‘I’ve been wet before and it didn’t kill me. I really don’t need fresh clothes.’
Rivulets of rainwater trickled down the back of his neck as he shook his head. Then, lifting his arm, he raked long fingers through his matted, curly hair and, as he did so, his shirt fell open to expose a muscular torso.
A sudden rush of heat filled Serena’s entire body as she watched him. Certain it would show on her face, she quickly lowered her head and stepped back into the shadows before replying. ‘Well, it might just kill you this time, and we’d hate to be responsible for that.’
She was unable to keep the teasing tone out of her voice; and, when the man looked at her, she flashed him a smile that was both mischievous and inviting, half woman and half child. It made her look like someone about to embark upon a reckless adventure.
‘I’m sure Nicholas has an old tee-shirt somewhere, and a pair of shorts.’ Serena looked enquiringly at her husband, who was studying the man’s enormous frame.
‘I doubt I’ve got anything to fit you, Mr … ’ Nicholas paused.
‘Fergusson. Royole Fergusson the second, at your service.’ Royole bent forward, mockingly sweeping one big arm in front of him in a parody of a bow. He was grinning from ear to ear.
There was an untamed air about him which Serena found irresistible. She stretched out her hand, bubbling with laughter, and responded in kind.
‘Lady Serena Frazer-West, at your service, sir.’
Nicholas stepped in front of Royole before he had an opportunity to take his wife’s hand. Looking up into the taller man’s face, he was as surprised as Serena had been by the intense green of the eyes; eyes which held his own so firmly.
‘Come along then, Mr Fergusson. Let’s see if we can at least get you rigged out in something dry.’
Nicholas then nodded to the butler, and Joseph led the way out of the small hallway into a fifty-foot square central courtyard, laid in pure white terrazzo. Serena had to be supported by her husband as she limped along.
The house had been designed around the courtyard and all the rooms led off it. It was dark. The windows were shuttered against the storm and an enormous antique brass lantern, hanging on a heavy chain, was unfit. Only a small amount of light, flickering from four carved wall-sconces, cast an eerie glow upon the pale stone.
Royole jumped as a frog croaked loudly, then plopped into the small ornamental pool in the centre of the courtyard, disappearing under a perfect, yellow lotus lily.
A pair of old, stone urns, inlaid with the Frazer-West crest, stood at the foot of a wide sweeping staircase. Serena, leaning against one of the urns, admired Royole Fergusson’s broad back as he ascended the stairs holding the curved mahogany handrail.
Only when he was out of sight did she limp barefoot into the drawing room, where the butler had lit several long candles, just in case the electricity failed. They flickered brightly under gleaming hurricane lamps, shadows dancing across the darkened walls.
Earlier in the day Joseph and the gardener had stacked all the terrace furniture into one corner of the room, which now resembled a warehouse. The air felt heavy, with a cloying dampness. It was oppressive and Serena longed to do what she did in the mornings; which was to throw open the tall windows leading on to the terrace, let in a fresh sea breeze and enjoy uninterrupted views of the coastline from every angle.
She noticed that the wind noise had changed. It was deeper now, more aggressive. She was momentarily startled as the large limb of a mahogany tree crashed down on to the roof of the house. But settling comfortably on the deep sofa, she popped a cushion behind her head and another under her ankle. She was thinking about Royole Fergusson, when Nicholas joined her, immediately destroying the moment.
‘Was it really necessary to invite a total stranger to join us for supper, Serena?’ he complained through clenched teeth as soon as he entered the room.
She didn’t reply.
‘Serena, answer me! I was looking forward to a quiet evening; just you and I.’
She studied her husband’s back as he poured himself a large gin and tonic. ‘Might it have been OK to invite him for dinner if he was white, Nicholas darling?’ His back stiffened as she pursued her point. ‘Or another householder perhaps; someone you went to school with; an old chum from your club; even someone who knew someone who went to Eton. If he was someone more … how shall I put it, Nicholas, of our class?’
He whirled round, almost spilling his drink.
Serena confronted him defiantly, but sank a little deeper into the sofa, anticipating his angry reaction. Nicholas’s brown eyes were shadowed, so she couldn’t see what they said, but there was no mistaking the annoyance in his voice.
‘I hear your contempt, my sweet, and I’ll have none of it. How dare you accuse me of prejudice!’
Serena didn’t feel like arguing. It was such a waste of time with Nicholas. He invariably overreacted and she found it extremely tedious. She often did it purely to be perverse, but for once she decided to placate him.
‘Because, my darling Nicholas, you are a bigot; an absolute snob; insular to the core and I adore you.’
She was smiling sweetly as he crossed the few feet that separated them and sat beside her.
Wrapping her slim arms tightly around his neck, Serena planted a kiss on his cheek and savoured the smell of his expensive after-shave and lemon-scented soap.
‘Let’s not argue Nicky, please. I felt sorry for the man, that’s all.’
She pecked his nose, wetting the tip with her tongue, and watched his anger melt way. Unable to resist, he kissed her on the mouth, whispering, ‘And I adore you, my Lady Serena.’
They both turned at the sound of an embarrassed cough, intended as a polite interruption. ‘Er, will I do?’ asked Royole.
He bent his head self-consciously as they surveyed his ill-fitting clothes.
Serena looked at him standing awkwardly at the entrance to the elegant drawing room: he was incongruous in big white tee-shirt, cut-off shorts held together with an old leather suitcase strap, and no shoes.
‘You look wonderful,’ she said. And she meant it.
Royole responded with a wink. ‘Well thank you kindly, mam. I mightily appreciate that.’
He made her laugh with his mimicry of a drawl from the American Deep South.
‘Dinner is served I believe.’ Nicholas’s curt voice cut crisply through his wife’s laughter as he stood up and left the room.
Serena shrugged, pulling a long face at her husband’s back. ‘Don’t take too much notice of Nicholas. He’s a pussy cat really.’
Royole was certain that Lord Frazer-West was anything but, however he had absolutely no desire to argue with his host’s beautiful wife.
Instead he said, a little hesitantly. “The storm will be over soon, and I can leave. By the way, how’s the ankle?’
He walked over to where she lay and leaned forward to look at her foot. Her ankle was already turning a delicate shade of bluish black.
She smiled. ‘I’ll live. Come on, let’s go and eat or risk my husband’s wrath.’
‘Let me help you.’ He offered her a muscular arm and she took it willingly.
Struggling to her feet, she forced herself to suppress the desire that rose within her at the touch of his flesh. Then she indicated the way back through the courtyard; down a dimly lit hallway which ended in a stone archway encased in coral vine.
Together they entered the dining room, where Royole paused on the threshold, his eyes absorbing every detail. He had never seen such