She needed a little clarity,deserveda little more clarity. “So, what happens now?”
Contrary to all her expectations,he smiled.
“I need to finish with Be—with my—” He pressed his lips and didn’t finish thesentence.
Good. She didn’t need a name. Or a description.
“I’ve never overlapped relationships.” He came to stand before her now, looking into her eyes. “It’s disrespectful to both women and to myself. I’m no saint but at least, I always end things cleanly.” He reached and took her hand. “So, I need to do that before I can be free.” He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on her fingers before letting go.
She’d have to think later when she was alone. For now, they needed to stop talking about this before she found herself agreeing to something sheshouldn’t.
No one, least of all a woman in love, could be expected to think clearly when those silver-flecked grey eyes looked at her like that.
With an effort, she tore her gaze awayfrom him.
The night was over, and the broken window showed a pale sky. Sunrise was her favourite time of the day.
“What say we go and check the tide?” She walked past him and through the door. “And if the isthmus is walkable, I think we should try and find some proper English breakfast in thevillage?”
It made him laugh and broke the tension. Almost. Because when she caught his eye, she had to turn away from the burning look she found there.
OceanofPDF.com
SIXTEEN
The day after. Du Montfort Hall, Study, 2:30pm
“What’s wrong with you, girl? Did you get sunstroke on your day out yesterday?” Du Montfort’s words pulled Millie back from watching the afternoon sun through the open window. The same sun she had watched come up this morning on her walk home, hand in hand with George. They’d stopped for breakfast in one of the farms, and somehow over soft-poached eggs on toast, he had charmed himself back into her good books. The air had been fresh after the rain, and an extraordinary number of birds and butterflies had danced in the tall grass.
“Sorry,” she said, dragging her mind back indoors with difficulty. “Do you want me to read you a differentarticle?”
The old man flicked his hand away. “What’s the point? War here, war there, bad news everywhere. Read me something funny.”
Funny? She looked around the room, the opened letters in a neat stack on the desk, the water jug on its tray, the medicine box. He’d never asked for funny before; she wasn’t even sure there was anything funny in his library.
Oh, please don’t be difficult today. Her mind wasn’t in the right place to think up entertainment. She needed time alone to think. “I can do a quick trawl through the internet, if you like, or maybe a YouTube clip?”she asked.
She went over to the desk to returnNewsweekback to the magazines rack. She could still feel George’s scratchy stubble dragging over her shoulder and neck. The skin around her mouth felt raw and her lips tender. She remembered the taste of him in her mouth—a shiver ran throughher body.
“What happened to you yesterday?” Du Montfort’s question called her back. Once again, she’d forgotten herself, standing behind the desk, her hand on the magazine for long minutes.
“Nothing,” she said, trying to sound casual. “I just went for a long swim in Blue Sage Bay and fell asleep in the sun on the beach.” She sent a silent prayer to the gods of conversation to distract the old man.
The last thing she needed was people in the house knowing she’d spent the night with George and think she was—what? Chasing him? Making herself too available? Memories of Joanie and Ann joking about her predecessor making a play for the boss filled her with embarrassment. She couldn’t bear for them to think of her thesame way.
This morning as they had come within sight of the house, she’d made George let go of her hand, with difficulty. She’d walked to the house five minutes ahead of him, as if coming back from her usual early-morning walk.
“You probably got too hot. Mrs Baxter told me she sent George out to find you. That must have cheered upyour day.”
Millie turned her blushing face away from his curious eyes and pretended to tidy up books and papers. “I’m afraid he was a bit cross because I made him miss his flight.”
Du Montfort guffawed. He actually threw his head back the way he always did when he laughed at her. “Millie, you are the queen of understatement. ‘Abitcross,’ indeed.” He was still laughing. “So my son hauled you over hot coals, did he? That’s why you’re blushing? I’ll dealwith him.”
“No, really, it’s okay.”
“You mustn’t let him frighten you. George is always cross. I swear my son would buy misery on the stock market ifhe could.”
Millie didn’t want to encourage the old man; she felt disloyal discussing George behind his back. He washerGeorge, the man who had held her so tight and confessed his heart’s pain. And his face looked almost boyish when he closed his eyes, when she touchedhis face—
