for a walk, and wondered if you would care to join me?’

Jordan’s eyes narrowed as he sat back in the leather chair behind the desk. ‘I’m not sure if you’re being deliberately insensitive again, or just a pain.’

‘Neither.’ Stephanie smiled.

She had tidied and cleaned the kitchen after breakfast, dusted and vacuumed the sitting room—which didn’t look as if anyone had sat in there for some time—and made some fresh chicken soup for lunch and left it simmering on top of the Aga. On the basis that seeing that Jordan had a healthy and varied diet was part of her job of restoring him back to full health.

With nothing else left to do, Stephanie was becoming a little bored with her own company. ‘We don’t have to go far, Jordan,’ she added cajolingly. ‘You could just take me up to Mulberry Hall and show me around if you don’t feel like going any further than that.’

Jordan eyed her suspiciously. ‘Does this I’m-a-little-girl-in-need-of-company routine usually work?’

‘I’m not in need of company, and it isn’t a routine,’ she denied. ‘I just thought some fresh air might be nice.’

‘And exercise,’ he drawled derisively. ‘Let’s not forget the exercise!’

‘God, you’re a grump.’ Stephanie sighed with frustration as she turned away.

‘Hey, I don’t remember saying I wouldn’t go with you.’

Stephanie turned back slowly. ‘Does that mean you will?’

‘Why not?’ Jordan said, and he picked up his cane and stood up. He doubted he would be able to get any more work done on the film script this morning now anyway, knowing that Stephanie was wandering about the estate. ‘Although showing you round Mulberry Hall might prove a little difficult when I can’t get up stairs,’ he added with a scowl.

‘You can always wait downstairs while I go and take a look upstairs,’ she reasoned practically.

‘You might have a sudden urge to try one of the four-poster beds!’ Jordan teased.

‘Oh, give it a break, Jordan,’ the little redhead growled.

He shrugged. ‘I can’t see any point in you staying on here if I can’t make life uncomfortable for you.’

Neither could Stephanie at the moment, but she lived in hope that she might eventually be able to change Jordan’s mind about accepting her professional help. In the meantime, getting him to take a walk with her was better than nothing.

‘I’ll just go upstairs and get my thicker jacket. It’s quite cold outside for October.’

‘If that was your subtle way of telling me that I need to wrap up warm too, then I strongly advise you not to treat me like a child,’ Jordan told her.

‘I wasn’t treating you like a—’ She stopped, frowning as she realised that was exactly what she had been doing. In an effort, perhaps, to try and keep their relationship on a professional footing rather than the flirtatious one Jordan kept reducing it to with his questionable remarks. ‘I—’ She broke off again as the telephone began to ring.

Well…one of them. There was an extension for the landline on the desktop, as well as two mobiles—one black and one silver. Stephanie could understand the landline, but who needed two mobiles, for goodness’ sake?

Jordan picked up the black mobile, checking the caller ID before taking the call. ‘Hi, Crista,’ he said, and he turned his back on Stephanie to look out of the window.

Stephanie stared at the broad expanse of that muscled back, at the way the white T-shirt stretched tautly over his shoulders, and debated whether she should go or stay. The call was obviously private. From Crista Moore, the woman Jordan had been reportedly involved with before his accident.

‘Stay!’ Jordan barked as he turned and saw that Stephanie was about to leave.

‘Woof, woof!’ She wrinkled her nose at him before going ahead and leaving anyway.

Jordan found himself smiling as he watched the sway of those curvaceous hips and taut bottom as Stephanie walked down the hallway. She really was the most—

‘No, I wasn’t talking to you, Crista,’ he said lightly into the receiver as the caller queried his last comment. ‘Oh, just a—an associate of my brother’s,’ he said evasively, easily able to imagine the tall, slender blonde actress as she sat in her apartment in LA.

Of all the people Jordan had known before the accident, Crista was definitely the most persistent—calling him at least once a week to see how he was and when he would be coming back to LA. As Jordan had no intention of ever resuming their relationship, any more than he had immediate plans to return to LA, he usually kept those telephone calls short.

