above them, and the long crystal chandelier that was suspended from it, that held her spellbound. Not just the gold filigree work in the dome itself, but also the telling artwork on one of the panels.
‘James…’ she breathed dazedly, unable to tear her gaze away from that telltale trademark.
‘What did you say?’ Sam asked impatiently, having come to a halt partway up the wide staircase as he realised she was no longer following him.
Crys blinked, frowning as she turned towards the sound of his voice, taking several seconds to return to reality.
She moistened dry lips. ‘I was—I—James Webber was your interior designer,’ she finally managed to murmur.
James had been here. Had worked in this house. He’d probably stood exactly where she was standing now as he’d critically appraised his own work.
Sam gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘He was,’ he confirmed. ‘But how did you know that?’ he demanded.
For the second time today Crys was feeling slightly faint, knew also that her face had paled dramatically. But she didn’t dare pass out again in this man’s company; he would wonder what on earth he had been landed with if she did!
It was just the shock of seeing James’s work so suddenly—of knowing that he had been here, that perhaps he’d stood on this very spot…
‘When did he do this?’ She couldn’t stop herself asking. James had never mentioned visiting Molly’s brother in a castle in Yorkshire to her.
‘About three years ago now.’ Sam walked back down the six stairs he had already ascended, his gaze narrowed to green slits as he eyed her warily. ‘I asked how you knew it was Webber’s work?’ he demanded again as he came to stand in front of her.
Crys gave a poignant smile as she looked around her. ‘It’s very distinctive, don’t you think?’ she murmured wistfully. The hallway was decorated in a mixture of warm reds and golds, the carpet up the stairs was a glorious scarlet, and then there was that telltale dome, with its yellow artwork.
‘Very,’ Sam snapped. ‘But that doesn’t answer my question.’
Her gaze returned reluctantly to the grimness of Sam’s face, and she was jolted by the hard look of suspicion she could easily see there. ‘Don’t look so worried, Mr—Sam,’ she said softly. ‘You see the tiny yellow rose up in the dome? On the left side panel?’ She pointed it out as Sam looked up. ‘James always sneaked a yellow rose in somewhere. It was his trademark.’
‘Was?’ Sam echoed sharply.
‘He died,’ Crys said abruptly, swallowing hard, forcing herself to remain calm. After all, she was only stating what was an indisputable fact. ‘A year ago. He had cancer.’
A disease as insidious as the poison Sam had mentioned earlier. A disease that struck indiscriminately, both at the young and the old, the talented, the weak and the strong.
‘I didn’t know…’ Sam replied slowly. ‘Molly introduced him to me. He was a friend of hers from university days.’ He shook his head. ‘She didn’t mention that he had died.’
No, Molly probably wouldn’t have talked of James’s death. She had been almost as shocked as Crys when it had happened. And the two of them had never talked of it since, either…
‘I suppose that’s how you knew him too,’ Sam murmured thoughtfully. ‘Molly must have introduced the two of you,’ he elaborated at Crys’s puzzled expression.
Yes, Molly had introduced Crys and James to each other, eighteen months ago. An introduction that had been love at first sight for both of them.
But there was something Crys wasn’t revealing to Sam about James. Something that was still so painful there was no way she could tell this strange, reclusive man about it.
James Webber had been her husband…
CHAPTER FOUR
‘DO YOU have everything you need?’
Crys turned from placing the beef joint in the Aga, her eyes wide as she slowly straightened to look across the kitchen at Sam as he stood in the doorway. If she had thought his change of clothes earlier had made a vast difference to his disreputable appearance, then the shaving off of several days’ growth of beard had brought about a complete transformation. Underneath all that he was actually a very attractive man, she realised with an unpleasant jolt.
His face was tanned—probably from hours spent outside during the summer months—his eyes deeply green against the darkness of his skin. His nose was long and straight, he had a chiselled mouth, a lower lip that was sensuously full and his jaw was square and firm. The darkness of his hair showed it was still damp from the shower he had obviously just taken. The dark green shirt and black tailored trousers he wore were also an improvement on what he had been sporting earlier.
Crys was once again assailed with a feeling of familiarity—which was ridiculous; if she had ever met this man before she would have remembered it!
As if aware of at least part of the reason for her surprise, he ran a hand ruefully over the smoothness of his shaven chin. ‘I get a little lazy being here on my own so much,’ he acknowledged dryly. ‘Molly would have insisted I smarten myself up when she arrived,’ he added derisively.
Crys gave a smile. ‘That’s what younger sisters are for, I believe.’
Sam strode confidently into the kitchen. ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’ he asked interestedly.
Her smile instantly faded. ‘No,’ she answered quietly. ‘And, to answer your earlier question, yes, I have everything here that I need to make the meal.’
The bedroom Sam had shown her into a little over an hour ago, with its turquoise and cream décor, had proved as pleasing as the rest of the interior of the house. Although, given the misapprehension Sam had been under concerning the gender of the guest Molly was bringing with her, Crys had wisely not mentioned the fact that there was a double bed in the room!
The adjoining turquoise and cream bathroom had proved just as opulent once Sam had left her alone to unpack, and she had spent an hour in the sunken bath, just luxuriating in hot scented water.
That hour of unadulterated indulgence had gone a long way to settling her earlier agitation at having to stay here alone with Sam. Although she accepted that another reason for her feeling of calm was the fact she could now feel James’s presence in the house, knew that he had been here, that he had been the one to decorate the interior so lovingly. Albeit under Sam’s instructions.
‘Anything I can do?’ Sam offered now. ‘I feel a little guilty now at asking you to cook the meal,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘Spending so much time alone, my manners aren’t always what they should be, either,’ he acknowledged.
Crys looked at him consideringly, realising that this was as close to an apology for his earlier behaviour as she was likely to get. She had no doubts that it was probably only being made at all because she was a friend of his sister’s; despite his attempt to appear affable, Sam didn’t give the impression that he particularly cared what anyone thought of his manners, good or otherwise!
‘A
