‘How about an earl?’
‘I especially don’t need an earl.’
‘Well, how about a simple farmer from home?’ Charlie’s voice suddenly gentled and the eyes looking down at her were warm and direct. ‘A farmer with a flat in Belgravia, very close to here. It’s a flat with four bedrooms, one of which is a guest suite.’ And then, as Tessa’s face froze, he smiled and shook his head. ‘And yes, my intentions are far from honourable, but I’ll respect the horrid Donald by making you a promise. You’ll be absolutely safe from all harm in my house, Tessa Flanagan, for however long you stay.’
And he made a signal to the man behind the wheel of the car. The lid of the car’s luggage compartment flipped up and he heaved Tessa’s bag into it.
‘But...I’m not coming with you,’ Tessa stammered.
‘Where are you going, then?’
‘I don’t know. Anywhere!’ Tess looked wildly around the deserted street, but there were no warm and welcoming little cafés within sight. No more hotels. Nowhere she could go and dump her gear.
So what would she do? Would she sit on her suitcase right here and wait until five o‘clock? Or drag her belongings along to Christine’s lawyer?’
Charlie watched the doubts flit across her face and he lifted a hand and touched Tessa’s cheek with a gentle finger.
‘There’s little choice here, Tess,’ he said softly. ‘You can trust me. I swear.’
Tess looked up at him. His eyes were crinkled and kind and absolutely direct.
‘I don’t trust you. How can I? You’re nuts,’ she managed. ‘Do you really have a flat in London?’
‘I really do and it’s quite close,’ he assured her.
‘And it’s yours?’ she asked.
‘It was my uncle’s. Now it seems that it’s mine.’
Tess bit her lip. ‘That must mean your uncle, the twelfth earl.’
‘Clever girl,’ he said approvingly. ‘You’ve worked out the family tree. Now...do you want to trust me?’
Tessa didn’t. She badly didn’t want to trust him. There was something about Charlie Cameron that said she should steer as far away from this man as possible. Lunatic or not, he left her feeling as if her feet weren’t quite steady on the ground.
But the street was sordid and empty, her baggage was heavy and her feet hurt. There were blisters on her palms from carrying the weight this far.
And this man was her only link with home.
What was the worst that could happen here? That he take her to this imaginary castle, lock her with his harem of slaves and keep her for his own personal pleasure?
She looked back at her hotel and her creepy landlord was peering over the newspaper in the front window He was scratching his flabby white chest and scowling, and she just knew that any minute he’d rush out and order her off his filthy front step, or set the dog on her.
She looked up at Charlie and her fear receded. Maybe there was something to be said for harems, after all.
Charlie’s house wasn’t quite a harem but it was a lot closer to a palace than anywhere Tess had ever been before. She’d sat silently in the rear seat of the Jaguar while the driver negotiated London’s early-morning traffic, and ten minutes later they had pulled up outside a place Tess could only describe as a mansion.
She gazed out in astonishment. The house was gleaming white stone, three storeys high, with Gothic columns at the entrance and a vast, overwhelming front door.
‘Before you get the wrong idea, only the top floor’s mine,’ Charlie said quickly, seeing her jaw drop. ‘And there’s no garden. We use the square over the road.’
The square. Tessa turned to see. On the other side of the road was a park, filled with mature trees, lush green lawns and immaculately groomed gardens.
‘There’s ten houses with access,’ Charlie said apologetically. ‘We have to share.’
‘Oh, poor you,’ Tess managed.
‘We bear it,’ Charlie told her, and he grinned. ‘We earls live in hard times. Come on in. Henry will bring in our gear.’
Henry. Tess looked doubtfully at the man in the front seat. He was in his sixties, dapper and trim and dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform. Henry hadn’t said a word the whole time she’d been in the car.
‘This isn’t a hire car?’ she asked cautiously.
‘Well, no. I guess it’s mine. Or it might be mine.’
‘Might?’
Charlie spread his hands. ‘Tess, this is my uncle’s home, my uncle’s chauffeur, my uncle’s lifestyle. He’s left it all to me—conditionally.’
‘Conditionally?’
‘On me being married by the time I’m thirty,’ Charlie told her. ‘That’s in six weeks. So you see why I’m so interested in ladies who don’t sport engagement rings?’ And he gave her his most engaging smile. ‘Now, are you coming into my parlour, said the spider to the fly, or am I leaving you to London’s tender mercies out here on the street?’
He slid his long form out of the car.
There was nothing for Tessa to do but to follow.
The house was as breathtaking as its facade.
The entrance hall was vast, and the lift whisked them to the third floor in silent opulence. The lift was bigger than Tessa’s bedroom at home. Tess was almost too flummoxed to speak.
The lift drew to a silent halt, the doors slid wide and Charlie Cameron was welcomed to his world.
‘Mr Charlie!’ A stout lady, aproned, motherly and beaming goodwill, bustled forward to greet Charlie before he’d stepped out of the lift. ‘Oh, it’s so good to have you home.’ And she enveloped as much as she could of him in an enormous bear hug.
To which Charlie responded in kind. He lifted the little lady high, swung her round so her feet didn’t touch the floor, kissed her soundly and then set her down on the marble tiles. He grinned down at her dimply figure and sighed.
‘It’s good to be here, Mary.’ Then he turned to Tess.
‘Mary, this is Miss Tessa Flanagan. Tessa, this is Mrs Henry Robertson but she only answers to Mary. Mary, Tessa’s from home and she needs a bed. Henry and I found her stranded with her suitcase in Backblow Street and we couldn’t just leave her there, now could we?’
Mary’s bright eyes took in Tessa from the toes up. It was a fast, cursory glance, but it appeared Tess passed inspection. It seemed that this was no stately home with dress requirements to match.
‘Oh, of course you couldn’t,’ Mary said warmly. ‘Backblow Street? What on earth were you thinking of, letting your friends go there, Mr Charlie? It’s a filthy place. Miss Tessa can have the blue room, if you think that’s suitable.’ Then she stared, for the first time focussing properly on Charlie. ‘Mr Charlie, what on earth have you done to your face?’
‘It’s a modern equivalent to a love bite,’ Charlie told her, grinning wickedly at Tess. ‘And that’s not the half of it, Mary. If I told you the full damage, you’d be shocked to the core. Just look after Tess and don’t give her any lip.’
Mary’s eyes widened. She looked from Tess to Charlie and back again—but finally decided she wouldn’t get anywhere with enquiries. She obviously knew Charlie well.
She shrugged and smiled. ‘Well,