Kitabı oku: «Christmas With The Duke», sayfa 3

CHAPTER THREE

THE FOUR-BY-FOUR SLEWED towards the hedge on the narrow road. Tom steered into the skid, feeling the car scraping against brambles and seeing a shower of snow thumping against the side windows before he finally managed to bring the vehicle to a stop.

He switched off the engine. The fresh snow on the side of the vehicle slid to the road with a thud and then there was nothing but absolute silence. Nothing stirred. Not a single bird was to be seen in the early-morning milky blue sky. Not a cry nor a bleat from an animal. It was as if the earth was having a sleep-in, having exhausted itself in the intensity of the snowstorm that had hit the east coast of Ireland the previous night.

Below him in the valley the vibrant emerald fields of Loughmore had disappeared under a blanket of sparkling white snow. Switching the engine back on, he crunched his way through the snow-covered perimeter road of the estate, where the high limestone wall to his right marked the boundaries with the neighbouring farms. After a few minutes he finally caught a glance of his last destination for the morning: Butterfly Cottage.

It was nestled in a copse, and he could just about make out its thatched roof beneath the snow.

He drove down the long incline into the heart of the valley, the four-by-four skidding on the more sheltered parts of the road. Last night, the initial flourish of snow had frozen hard, to be followed later by a heavier and more prolonged snowfall.

At the cottage, the garden gate refused to budge, so he had no option but to leap over the low wall that surrounded the property, built to stop the estate’s cows and sheep from wandering into the garden.

On the other side of the wall he muttered to himself as he landed into a particularly deep snow drift and snow flooded the inside of his wellington boots.

His knock on the rose-pink-painted cottage door echoed into the valley. He had to knock a second and then a third time before the door swung open.

Dressed in a fluffy yellow dressing gown, her hair mussed up and her cheeks pink, Ciara stared at him through sleepy eyes. ‘Tom... I mean, Your Grace, what are you doing here?’ Then, pausing, she peered over his shoulder. ‘Oh, my God! I can’t believe how much snow there is.’

Her eyes grew wide and her gaze shot back to his.

‘My alarm didn’t go off! I slept in! I’ll be up at the gardens as soon as I can. I know snow was forecast, but I hadn’t realised so much would fall. I don’t usually work on a Sunday, but I would have been up inspecting the gardens earlier if I had known.’

‘I’m not here because I expect you to be at work.’

‘Why are you here, then?’

‘The electricity in the castle went out overnight. The emergency generator took over—’

Ciara interrupted him, her expression alarmed, ‘Were the outside buildings affected? The greenhouses?’

‘No, they’re all okay.’

She gave a grateful exhalation and then with a deep shiver added, ‘It’s Baltic out here—come inside before we both perish.’

The living room of the cottage was directly inside the front door. A Christmas tree, laden down with decorations, sat in one corner. Christmas cards were strung over the mantelpiece, and an array of angels and Santa Clauses and reindeers were spread on every other available surface.

Moving over to the small cottage window overlooking the front garden, Ciara leant down and propped her elbows on the deep windowsill. She shook her head as she stared at the wintry scene outside. ‘I have never seen so much snow. Thank God we covered some of the more vulnerable plants with fleeces.’

There was a light switch to one side of the front door. Tom switched it to on. The brass light at the centre of the room remained unlit.

Ciara gave a groan. ‘Oh, seriously... No wonder my radio alarm didn’t go off.’

‘You’re not the only one. I’ve called in to all the other estate cottages this morning to make sure everyone is okay—several others are without electricity too. You’re the last on my list, being the furthest out. I’d hoped you wouldn’t be affected too.’

Ciara looked at him in surprise. ‘You’ve called in to every cottage? How did everyone react?’

Now that he thought about it, his arrival had caused a certain level of consternation in each of the cottages. ‘They were a little thrown, I suppose. What’s the problem with me calling?’

Beneath her yellow dressing gown she was wearing old-fashioned white cotton pyjamas, with a lace detail running down the front of the top, the bottoms ending at mid-calf, with yet more lace detailing. The cute pyjamas and fluffy dressing gown, her mussed up hair and rosy skin, along with the remaining heat in the room from last night’s fire, all combined to give him the strangest urge to take her in his arms and hold her. Inhale her sleepy scent.

He glanced away from her.

‘Calling in to the cottages...it’s not something your dad would have done,’ Ciara said gently.

‘No, I don’t suppose it is.’

She regarded him as though she were trying to understand him, and then a soft smile broke on her lips. ‘It’s a thoughtful thing to do, though.’

Warmth seeped through him at her smile. An alarming tightness gripped his heart.

He tried to refocus. ‘What will you do? Is there someone you can stay with until the electricity is restored?’

