She put her head round the door of the first building, and her spirits lifted when she saw a tall, older man garbed in old trousers, wellingtons, a thick Arran sweater and a sheepskin jacket patting earth down into a huge earthenware pot. He tipped his cap back on his head when Liadan called out, ‘Hello,’ waiting silently for her to join him.
‘You must be George,’ she said smilingly, holding out her hand. He had a kind face, one you could trust, she silently assessed. ‘I’m Liadan Willow. Mr Jacobs’ new housekeeper.’
‘If that’s the case, then things are looking up around here in a big way,’ drawled an interested male voice from behind her.
CHAPTER THREE
THE owner of the voice was tall and handsome, with jet-black hair and a diamond stud glistening in one ear-lobe. As he walked towards Liadan, his scruffy jeans hanging low on his hips, she noted with irritation that he had a deliberate swagger about him, telling her instantly that he imagined himself God’s gift to women. She didn’t normally take immediate dislikes, but she did to this man.
‘And you are?’
‘Steven. Steven Ferrers. George here is my dad.’
Deliberately redirecting her gaze to the older man, Liadan didn’t miss the flash of disapproval in his light blue eyes over her shoulder at his son. ‘What can I do for you, Miss Willow?’
‘Mr Jacobs would like to see you at nine o’clock sharp, if that’s okay? He asked me to come and tell you.’
‘I expect it’ll be about the snow piled up at the back door. Steven here was just about to get on to it, weren’t you, son?’
‘When I’ve finished the other hundred odd jobs I’ve already been ordered to do.’ Not bothering to temper his obvious resentment, Steven leant back against a table full of trays of seedlings, making no secret of the fact that he was studying Liadan’s figure with an insolence that made her furious. Biting back her indignation, Liadan found herself urgently needing to be back inside the house, ensconced in the warmth and safety of the kitchen, and tackling the list of jobs she had ahead of her for the day. Something about Steven Ferrers put her on edge and she decided that in future she would endeavour to keep contact with him to a strict minimum.
‘Bit of a slave-driver, our Mr Jacobs. Don’t you be letting him wear you out with all that housework, Miss Willow. Those pretty hands of yours were meant for finer things than pushing a vacuum cleaner around.’
Considering that her hands were still firmly inside her bright orange gloves, Liadan failed to see how he could judge them and was irked that a man she had only seconds before clapped eyes on made so free with his comments. George too, it seemed, had had his patience stretched beyond endurance. ‘That’s enough, Steven! Have you forgotten who pays your wages round here? You treat Mr Jacobs and anyone who works for him with respect, you hear?’
Turning to Liadan, he scratched his head briefly beneath his cap and shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. ‘I apologise for my son’s behaviour, Miss Willow. He meant no harm, I’m sure, but he gets a little carried away sometimes. Please don’t take offence.’
Feeling for the man’s embarrassment, Liadan didn’t hesitate to give him a reassuring smile. ‘None taken, Mr Ferrers. Well…I’d better be getting back to the house. Work to do.’
‘Be seeing you around, Miss Willow.’ With a smirk on his face that Liadan longed to obliterate with a sharp slap, Steven Ferrers deliberately dropped his gaze to her chest before she turned and walked away. A shiver skating down her spine, she hurried out of the greenhouse, not pausing to glance back even once before reaching the steps of the main house.
‘Come in and be quick about it!’
Her spine knotting with tension and her palms prickly with heat, Liadan pushed open the door of the study and entered the room with the tray of sandwiches and coffee she had brought for Adrian’s lunch. If she’d hoped that the five-star breakfast she’d served him this morning had mellowed his mood, then she was obviously going to be disappointed judging by the scowl on his face. She’d taken such care with the sandwiches she’d made, too, cutting the bread into perfect triangles and decorating them with sprigs of parsley and slices of tomato. But he barely acknowledged her presence, too preoccupied with the papers strewn across his writing table, his black hair obviously ruffled by his restless fingers as he worked. ‘Leave the tray on the piano,’ he barked, and continued to work as though she were already gone.
Was she so wrong to expect some common courtesies from him, such as please and thank you? Liadan didn’t think so. It seriously bothered her that he seemed to imagine that he was somehow outside the realms of what was considered polite for everyone else. But even though she was deeply annoyed by his ill manners, she couldn’t pretend she wasn’t aware of the distinct chill in the air and it wasn’t just Adrian’s icy demeanour that was the cause. The fire had all but gone out, leaving just the barest red glow in its dying embers. In all conscience, Liadan couldn’t walk away without doing something about it.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Adrian snapped as she swept past his chair instead of heading for the door.
‘I thought I’d fix the fire. It’s nearly out and it’s chilly in here. I’ll try not to disturb you.’
Didn’t she know that that was impossible? Adrian thought with profound irritation. She was wearing that fragrance again, the one that seemed to wind itself round his senses and interrupt his train of thought like some kind of confounded will-o’-the-wisp. It seemed to mock and tease him, and tempt him to become far more aware than was wise of the woman who wore it. As if compelled, he lifted his gaze helplessly to her hair, noting the soft but precarious bun she’d fashioned, with a few silky red-gold tendrils floating loose to frame her lovely face. She really had the prettiest cornflower-blue eyes he’d ever seen, Adrian realised. What had he been thinking of, hiring such a looker for his housekeeper? He’d told himself hiring her had been the path of least resistance—Kate was leaving and he couldn’t interrupt his work to ring round agencies to find other people to interview. She’d said she was hardworking and for some reason Adrian had believed her. She didn’t look the type whose lips would lie easily. But now he couldn’t help wondering if he’d made a serious mistake in taking her on.
It had been four and a half years since his disastrous short-lived affair with Petra Collins—the one that had hit the tabloid headlines and hastened his decision to retreat from the world for a while. But clearly, if the way his libido was acting up around Liadan was any indication, he had been without a woman for too long.
‘Leave it.’
‘Why?’ Her heart racing, because suddenly she seemed to have his full and disturbing attention and she was ill-prepared for it, Liadan came to an abrupt standstill.
‘Because I’m working and I don’t want to be disturbed any more than is strictly necessary! I can’t have you clattering about in here while I’m trying to concentrate.’
‘Clattering about?’ Her cheeks growing pinker by the second as indignation cramped her throat, Liadan stared. ‘I was concerned for your comfort, that’s all. I wasn’t trying to make a nuisance of myself. Have you any idea what the temperature is outside?’
‘When I want a weather report I’ll switch on the news.’
Tearing her gaze from his stony expression, Liadan headed straight for the double doors, her heart pounding so hard inside her chest that for a moment she was hardly aware of where she was, let alone her destination. ‘Fine!’ she burst out before she left. ‘Freeze to death for all I care!’
Back in the kitchen, her