written.
‘I told you I intend making changes,’ she replied abruptly. ‘And books written by well-known television personalities are sure to be good sellers,’ she added teasingly.
‘Very funny!’ Griffin grimaced, picking up the two bags of books. ‘I’ll see you in four weeks’ time, then.’ He strode across the shop to the door. ‘The wedding is at three o’clock, so I’ll call for you at your home at about two o’clock.’
Then she would accompany him to his sister’s wedding, as his partner…
‘Oh, and Izzy…?’ He paused at the open doorway.
She looked at him warily. ‘Yes?’
He grinned at her obvious reluctance. ‘Don’t wear black, hmm? For one thing, it isn’t an appropriate colour to wear to a wedding,’ he continued before she could make any comment. ‘And for another,’ he added tauntingly, ‘it doesn’t suit you!’
Dora sank down weakly into her chair once Griffin had gone, closing the door softly behind him. Griffin Sinclair, she decided—and not for the first time!—was the most outrageous man she had ever had the misfortune to meet.
But how strange it was that the elderly lady had earlier likened him to a modern-day pirate, because when Dora had first met him he had seemed like a man from another time to her, too.
Of course, their surroundings had added to that illusion. At least, she had felt they did then, and she had made that excuse to herself since as a way of explaining her behaviour. Whatever the reason, she had allowed herself to be cast under some sort of spell. If only for a brief time…
CHAPTER TWO
THE prospective dealer, a man with a book for sale that her father had wanted, had sounded eccentric enough over the telephone, but when Dora had seen the Devon hotel he’d recommended for her overnight stay, she had known her business visit there was going to be a memorable one.
She could have had no idea as she walked into the entrance hall, past huge open oak doors, just how memorable it was going to be!
She had felt as if she’d stepped back through a time warp as she’d walked inside the hotel. Dungelly Court had been restored, it had said in the brochure she’d picked up just inside the door, as much as it was possible to its past glory. Old paintings and huge tapestries had adorned the deep purple walls, and ornate mirrors hung on those walls too, with a deep red carpet on the floor that should have clashed with the colour of the walls and yet somehow hadn’t. And in the two rooms that had led directly off the hallway there had been fires lit in the massive grates, logs burning warmly. And welcomingly.
It had been unreal. Surreal.
‘Someone will come and see to you shortly.’
Dora’s overnight bag almost slipped from her fingers at the sound of that rich male voice. She looked cautiously into the deserted room to the right of the main doorway. At least, a room she had assumed to be deserted!
A man now stood to one side of the huge open fireplace, a man dressed completely in black, only the golden blondness of his long hair alleviating that impression of darkness.
Where he had come from, Dora had no idea, but she had been sure that when she’d glanced into the room a few moments ago it had been empty. The bar that stood at one end of the room was still closed at this time of the morning, the tables and chairs placed casually about the room were all empty too, although candles burned in holders on every tabletop, despite the earliness of the hour.
Her gaze returned nervously to the man. One of his hands rested on the huge wooden lintel above the fireplace. ‘Where is everyone?’ Her voice sounded hushed and hollow.
Understandably so—not only did she seem to have stepped back in time, but she had done so with this blond giant of a man, who now stood looking at her with cool green eyes.
‘Couldn’t tell you.’ The man shrugged dismissively. ‘Do you have a room booked? They don’t seem too busy at the moment so I don’t think it will matter whether you have or not, but—’
‘I booked,’ Dora put in quickly. ‘Miss Baxter.’
The man moved behind the bar, glancing in a red leather-bound book that lay open on its top. ‘Yep.’ He nodded. ‘Miss I. Baxter.’ He looked up at her with those compelling eyes. ‘What does the ‘‘I’’ stand for?’ He quirked one blond brow.
‘Isadora,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘But my family has always called me—’
‘Izzy,’ the man put in with satisfaction as he strolled back from behind the bar, seeming to savour the way the name rolled off his tongue. ‘I like it.’ He nodded, tilting his head to one side as he gave her a considering look. ‘It suits you,’ he finally murmured.
Finally, because Dora found she had been holding her breath as she waited for his next comment! And no one had ever called her Izzy…! It had always been Isadora if her parents were displeased with her, and Dora if they weren’t. But, strangely enough, she found that she liked the name Izzy. It seemed to make her sound different, and, as such, was perfectly in harmony with the surreal quality of this country inn.
‘Griffin Sinclair.’ The man held out his hand, a hand that was cool and firm to the touch, the clasp firm, as Dora discovered when she touched it politely. ‘I was named after my mother’s least favourite uncle,’ he added by way of explanation, grimacing his feelings about that. ‘Least favourite, but the man with all the money,’ he added dryly. ‘Can I get you a drink while you’re waiting?’ he offered lightly.
Just listening to this man was like having arrows hurled in your direction. In his case they were arrows of information, but after Dora’s long drive here, and the strangeness of her surroundings, her head was starting to spin!
‘I’m so sorry.’ She gave a wan smile. ‘I didn’t realise you worked here.’
‘I don’t,’ he assured her cheerfully. ‘I’m a guest too. But I would be happy to get you a drink.’
Dora frowned. This man had appeared as if from thin air, he chose to call her Izzy, when no one else ever had, he had been named Griffin after his mother’s rich but disliked uncle, and he’d casually offered to get her a drink as if he owned the place, when in fact he was merely a guest, like herself!
She certainly didn’t need a drink; in fact she already felt as if she were slightly drunk!
‘I’ll wait and have a coffee, thank you,’ she replied somewhat dazedly, looking about her thoughtfully. ‘Isn’t it a little—odd, that there’s no one here to book me in?’ she murmured awkwardly.
‘Part of the hotel’s charm.’ Griffin shrugged dismissively once again, sitting down on one of the high stools that stood in front of the bar. ‘That’s something you’ll learn this place has by the barrel-load,’ he added with satisfaction. ‘Right down to its secret passage that leads down on to the beach. For the smugglers,’ he added as she still looked blank. ‘It used to be quite a lucrative business in these parts.’
Secret passage…? ‘I don’t suppose its source is in this room?’ Dora wondered ruefully; after all, he had to have appeared
