down in England—and she was now wearing some of them. Gone were the cheap jeans and T-shirt and in their place was an exquisite cashmere dress, which clung to every curve of her body, along with a pair of beautiful leather boots. They were the kind of clothes she was used to wearing, but along with her sudden change of image came that familiar sense of being on show again. She stared straight ahead, realising how much she had enjoyed her uncomplicated life of anonymity and realising it was about to come to an abrupt end.
‘You okay?’ Rafe questioned as the car slid to a halt in front of the house.
‘Not really. I feel as nervous as hell,’ she said truthfully.
‘You?’ In the shadowy light, his eyes narrowed. ‘But you must have met hundreds of new people over the years.’
Probably thousands, she thought—but never like this. Meeting somebody’s family on equal terms was something she’d never had to do before. Mostly people knew who she was and had prepared accordingly and everyone was always on their best behaviour when a princess was around. She stared out of the window again and it seemed that the sleeping house had been nothing but an illusion, because the moment their car swished to a snowy halt the front door opened and a woman appeared in the doorway as if she’d been listening out for them. Her greying hair matched a dress which was clearly a uniform and Sophie saw immediately what the glow behind the front door had been—a giant Christmas tree, dominating a vast and imposing wood-panelled hall.
Rafe smiled as the woman in the uniform stepped forward.
‘Sophie, I’d like you to meet Bernadette, our housekeeper,’ he said, ‘who has been with different factions of this family for many years. And if she wasn’t the soul of discretion, she could earn a living writing about the exploits of the infamous Carter family, couldn’t you, Bernadette?’
‘Sure, and who would want to read anything about you lot?’ answered Bernadette, her accent warm and Irish. ‘And aren’t you forgetting your manners? Who’s this beautiful young lady?’
Rafe introduced her simply as ‘Sophie’ and Bernadette seemed content with that. And at least Sophie was able to chat easily to the housekeeper. Six months ago and her observations would have been stiff and formal, but working at Poonbarra meant she could now identify with the housekeeper in a way which would have been unthinkable before. She had learnt how to mix with ordinary folk, she realised—and for that she must be grateful.
‘Is everyone else here?’ Rafe was asking.
‘No. You’re the first.’ Bernadette closed the heavy oak door on the snowy night. ‘Some of the others are flying in tomorrow. Your father’s got the four-by-four so he’ll be okay. And Sharla rang to say she’s coming by helicopter, so she’ll be here about midday.’
Sharla.
It was an unfamiliar name which sounded vaguely familiar, but Sophie’s interest was heightened by the sudden tension which had made Rafe’s body stiffen. She glanced up to see a hardness distorting his taut features—and a darkening look which made him seem like a stranger.
But he is a stranger, she reminded herself fiercely. You don’t really know anything about him. All they’d done had been to fall into bed where he’d made her feel stuff she hadn’t thought she was capable of. Made her long for things which were way out of her reach.
A sense of unease whispered over her but she said nothing as they were shown up a grand staircase into an enormous bedroom, dominated by a king-size bed covered with a brocade throw in deep shades of claret and gold. Beside the bed, crimson roses glowed in a bronze bowl and, against huge windows, velvet curtains were drawn to blot out the snowy night. A huge crackling fire had been lit in the grate, scenting the air with the crackle of applewood, and the glitter of the flames was reflected in the overhead chandelier. The overall effect was almost medieval and Sophie unbuttoned her new coat and hung it up in the old-fashioned wardrobe before slowly turning round.
‘Who’s Sharla?’ she questioned.
Rafe was reading something on his cell-phone and didn’t look up as he answered. ‘You’ve probably heard of her. She used to be a model.’
Wondering if his reply had been deliberately casual, Sophie nodded as she realised why she’d half recognised the name. Of course. How could she have overlooked that rare level of fame achieved when somebody was known simply by their first name? ‘You mean the Sharla?’ she questioned. ‘The supermodel with the endless legs—the one who’s married to the rock star?’
‘That’s the one.’ He looked up then and the expression in his grey eyes was curiously flat. ‘And just for the record, she isn’t married to him any more.’
‘Right.’ She looked at him. ‘But why is she here? I thought you said it was just family. A low-key affair.’
‘She is family.’ There was a pause. ‘I told you. She’s my sister-in-law Molly’s twin, although I don’t tend to think of her as family.’
She wondered how he did think of her. Why a sudden harshness had distorted his voice and why he’d tensed when Bernadette had mentioned the supermodel’s name. But it was none of her business. She was here because they were supposedly doing each other a favour. And yes, they’d had sex on the plane, but that didn’t mean anything—he couldn’t have made that more apparent if he’d tried. He hadn’t exactly pushed her away afterwards but he might as well have done. His attitude had been cool and distant. Careless might be the best way to describe it, as he’d tapped her bottom in that rather insulting way—which hadn’t stopped her wanting his fingers to linger there a little longer. So did sexual intimacy give her the right to quiz him about his thoughts or his feelings? It did not.
She peeped out behind one of the heavy velvet drapes. The snow was coming down hard now—great drifts swirling down and covering the ground by the second. Rafe switched on one of the bedside lamps and the rich brocade of the counterpane was illuminated by a golden glow. Yet Sophie felt awkward as she watched him moving around the elegant room. He looked so far away, she thought. Any closeness they had shared now seemed to have been forgotten. He hadn’t touched her once in the car and now she was supposed to be sharing a room and a bed with him and she didn’t have a clue how that was going to work. How any of this was going to work. What did other women usually do in this kind of situation? But she had wanted normality, hadn’t she? Maybe now was the time to embrace it.
Pulling the band from her hair, she shook her ponytail free. ‘What have you told them about me?’
‘Nothing. I told my brother I was bringing someone, but that’s all. They can find out who you are when they meet you.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Given your great love of understatement, I thought you’d prefer no forewarning.’
‘And they won’t think it’s odd that you’ve turned up with a runaway princess?’
He gave the ghost of a smile. ‘I come from an unusual family, Sophie. Where the odd is commonplace and people break the rules all the time. They might remark on it but they certainly won’t have their heads turned by it. And don’t worry—people won’t bother you or ask you predictable questions, if that’s what you’re concerned about. Now,’ he added softly. ‘It’s late. Aren’t you going to get ready for bed?’
His words sounded scarily informal, which seemed crazy when she remembered being pinned to the floor of the plane, her jeans trapped around her ankles. But that didn’t prevent a sudden flash of nervousness as Sophie grabbed her wash bag and went into the bathroom. The clothes which Rafe had ordered
