“Sorry. Still, better for you to have found out now, before we both got too invested.”
“Hundred per cent.” Ellie stood, straightened her dressing gown, and stepped towards the door. I stuck my head into the hallway to check the coast was clear, then ushered her out.
“Lovely to have met you. Safe journey home. Please don’t tell anyone you’ve been here.”
I shut the door.
“I bet my cooking could change your mind,” Ellie said, somewhat belatedly.
“Sorry, can’t hear you over all these delicious sausages.”
Ten minutes later there was another tap at the folly door. Were all the female cast members really going to give it a go? If they had any idea what being Lady Buckford entailed—the abject poverty, the unsafe wiring, the unending requests to judge things at the village fair—they wouldn’t be quite so keen. I ignored the knock. InThe Broken Crown,Gawain was about to throw himself in front of the arrow headed directly for Prince Henry’s heart.
The knock came again.
“Go away!”
“Oh, sorry, mate.” It was a man’s voice. At least it wasn’t Indira. I opened the door, expecting to see one of the producers. A rugged, shirtless, tanned young fellow with a dirty blond buzz cut stood in the hall.
“No, I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought you were someone else. It’s been like Paddington Station around here tonight. How can I help you?”
The chap smiled, his hazel eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’m Tom.” He held out a hand. His grip was firm and rough, his eye contact unwavering. “Is the white stallion in the stables yours?” he asked, in a deep West Country accent.
I nodded. “Is something wrong? Are you the crew horse handler?”
Tom laughed. “Nothing like that. He’s fine. I’m part of the show. I’m a contestant.”
“I’m sorry, but you have to go.”
I tried to close the door, but Tom slipped a foot into the doorway.
“He’s a beautiful beast. Gorgeous temperament. A few of those Cleveland Bay mares seem right taken with him.” He stepped into the room, his chest almost brushing mine as he squeezed past me. “But who can blame them?” he said, looking me up and down. “I prefer a big white stallion myself, as it happens.”
Then he flopped down onto my bed.
Oh. Unbelievable! That wasn’t merely horsey small talk. It was Trojan horsey small talk. First the women, now the men too. Was this because I’d told Ellie I was gay? Was I being tested? Were they all in on it? Christ, how long before Indira found out? How long before my cheque was whittled down to nothing?
“Lovely to chat,” I said. “I’m sorry you can’t stay.”
“What?”
I pretended to yawn. “It’s getting terribly late.”
“Oh.” Tom frowned but sprang up from the bed. “Of course.” He hadn’t expected that. With a face and body like his, I doubted he got turned down very often. Still, first time for everything.
“Yes, too bad,” I said.
Tom squeezed past me, his chest hair tickling my nipples, his eyes locked onto mine. “You must come down to Somerset sometime. I’ve got a Suffolk Punch at home.”
“Beautiful workhorses.”
“I’d love to take you up the field and show you how deep I can plough. I can go for hours.”
“Sounds exhausting.” My voice squeaked out of me like a teenage boy.
Tom’s eyes flicked down to my neck. His head tilted. He closed his eyes, leant towards my skin, and breathed in deeply. My nervous system was screaming like an air raid siren.
“You smell really good,” he said, opening his eyes.
