A Vengeful Deception. Lee Wilkinson

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nothing else for it, she clambered out.

      ‘I expect you’ll be wanting these.’ Reaching over, he used his right hand to gather up her bag and case from the rear seat, then leaned against the car door to close it.

      Head down against the driving snow, her teeth clenched to stop them chattering, Anna followed him back to the house.

      The air inside felt almost as cold as the outside, and a drift of snow, blown in through the partly open door, powdered the dark oak floorboards.

      Using his foot to shut the door behind them, Gideon remarked, ‘As I said earlier, the central heating isn’t working, so with an Aga that runs on either gas or solid fuel, the warmest place in the house is the kitchen.’

      He led the way back there and, putting her belongings on an old settle, shrugged out of his wet jacket and hung it on one of a row of large, wooden pegs.

      ‘Let me.’ Having one-handedly helped her off with her coat, he hung it beside his own, before finding a couple of towels. ‘Better dry your hair. You don’t want to catch a chill.’

      He rubbed his own head then, leaving the towel hanging around his neck, crossed to the huge fireplace, both sides of which were stacked with kindling, split logs and sawn-off branches the size of young trees.

      Anna dried her face. Her cheeks felt stiff and frozen, her ears were numb, and she could tell her nose was red.

      While she removed the pins and rubbed her long, dark hair, she watched him take a match from the box, strike it with a flick of his thumbnail, and crouch on his haunches to light the kindling.

      Then, his right hand flat on the stone hearth, he leaned forward to blow the faltering flame into life.

      She noticed that he wore a heavy gold signet-ring on his fourth finger, before her eyes were drawn to his handsome profile.

      Once again she saw a sneaking likeness to David.

      But while David’s profile had been just as handsome, it had had nothing of the ruthless quality that this man’s possessed.

      Using both hands to pull back her still damp hair, she knotted it loosely in the nape of her neck, while a shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with the cold.

      What on earth was she going to do, stranded here alone with this disturbing stranger?

      Her practical streak pointed out that there wasn’t much she could do. Somehow she would have to pull herself together and make the best of things. At least until the blizzard stopped.

      But even if it did stop she wouldn’t be able to leave until morning, and the thought of having to spend the night here was a nerve-racking one, to say the least…

      Glancing up, he said sardonically, ‘There’s no need to look quite so scared. I only turn into a werewolf at full moon.’

      She was hoping he couldn’t see the colour that his words had whipped into her cheeks, when he added, ‘Come and get warm by the fire.’

      Chilled to the bone, needing no more urging, Anna went over to stand in front of the huge fireplace where the logs were blazing merrily and already starting to throw out a comforting heat.

      Watching him use his right hand to pull up an easy chair for her, Anna felt a sudden shame that she’d thought only of herself and not of him. His elbow must have taken a nasty knock, and if the life was starting to come back into it he might well be in considerable pain.

      ‘Would you like me to take a look at your arm? If you have a first aid box, it’s possible there may be some liniment, or something that would help to ease any—’

      ‘I’m sure you’d make a charming nurse,’ he broke in smoothly, ‘but it really isn’t necessary. It will no doubt be good as new by morning. Now, I propose we have an aperitif, while I rustle us up something to eat.’

      On edge and apprehensive, Anna had never felt less like eating. But no doubt he was hungry.

      ‘Perhaps I’d better do it?’ she offered.

      ‘My cooking’s not that bad,’ he said drily.

      ‘I was thinking of your arm.’

      ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make it a one-handed job. But before I start, is there anything in particular that you dislike?’

      ‘No, I like most things.’

      ‘I was considering a stir-fry, if that suits you? Everything comes in ready-to-use packs, which simplifies matters, and we can eat it on our knees in front of the fire.’

      ‘A stir-fry sounds fine.’

      Having discarded the towel, he produced a bottle of sherry, a bottle of white wine and a corkscrew.

      ‘There is something you can do, after all. Opening bottles seems to require two hands.’

      The lights, which weren’t over-bright at the best of times, flickered and went out, leaving only the firelight.

      As Anna stood irresolute they flashed on again, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Firelight alone made things much too intimate for her peace of mind.

      When both bottles had been opened, Gideon put the wine on one side and poured the pale amber sherry. Passing her a glass, he said, ‘I hope you like it fairly dry?’

      ‘Yes, thank you.’ She didn’t drink alcohol as a rule, but this seemed no time to say so.

      Returning to her chair, she stretched her feet to the blaze and sipped her sherry. Covertly, from beneath long, dark lashes, she watched him assemble the ingredients for a stir-fry, and put a wok to heat on the Aga.

      He was wearing a cream cable-knit sweater that emphasised the width of his chest and shoulders. His corn-coloured hair was rumpled, and a single lock had fallen over his forehead, making him look disarmingly boyish.

      Which she was quite sure he was not.

      He was a mature and dangerous man, and she would do well to remember that, rather than allow herself to be lulled into a false sense of security…

      As the unaccustomed sherry and the warmth of the fire banished the chill from her bones, Anna began to relax and try to take a more rational view of the situation.

      Though she didn’t like being stranded here alone with Gideon Strange, things weren’t really that desperate.

      She had food and warmth and a roof over her head and, as she’d reminded herself earlier, he was a man of some standing, and no doubt perfectly trustworthy.

      He might have kissed her under the mistletoe, but on Christmas Eve that could hardly be counted as a crime. And honesty made her admit that, had it been any other man, she wouldn’t have given the kiss a second thought.

      Because he reminded her of David, and brought to life all the feelings she had worked so hard to stifle, she was tense and hypersensitive.

      Which made the prospect of having to spend the rest of the evening in his company a daunting one.

      But

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