ever more demanding. I knew I needed to live somewhere quiet in order to focus on it. This estate seemed the perfect place. And also Mooncoyne reminded me of the small fishing village where I grew up in County Antrim.’
So that was why he had traces of a soft, melodic Northern Irish brogue. ‘Do your family still live there?’
Another quick look at his watch. He flicked his gaze back up to her. He looked as though he wasn’t going to answer, but then he took her by surprise and said, ‘No, my mum died when I was a boy and my dad passed away a number of years ago.’
For a moment their eyes locked and incomprehensively she felt tears form at the back of hers. ‘I’m sorry.’
Blue eyes held hers and her pulse quickened at the intimacy of looking into a stranger’s eyes for more than a polite second or two. Not being able to look away...not wanting to look away.
Then his hands gripped the countertop and he dipped his head for a moment before he looked back up and spoke. ‘It happens. I have a younger sister, Orla, who lives in Madrid.’
‘Do you see her often?’
His mouth twisted unhappily. ‘Occasionally.’
His tone told her to back off. Tension filled the room. She hated an unhappy atmosphere. And she didn’t want to cause him any offence.
So, in a bid to make amends and lighten the tension, she said what she had been thinking all night. ‘You’ve a spectacularly beautiful home.’
He gave a brief nod of acknowledgement. ‘Thank you. I’m very proud of the work we’ve done here over the past few years.’
‘How many staff do you employ?’
‘I’ve cleaning and housekeeping staff who come in every day. Out on the estate my estate manager, William, employs twenty-two staff between the stables and the farm.’
‘No housekeeper...even a butler?’
His mouth lifted ever so slightly. If she had blinked she would have missed it.
‘Sorry to disappoint you but I like my privacy. And I can cook for myself, do up my own buttons, tie my own shoelaces...’
She knew she was pushing it, but decided to push her luck as curiosity got the better of her. ‘A girlfriend?’ She tried to ignore the unexpected stab of jealousy that came with the thought that there might be a special woman in his life.
Something dark flashed in his eyes and he quietly answered. ‘No—no girlfriend.’
She tried to fill the silence that followed. ‘So nobody but you lives in the house?’
‘No. Now, I think it’s time for bed.’
So they were all alone tonight. It shouldn’t matter, but for some reason heat grew in her belly at that thought. This was a huge place for one man to live in alone.
Though she stood in preparation for leaving the kitchen she didn’t move away from the table. Instead she said, ‘Wow. Don’t you get lonely?’
‘I prefer to live on my own. I don’t have time for relationships.’ He studied her sombrely. ‘Why? Do you get lonely?’
Taken aback, she answered, ‘I’m too busy. I can—’
A tightness in her chest stopped her mid-sentence. Maybe she had been lonely these past few months, and had been denying it all along in her determination to get her business back up and running again.
She shrugged and looked at him with a half smile. ‘I must admit it’s nice to talk to someone face to face for a change, rather than on the phone or over the internet. I seem to spend all my days on the phone at the moment, calling prospective clients.’ With a sigh of exasperation she added, ‘I really should go and visit them. It would save me a lot of time being put on hold.’
‘Why don’t you?’
She felt herself blush. ‘Most of my clients are based in Paris, and it’s on my list of priorities to visit them.’ She couldn’t admit that financially she wasn’t in a position to travel there, so instead she said, ‘But, to be honest, part of me is embarrassed. I haven’t seen any of them since I lost my business. I suppose my pride has taken a dent.’
‘Go back out there and be proud that you’re back and fighting. I’m going to Paris next week...’ He didn’t finish the sentence and a look of annoyance flashed across his face. His tone now cooler, he said, ‘You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow. I’ll walk you back to your room.’
He called to the dogs and led them back to their beds in the cloakroom.
As they approached the bottom of the stairs she gave him a smile and offered him her hand. ‘Thank you for tonight.’ A surprising lump of something had formed in her throat, and her voice was croaky when she finally managed to continue to speak. ‘Thank you for taking me in. I plan on leaving early tomorrow, so in case I don’t see you then, it was nice to meet you.’
Tension seemed to bounce off the surrounding walls and she felt dizzy when his hand took hers. ‘I wake before dawn, so the security alarm will be disabled after that.’ With a quick nod he added, ‘Take care of yourself.’
He walked away, back towards the main entrance hall.
She walked up the stairs slowly, her head spinning. What on earth had possessed her to tell him so much? And why on earth did the thought that she might never see him again make her feel sad? The man obviously didn’t want her in his house.
As she lay in bed the memory of his incredible blue eyes and quiet but assured presence left her twisting and tumbling and wishing the hours away so she could leave for home. Where she could lose herself in her work again.
And when sleep finally started to pull her into oblivion her tired mind replayed on a loop his deep voice saying, ‘You’re safe. That’s all that matters.’ Words he would probably say to anyone. But when he had said them to her, he had looked at her with such intensity it had felt as though he was tattooing them on her heart.
PATRICK TORE ALONG the bridle path that cut through the woods, pushing his horse harder and harder. Soft ground underfoot, branches whizzing by, the flash of vivid, almost purple patches of bluebells, calm cool air beating against his skin...
When they reached the edge of the woods they raced through the parkland’s glistening green grass. They leapt time and time again over the ditches separating the fields. Adrenaline pumped in both man and mare.
They followed the ancient pathway that hugged the coast and galloped in the steps of the medieval pilgrims who had come to Mooncoyne abbey.
The rising sun slatted its thick rays of sunlight through the window openings and he pulled the horse to a halt by the entrance. He dismounted and walked into the nave.
He hadn’t managed to get back to sleep again last night. Instead he had lain awake, wondering how his conversation with Aideen Ryan had become so personal so quickly. It had unsettled him. That wasn’t how he operated. He didn’t open up