‘It’s okay—I’m leaving later today anyway, to spend Christmas with my mum. After I’ve helped out at the kiddies’ party at the castle. Hopefully the electricity will be restored before I get back.’

‘The road out of Loughmore is impassable.’

Her mouth dropped open. ‘Oh, for crying out loud!’

‘Liam Geary rang the council. They won’t be able to clear the road before Christmas Day.’

‘So we can’t get out?’

‘Nor people in to Loughmore. The weather has hit the south of England too. My mother and sisters are having to postpone their journey until after Christmas.’

Ciara leant against the windowsill, her eyes wide. ‘That’s terrible.’

‘My mother accepts it’s outside her control...and I think it might actually help her to stay at Bainsworth. It may be painful, as it’s the first Christmas without my father, but at least there she has happy memories of past Christmases. And I’m sure they’ll make it in time for the New Year Eve’s ball. What will you do now that you can’t get to Dublin?’

Ciara shrugged. ‘I’m not sure... I’ll chat with Libby. She’s working on Christmas Day. I might go and spend it with her at the castle.’

‘I’ve told Libby and the other staff who were scheduled to work over Christmas to take the time off. They’re staying to run the children’s party later today but then taking Christmas Eve through to Boxing Day off.’

‘But that means you’ll be in the castle completely on your own for three whole days.’

‘I was hardly going to get them all to come in to look after one person. I’m sure they would all much prefer to be at home with their families.’

‘But what will you do?’

Tom could not but help laugh at the horror in Ciara’s eyes. ‘Work. Cook dinner for myself. Up until this year I’ve spent a decade looking after myself—apart from a cleaner who comes in a few days a week. I can perfectly manage without staff.’

‘But that’s no way to spend Christmas Day. Christmas should be about having fun and sharing it with others. Creating memories.’

He wasn’t going to admit it to Ciara, but part of him was glad it had snowed. At previous Christmases he had felt duty-bound to spend it with his family. Invariably he’d leave early, feeling claustrophobic because of his father’s unending silent scrutiny and his mother’s recounting the tale of yet another classmate of his who had married recently. His sisters were no better, in their mission to set him up on blind dates with friends and acquaintances of theirs.

Tom had never told any of them, because he knew they would only make his life hell, but he had no interest in dating or relationships. His last relationship had been over two years ago, with Maki—Storm’s first owner. As with every other previous relationship of his, it had ended in rows, with Maki accusing him of being too remote, too closed.

What was it she’d said? ‘I’ve never known you, Tom. I’ve never understood what’s in your heart.’

Cancelling Christmas at the castle was also a relief to him because he’d much prefer not to have the guilt of having the staff he was soon going to have to tell that their jobs might be redundant waiting on him on Christmas Day.

‘My work means that I rarely get time to myself. I’m looking forward to having some downtime and space to think. But what about you? Have you someone to stay with?’

She gave him a hopeful look. ‘Maybe the electricity won’t be off for long—the suppliers won’t want people spending Christmas without it.’

‘Liam called the supplier. Until the road into Loughmore is clear they won’t be able to repair any of the lines.’

Ciara’s expression fell.

Drained after a night of virtually no sleep, he went to sit on the armrest of the yellow-and-white-striped sofa that sat in front of the fireplace. He had barely placed his hand on the armrest when he snatched it away again, jumping at the angry hiss that emanated from a dark corner.

‘What was that?’

Clearly amused, Ciara moved in front of the sofa. Popping her hands on her hips, she stared down into the corner. ‘You must behave, Boru.’ Looking back at him, she said, ‘Sorry about that. Boru is especially cranky with any man who calls.’

Tom dared to peer over the armrest. A jet-black cat with bright green eyes stared back at him and hissed again, before slowly uncurling and leaping from the sofa. He slunk by Ciara’s legs and climbed the stairs of the cottage with an indignant toss of his head.

Shaking her head, Ciara stared after the retreating cat. ‘God, he’s the most contrary cat ever—he never does anything I ask of him.’ Turning in the direction of the kitchen, to the rear of the living room, she glanced at the multi-coloured cuckoo clock sitting over the sink. ‘I’d better get a move on. Sean and the rest of the gardening crew are on annual leave. I’m the only one still on the estate.’

‘Back to my question—where are you going to stay until the electricity is restored?’

She grimaced. ‘I don’t know. Libby is allergic to cats, and all the other staff who live on the estate have families of their own. I don’t want to intrude on their Christmases.’

‘How about your friend Vince?’

‘God, no—his Tiger tried to take a lump out of Boru the last time they met.’

‘Tiger?’

‘Vince’s Jack Russell.’ She shrugged ‘I have plenty of firewood, and as the go-to or birthday present for any woman over twenty-five seems to be a smelly candle, I have enough of them to last me a lifetime. I’ll be fine here.’