Even so, Stephanie was sitting at the kitchen table impatiently waiting for him by the time Jordan had ended the call and collected his coat. ‘Hmm, something smells good.’ He sniffed appreciatively at the saucepan he could see simmering on top of the Aga.

‘Soup for lunch,’ she supplied economically as she stood up to pull on a heavy black jacket. ‘No, I don’t see that as acting the housekeeper,’ she defended irritably as Jordan raised mocking brows. ‘For your body to be healthy you need to eat healthily, that’s all.’

He smiled. ‘So you’re saying you only made lunch because you consider feeding me a part of my treatment?’

Those green eyes narrowed. ‘Exactly.’

‘If you say so.’

‘Jordan—’

‘Stephanie?’

She wasn’t fooled for a moment by Jordan’s too-innocent expression, knowing he was just trying to irritate her again. And obviously succeeding! ‘Why do you need two mobile phones?’ she asked, as she pulled on a pair of black gloves to keep her hands warm.

A slight frown appeared between those amber-gold eyes. ‘What?’

She shrugged. ‘I noticed earlier that there were two mobiles on the desk in the study, and I was just curious as to why you would need two when most people manage fine with just one?’

‘Maybe because I’m two people?’ Jordan finally replied, deciding that Stephanie McKinley was far too observant for his comfort sometimes.

She arched auburn brows. ‘Because you’re both Jordan Simpson and Jordan St Claire?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did you change your name when you became an actor? Jordan St Claire is quite a charismatic name—’

‘Are we going for this walk or not?’ Jordan’s mouth thinned as he stepped forward and pointedly opened the back door for her.

‘We are.’ Stephanie nodded as she stepped outside. ‘So you actually consider Jordan Simpson and Jordan St Claire to be two distinctly different people?’ she persisted as he locked the door behind them before joining her on the path.

Jordan didn’t consider them to be anything—they were two distinctly different people! As different as night and day. And non-interchangeable. ‘Could we just get this walk over with, do you think?’ he barked, before striding off in the direction of Mulberry Hall.

‘Of course.’ Stephanie deliberately measured her strides so that they were in step with his much slower ones. ‘You never considered working in the St Claire Corporation?’ she prompted curiously.

It was a curiosity that was probably understandable in the circumstances. Except Jordan wasn’t presently known for his understanding! ‘Have you ever heard of maintaining a companionable silence when out walking?’

Of course Stephanie had heard of it; it just wasn’t something that was ever likely to happen between herself and Jordan! An awkward silence, perhaps. An uncomfortable silence, even. A totally physically aware one, certainly. At least on her part…The scowl on Jordan’s arrogantly handsome face as he stomped along beside her didn’t give the impression that he was in the least aware of her, or anyone else for that matter.

‘Wow!’

Jordan leant tiredly against one of the four marble pillars in the magnificent hallway of Mulberry Hall as Stephanie gazed up in awe at the huge Venetian glass chandelier hanging down from the frescoed ceiling high above them. Jordan’s leg was aching too much from the half-mile or so walk over here for him to share her enthusiasm. Besides, he had seen the inside of Mulberry Hall dozens of times before.

‘This is…I mean, wow!’

‘I get that you’re in awe,’ Jordan drawled dryly as he watched her wandering around the cavernous hallway, admiring the beautiful marble floor and statuary.

‘And you aren’t?’ Her eyes were wide with accusation.

‘Not particularly, no,’ Jordan muttered as he pushed himself away from the pillar to lean heavily on his cane and walk towards the main salon at the front of the house.

Stephanie trailed slowly along behind him, her eyes bright with pleasure as she came to stand on the threshold of the room, looking at the beautiful gold and cream decor and delicate Regency furniture. ‘Has Lucan never thought of opening this up to the public?’

