What she was wearing underneath would be her little secret.
Her hair, which Lynne had ordained should be trimmed slightly, was newly washed and shining, and she’d made careful use of cosmetics to bring a glow of colour to her mouth and darken her long lashes.
He shrugged. ‘I wasn’t sure.’ Once again he made no comment on her appearance, but simply picked up her case. ‘Just this bag?’
‘It’s a weekend,’ she said. ‘Not a lifetime.’ Words she’d been repeating to herself continuously over the past days.
His mouth twisted. ‘Although it may seem like a lifetime before it’s over,’ he commented brusquely. ‘Shall we go?’
The car waiting downstairs was low, sleek and powerful with a dashboard like the controls of a nuclear reactor.
‘Typical,’ Marin muttered under her breath as she slid into the passenger seat and adjusted her skirt. Yet, at the same time, the smell of expensive leather made her draw a swift, appreciative breath, and the comfort of the cushions which supported her was like a caress.
She desperately wanted him to drive badly, to be an arrogant, selfish risk-taker with a bad temper. Needed it, so that she could focus all her churning, fragmented feelings about him and channel them once and for all into dislike.
But she was to be disappointed, because of course he was none of those things and, instead, she was unwillingly forced to admire the skilful and patient way he dealt with the heavy traffic leaving London for the weekend.
‘Do you drive?’ he asked at last, breaking the tautness of the silence between them.
‘I have a licence,’ Marin said stiltedly. ‘So I can do so if my work requires it. But there isn’t much opportunity when I’m in the city.’
‘Do you want to take a turn driving this?’
She gasped. ‘My God, no.’ Adding, ‘Thank you,’ as a hurried afterthought.
‘As you wish,’ he returned casually. ‘I simply thought you might enjoy it. That it would start the weekend on a pleasant note at least, whatever happens later.’
‘Are you expecting trouble?’
‘If I was anticipating a restful break with close friends, I’d be travelling alone,’ he said caustically. ‘As it is, I don’t know what to expect, and that makes me uneasy. Let’s just say I’ll be glad when it’s over.’
‘Not nearly as much as I will,’ Marin retorted.
His brief smile held no humour. ‘I can believe it. Try to keep that particular viewpoint under wraps, will you?’
Once they were free of the capital, an hour’s steady driving brought them to their destination. Queens Barton was an attractive village, its houses clustering round a well-kept green.
The house, Georgian in style and built of mellow brick, was situated down a private road some three hundred yards past the church, and approached through a tall, pillared gateway. Jake parked the car alongside several others on the broad, gravelled sweep at the front and came round to open Marin’s door.
He said quietly, ‘It’s going to be all right. I promised your very scary stepsister I’d look after you, and so I will. Now stop worrying.’
He drew her towards him and for a brief instant Marin felt his lips brush her forehead, her eyes and her startled, parted lips.
When he stood back, she stared up at him, telling herself it was unimportant. A gesture. Trying to laugh about it but failing, she said huskily, ‘More window dressing?’
‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘Sheer self-indulgence, actually.’ He took her hand and walked her across the neatly raked gravel. ‘And here’s our host, waiting for us.’
Graham Halsay was standing at the open front door, smiling expansively. He said heartily, ‘Good to see you here again, Jake. And welcome, Miss…er…?’
She said in a voice that she managed somehow to make calm and pleasant in spite of her inner turmoil, ‘My name’s Marin, Mr Halsay, and it’s lovely to be here.’ She looked around her. ‘Everything smells so fresh and beautiful after London.’
He nodded, his glance approving. ‘My sanctuary,’ he said. ‘That’s how I’ve always regarded it. And how it always will be.’
He ushered them into a large entrance-hall, its floor tiled in black and white. ‘Diana’s conferring with the cook, I believe, but Mrs Martin will show you to your rooms.’
At the sound of the plural, Marin almost sagged with relief. Avoiding Jake’s ironic glance, she followed the housekeeper’s plump figure up the wide sweep of staircase and right along a galleried landing. At the far end, an archway gave access to another much briefer flight of stairs, leading to a short passage.
Mrs Martin paused at the first door they reached and threw it open.
‘This is your room, Miss Wade, and I hope you’ll find it comfortable. Mr Radley-Smith will be next door,’ she added, and Marin wondered if she’d imagined the slight emphasis in the words. ‘Shall I send someone to unpack for you both?’
‘I think we can manage, can’t we, darling?’ Jake said smoothly, and was accorded a faintly repressive smile before the older woman departed.
‘Welcome to Queens Barton,’ he said when they were alone. He walked over to the communicating door and flung it wide. ‘As promised, I’m in here. The bathroom is across the passage, and I fear we have to share it. But the towels are twice the size of those at the flat, if that’s any consolation,’ he added silkily. ‘Also, the door has a bolt.’
To her annoyance, she felt her face warm. ‘Thank you.’ Her voice was curt. ‘I think I’ll unpack now.’
‘In other words, will I kindly retire to my side of the fence line and stay there,’ Jake supplied with faint amusement. ‘You don’t feel we should leave the door open and practise our conversational skills?’
‘I’d prefer a little time and space to myself,’ Marin countered. ‘To get my head together.’
He shrugged. ‘Then I’ll see you later.’
Left alone, Marin walked across to the window and knelt on its chintz-cushioned seat, lifting her face to the warmth of the sun, wanting it to remove the chill of unease within her that would not go away in spite of his assurances.
Their rooms were at the back of the house, she discovered, overlooking a sweep of manicured lawn and offering a glimpse of a swimming pool, currently unoccupied.
Under different circumstances, it really could be the setting for a perfect weekend, she thought, smothering a sigh.
She glanced across at the communicating door, now securely shut. It was an old door, stoutly constructed, and the walls were correspondingly thick, so there was no sound from the other room, no movement, or cough to remind her of Jake’s presence. Yet she was as conscious of him as if the barrier between them had been made from thin glass.
Aware of the beguiling touch of his lips so fleetingly against hers only a few moments ago.
Oh, calm down, she adjured herself impatiently. Think of something else. Like the new job. But instead she found herself musing about Ginny, in love, and maybe preparing to sacrifice everything dear and familiar for the sake of her man.
Her thoughts travelled seamlessly on to Lynne, her clear eyes dreaming as she planned her home and her marriage, safe and secure in the certainty of Mike’s devotion.
Whereas I, she told herself, swallowing, have never been even marginally in love, although now I seem to be falling in lust. And I