The Master of Calverley Hall by Lucy Ashford

Author:Lucy Ashford
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2018-04-13T18:54:37+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Connor had moved back out into the corridor, so Isobel was able to leave Elvie’s bedroom and quietly close the door.

‘How is she?’ Connor asked in a low voice.

‘She was over-tired, I think,’ she replied. ‘But she’s sleeping now—I asked her if she wished to see you or her grandmother, but she said she would be all right. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must retire to my own room. Goodness me, these may not be town hours, but to me, it’s still late!’

He nodded, unsmiling. ‘I wanted to say that I had no idea, when I asked you earlier to dine with us, that Roderick Staithe and his sister would be arriving at such short notice. But I did send a message to forewarn you.’

‘And I never got it. Foolish of me, I know.’ The smile she’d put on faded, though she still kept her voice steady. ‘It was an awkward situation for you, I fear. Did Mr Staithe eventually realise I was Sir George Blake’s daughter? Or—did you feel obliged to tell him?’

‘The answer to both your questions is no.’

‘But he will realise soon. He’s bound to...’ She made a big effort to steady herself and say lightly, ‘You know, Connor, you really should have listened to me when I told you that hiring me was not a good idea. But you’re accustomed to getting your own way, I suppose—no wonder you’ve fared so well in business. Now, if you’ll excuse me...’

She was attempting to push her way past him, but he gripped her wrist. ‘Once more, Isobel, I apologise. You coped well with Staithe’s questions. Whatever you say to the contrary, any enquiries about your past must be painful for you.’

She looked pointedly at his hand on her arm, and he let her go. ‘I’m used to it,’ she said. ‘The stories about my father’s ruin. And you’ll have heard, no doubt, that during my time in London I managed to bring about my own kind of downfall.’

He was regarding her steadily. ‘And are the stories true?’

‘Why not? Everyone whispers them, so they must be, must they not?’

She saw a muscle tighten in his jaw. ‘For God’s sake, Isobel. I’m trying to give you a chance to explain!’

He’d clenched his hands and was stepping closer. She was thinking that if he drew only inches nearer, he could kiss her. Her heart was thudding with hard, almost painful beats as she imagined the feel of his lips on hers—would they be hard or soft, cool or warm? His eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, and his whole body radiated tension, as if beneath that cool exterior he was perhaps as agitated as she.

‘Explanations,’ she said, ‘often do more harm than good, I’ve found.’

She heard him draw in a harsh breath, saw his mouth harden, and something knotted so tightly inside of her that it hurt. You were my childhood hero, she wanted to tell him. And you don’t realise it. You’ll never realise it...

‘Isobel.’ He uttered her name almost like an oath.

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