reveal it.’
‘No, I...’
‘You know you yearn to. Pretend I’m a stranger. Pretend this is the first time we’ve met. I wish it was,’ he added.
‘Don’t,’ she pleaded again.
Turning, she tried to brush past him. He easily caught her, held her before him. ‘Look at me,’ he ordered softly.
‘No.’ Struggling free, she took two steps back, eyes still lowered.
‘Why?’
‘Because you aren’t what you seem, Nash. You never were.’
No, he wasn’t what he seemed.
‘You’re ruthless and single-minded and you wear the face of a fool.’
‘A fool?’ he queried softly.
‘All right, a face of calmness and curiosity and gentleness,’ she substituted, almost crossly. ‘And it’s a lie. It was always a lie.’
‘And that bothers you?’
‘No,’ she denied, obviously untruthfully.
‘Good, but I really do need someone to tell me what I’m doing. Professor Morton will be cross if you don’t,’ he persuaded humorously when she didn’t answer. ‘And you won’t have to see much of me.’
‘I don’t want to see anything of you.’
He gave a small smile for her petulance. ‘You’re a big girl now, Phoenix, surely capable of dealing with an old reprobate like me.’
Finally looking up, she asked quietly, ‘Are you an old reprobate?’
‘No,’ he said. And every time he moved nearer she moved away. Eyes always averted. ‘It would enhance your reputation,’ he encouraged. ‘And I don’t imagine you find bar tracery every day of the week.’
‘No.’
‘Then why not take a stab at it? If you’d had anything else on you wouldn’t have come here, would you? And jobs like this aren’t exactly run-of-the-mill, are they?’
‘No.’
Watching her for a moment, the way her hair fell over one shoulder, the soft curve of her mouth, he finally asked, ‘Can we really not meet as friends? We’re different people now. And no less aware of each other than we were ten years ago,’ he added softly.
‘Stop it,’ she reproved, her face agitated. ‘And if you expect to pick up where you left off...’
‘I don’t.’ Would like to, he thought, and wasn’t even surprised at how much he meant it. ‘I’ll pay you the going rate. I really do need your professional opinion on how to restore it.’
Conflicting emotions showing clearly on her face, professional interest against personal feelings, she glanced almost wistfully towards the hidden landing window.
‘Think of the bar tracery,’ he persuaded softly. ‘Think of my entablatures.’
She gave a faint smile, and he felt unbelievably tender. And relieved. Never in his life to date had he ever had to persuade a woman to trust him. Neither had he wanted to. Until now.
‘But do, please, try to remember,’ he added, with a smile in his rather nice grey eyes, ‘that I do need plaster on my walls. That I do need bedrooms, and bathrooms, and that historical artefacts must come second to needs. And do, for goodness’ sake, take that camera from around your neck before you strangle yourself.’
Face still unsure, she unhooked the camera and put it into his waiting hand.
‘Tell me why you were interviewing the Mayoress,’ he invited. ‘She has an old house that needs investigating?’
She shook her head. ‘She was opening the children’s ward at the hospital.’
Confused, amused, and really rather enjoying himself, he persisted, ‘Then why were you interviewing her?’
‘Because that’s my other hat.’
‘Your other hat?’ he echoed.
‘Yes.’
‘What other hat?’
‘Reporting. I don’t earn very much as a house historian,’ she murmured as she began to rub her hand over the old wood of the banister. ‘Not very many people want to pay to be told they have Jacobean beams, or something. There aren’t very many nobles inheriting castles without a documented history, and so I supplement my income by working for the local paper. Are you going to have the lawns relaid?’
‘Don’t change the subject,’ he reproved. ‘But, yes, I shall probably get them relaid.’ Turning to glance briefly through the open front door at the scrubby grass that by no stretch of the imagination could be called lawn, he gave a rueful smile before turning back to Phoenix—who was halfway up the staircase.
A clear warning not to ask her personal questions? She was as nervous as a cat. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked as he followed her.
‘Just checking something.’ Taking the right fork, she halted on the top landing and stared first one way, then the other. ‘It’s an anomaly, isn’t it? And I would guess, on the evidence so far found...’
‘Evidence?’ he asked drily.
‘Clues, then. Do you know anything about its history?’
He shook his head.
She looked thoughtful. ‘It has a whole mishmash of styles, doesn’t it?’
‘Does it?’ he asked ruefully. ‘I’m afraid I wouldn’t know. Have you done much reporting?’
‘No, just some pieces about the countryside,’ she said absently. ‘Did you notice how the landing’s been divided?’
‘Divided?’
‘Yes. Look at the coving. It stops.’ Walking across to the end wall, she rapped her knuckles on it. ‘I wonder if there’s panelling underneath?’
‘No,’ he denied firmly. There was going to be enough disruption in the house without Phoenix Langrish ripping down walls to look for panelling.
‘The landing would originally have run along to the end wall, as it does in the other direction.’ As though eager to be away from him, as though on no account must she stand still, she opened a bedroom door and walked inside to stare up at the coving on that side. ‘See how it starts again? You could put this bedroom wall back where it was originally, get the coving restored.’
‘The bedroom would be smaller.’
‘Yes, but worth it, I would have thou—’ Breaking off, she suddenly strode across to the far wall and ripped a piece of loose paper free.
‘Phoenix!’
