safely closed off?’ He shook his head. ‘You disappoint me, sweetheart. But from now on it’ll be strictly business.’
He draped the robe unhurriedly within reach, directed one last appreciative look downwards, then became instantly and impersonally brisk, leaving Joanna to grind her teeth in impotent rage.
‘With regard to Lionel’s clothes and belongings. I’d like them stored in another room, please, so I can go through them at my leisure.’
‘If that’s what you want,’ she acknowledged stiffly.
‘It isn’t, particularly.’ Gabriel grimaced. ‘It’s a lousy job, but I can’t, in conscience, wish it on anyone else.’
He picked up his jacket, slung it over one shoulder, and turned to go. Then he paused. ‘By the way, one last thought.’ His tone was abrupt, and Joanna tensed again. ‘As Larkspur Cottage is empty, why don’t you rent it to Cynthia for the next twelve months? Apparently she’s always had a hankering to live there.’
‘I suppose you discussed it last night—over the hors d’oeuvres?’ Joanna made her tone poisonously sweet, then regretted it.
But he smiled at her, unfazed. ‘Over the coffee and Armagnac, actually. But it’s entirely up to you. It’s going to be your property, after all. Think it over, and tell her your decision.’
Then he was gone. And a moment later she heard her bedroom door close.
She sat up gingerly, feeling slightly giddy. As she glanced down she realised with annoyance that her nipples had tautened to hard, rosy peaks in the cooling water, and hoped very much that they weren’t one of the perspectives Gabriel had referred to.
She climbed out, reaching for the robe and huddling it on with a shiver, thankful that it wasn’t Gabriel’s hands arranging the folds of fabric around her.
As it might have been. And the shock of that realisation made her breathless. As, indeed, had her body’s helpless reaction to the brief touch of his hand on her shoulder.
If this unwanted confrontation had taught her anything, it was that she was by no means impervious to Gabriel, and she needed to be.
She would have to armour herself somehow, she thought grimly. And his absence over the next few days would give her the opportunity to do so.
Nor would she again allow herself to be this physically vulnerable. She would call a locksmith immediately, and have her bedroom door made secure.
But how to keep the thought of him out of her heart—and the remembrance of him out of her bloodstream—was another matter entirely.
She would give Sadie a hand in the stables, Joanna decided as she dressed in breeches, boots and a heavy sweater, and then she’d help her exercise her charges. Some strenuous hard work was what she needed to take her mind off her personal problems. Besides, the horses hadn’t had much attention in the past few days, and would probably be kicking down the doors of their boxes.
She wondered what Gabriel would do with Nutkin, the gelding Lionel had been riding when he died. He was a strong, powerful beast, and Joanna wasn’t altogether sure she could handle him, or if she even ought to try.
She sighed silently as she descended the stairs. This was just one of the matters needed a decision from Gabriel. She would have to make a list.
As she reached the foot of the stairs she encountered Cynthia, just emerging from the dining room. Joanna, aware that her stepmother rarely stirred out of her room until midday, gave her a surprised look.
‘Could I have a word?’ Cynthia’s expression was that of a cat who’d been awarded if not the cream, a very large saucer of milk.
‘Fine.’ Joanna paused. ‘Is there any coffee left?’
‘Plenty. Why?’
Joanna shrugged. ‘We may as well make any discussion as civilised as possible,’ she countered, walking into the dining room and filling a cup from the heavy silver pot.
‘Darling.’ Cynthia draped herself decoratively on one of the high-backed dining chairs. ‘I’m perfectly prepared to be as civilised as you could wish.’
Provided you do as I want, Joanna supplied silently.
She took the chair opposite. ‘I suppose this concerns Larkspur Cottage.’
‘It does indeed.’ Her stepmother assumed a vaguely injured expression. ‘I can’t imagine what Lionel was thinking of to leave the place to you. I thought that he and I were in complete agreement about it.’
Joanna bit her lip. ‘I don’t think Lionel was considering anyone’s personal wishes when he drew up his will.’
‘No.’ Cynthia’s eyes sparked with sudden malice. ‘Or he wouldn’t have put in that absurd clause about Gabriel having to stay married to you for another year. The poor sweet looked positively murderous when it was read out.’
‘Indeed,’ Joanna said politely. ‘Then what a pity I only fainted instead of actually dropping dead from shock. Think of the trouble it would have saved.’
Cynthia’s crimson lips tightened. ‘What nonsense you talk sometimes.’
‘Well, you won’t have to put up with it much longer,’ Joanna said cheerfully. ‘Not if you move to Larkspur Cottage.’
‘Then you’re willing to rent it to me?’ Cynthia sounded surprised.
‘Why not?’
Her stepmother shrugged. ‘It occurred to me that you might try to put a spoke in my wheel. Play dog in the manger.’ A slight acid entered her voice.
‘If it comes to that, the place doesn’t actually belong to me yet,’ Joanna pointed out levelly. ‘Henry Fortescue and Gabriel are joint executors. Presumably they have no objection.’
‘Well, Gabriel certainly doesn’t.’ Cynthia stretched voluptuously. ‘It was all his own idea.’ She looked at Joanna from under her lashes. ‘But I don’t suppose he told you that. After all, it wouldn’t be very tactful—under the circumstances.’
Joanna had the strangest feeling that she’d just been pierced to the heart with a spear of ice.
Her voice, too, seemed to be coming from some far distance. And to belong to a stranger. ‘In other words, it’s more convenient for both of you to conduct your affair under a different roof. No, he’d hardly be likely to mention that.’
Cynthia shrugged again. ‘Naturally, he’d want to spare your feelings, darling. While you’re still officially his wife, that is.’
Joanna recovered herself. ‘But you, clearly, have no such compunction.’ Her tone was dry.
Cynthia laughed. ‘Well, I’d already told you my intentions.’
‘Does Gabriel know that?’
‘Well, hardly.’ Cynthia’s tone was dismissive. ‘Men are such egotists, darling. He wouldn’t want to know you’d given your permission, as it were.
