The thought struck her like a blow, her mind flinching from the images it presented, reviving memories she’d thought were dormant.
Tony, she thought wretchedly. Oh God—Tony!
Footsteps coming down the stairs gave sufficient warning for her to compose herself before Eliot rejoined her.
He said flatly, ‘You don’t leave many clues. That place is totally—empty.’ He sent her a narrow-eyed stare. ‘Are you Tony Drummond’s widow?’
‘Yes, what of it?’
He shrugged, still staring at her. ‘I should have made the connection before,’ he said, half to himself.
‘Are you—going to live there?’ She had to know.
‘Oh, yes, I think so,’ he said almost casually. ‘As I’m clearly not desecrating some private shrine. And it’s big enough to take some of the furniture I want to bring up from Lambourn.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Then everyone’s happy.’
‘A slight exaggeration, wouldn’t you say?’ he drawled. ‘Now I’d like to see the kind of accommodation the lads use. Is that possible?’
‘Of course,’ Natalie said ironically. ‘You’re the boss, after all.’
Eliot Lang shot her a sideways glance, but made no reply.
He was silent too as she showed him the block Grantham had built a few years before, with its big kitchen and recreation area on the ground floor, leading up to small, economically fitted single bedrooms upstairs.
‘Each room has a handbasin, but there’s a communal shower block at the end,’ Natalie told him, niggled that he wasn’t more openly impressed.
‘Just showers?’ he asked. ‘No bathrooms?’
‘Yes, there are two, leading off the shower room.’
‘Do they lock?’
Natalie shrugged. ‘I suppose so. Is it important?’
‘I think privacy can be very important. The bedrooms all have locks, I see.’
‘Yes, and they can be opened from the outside by a master key in case someone’s taken ill.’ Natalie stared at him. ‘Why this obsession with locks and bolts?’
‘I’m thinking of offering someone a job,’ he said shortly. ‘So I want to make sure certain standards are observed.’
‘My God!’ she exclaimed derisively, ‘What are they used to—the Hilton? Let me tell you my father spent a fortune on this block, and it’s regarded as a model.’
‘Oh, I’ve no real criticism to make. All too often lads are allowed to shift as best they can while the horses get the five-star treatment.’
‘You don’t approve of that either?’ she demanded tartly.
‘I think there’s reason in all things,’ he returned.
She glanced at her watch. ‘Perhaps we should move on. The lads usually go down to the snooker club in the village this afternoon, and they’ll be back shortly. With your passion for privacy, you’ll understand they may not care to find us snooping round their sleeping quarters.’
His mouth twisted slightly. ‘Then let’s go on with the tour.’
‘You mean you’re actually going to let me tell you about the horses?’ she marvelled. ‘I’m honoured!’ She paused, a small frown puckering her brow. ‘But I don’t usually go into the yard empty-handed.’
‘We won’t today,’ he said. ‘I begged some carrots from your stepmother. I left them in the tack room.’
As they walked back under the arch, Natalie was bitterly conscious of Eliot’s presence beside her, looming over her, a shadow in her personal sun. He must have gone very hungry a lot of the time to keep his weight to a reasonable level for his height, she thought vindictively.
She hated the way he looked around him as they walked along. It was—proprietorial, as if he’d already taken charge.
Well, he could be in for a shock. He was only the junior partner, and he would find, unless she missed her guess, that Grantham had every intention of remaining firmly in the saddle.
Eliot said, as if he’d broken in somehow on her thoughts, ‘Your father has made quite a name for himself in schooling difficult horses.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘He’s fantastic with them.’
‘I’m sure he is,’ he said. ‘What a pity one can’t apply the same techniques to difficult women.’
He opened the tack room door and motioned her ahead of him with a faintly mocking gesture. He was smiling.
But not for long, she thought.
‘Tell me, Mr Lang,’ she said, poisonously sweet, ‘are those teeth your own?’
‘Indeed they are, Mrs Drummond,’ he said gravely. ‘Would you like me to prove it by biting you?’
She saw the bag of carrots on a shelf, and was glad of an excuse to move away from him. ‘No, I wouldn’t.’
‘What a pity,’ he said. ‘Because it’s time someone made a mark on you, sweetheart.’ He’d followed her, and as she reached for the carrots, he took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him, picking up her slim, ring-less left hand and studying it, brows raised. ‘Because the unfortunate Tony doesn’t seem to have left much of an impression, in any way.’
Outraged, Natalie tried to pull away from his grasp. ‘Let go of me!’
‘Why?’ he jeered. ‘Because you’ll die if I touch you?’ He mimicked a falsetto, and smiled cynically as her lips parted in a soundless gasp. ‘Well, let’s risk it and see.’
She tried to say ‘No’, but her protest was stifled as his mouth descended on hers. He was thorough, and not particularly gentle. All the antagonism between them was there in the kiss, but charged, explosive with some other element she could neither recognise nor analyse.
When at last Eliot released her, flushed and breathless, she took a step backwards, leaning against a cupboard, aware that her legs were trembling so much she was in real danger of collapsing on the floor.
Eliot’s hand reached out, half cupping her breast, his fingers seeking the place where her heart hammered unevenly against her ribs.
‘You see?’ he said drily. ‘You survived, after all.’
Was this survival, Natalie thought dazedly, this crippling confusion of mind and body? This strange quivering ache deep inside that she had never known before? And all this for a kiss that hadn’t been a kiss at all, but some kind of punishment.
Mutely she stared up at him, seeing the mockery fade suddenly from the hazel eyes, watching them grow curiously intent as his hand moved with new purpose on the swell of her breast, his fingers seeking the tumescent nipple through the thin dark blue cotton of her dress.
And was as suddenly removed. He said, ‘I think we have company.’
In a disconnected part of her mind, Natalie heard the sound of voices, the crunch of boots on gravel. Wes, she thought, and the others coming back for evening stables.
Eliot reached past her and retrieved the bag of carrots. His arm brushed against her, and her body went rigid. He was aware of the reaction, and smiled sardonically down into her white face.
‘A piece of advice, Mrs Drummond,’ he said lightly. ‘In future when you want to slag me off, keep your voice down—unless you want to suffer the consequences.’
He