One Chance At Love. Carole Mortimer

fitted in with the professor’s ‘fusty, dusty’ image.

      And that was partly what kept her silent.

      Christi was right when she claimed Dizzy had deliberately cultivated her life-style of having no tangible ties, where, quite literally, she carried all that she owned on her back. And that also meant, quite contrary to what Zachariah Bennett had been led to believe, that there had been no men in her life. Somehow, admitting to Christi what she had seen that afternoon wouldn’t make that true any more. Christi would want to know all the intimate details, and most prominent in her memory of that afternoon was her own response and attraction to a man she had labelled a ‘Greek god’—Christi’s uncle, a man who believed she went to bed with a man for no better reason than he looked lonely and had soulful brown eyes!

      She had spent years evading emotional entanglement, having a small circle of friends that she knew she could rely on completely, and who could rely on her, too. But, like Christi, most of those friends would have liked to see her happily in love, with perhaps a family of her own. Only her lightly dismissive attitude towards men had kept them from anyserious matchmaking on her behalf. And she felt far from lightly dismissive where Zachariah Bennett was concerned!

      And so she hugged the memory of that afternoon to herself, wondering how long it would be before she gave in to the temptation to return to that lake one afternoon during her stay…

      ‘Knollsley Hall in Cornwall,’ remarked an abrupt voice from behind her.

      Dizzy spun around as if she had been caught in the act of stealing the family silver, rather than merely gazing up at one of the paintings that adorned the stone walls in the room that had been made into quite a comfortable lounge.

      Having showered shortly after she arrived, she had merely had a quick wash and changed her clothes when she had returned from the tour of the castle. Consequently Christi was still relaxing in the bath when she was ready to go down to dinner, and so she had come down without her, indulging in a more leisurely look around. Christi’s whistle-stop—and obviously uninterested—tour had merely brushed the surface of it.

      The first things to capture her attention in the lounge were the magnificent paintings on the walls, in particular, the one she now stood in front of, and which Zachariah Bennett had just supplied information about.

      She had changed into one of the only two dresses she owned, the ‘simple little black number’ that was supposed to be suitable for any occasion, but which she dragged about with her merely because it didn’t get creased in her backpack!

      Unfortunately, Christi had been right about the ‘freezer’ temperatures in the castle, and so the sleeveless style of the dress wasn’t ‘suitable’ at all! The only visible heating she had seen so far was the fire roaring away in the cavernous grate in this room, and for all its size it didn’t even take the chill off the room. At least she had left her long hair loose tonight, so that her ears weren’t actually freezing off! However, the wild tumble of blonde curls gave her the look of a wild wanton. No doubt Christi would be delighted with her appearance, although the professor looked far from pleased!

      The black evening suit and white shirt were a definite improvement on his previous appearance. At least, they would have been, if the suit had been in the least tailored to the magnificence of his body, and the collar of his shirt wasn’t sticking up on one side! The fact that his hair was newly washed, and once again brushed severely back from his face, didn’t add to his attraction either, and his pipe seemed to have gone out long ago, although it was still clamped between his teeth to the side of his mouth.

      To Dizzy, he just looked all the more endearing because of his lack of the sophisticated perfection that most of the men she had met in the past seemed to consider a must if they were to be successful with women. Maybe if she hadn’t seen how beautiful he was beneath his ill-fitting clothing she might have accepted the face-value impression of the absent-minded professor, but her first sight of him had made that impossible.

      ‘It’s the house of the MP Martin Ellington-James,’ he added, breaking her prolonged silence.

      Her indulgent smile faded as she turned dutifully back to the painting of the gothic manor house, the artist having captured the cold ugliness of it perfectly. ‘Quite impressive,’ she said non-committally.

      ‘Valerie Sherman is the artist,’ he continued, as if even the polite conversation was a strain to him.

      Dizzy turned back to him, transfixed, as she found his attention was riveted on the painting, those golden eyes aglow with admiration. Her breath caught in her throat at how breathtakingly handsome he was, and she couldn’t help wondering what it must feel like if he looked at a woman in that way. She would like to see him without his glasses, and couldn’t help wondering if he really needed to wear them when he wasn’t working, or if they were some sort of shield to him. His eye-sight had seemed perfectly all right this afternoon as he swam in the lake… Colour heated her cheeks as, once again, her thoughts unconsciously returned to that time.

      ‘She used to live there, I believe.’ He spoke tersely now.

      Dizzy blinked, giving a self-conscious grimace as she realised Zachariah Bennett had stopped looking at the painting and was now looking at her—and was obviously wondering what she found so fascinating about him. She doubted he would look quite so impatiently polite if he knew the truth about that!

      ‘I believe you’re right,’ she confirmed drily.

      Honey-gold eyes widened. ‘You know something about paintings and their artists?’

      ‘Something,’ she nodded wryly.

      He couldn’t completely keep the surprise out of his expression. ‘You like Miss Sherman’s paintings?’ He seemed relieved to have found a subject he could talk to her about while they waited for Christi to join them.

      ‘I appreciate good paintings,’ she evaded, not really wanting to get into a discussion about this particular one. ‘I don’t think there can be any doubt that Valerie Sherman is a talented artist,’ she added abruptly. ‘She’s certainly captured the sheer ugliness of Knollsley Hall perfectly!’

      His attention returned to the painting. ‘Perhaps it is a little—–’

      ‘Grotesque,’ Dizzy supplied abruptly.

      ‘Possibly,’ he nodded. ‘Although it’s haunting, too.’

      The reason Dizzy hated the painting of Knollsley Hall was because it was too lifelike!

      ‘I have other Shermans,’ the professor told her lightly. ‘Ones that perhaps aren’t so—gothic. You must let me show them to you some time.’

      It was the politely meaningless offer of a host to a guest in his house—even an unwanted one—and Dizzy accepted it as such. He had no real desire to show her the Valerie Sherman paintings, and she certainly had no interest in seeing them.

      ‘I’d like that.’ She turned away from the disturbing painting. ‘I—oh, excuse me,’ she said awkwardly, as an involuntary shiver racked her body. ‘I—it’s a little chilly in here,’ she excused with a grimace.

      A ghost of a smile lightened his austere features. ‘Not at all what you’re used to, I’m sure.’