His Live-In Mistress. Maggie Cox

dependable Kate been subject to his arrogant moods immediately when she started to work for him? If she had, the woman surely deserved some kind of endurance medal for her troubles.

      ‘What is it you want, Mr Jacobs? If you’ll just tell me I’ll see if I can help.’

      What Adrian could have done with was a long hot bath followed by a massage. He’d been up most of the night writing, his shoulders ached, his head throbbed and he was irritated and angry at Kate’s desertion. And all because the silly woman had fallen for some probably extremely dull professor of history her father had introduced her to during the summer holidays. He’d clearly misjudged her character, because he would have sworn she wasn’t the type to fall head over heels in love like some giddy sixteen-year-old.

      Reining in his thoughts on the matter, Adrian met Liadan’s apprehensive blue gaze with a deep frown. He almost had the urge to ask her to oblige him with a massage just for the hell of it. She’d probably turn tail and run out of there so fast her feet would leave a trail of smoke in her wake. He would have smiled at the thought if the consequences of such an action wouldn’t leave him in the direst straits possible.

      ‘Right now I need to walk and think. Did Kate show you around the grounds when she took you on her little tour?’

      ‘She would have done but she was in a hurry to catch her train.’ Rising to her feet, Liadan folded her arms across her thick wool sweater for protection. Adrian Jacobs made her uneasy. He had a way of looking at her that made her feel as if he knew everything and she knew nothing—a trait that hardly boded well for a smooth association.

      ‘Then go and put your coat on and come and join me. I’ll point out a couple of things of interest but otherwise I’d prefer not to have any conversation. If you can manage to stay quiet I think I could tolerate some company for half an hour.’

      Embarrassed heat scorching her cheeks, Liadan glanced down at the clean pine table with her thoughts rioting, wondering how she managed to refrain from picking up her cup of camomile tea and throwing it at him. Of all the unbelievably rude, insufferable—‘I’d rather stay here, if you don’t mind. I really need to get my ingredients together to cook dinner.’

      Jerking his head in annoyance, Adrian held Liadan riveted to the spot with the force of his steely-eyed stare. ‘Go and get your coat, Miss Willow. When I said I could tolerate some company, I wasn’t giving you the option of a refusal.’

      CHAPTER TWO

      THE air was so cold Liadan’s breath practically turned to ice as soon as it left her lips. With her coat collar turned up high over her thick woollen scarf, she trailed behind Adrian as he strode ahead, his shoes crunching into the deep impacted snow and his gloveless hands buried deep inside the pockets of his long black coat. The sky was so white it almost matched the snow in brightness and Liadan wished she had her sunglasses to fend off the glare. Shielding her gaze with her gloved hand, she was deeply stirred by the magical landscape that revealed itself to her. Once she could simply accept that Adrian Jacobs wasn’t going to be the most sociable or approachable boss she could hope for, then she could actually start to enjoy the wintry beauty of her incredible surroundings and take pleasure in it, she decided.

      ‘That tower over there is two hundred and fifty years old and the clipped Holm oaks survive from the original garden. Just beyond the oaks there’s an orangery and an ornamental stream.’

      Adrian waited for Liadan to catch up with him as he turned and spoke, his breath mimicking little puffs of locomotive steam in the frosty afternoon air. Surprised by his unexpected solicitude, Liadan duly quickened her stride, her boots plunging deep into the snow as she struggled to find some kind of rhythm, all the while far too conscious of his steady dark gaze on her efforts.

      ‘Gardens like this must take a lot of looking after,’ she breathed as she drew level. ‘You must have a team of gardeners, surely?’

      His dark eyes narrowed. ‘Just George and his son Steven. They’re here most days. You’ll probably see them around. I don’t tolerate too many people on my property, Miss Willow. On the whole, I find people demand far more than I wish to give.’

      ‘But this is such a beautiful place. Don’t you ever feel like sharing it?’ The question was out before Liadan gave herself a chance to consider the wisdom of speaking such thoughts out loud. It hung suspended in the frozen air, making her squirm inside when it appeared that Adrian had not the slightest intention of answering her. But he didn’t turn away and continue striding ahead as she expected. Instead, a deep scowl etching his brow, he folded his arms across his chest and stared at her.

      ‘The answer to your question is no, Miss Willow. I expressly don’t feel like sharing my home with anyone. I live here because I actively enjoy the isolation. My uncle lived here on his own for twenty-five years after his wife died. Accidents or illness permitting, I plan to do the same.’

      Well, she’d wanted an answer and she’d got one. Did he have any idea how cold and lonely a proposition his words suggested? What had happened to the man that he preferred to live his life away from the rest of humanity, like some kind of eccentric, wealthy recluse?

      ‘So you inherited the house from your uncle?’ she asked.

      ‘You were wondering how I could possibly afford to live in such grandeur on the pay of a jobbing writer,’ Adrian drawled scathingly.

      Liadan couldn’t help but smile. ‘I know you’re a very successful author of crime novels, Mr Jacobs. It’s rare that your books aren’t on the best-seller lists.’

      ‘You’ve read my work?’ A new expression stole into those impenetrable dark eyes of his. Surprise? Caution? Disbelief? Perhaps all three? Liadan couldn’t be certain.

      ‘My brother Callum is a fan. He lent me a couple of your books one Christmas when I had nothing else to read.’ Colouring slightly at the admission and painfully aware that she could have chosen her words more carefully, she pressed on regardless before he could interrupt her. ‘They were very intriguing.’

      ‘But?’

      To her consternation she saw that Adrian was smiling—well, for a second or two it seemed that the corners of his stern mouth lifted a little. Ducking her chin down into the warmth of her orange scarf, Liadan bravely met his questioning gaze. ‘They were so…so dark and spine-chilling. And the endings were unredeemingly bleak.’

      ‘So you were looking for some kind of redemption in my stories, were you? Some kind of light at the end of the tunnel to reassure you that really life couldn’t be as bad as all that, and all’s well that ends well?’

      Her toes curling stiffly inside her boots, Liadan was beginning to wish she’d said nothing. Adrian’s scornful tone made her opinions sound naïve and somehow uneducated, and just for a moment she hated him for that.

      ‘Life isn’t all bad, no matter what you say. Everyone has their tough times but we learn from them, don’t we? We learn from them and move on. And things always get better as long as we don’t give up, don’t you agree?’

      Her blue eyes sparkled a little defiantly, her words stirring such a surprising feeling of rage inside Adrian’s chest that he spun away from her before he said things he would probably only regret later. So the earnest Miss Willow thought that life was full of redeeming qualities, did she? How long before fate snatched the blinkers from her eyes and dealt her a crushing blow, one of the magnitude that he had suffered, to disabuse her of such an opinion?

      As he strode far ahead, instinctively knowing she would have trouble keeping up with him, Adrian cursed himself for having the very thought that she might ever suffer such a tragedy.

      The dining room was cold and cheerless, and as she laid a place setting for one at the head of the long oak refectory table that evening Liadan glanced distractedly at the empty fireplace, cursing herself for not thinking of laying a fire earlier. Even though the three radiators were switched to a high heat, the warmth they generated barely made an impact on the huge, draughty room. Those stately Georgian windows