One Bride Required!. Emma Richmond

she looked hastily away. Removing her glasses, she began to chew on one of the stems.

      ‘How long have you needed them?’

      She gave an odd little jerk. ‘What?’

      ‘Your glasses. How long have you needed them?’

      ‘Oh, not long. I only use them for close work. I’ll go and do some research, I think, and then—’

      ‘Really not interested?’ he interrupted softly.

      ‘Sorry?’ she queried nervously.

      ‘Already spoken for?’

      She swallowed. ‘Don’t.’

      ‘What are you so frightened of, Phoenix?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ she said helplessly.

      Leaning back, the sketchbook on his knee, he asked quietly, ‘How much did I hurt you?’

      ‘Unfair question,’ she murmured evasively.

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because...oh...’ She sighed. ‘Because I was eighteen, and at eighteen everything hurts.’

      ‘I was trying not to hurt you,’ he explained as he continued to watch her. ‘I almost contacted you several times.’

      ‘But common sense prevailed?’ she asked, in a bitter little tone that puzzled him.

      ‘Yes. I wasn’t ready for a serious relationship. And it would have been serious, wouldn’t it?’

      ‘Would it? I really can’t remember,’ she retorted evasively as she went to collect her shoes.

      She was lying. She hadn’t forgotten it any more than he had. ‘Then tell me how I go about restoring the Manor. It can’t go back to what it was, can it?’

      Pushing her feet into the high heels, she shook her head. ‘Sadly, no. You could open it up to how it looked before the Regency period, or before the Victorians had a go at it. Restore some of those lovely cornices, expose some beams—but, no, you won’t be able to get it back to how it was.’

      ‘Pity.’

      ‘Yes. And I’m not sure about the rules and regulations for altering a structure. You’d need a structural engineer—experts, anyway.’

      ‘Stop babbling. I wonder what happened to the moat?’

      ‘Filled in years ago, I expect.’ Warily approaching him, she gathered up her bits and pieces and stepped back. ‘There isn’t much more I can do today, so I’ll go and see what documentary evidence I can find.’

      Getting to his feet, he stared at her for some moments in silence, and then he asked gently, ‘Going to run for ever?’

      She didn’t answer, just turned and walked out.

      Escorting her to her car, he fitted her wing mirror back on for her. ‘It’s only a temporary repair,’ he warned.

      ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll call in to the garage.’

      ‘And you’ll come back tomorrow?’

      Breathing shallow, tension in every line of her, she shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know,’ she emphasised agitatedly. ‘Don’t push me. Please don’t do that.’

      ‘All right.’

      She gave a perfunctory smile that seemed aimed at the hedge, and climbed into her car.

      Quietly closing the car door, he watched her reverse erratically out into the lane and drive away.

      A cold shower? he wondered in grim amusement. Except he didn’t have a shower. There was running water in the antiquated bathroom, but the bath looked as though it had been used for dipping sheep. And he wanted her. Couldn’t believe how much he wanted her. Better start practising self-restraint; my friend.

      Face showing nothing of his feelings, he returned inside. And if she didn’t come back tomorrow he would go and find her.

      He could understand her wariness—but her fear? What was it about him that frightened her so? A new experience for him, he thought wryly, to be unsure of something. Extremely patient when he needed to be, with women he had never needed to be. And that spoiled it. He didn’t really know why women found him so attractive, unless it was his money, he thought cynically. Chrissie had said it was his watchful silences that females found intriguing. But then, Chrissie had said a lot of things.