‘But you can’t stay here without electricity.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Humankind survived without electricity for millennia. I’m sure I’ll cope.’

He stared at her, the inevitable offer on the tip of his tongue. But he was loath to say it. Spending Christmas alone with Ciara was the last thing he wanted to do. There were too many memories, too much attraction, too much unfinished business still between them that he didn’t want to rake up.

But he couldn’t leave her here on her own—not when he had a whole castle to himself. He inhaled a long, deep breath. ‘Come and stay in the castle.’

Ciara’s mouth dropped open. She eventually managed to say, ‘No... Thank you, but I don’t... I can’t...’

He pulled off his coat, rested it on the back of the sofa. ‘Your car won’t make it through the snow. I’ll wait while you change and pack.’

Her eyes narrowed and she folded her arms defiantly. ‘I love Christmas—I’ll want to do all the traditional things...opening presents, the full works at dinner, playing games after. Are you prepared to take part in all of that?’

‘I hadn’t planned—’

She interrupted him. ‘I’ll stay here, in that case.’

He gave her a stern look, in no mood to debate this. ‘Look, it makes sense—I have acres of space in the castle, and at least there you’ll be closer to the gardens in order to take care of them.’

She considered that for a moment. ‘That’s true.’ She paused, as something seemed to dawn upon her. ‘And as you’ve told the rest of the staff not to work I can look after you.’

‘I don’t need looking after.’

She just shrugged, clearly not accepting that he did not require any help in the castle over the next few days.

Tense already, from the testing driving conditions earlier and now from this stand-off with Ciara, he stretched his arms over his head to ease the tension in his shoulders.

Ciara ran her gaze over his body, her eyes growing wider and wider as they travelled down his chest, pausing at his abs then skimming over his hips. Heat blasted in her cheeks.

‘I...’ She paused, backed away towards the stairs, ‘I need to get changed.’

‘We’re not finished with our conversation.’

To that she just shrugged again, before turning and darting up the stairs.

He closed his eyes. Sucked in some air.

There was still a spark between them. A dangerous spark. Which meant that inviting her to the castle was risky. But he couldn’t leave her all alone. He owed it to her.

It was up to him to control what was happening between them...not to do anything that they would later regret.

She had been right when she’d said they should have just stayed friends. In loving Ciara he had opened himself up to another person for the first time in his life. It had been both intoxicating and terrifying.

Through gentle teasing she had drawn him out. For years he had disappointed his parents, felt the heavy weight of their disapproval and frustration at his end-of-term reports and frequent school meetings to discuss his lack of academic progress. He knew he wasn’t the son they had hoped for—an all-rounder academic and sportsperson in the mould of his father.

Ciara had been the first person who’d accepted him for what he was. But he had failed her. When she had rightly cut him out of her life he’d thought his life would be empty and grey for ever. It had taken him years to put the pieces of his shattered heart back together again. He could never relive that pain. Even being near her now was bringing back unwelcome memories and thoughts of what might have been.

In an alcove beneath the stairs sat an old writing desk, its central green leather writing surface faded with time. On the dark wood surrounding the leather there were at least a dozen framed photos of Ciara. He picked one up, and then another.

Some were of Ciara standing with people who looked like colleagues in various garden settings. In all of them she was at the centre of the group, her arms linked tightly around the waists of those standing beside her. She looked buoyant and proud in them all. Others were holiday photos—Ciara sitting in the sun with friends, with elaborate cocktails, and a winter snap of a boat ride in Amsterdam. Another showed her wading out of an azure sea, wearing a black bikini, one hand on her forehead pushing away her wet hair.

He breathed in deeply and turned away from the image of her in the bikini.

He stared at the long row of Christmas cards over her mantelpiece. No doubt from friends and colleagues. She had led a full life since he had last seen her. He admired her for what she had achieved. Why, then, did it leave him feeling so unsettled?

He was standing at the kitchen sink, filling a glass of water when Ciara reappeared.

Wearing a silver turtleneck Christmas jumper adorned with glistening white stars, which skimmed the waistband of her tight-fitting black jeans, she looked cute and as sexy as hell.

Her gaze fell to the half-eaten cookie in his hands. He had found a tray of cookies lying on the kitchen counter and, not having eaten anything all morning, had been unable to resist taking one.

Ciara grimaced at the cookie and then darted to the fridge. ‘I should have offered you something to eat before I got dressed. Would you like a sandwich? I can’t offer you a hot drink...’ she turned with a carton of apple juice ‘...but how about some juice?’

‘Water is fine...and I couldn’t fit in another bite after this cookie. It’s rather filling.’

She gave him a disbelieving look before pouring some juice into a glass. He watched her sip it, trying to get a grip on the way her behaviour with him kept swinging from one extreme to another. Sometimes she was her old forthright self and then at other times she became almost deferential. Something was going on that he wasn’t grasping.