‘Definitely not.’ Jordan almost laughed at the thought of the expression of disgust that would appear on his eldest brother’s face if anyone dared to suggest he should open the doors of Mulberry Hall to all and sundry. ‘I don’t recommend that you suggest it to him, either—unless you want to feel the icy blast of his complete disapproval.’

‘But it seems such a waste.’ Stephanie frowned. ‘The building itself must be very old.’

‘Early Elizabethan, I believe.’

Stephanie crossed the room to lightly touch the beautiful ornate gold frame about the huge mirror above the white fireplace. ‘Did Lucan buy it completely furnished like this?’ There were ornaments and lamps on the surfaces of the many side tables, and a large dresser along one wall, as well as a beautiful Ormolu clock on top of the fireplace.

Jordan gave an uninterested shrug. ‘As far as I’m aware some of this furniture has been here for a couple of hundred years at least.’

‘I wonder what happened to the family that lived here?’ Stephanie murmured. ‘It must have been someone titled, don’t you think?’

Jordan nodded. ‘The Dukes of Stourbridge.’

Stephanie sighed. ‘It’s such a pity that so many of the old titles have either become extinct or fallen into disuse.’

‘Yes, a pity,’ Jordan drawled dryly.

‘Do you suppose Lucan intends to live here once he’s married? It was just a thought,’ she defended as Jordan gave a shout of laughter. ‘You say that he doesn’t intend opening it to the public, but he must intend doing something with it, surely?’

‘Sorry, I was just trying to imagine Lucan married,’ Jordan gasped, his shoulders still shaking slightly. ‘No, I just can’t see it, I’m afraid.’

Stephanie couldn’t imagine the cold and self-contained man she had met the previous week madly in love and married, either. ‘I wonder why he bothered to buy it, then?’

‘I never try to second-guess Lucan, and I’d advise you not to bother trying, either,’ Jordan suggested as he turned away. ‘Do you want to see the pool at the back of the house now?’ he offered, when he saw Stephanie hadn’t moved from in front of the fireplace.

‘Philistine,’ she accused him good-naturedly as she followed him back out into the incredible marble hallway.

Stephanie had visited several country estates in the past that had been open to the public, but never an empty one that looked quite so much as if someone still lived there. There were paintings on all the walls, ornaments and antique mirrors everywhere, and there was even a silver tray on the stand in the hallway that looked as if it were waiting for visiting cards to be placed upon it. In fact the whole house had the look of expecting the master of the house—the Duke of Stourbridge—to walk through the front doorway at any moment.

‘Lucan has a caretaker for the grounds, and his wife keeps the inside of the house free of dust,’ Jordan explained when Stephanie said as much to him.

‘Even so, it seems a shame that no one actually lives here…’ Stephanie looked about her wistfully.

‘It’s really not the sort of place you could ever call home, now, is it?’ Jordan scorned. ‘That you would ever really want to call home,’ he added.

Stephanie stood at the bottom of the wide and sweeping staircase that led up the gallery above, wondering how many beautiful women had stood poised at the top of that staircase, in gowns from the Elizabethan period to now, to be admired by the men they loved as they floated down those stairs and into their waiting arms. Dozens of them, probably. And now Mulberry Hall stood empty, apart from the caretaker and his wife who obviously lived somewhere else on the estate, when it should have been full of love and the laughter of children.

‘I suppose not,’ she agreed slowly, before following him.

Jordan had nothing more to add to that particular conversation. Had no intention of telling the already over-curious Stephanie McKinley that Lucan hadn’t bought Mulberry Hall at all, that he was in fact the current and fifteenth Duke of Stourbridge. Which consequently made him Lord Jordan St Claire and his twin brother Lord Gideon St Claire—a little known fact that his using the professional name of Simpson had helped keep from the public in general.

The three brothers had spent their early childhood growing up at Mulberry Hall. Until their Scottish mother had discovered that their father, the fourteenth Duke of Stourbridge, had been keeping a mistress in the village. After the separation Molly had decided to move back to her native Edinburgh, and had taken her three sons with her.