Wanted: White Wedding. NATASHA OAKLEY

breezily. ‘Nothing ever happens here, so they have to re-hash old stories. You’d think they might have found something else to talk about after this much time.’

      ‘Your arrival re-sparked interest.’

      ‘I just bet. Let me know if I’m under suspicion for murder. Or whether it’s just abduction of minors—’

      ‘I’ve apologised for that!’

      Freya brushed an irritated hand across her face. ‘True. My turn to apologise.’

      ‘You can’t have been much older than Mia when you left here.’

      She took her hand away and caught the full force of his expression. Daniel really had the most incredible eyes. They seemed to offer a warmth and an acceptance she hadn’t seen in the longest time.

      ‘How old were you when you left?’

      ‘Seventeen.’

      Daniel nodded. ‘Mia’s fifteen. Not so very different in age, then.’

      ‘Two years is a long time when you’re a teenager,’ Freya said quickly, wanting to make it absolutely clear that she didn’t think Mia’s life was on the same trajectory as hers had been. ‘Fifteen to seventeen weren’t good years for me, and I didn’t make it easy for anyone to like me.’

      Funny how you could encapsulate so much angst into a simple sentence. Thinking back now, she could see how she’d managed to antagonise pretty much everyone.

      The consequence was that they weren’t pleased to see her back. Everywhere she went she felt the whispers, the looks, and the constant speculation about what she wanted in coming back.

      ‘Margaret’s really glad you’re here,’ he said, as though he was able to read her mind.

      She looked up at him and found he was watching her. For some inexplicable reason she wanted to cry. She bit on the side of her mouth in an effort to control the prickle of tears behind her eyes.

      How did he know what she’d been thinking? If she wasn’t careful she’d be pouring out every secret she’d ever had. Maybe she didn’t have to. Maybe those dark brown eyes could see into her soul and read them all for himself?

      ‘Half your trouble is because of that. Margaret was so excited when she knew you were coming that she mentioned it to one or two people…’ He let his words taper off.

      Freya’s breath caught on an unexpected laugh. ‘Yes, I know.’ She hadn’t quite believed she’d arrive until she’d actually stood on the doorstep.

      ‘And you need to remember you’re not seventeen any more,’ he said, his voice soothing like velvet.

      No, she wasn’t. Right now she didn’t feel seventeen at all. Whatever it was Daniel Ramsay had, he should bottle it. It would make him a fortune. Even a cynic like her was dissolving at his feet in a pool of hormones.

      God help his poor wife. Daniel would have more opportunity than most to stray. Maybe he did. Maybe that went some way to explaining Mia’s anger?

      Only that couldn’t be right.

      His hand moved to touch the chiffonier. ‘Margaret wants to sell this?’

      Freya nodded.

      ‘Honestly, she’d do better to hang on to it for a few years. Dark wood isn’t as popular as it was a few years back. It’s all fashion. It’ll have its time again.’

      Daniel couldn’t be that kind of man. If he was, her grandma would hardly describe him as ‘doing his best’. And he was still wearing his wedding ring.

      Freya pulled her eyes away from the unexpectedly sensual movement of his fingers running along the wood grain. ‘It won’t fit where she wants to go, so she doesn’t have much of a choice.’

      He pulled a face. ‘I can’t see sheltered housing suiting her.’

      ‘Neither can I. But now they’re building some in the village she’s become quite keen…and I suppose it makes sense long-term. I don’t mind, if it’s what she really wants.’

      He nodded and turned back to the chiffonier. ‘This isn’t going to make much more than five hundred. It’s early nineteenth century, not particularly unusual, and big. Most houses just can’t take a piece of furniture like this.’

      ‘And it’s ugly.’ Freya moved away to stand nearer the door. She felt better with more space between them. One thing she’d learnt was that danger was best avoided. And, with a finely tuned instinct for survival, she knew Daniel Ramsay was dangerous.

      ‘The barleytwist side columns are nice, but that’s really all it’s got going for it. I’d put a reserve of about four hundred on it but, I don’t think it’ll go much higher than that.’

      ‘Anywhere?’

      His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. ‘If I thought she would get more elsewhere I’d tell her. Margaret’s a friend, and my auction house isn’t particularly looking for things to sell. With all the antiques programmes on TV recently, business is booming.’

      ‘I didn’t mean—’

      ‘Yes, you did.’ Daniel cut her off, and his eyes held hers. He didn’t even blink.

      There was a beat of silence. He really was a mind-reader. ‘Actually—yes, I probably did.’

      Daniel thrust his hands deep into his jeans pockets. ‘Is there any particular reason you think I’d do something underhand? Was it something I said or just a chemical reaction?’

      ‘I don’t know anything about you,’ she said quickly.

      ‘But you don’t like me?’

      Freya moved across to the dining table, pushed up into the corner of the room, and started to lift down the boxes stacked on it. ‘I don’t have to like you. I just need to be certain my grandmother isn’t being taken for a ride.’

      ‘And you think I’d do that?’

      ‘I think your business needs a good injection of capital, and I think you want quality pieces passing through your auction house even if the owners would get a better price elsewhere.’

      The silence was longer this time. ‘You don’t take any prisoners, do you?’

      She shrugged. ‘What’s the point? The sooner we get finished here, the sooner you can take Mia home. What do you think of this?’

      Daniel moved back to look at the bulbous legs of the table. ‘Do you have the extra leaves?’

      She nodded, feeling unexpectedly mean. ‘Three. Behind the door over there.’

      ‘What does it measure when fully extended?’

      ‘Three hundred and ten centimetres.’ Daniel crossed over to look at the other pieces of the table and she added, ‘There’s a scratch on one of the leaves. I can’t remember which one now. I think the back one.’

      He looked for a moment. ‘It’s quite deep, but that won’t affect the value much. This will most likely go to a dealer who’ll be able to sort that.’ Daniel turned back to her. ‘I’d no idea Margaret had this. It’s lovely. Why doesn’t she use it?’

      ‘She did. When I was younger. We used to have big Sunday lunches.’

      Daniel’s eyes softened again, making her want to run away and hide. What did he imagine he was seeing when he looked at her? There was no way on earth he could know how much she’d loved those Sundays. Loved the huge knickerbocker glorys her grandma had made especially for her.

      ‘She’s not used it for years, so there’s no point hanging on to it,’ she said brusquely.

      He nodded. ‘It’s worth something in the region of three thousand pounds. I’d certainly want to see a reserve of at least two thousand on it. Is