Christmas Nights by Penny Jordan

Author:Penny Jordan [Jordan, Penny]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin Enterprises Pty Ltd, Australia
Published: 2012-11-09T13:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOUR

‘YOU LIVE HERE ALL ALONE?’ Lisa questioned Oliver, breaking into his conversation as she curled up in one corner of the vast, deep sofa where he had taken her and told her sternly she was to remain until he returned with a hot drink for her.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I prefer it that way. A gardener comes twice a week and his wife does the cleaning for me, but other than that—’

‘But it’s such a big house. Don’t you…?’

‘Don’t I what?’ Oliver challenged her. ‘Don’t I feel lonely?’ He shook his head. ‘Not really. I was an only child. My mother died when I was in my teens and my father was away a lot on business. I’m used to being on my own. In fact I prefer it in many ways. Other people’s company, their presence in one’s life isn’t always a pleasure—especially not when one has to become responsible for their emotional and financial welfare.’

Lisa guessed that he was referring obliquely to his cousin, and she sensed that he was, by nature, the kind of man who would always naturally assume responsibility for others, even if that responsibility was slightly irritably cynical rather than humanely compassionate. It also probably explained why he wasn’t married. He was by nature a loner—a man, she suspected, who enjoyed women’s company but who did not want to burden himself with a wife or children.

And yet a house like this cried out for children. It had that kind of ambience about it, that kind of warmth; it was a real family home for all its obviously priceless antiques. It had a lived-in, welcoming feel to it, Lisa acknowledged—a sense of having been well used and well loved, a slightly worn air which, to her, gave it a richness that far surpassed the sterile, elegant perfection of a house like Henry’s parents’.

It didn’t surprise Lisa to learn that the house had been in Oliver’s family for several generations but what did surprise her was how at ease, how at home she actually felt here, how unexpectedly easy it was to talk to Oliver after he had returned from the kitchen with a huge mug of piping-hot chocolate which he insisted she drink, virtually standing over her until she had done so.

She had suspected from the taste of it that something very much more alcoholic than mere milk had been added to it, but by that stage she had been so grateful for the warmth of her comfortable niche in the deep sofa, so drowsily content and relaxed that there hadn’t seemed to be any point in mentioning it, never mind protesting about it.

Now, as she yawned sleepily, blinking owlishly, her forehead pleating in a muzzy frown as she tried to focus on the fireplace and discovered that she couldn’t, she was vaguely aware of Oliver getting up from his own chair and coming over to her, leaning down towards her as he firmly relieved her of the now empty mug.

‘Bath for you, and then

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