time before he raised a daunting eyebrow. ‘Have you ever had anything published?’
‘No.’
‘Have you ever tried your hand at fiction before?’
‘No.’
‘Then I wish you luck.’ Ewen lounged back in his chair negligently, long legs crossed at the ankle. He shrugged. ‘All right. You can keep Rose’s letters. I haven’t seen her diary, of course, but that’s likely to be more use to you than to me, anyway, if you’re concocting a romance. My focus will be on the Great War itself, following the lives of two friends, once students together in Heidelberg, now soldiers in opposing armies. Only a small section will be devoted to the doomed love affair. As a final twist the lovers are torn apart, but the friends are reunited after the war.’
Something in the pejorative way he said ‘concocting a romance’ needled Rosanna. ‘That’s fine, then,’ she said tightly. ‘No harm done.’
‘Right.’ Ewen rose to his feet. ‘If you could spare some photographs of the period to go with Harry’s letters, and the rest of the stuff, I’d be grateful. I’ll take copies and return them, of course.’
‘Of course,’ said Rosanna, feeling suddenly depressed. ‘Take what you want.’
He sifted through them again, chose half a dozen, then looked at a more modern photograph of Rose on the beach with her child. ‘The family likeness is very marked. That’s how you’ll look in a few years’ time.’
‘Follow me,’ said Rosanna abruptly, and led him across the hall to another sitting room where several silver-framed photographs were grouped together on a small table. One was her parents’ wedding picture, two others were of herself and Sam in their degree robes and mortar boards. The fourth was a formal portrait of a lady with dark eyes still brilliant under her white hair, the smile familiar from Harry Manners’ treasured portrait of Rose.
‘Taken the year before she died,’ said Rosanna huskily.
‘And still beautiful.’ Ewen gazed at the photograph for a long time, then turned away. ‘Thank you for letting me see her.’
‘It needn’t make any difference to your novel,’ she assured him as she saw him to the door. ‘You’re bound to score a big success again. Mine will be nothing like that, even if I manage to get it written, much less published. No one will ever connect yours with mine.’
Ewen shrugged. ‘I doubt if we’ll trespass on each other’s preserves. If I do,’ he added deliberately, ‘you can sue me.’
‘As if I would!’ she said scornfully. ‘Just one more thing. The portrait of Rose.’
‘Sorry. I’m keeping that. You’ll have to make do with Harry.’
Rosanna looked up at him in entreaty. ‘But we don’t have one like that, Ewen. Couldn’t you take a copy of it with the others and let me have the original back?’
He looked down at her in silence for a moment. ‘I’ll compromise. You can have the copy. I’ll keep the original. Unless,’ he added, with a tigerish, explicit smile, ‘you have some kind of persuasion in mind?’
Heat rose in Rosanna’s face and she backed away. ‘You’re angry with me,’ she said unsteadily. ‘Why?’
His smile was unsettling as he followed her step for step as she retreated. ‘Because I keep confusing you with sweet, passionate Rose, I suppose, whereas all the time cool, practical Rosanna was merely using me for her own ends.’
She opened her mouth to deny this, then thought better of it as she found herself backed up against the newel-post at the foot of the stairs. It was neither the time nor the place to confess she’d wanted to see him again for his own sake.
‘I’ve been gazing at that portrait for weeks,’ said Ewen softly, his eyes locked with hers. ‘I thought I was seeing things when you opened the door to me.’
Rosanna swallowed. ‘I’m not Rose, and you’re not Harry.’ She dodged away, but Ewen caught her easily, and locked his arms round her.
‘True, Rosanna Carey,’ he said huskily, ‘yet it seems unbelievable that we’ve only just met. I’ve been living with that photograph, reading Rose’s letters, and then I find you, in the glowing, irresistible flesh. Rose reincarnated.’
‘I’m—not—Rose,’ she said through her teeth.
‘Better still. You’re warm flesh and blood—and alive,’ he said hoarsely, and brought his mouth down hard on hers. At the touch of his lips her breath left her body and the blood pounded in her ears as Ewen Fraser knocked her defences flat for the second time. Held fast against the tall, slim body which grew tense with demand, Rosanna took a regrettably long time to come to her senses at last and tear her mouth from his. Ewen raised his head a fraction to look down into her eyes, their ragged, uneven breathing mingling as she shook her head violently.
‘Why are you trembling?’ he panted. ‘Just as you said, it was only a kiss.’
She struggled to get free. ‘Let me go. Please!’
To her fury he suddenly chuckled, shaking his head as he held her closer. In command of himself again, he was so blatantly enjoying himself she wanted to scratch his laughing, slanted eyes out.
‘Oh, no!’ he retorted. ‘Do you think I’m a fool? I may never get the opportunity again. Don’t be afraid, Rosanna. I promise I wouldn’t harm Rose Norman’s granddaughter for the world.’
She ground her teeth in fury. ‘You won’t get the chance. When I allow someone to make love to me it’s because they want me, Rosanna Carey, not a ghost.’
‘So the men you know only make love to you when you allow it?’ said Ewen with interest. ‘Is that satisfactory?’
‘On my part yes. I don’t know about theirs.’ Her eyes flashed coldly. ‘Besides, we’re not talking in the plural. There’s only one.’
Ewen leaned against the newel-post without easing his hold on her in the slightest. To break free she’d have to make a fight of it. At which point Rosanna made a mortifying discovery. She didn’t want to fight. She actually enjoyed the sensation of being desired so much he wouldn’t let her go. And desire her he did. In such close physical contact it was a fact impossible to ignore.
‘I thought there must be,’ he said, sighing theatrically. ‘Who’s the lucky man? And where is he? Am I likely to see him hurtling through the door at any minute to wrest you from my arms?’
Rosanna would have given a lot to say yes. ‘No,’ she muttered into his shirt-front. ‘He’s a doctor, gaining experience in the States to add BTA to his qualifications.’
‘BTA?’
‘Been to America.’
Ewen grinned, and raised her face to his. ‘Would he mind if he knew you were here like this? With me?’
‘He’d better,’ she snapped.
‘Then I might as well give him something to mind about.’ Ewen stifled her protest with an engulfing kiss, parting her
