job, Liadan. You don’t think I’d willingly let go someone who can play the piano like an angel in a hurry, do you?’
Venturing a glance from beneath her curling red-gold lashes, Liadan was deeply disturbed by the fact that Adrian was smiling. Did he know what a deadly piece of weaponry in the battle of the sexes that smile was? Or how thoroughly it submerged her senses in scorching, sensual heat and guilty, guilty pleasure?
‘Let me remind you, you didn’t hire me to entertain you with my piano playing,’ she said tartly. ‘You hired me to take care of your house.’
‘And me. Don’t forget that very important little fact.’
‘Perhaps what you need is a mother, in that case,’ she snapped.
‘What I need,’ Adrian emphasised huskily, ‘is you in my bed, Liadan. But as that would definitely be exceeding the bounds of our contract and you are obviously anxious to keep our relationship purely professional, I suppose I will have to make do with having you as my housekeeper. But I want you to know the sacrifice is killing me.’
With those wide, muscular shoulders and the devil’s own twinkle in his wicked dark eyes, he was temptation personified and Liadan warned her thoughts not to speculate just how the sacrifice was killing him. Already she was undone just sitting beside him in the car. If she didn’t make a huge effort to steer the situation into safer waters she might find herself telling him that she wouldn’t mind exceeding the bounds of their contract, and then where would she be?
‘We should be getting home. I’ve got laundry to do, and shopping and—’
‘Liadan?’
‘What?’
‘Never mind. Let’s get back, shall we?’
Changing his mind abruptly about what he’d been going to say, Adrian started the engine, then steered the car expertly out of the lay-by back onto the road. Secretly alarmed at the fact that he had almost succumbed to a very weak moment and told Liadan the cause of his torment, he congratulated himself for being strong enough to pull back. How could this pretty, inexperienced girl help him in any way other than easing a purely physical ache? She couldn’t, he realised with bitterness. End of story.
‘Taking the opportunity to get some fresh air, lass?’ George leant against his shovel and observed her thoughtfully as Liadan came up the path towards him. Instead of her long tweed coat to keep out the cold, she wore a soft, light blue suede jacket over a white roll-necked sweater with figure-hugging black jeans. With her long hair scooped up in a very fetching top-knot, she looked as pretty as a picture to the older man’s doting gaze. ‘Saw Mr Jacobs drive by about ten minutes ago. Gone into town, has he?’
Glancing round at the picturesque scene that met her eyes, at rich green winter gardens that were starting to reveal their beauty now that the snow had finally gone, Liadan was more than glad that she’d ridden the storm and kept her job. If Adrian continued to maintain what he deemed a professional distance then she ought to be thankful, not unhappy. When all was said and done, no matter how much she found herself attracted to her brooding, aloof employer, she was realistic enough to know that there could be no ‘happy ever after’ where they were concerned. If she let herself become more intimate with him, all it would do would set up an even worse restlessness inside Liadan than she was coping with already and make her yearn for the fulfilment of a dream that was clearly impossible. She’d already wasted eighteen long months waiting for Michael to make up his mind about her—she wouldn’t do the same with Adrian. Not that she believed for even a second that he would want anything more than a short, hot affair with her…
‘It’s such a glorious day,’ she confessed, smiling, ‘I couldn’t resist playing hookey.’
‘You’re far too young to be confined to that big old house,’ George agreed. ‘Fancy taking a walk with me? I’ll show you around a bit.’
‘Oh, I’d love that!’ Liadan enthused, her heart lifting at the prospect.
The gardens stretched much further afield than she had ever imagined. Path after path revealed something new—treasures like the orangery, a grotto with hundreds upon hundreds of seashells embedded deep within its walls, and winter blooms including snow-drops and crocuses in breathtaking abundance. Enchanted at nearly every turn, Liadan forgot her cares and concerns as she completely succumbed to the magic of Adrian’s gardens and George’s quietly authoritative garden lore.
‘People often make the mistake of thinking they can control the garden, but what they soon learn is that the garden controls them. It takes you over completely. Watering, weeding, digging, pruning, spraying, it becomes an obsession after a while. One I wouldn’t willingly give up and that’s the truth.’
‘I can tell that you love it,’ Liadan commented with a smile, ‘but don’t you find all this work a bit much for just yourself and your son?’
Somehow, Liadan couldn’t bring herself to say ‘Steven’. She was still wary and smarting from their last upsetting encounter. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to be around today, either. Her blue eyes darted from side to side just to check.
‘Funny you should bring that up. I’ve had a touch of the old arthritis in my knees for the past few months and I was going to mention to Mr Jacobs how I could probably do with another hand around the place to help. Specially leading up to spring. There’s a lot to be done.’
‘Then you should definitely mention it. I’m sure he’d be only too willing to get you the help you need, George.’
‘I’m sure you’re right, lass. Perhaps I will have a talk with him. To tell you the truth, I don’t think Steven is a natural gardener. He’s got his mind on too many other useless things, that boy.’
Perfectly understanding why George had reservations about the younger man’s commitment levels, Liadan nodded in sympathy.
‘Thanks for showing me around, George. It’s been a great way to spend an illicit half-hour. I’ve had a lovely time. Best go in now, though; I need to think about what I’m going to do for dinner.’
‘You go ahead, lass. Feel free to walk about the place whenever you feel the need. I’m always around if you need to know anything about the garden. By the way, I’m glad that story about Mr Jacobs has died down in the papers. She’s a bad ’un, that Collins woman, for telling such lies.’ Tipping his hat, George looked distant for a moment before he jammed his hands into the big patch pockets of his jerkin and headed back down the terracotta bricked path he had walked with Liadan.
Careful not to dislodge any of the papers that littered Adrian’s writing table, Liadan picked up the drained cup and saucer and added it to the tray she’d left on the piano. She was about to vacate the study when she caught a glimpse of an opened newspaper jutting out from the side of the desk that Adrian had his computer on, and instinctively moved towards it.
‘Actress retracts abortion claim,’ she read with thumping heart, alongside a picture of Adrian and his solicitor Edward Barry, taken outside on that awful day when reporters had camped out on his doorstep. Putting down the tray, Liadan sat down in the leather chair opposite the desk and read further. When she got to the part where she learned that Petra Collins and Adrian had comforted each other after her divorce and the brutal, untimely death of Adrian’s fiancée Nicole Wilson, in a terrorist attack on a foreign embassy, she let the paper flutter down unheeded into her lap.
Staring into space
