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Authors: Sharon Kendrick
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shock.
‘Have you spoken to Mr Marchant?’ she asked the housekeeper.
Christine nodded as she slid a carton of orange juice into the fridge. ‘Yes, he rang me just before he went off to London,’ she answered.
Ashley’s heart missed a beat. ‘To London?’ she repeated—some stupid element of hurt pride not wanting to admit that she didn’t have a clue what the older woman was talking about.
‘Didn’t he tell you? No? Actually, I wondered when he’d be going down there again,’ confided Christine. ‘He hasn’t been for ages, which is very unusual—not since you started working here, come to think of it.’
With an effort, Ashley kept her face blank. Even more hurtful than the thought that he hadn’t bothered to tell her he was going was the realisation that Jack had a whole different life about which she knew precisely nothing.
But of course he did! What did she expect?
That he should be languishing here, isolated from the world, just waiting for someone like her to walk into his life?He had money, connections and a faintly glamorous profession, which he didn’t even need to do because he was independently rich through his inheritance. Of
course
he had another life!
She tried to concentrate on his novel, which had now reached a nail-biting section involving some undercover work which was leading up towards a bloody ambush. But the work which she’d previously found so engrossing had lost something of its appeal and it wouldn’t take a genius to work out why.
She missed the dark force of Jack’s character as he sat working on the other side of the room. She missed the conversations they would have over their morning coffee. The way he would sometimes look up and the light from his dark eyes would pierce through her like a laser beam. And she missed feeling singled out by him—as if he thought she was somehow
special.
Mealtimes were dull without him and she felt like an imposter—as if she had no legitimate reason to be there. And the house felt empty—as if it had lost its heart and soul.
With spare time on her hands, she began to wonder whether Jack had been right and whether she was the world’s biggest hypocrite. Because she
had
wanted him to make love to her and yet had denied it—even to herself. She had responded to him with all the passion of a woman and then run away like a frightened little girl. Had she been so scared of her own feelings that she didn’t dare risk it—or was she just guarding herself against the possibility of being hurt by him?
She missed him more than she had thought it was possible to miss anyone. And then one morning she had to dodge round one of the cleaners, who was polishing the oak floor in the hall, and when she walked into the kitchen Ashley saw Christine bustling around on a day when she wasn’t supposed to be working.
‘Hello! I didn’t know you were coming in today,’ Ashley said.
The housekeeper put down the cookery book she’d been poring over. ‘No, I wasn’t—but Mr Marchant’s coming back for the weekend!’
Ashley’s heart began to pound with excitement as she told herself that it didn’t matter that he hadn’t bothered mentioning it to
her.
The most important thing was that Jack was coming home. Back home—where he belonged. He’d be walking into the study every morning just as he used to—with those dark, clever eyes watching her. Once more, they would spend long days together.
And if he tried to kiss her again—would it really be the end of the world? What if she just went with the flow and let him make love to her—as most women in her position would have done? Would that be so very wrong, given the feelings she had for him? Maybe it was time to stop acting like a little girl and to embrace all that went with being a woman. Ashley found herself grinning like an idiot as suitable words to express her joy seemed grossly inappropriate. ‘That’s… nice,’ she managed.
‘Is it?’ Christine’s tone was disapproving as
‘Have you spoken to Mr Marchant?’ she asked the housekeeper.
Christine nodded as she slid a carton of orange juice into the fridge. ‘Yes, he rang me just before he went off to London,’ she answered.
Ashley’s heart missed a beat. ‘To London?’ she repeated—some stupid element of hurt pride not wanting to admit that she didn’t have a clue what the older woman was talking about.
‘Didn’t he tell you? No? Actually, I wondered when he’d be going down there again,’ confided Christine. ‘He hasn’t been for ages, which is very unusual—not since you started working here, come to think of it.’
With an effort, Ashley kept her face blank. Even more hurtful than the thought that he hadn’t bothered to tell her he was going was the realisation that Jack had a whole different life about which she knew precisely nothing.
But of course he did! What did she expect?
That he should be languishing here, isolated from the world, just waiting for someone like her to walk into his life?He had money, connections and a faintly glamorous profession, which he didn’t even need to do because he was independently rich through his inheritance. Of
course
he had another life!
She tried to concentrate on his novel, which had now reached a nail-biting section involving some undercover work which was leading up towards a bloody ambush. But the work which she’d previously found so engrossing had lost something of its appeal and it wouldn’t take a genius to work out why.
She missed the dark force of Jack’s character as he sat working on the other side of the room. She missed the conversations they would have over their morning coffee. The way he would sometimes look up and the light from his dark eyes would pierce through her like a laser beam. And she missed feeling singled out by him—as if he thought she was somehow
special.
Mealtimes were dull without him and she felt like an imposter—as if she had no legitimate reason to be there. And the house felt empty—as if it had lost its heart and soul.
With spare time on her hands, she began to wonder whether Jack had been right and whether she was the world’s biggest hypocrite. Because she
had
wanted him to make love to her and yet had denied it—even to herself. She had responded to him with all the passion of a woman and then run away like a frightened little girl. Had she been so scared of her own feelings that she didn’t dare risk it—or was she just guarding herself against the possibility of being hurt by him?
She missed him more than she had thought it was possible to miss anyone. And then one morning she had to dodge round one of the cleaners, who was polishing the oak floor in the hall, and when she walked into the kitchen Ashley saw Christine bustling around on a day when she wasn’t supposed to be working.
‘Hello! I didn’t know you were coming in today,’ Ashley said.
The housekeeper put down the cookery book she’d been poring over. ‘No, I wasn’t—but Mr Marchant’s coming back for the weekend!’
Ashley’s heart began to pound with excitement as she told herself that it didn’t matter that he hadn’t bothered mentioning it to
her.
The most important thing was that Jack was coming home. Back home—where he belonged. He’d be walking into the study every morning just as he used to—with those dark, clever eyes watching her. Once more, they would spend long days together.
And if he tried to kiss her again—would it really be the end of the world? What if she just went with the flow and let him make love to her—as most women in her position would have done? Would that be so very wrong, given the feelings she had for him? Maybe it was time to stop acting like a little girl and to embrace all that went with being a woman. Ashley found herself grinning like an idiot as suitable words to express her joy seemed grossly inappropriate. ‘That’s… nice,’ she managed.
‘Is it?’ Christine’s tone was disapproving as
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