The Millionaire's Chosen Bride. Susanne James

way around! Now, why should that disturb him in a woman? he asked himself. Most females were rubbish at map-reading, or at even knowing their norths from their souths! But not, apparently, this one!

      He stared pensively out of the window for a second. Whether she was brilliant behind the wheel or not wasn’t particularly relevant anyway…all he knew was that she was certainly a very intriguing woman—at any rate, she’d intrigued him more than anyone had done for a very long time!

      He swept out of the car park, smiling briefly to himself, painfully aware that his present, overpowering sensation was one of wanting to cover those dainty, seductive lips with his own! He snorted derisively. Fat chance of that ever happening! he thought.

      As she made her way back to her hotel, Melody felt such a strange mix of emotions she could have screamed. She should have been thrilled and excited at her purchase that morning, and of course she was, yet she realised Adam did have a point about the time she’d be spending at the cottage—actually living there, and buying her bread from the little bakery, fetching her newspaper from the shop. She knew only too well that people like her were a serious irritation who did little to help the local economy.

      After she’d driven for a mile or two she pulled in to the side of the road and took the local map which the hotel had given her from her handbag. Although she’d told Adam that she’d have no difficulty finding her way back to the Red House, the fact was she didn’t have a clue where she was. But she hadn’t wanted to extend her association with the man by accepting his offer that he should shepherd her back. Although he was, without doubt, the dishiest male she’d met in her whole life, she felt that this was not the time to prolong an unlooked-for acquaintance. At this staggeringly unexpected point in her life it would be better to be alone, to think clearly for herself.

      The route they’d taken from the village to the pub was unknown to her. All these country roads looked exactly the same as one another, and her hotel was an isolated building that didn’t seem to belong anywhere special. Melody sighed as she traced the minute, incomprehensible wiggles on the map with her finger. If the worst came to the worst she could always go right back to the village and set off again from there, she thought. But surely there must be a more direct route from where she now was to the Red House?

      Feeling that she’d better go back to the pub, she turned the car around and began to drive cautiously along the empty road. Suddenly, rounding a corner, she spotted a woman cyclist ahead of her. Good, she thought. A local who would obviously know where the hotel was.

      Pulling up slowly alongside, she opened the passenger window and called out.

      ‘Hello—sorry to bother you, but I’m trying to find my way back to the Red House Hotel. Can you direct me? I’m hopelessly lost!’

      The woman—dark-haired and attractive, probably in her mid-thirties, Melody assessed—had an open, friendly expression, and immediately got off her bike—an ancient vehicle with a basket on the front in which were several boxes of eggs. She looked in at Melody.

      ‘I’m afraid you’re a bit off-course,’ she said, frowning slightly and shielding her eyes from the sun for a second. ‘Look, your best bet is to go to the crossroads a mile up the road in front of us, take the left turn, then go on until you come to the smallholding on the right. You can’t miss it. There are always two white horses in the field in front. Turn down that road, go on for another mile or so, then the road sort of doubles back on itself before you must take the next right turn. The Red House is there, more or less in front of you. Or should be if I’ve got it right!’ the woman said, laughing.

      Melody repeated the instructions slowly, hoping she’d find the place before nightfall. The woman’s last remark didn’t sound particularly convincing! Especially with the added, ‘Good Luck!’ that she heard as she drove away.

      Anyway, she thought, her present confusion would do nothing to spoil the excitement of the day. Soon, soon—when the necessary formalities had been completed—she would be given the keys to her cottage and would be able to revel in really looking around. She would go upstairs and open the door to the little bedroom at the back. The room in which she’d been born.

      CHAPTER TWO

      MUCH later in the afternoon, Melody drove up the winding drive that led to the B&B called Poplars, a large Victorian building, and followed the sign to the visitors’ car park.

      She got out of the car and went towards the large front entrance door. As she entered, a stocky, bearded man came through to greet her, two chocolate Labrador dogs padding behind him. He grinned cheerfully.

      ‘Ah—Mrs Forester? You booked by phone?’

      Melody smiled back. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

      He held out a work-roughened hand. ‘I’m Callum Brown. I own this place with my wife Fee—or rather, it owns us! I saw you come up the drive, and as you’re our last guest due to check in today, I gathered it must be you. Now—shall we fetch your things?’

      Together they went across to the car park, the dogs trotting obediently behind Callum. Melody bent to pat them. ‘I love dogs,’ she said. ‘What are they called?’

      ‘Tam and Millie,’ Callum said, glancing down at them fondly.

      They went back inside, and Melody stood for a few moments at the desk in the hall to sign in.

      ‘Your room is number three, on the second floor,’ Callum said. ‘I’m afraid we don’t run to a lift, so I’ll take your cases for you.’

      ‘No need for that, Callum. I’ll do the honours. It’ll be a pleasure.’

      Melody swung around in amazement. She’d recognised the voice straight away, and now found herself staring once more at the man who’d paid for her lunch.

      ‘What…what are you doing here? I mean…’ she began rather stupidly.

      ‘Staying with friends—as I told you I was,’ he replied easily. ‘But I didn’t realise that Poplars was where you’d transferred to. Anyway,’ he added, ‘let me make myself useful.’ He took her room key from Callum and picked up her cases.

      ‘D’you two know each other, then?’ Callum asked curiously.

      ‘Yes, we do. We met at the auction this morning,’ Adam said. He paused, then, ‘Let me introduce you properly. Mel is the new owner of Gatehouse Cottage, Callum.’

      ‘Well…congratulations,’ Callum said slowly. ‘You’ve bought a very desirable property.’

      Just then the cyclist whom Melody had spoken to earlier breezed into the hall.

      ‘Oh, hello again!’ the woman said to Melody, and Melody’s heart sank. She hoped that nothing would be said about their afternoon encounter—but no such luck. ‘You must be Mrs Forester,’ the woman went on. ‘The guest who managed to book our last room? I’m so glad that you obviously found your way back to the Red House! It was lucky that I was just on my way home after collecting the eggs from the farm.’ She turned to the men. ‘Mrs Forester got herself hopelessly lost this afternoon, trying to get back to her hotel, and she took a surprising risk asking me for directions! I’m saying that before either of you two do,’ she added.

      She smiled at Melody, whose face had slowly turned crimson as the woman was speaking. Why did it have to be this particular person she’d asked, a friend of Adam’s? What an opportunity for him to gloat, she thought.

      ‘Yes…I did find it, thanks,’ she murmured, looking away quickly.

      Without saying anything further, Adam led the way along the hall and up two narrow flights of stairs. He glanced back at her over his shoulder. ‘I didn’t realise you were married,’ he said bluntly.

      ‘I’m not,’ she retorted.

      After that there was silence, then he said casually, ‘You’ll like it here. Callum and Fee are wonderful people. This place is almost always