Taking a sip of the ice-cold water, he said, ‘I didn’t see you again after our dance on Friday night. You didn’t join Vince as you said you would.’

There was something about Tom’s tone—an edge to it—that had Ciara pausing in placing the cap back on the juice carton. She glanced over at him, and then away. Did he have to stand there in her kitchen wearing such a tight-fitting tee shirt? She tried to shake off the image of the six-pack he had earlier exposed when he had stretched. His long sleeved grey tee shirt had parted from jeans that hung sexily low on his hips to reveal spectacular abs...

‘I ended up helping Libby in the kitchen,’ she said.

‘Why? It’s not your job.’

‘She needed help. I didn’t mind.’

‘Why wouldn’t you join myself and Amber?’

She knew by his tone that he wasn’t going to let this drop. Twisting the cap good and tight on the carton, she put it back into the fridge. Closing the fridge door, she leant against it, suddenly feeling a little dizzy.

Should she just leave well alone? Leave the past where it belonged? But something deep inside her was telling her that Tom deserved to know. Especially as he was inviting her to stay in the castle for Christmas.

Ciara liked to think that she wasn’t a coward, but the thought of being stuck out here all alone in the cottage in the pitch-darkness of a winter’s night was pushing her towards accepting his invitation. That and the fact that staying with Tom over the Christmas made sense in terms of her campaign to save Loughmore. She could use the time they spent together to persuade him not to sell.

But first there were things he deserved to know.

She swallowed hard and asked, ‘Your dad and you...? How were things between you in recent years?’

Tom’s eyes narrowed and his mouth turned downwards. He gave a shrug that was nothing but casual. ‘He had come to accept who I am.’

It didn’t sound as though his father had lowered his unrealistic expectations. ‘Was he proud of everything you’ve achieved with your restaurants?’

Tom rose an eyebrow. ‘A double Olympian horseman with a first from Cambridge has very high standards.’

For a moment Ciara closed her eyes, and then in a rush she said, ‘I think there’s something you should know.’

He looked at her blankly.

‘Your dad and my mum...’ She paused and inhaled a steadying breath. ‘Well, they...they had a relationship when they were teenagers. It ended when they were both twenty-one. They kept it secret...just like us. My mum only knew it was all over when she read about his engagement to your mum in the newspapers.’

Tom dropped his glass to the counter with a thud. ‘Your mum and my dad!’

Why did he sound so appalled? ‘Don’t you think she was good enough for him?’

Tom stepped away from the counter and threw his arms up, looking at her as though she had lost her mind. ‘What are you talking about? When did I say that?’

Taking her by surprise, anger on behalf of her mum fizzed through Ciara. Fiercely she countered, ‘My mum was heartbroken. She met my dad and married him soon after. And we both know how that ended—with him upping sticks when I was only a year old.’

Tom grimaced. Stepped back. Lowered his head from her gaze for a beat to study the quarry-tiled floor of her kitchen. Inhaling deeply, he looked back up at her, grim-faced. ‘I’m sorry about what my father did to your mother.’

His apology sounded genuine...even heartfelt. It doused her anger, and in a low voice she said, ‘I thought you should know... It explains so much. Especially why your dad was so opposed to us being friends.’

Tom’s mouth tightened. ‘And why your grandfather in his very polite and roundabout way asked me to stay away from you.’

‘Did he?’

Ciara could not keep the surprise from her voice. Her grandad was a reserved man, who kept himself to himself. Like her grandmother, he was a traditionalist and had always believed in respecting the family they served—which included never commenting on them or their behaviour. For him to have said anything to Tom must have meant that he had been extremely worried.

Ciara felt a pang of guilt for the anxiety she must have caused her grandparents. Only now, with hindsight, could she appreciate the dilemma they must have faced back then, with their desire to spend time with their only grandchild versus seeing her following a destructive path similar to her mother’s.

‘I respected your grandfather. I didn’t like going against his wishes.’

Ciara’s heart skipped a beat at the obvious toll it had taken on Tom to go against the wishes of her grandad—a man she knew he was fond of. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘He asked me not to say anything to you. He said he knew I would do the right thing and not hurt you.’

At that Tom stopped and held her gaze. Silence settled around them. She bit her lip, trying to ignore the ache in her chest. She had moved on from all this years ago. Hadn’t she?

She grabbed a tea towel and reached for the mixing bowl that was still lying on the draining board from when she had made the cookies last night. Tom had unfortunately decided to test them. She hoped for his sake he had a strong stomach.

Drying the bowl with quick wipes, she said, ‘My grandparents tried to stop my mum from seeing your dad. They knew it could never last and how infatuated she was with him.’

Opening her baking cupboard, she placed the bowl on the base of her food mixer.