him, some of the colour thankfully returning to her cheeks as she swallowed before answering. ‘That was the most terrifying experience of my life.’
Jordan gave a mocking grin. ‘You have yet to share a house with the whole of the St Claire clan.’
Stephanie had shared a house with Jordan for the past few days, and that had been traumatic enough!
Although he looked most unlike the unkempt man she had spent those two days with. When he’d appeared in the kitchen earlier this morning his long hair had been washed and brushed back from his face in silky dark waves, his jaw freshly shaven, once again revealing that fascinating—and sexy!—dimple in the centre of his chin, and he was wearing a pale brown cashmere sweater over a cream-coloured shirt and tailored brown trousers with brown shoes.
Today he looked every inch the charismatic actor Jordan Simpson—which was probably the whole point of the exercise, when he was about to see the mother the three St Claire men so obviously all adored.
Stephanie certainly felt decidedly underdressed in the company of the handsome St Claire twins, wearing her normal jeans and a white T-shirt beneath a short black jacket. Their arrival at St Claire House in Mayfair only confirmed her rapidly growing impression—after the grandeur of the Mulberry Hall estate and then flying around in a private helicopter—that she was completely out of her depth with this family. The townhouse itself was absolutely enormous: four storeys high, with a painted cream façade.
A stiffly formal butler opened the door to admit the three of them into the cavernous entrance hall.
‘Mr St Claire is in his study, and Her—Mrs St Claire is upstairs in her suite, resting,’ the grey-haired man politely answered Jordan’s query.
‘I’ll leave Lucan to you while I go up and see Mother,’ Jordan informed Gideon, and he took a firm hold on Stephanie’s elbow.
‘Thanks,’ his twin accepted dryly. ‘No doubt I’ll see you later, Stephanie.’ He quirked quizzical blond brows at her.
‘No doubt,’ she answered distractedly.
‘A tray of tea things upstairs for Miss McKinley, if you please, Parker,’ Jordan instructed the butler, before putting a hand beneath Stephanie’s elbow and escorting her to the back of the hallway, to open the two carved oak doors there and reveal a lift. ‘My grandmother had arthritis, and had it installed fifty years ago so that she could still go upstairs,’ he explained as they stepped inside the spacious mirror-walled lift.
Of course she had, Stephanie accepted ruefully; obviously the St Claire family was wealthy enough to do anything it chose.
Jordan easily read the look on her face as she stood against the opposite wall of the lift. ‘Don’t let all the grandeur of Mulberry Hall and here fool you—normally none of us step foot in either of these houses.’
‘Why on earth not?’ She frowned her curiosity.
It was a curiosity Jordan had no intention of satisfying. St Claire House, like Mulberry Hall, was part of the Duke of Stourbridge’s estate, and they were all only here now because their mother, still the Duchess of Stourbridge despite the divorce, always stayed at St Claire House on the rare occasions she came down to London.
‘We’re all too busy doing other things,’ Jordan dismissed evasively as he stepped out into the thick carpeted hallway on the third floor. ‘I’ll make you comfortable in my suite before I go and see my mother.’
‘Your…suite?’ Stephanie echoed hesitantly.
‘All the family have their own suite of rooms here.’ Jordan gave a brief smile at she hung back uncertainly. ‘Parker will bring you tea in my private sitting room. I expect the bedroom adjoining that has been prepared for your use. Is that going to be a problem?’
Stephanie had no idea—was it? It felt a little too intimate to have him next door. Entirely too close to him for comfort, in fact!
‘I would be quite happy with something a little less…grand.’ She frowned her discomfort.
‘There isn’t anything less grand,’ Jordan informed her dryly as he opened a door to the left of the hallway. ‘Come on, Stephanie,’ he encouraged impatiently. ‘I’d like to see you settled before I go and visit my mother.’
She was being ridiculous, Stephanie knew as she followed Jordan reluctantly. It just felt so very strange to be here with him and his family, in this grand house they rarely visited, but which was still run by what was no doubt an army of servants.
Who lived like this nowadays?
Only the very rich and the titled. Although not even too many titled families managed to live in such luxury nowadays, either, years of savage inheritance taxes having depleted their ranks and fortunes drastically.
The sitting-room, decorated in subtle tones of brown and cream, and furnished with heavy dark furniture, was very much in keeping with the luxury of the rest of this London townhouse.
‘There are some books over there if you feel like reading.’ Jordan indicated the shelves at the back of the room. ‘My bedroom and bathroom are through there.’ He pointed to a door to the right. ‘And your own bedroom is through there.’ He pointed to another door to the left.
Far, far too close for comfort, she recognised with a pained wince.
‘Cheer up, Stephanie,’ Jordan drawled as he saw the expression on her face. ‘With any luck we can both be out of here in a matter of days.’
Days?
It was the nights that bothered her!
How was she supposed to sleep here when she knew that Jordan’s bedroom was only feet away? Knew that the two of them were cosily ensconced in the complete privacy of his suite?
‘Stop looking so worried.’ Jordan leant his cane against the plush brown sofa before slowly crossing the room until he stood only inches away from her. He placed a gentle hand beneath her chin and raised her face up to his. ‘I’ll try to ensure this is as short a stay as possible.’
It had already been too long as far as Stephanie was concerned!
Jordan grimaced. ‘Wish me luck, hmm? I’m about to put on the performance of my life,’ he added ruefully.
Stephanie felt slightly breathless as she looked up searchingly into that rakishly handsome face, his close proximity having once again unnerved her. ‘You want your mother to believe you’re already completely recovered…’ she realised slowly.
‘I’m going to try to convince her of that, yes.’ He shrugged. ‘It’ll be one less thing for her to worry about.’
‘You aren’t going to do anything that could hinder your progress, are you?’
Jordan sighed. ‘Ever the physiotherapist, Stephanie?’
‘That’s probably because I am a physiotherapist!’ she defended hotly.
Although her traitorous body certainly had other ideas. Every part of her—every muscle, sinew and nerve-ending—was totally aware of Jordan as a man rather than as a patient. Of that hand still cupping her chin. Of
