and make such a fool of herself? She took off the jacket, examining it closely. All that mud would hopefully brush off when it was dry, she thought, putting it over the back of a chair for a moment, and noting that her jeans were relatively unscathed. She stared at her reflection in the rather dingy mirror and groaned. She had nothing with her to restore some of her confidence—no blusher, no lipstick, not even a comb to run through her hair, which she’d left loose that morning.
Sitting at a table by the roaring log fire in the bar, Sebastian half-stood as Fleur came back to join him, and he pulled out a chair for her. ‘You look better,’ he said casually. Then, ‘Are you really sure there was no physical damage, Fleur?’
She smiled up at him quickly, shaking her head. ‘Quite sure, thanks,’ she replied.
While he’d been supposedly studying the menu, Sebastian’s thoughts had been more occupied with what could have happened to Fleur, down there by herself. She could have badly sprained—or even broken—an ankle, and been lying there for goodness knew how long if he hadn’t decided to try and find her. And it had only been a last-minute thought as he’d left the farm that had prompted him to check whether she was still around. He shuddered slightly, reminding himself that he’d actually not intended to go back to the house until much later on—so, if Fleur hadn’t returned, it could easily have been dark before anyone had realized she was missing.
He’d handed her the menu and, after studying it for a moment, she gave it back and looked up at him, properly. ‘I’m really sorry if I’ve…interrupted…your day,’ she murmured.
Her bewitchingly long eyelashes were still wet from washing her face, and he noticed again the way she had of sometimes blinking in a kind of slow motion…which he admitted to finding strangely titillating. At this moment, she was totally unadorned, he thought, her face rather pale and her unusually untidy, loosely flowing, wavy hair touching her shoulders.
‘You’re not interrupting anything,’ he lied. ‘Stop worrying. And I’ve ordered red wine because I’ve noticed that’s what you seem to prefer…’
Fleur couldn’t help feeling surprised at the remark. She wouldn’t have thought he cared enough about her—or any of Mia’s friends—to be that observant. She bent forward slightly to warm her hands by the fire. ‘I don’t ever drink at lunch time,’ she said, ‘but I could be persuaded to make an exception—under certain circumstances. Thank you, Sebastian. Just one glass will be perfect.’
He grinned at her now, and she was aware again of his startlingly white teeth, which seemed to light up his rather serious bronzed features. ‘And, as I’m driving, I’d better follow suit.’ He paused. ‘Joy will keep the bottle safe for us. We’ll finish it another time.’
Fleur was about to say—Look, there doesn’t have to be another time—you don’t have to do this, Sebastian. I’m all right by myself…but she didn’t. Because after that first stab of embarrassment when he’d turned up by the river, she’d been grateful of his presence and his company.
Suddenly, he bent forward too and took one of her hands in his, looking down intently. ‘Look, you have hurt yourself, Fleur,’ he said, almost accusingly. ‘See—there’s quite a bad graze here on your knuckles…Didn’t you see it, feel it?’
‘A bit,’ Fleur conceded. ‘But it’s nothing, Sebastian, really. No blood. So, no blood, no tears. My father’s maxim all my life.’
He said nothing, but didn’t let go of her hand, gently tracing the affected part with his forefinger, and Fleur couldn’t help liking the sensation it gave her!
Just then, Joy appeared with the wine, and she glanced down, her quick eyes taking in the scene. Sebastian Conway had not had a woman with him for far too long, in her opinion. And this one was obviously someone special. Even with all the hubbub on New Year’s Eve she’d noticed her amongst Mia’s crowd. And she’d also noticed Sebastian’s eyes following her every move. Well, about time, the woman thought.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘THIS is always the worst bit of Christmas,’ Pat said, from her lofty position on top of the stepladder as she handed down the last of the decorations to Fleur.
‘Yes, it is rather sad—the ending of something you’ve really enjoyed,’ Fleur agreed, kneeling down to coil all the fairy lights into a large box. ‘But time goes by so quickly, it’ll soon be happening all over again.’
Just then, Sebastian came in and glanced at the two women. ‘Hi there,’ he said briefly. Then, ‘Good—putting all the junk away and getting back to normality.’
‘Oh you, Sebastian!’ Pat exclaimed. ‘Talk about not being in the spirit of the season!’
Still intent on her task, Fleur glanced quickly up at Sebastian and their eyes met for the fleetest of seconds. He was dressed, as usual, in outdoor gear, and his hair was tousled and wet from the early morning rain.
‘I could murder a black coffee,’ he said. ‘Can I get us all some?’
‘No, you cannot,’ Pat said firmly, as she climbed carefully down from the ladder. ‘I’ll do that, Sebastian, if you’ll be so kind as to take this tree outside.’
‘My pleasure,’ he said at once, as Pat left the room.
Fleur finished putting the lights away, then closed the box carefully and got to her feet.
Sebastian said, ‘How’ve you been doing, Fleur, over the last few days?’ He was feeling somewhat guilty because he’d seen hardly anything of her since her fall, not only because he’d had to be elsewhere, but because he was determined to avoid—as much as he could—any emotional entanglements, and he was honest enough to admit that Fleur could, if only she knew it, change his mind on the matter. When they’d sat together in the pub the other lunch time, two whole hours had passed like five minutes…He’d found her an engaging conversationalist, unpretentious without being coy, and with firm opinions which, though freely expressed, were never combative. And, as she’d become thoroughly relaxed in front of the fire, her face had glowed, enlivened by her eyes glistening in the light from the flickering flames. At the point when he’d reached for her hand and held it for those few moments—ostensibly to make sure she wasn’t really hurt—a sudden warmth had coursed through him, too. But with that sensation had come a wariness of being entrapped again. Easier to start than to stop, he’d reminded himself cynically. Hadn’t he always considered himself an astute judge of human nature—didn’t his profession hang on that premise?
So how could he possibly have been blinded to the essential components of Davina’s nature? He’d learned the truth eventually—fortunately before he’d made her his wife. But it had been a close run thing, the possibility of their union becoming the subject of much discussion, both at work and down here. The news of their split had travelled fast too, and his independent, rather private nature had resented the publicity bitterly. Not that all the facts of the debacle had ever generally been known, which was somehow worse because what people didn’t know they made up. And the locals who’d been expecting a glitzy wedding to talk about had had to go away empty-handed. The lesson, for him, had been a hard one, and there would never be a next time. That much he’d promised himself.
Besides, was there a twenty-first century woman alive who’d be prepared to incarcerate herself down here in the wet Cornish countryside for the rest of her life? He very much doubted that! Today’s women were different. They didn’t want to be tied to someone else’s expectations
