The Millionaire's Rebellious Mistress. Catherine George

haven’t put the cottages up for sale yet, but I can’t help wondering how well—and how soon—they’ll sell when I do.’

      ‘Don’t you worry. You’ll have no trouble selling this lot,’ he said with certainty. ‘They’re attracting a lot of attention locally. Mind, it doesn’t hurt that the developer’s a pretty young female—’

      ‘Harry, are you by any chance being sexist?’ she accused.

      ‘If I was you’d sack me,’ he said, chuckling, then shook his head as a van came cruising up the lane. ‘More visitors,’ he grumbled. ‘I reckon we should start selling tickets.’

      Sarah’s eyes lit up. ‘It’s Mr Baker.’

      Charlie Baker heaved himself out of the van and came to look at the houses in approval. ‘Morning, Miss Carver, Harry. I’ve brought the plants you wanted, my dear, and a few bags of compost to get you started.’

      Sarah rushed to inspect the plants, and helped the men carry everything to the parking space cleared at the end of the row. ‘Lavender for fragrance and buddleia for butterflies,’ she said, delighted. ‘My mother’s favourites.’

      ‘I brought you some viburnums and a couple of hollies, too,’ he told her. ‘No point in putting in bedding plants, otherwise you’d be down here every night watering.’

      ‘I’m not really clued up about gardening. I wish now I’d helped my mother more in our garden at home,’ said Sarah with regret. ‘I was always making a nuisance of myself on one of Dad’s building sites instead.’

      ‘It paid off,’ Harry reminded her. ‘Now, we’d better get back to the real work. I want to finish painting number six today.’

      ‘Thank you so much, Mr Baker,’ said Sarah as she paid him.

      He handed her a receipted bill in exchange. ‘Come down the pub some time and I’ll buy you that drink.’

      ‘Done,’ she said, as they walked back to his van, ‘By the way, I was wondering about some trees.’

      Harry grinned as he waved at the tree-lined lane. ‘Plenty of those here already, boss.’

      She made a face at him. ‘I meant a smallish flowering tree in the courtyard, and maybe another in the front. What do you think, Mr Baker?’

      ‘I’ll bring some catalogues to the pub and you can have a look,’ he promised.

      Later, when Harry had finished for the day, Sarah waited until his pick-up was out of sight, then, feeling ridiculously furtive, took her mother’s garden tools from the boot of her car. It wouldn’t take long to plant some of the shrubs in front of what would be the show house. Now that the machinery and skips of rubbish had been hauled away and the parking spaces at either end of the row were clear, the site was beginning to shape up as a very attractive proposition. It was also a mere half a mile to the bus stop on the main road, and only another five to Hereford; a selling point Sarah intended to stress when the houses were advertised.

      When her doorbell rang later that evening Sarah’s eyes widened as she heard Alex Merrick’s voice on the intercom.

      ‘It’s very late, Mr Merrick,’ she said coldly.

      ‘I wouldn’t disturb you if it wasn’t important,’ he assured her. ‘I need a word.’

      Thankful she’d bothered to get dressed after her shower for once, Sarah pressed the release button for the main door, then opened her own as he strode across the hall, hand outstretched.

      ‘Thank you for seeing me.’

      Sarah touched the hand briefly, but, startled by the contact, dropped it like a hot coal. ‘You’d better come inside,’ she said—with reluctance, he acknowledged with a twitch of his lips.

      Looking disturbingly tougher and more formidable in jeans, and a sweatshirt which showed off impressive shoulders, Alex walked into the room and stood stock still, his eyes wide instead of showing their usual narrow gleam. ‘I don’t remember anything like this!’

      ‘You mean when your company did the makeover?’

      He gave her the crooked smile Sarah felt sure he practised in the mirror.

      ‘I was thinking more of the old days, Miss Carver. My school socialised with the Medlar House girls. I used to come here to dances.’

      Of course he had. ‘I believe this was a music room.’

      ‘Is that why you have a balcony?’

      ‘No. It’s a sleeping platform I built myself. The flight of steps as well. Once I’d sanded and sealed the floor I built the window-seat, too, and installed the shutters,’ Sarah couldn’t help adding. ‘The room was originally just an empty shell with huge windows—plus a tiny kitchen and bathroom, of course, or I wouldn’t have bought it.’

      Alex looked round slowly, taking in the art nouveau chandelier, the trio of antique mirrors on the wall and the framed family photographs hung between them. ‘It’s a uniquely attractive room,’ he said, with gratifying respect. ‘I congratulate you.’

      ‘Thank you. Perhaps you’d like to sit down and tell me why you want to see me?’ She returned to her perch on the window-seat.

      Alex sat on the edge of the small sofa, his expression grave enough to worry her. ‘I took a detour past the cottages tonight on my way home.’

      Sarah stared at him in surprise. ‘Do you often do that?’

      ‘I do sometimes, to get away from traffic. But tonight I had a different reason. As you know, we’re building a spa-type hotel on the site of the old Medlar Farm, a couple of miles from your project. Don’t worry,’ he added, ‘it’s not high-rise. It’s designed to look organic, blend into the environment. It won’t affect your property—particularly if you agree to sell me your cottages.’

      ‘I see. So is there a problem?’

      He nodded. ‘Security. Late this evening someone got into our night watchman’s cabin at the hotel site while he was on his rounds. He heard a car drive off, and got back to find the Portakabin vandalised.’

      ‘Did they get away with anything?’

      ‘One small television—the solitary thing worth taking. The place was probably trashed in frustration, or just for the sake of it.’ Alex looked grim. ‘From now on two men with dogs will be on permanent night duty at the site. I drove back via Medlar Cottages, to see if you’d arranged any security there.’

      ‘No,’ she said unhappily, ‘I haven’t.’ She brightened. ‘But the problem’s easy enough to solve. The first house is ready to live in, so I’ll move in there until the others are finished.’

      Alex gave her a patronising look. ‘And what if someone decided to break in one fine night?’

      ‘I’ll spread the word in the pub that it’s inhabited,’ she said promptly. ‘Then with the security lights and burglar alarms functioning I’ll be fine.’

      He shook his head. ‘Your decision. But I don’t like it.’

      ‘You don’t have to like it,’ she pointed out.

      ‘I know,’ he said morosely, and stood up. ‘Give me your mobile phone.’

      ‘Why?’

      He held out an imperative hand.

      Sarah took the phone from her holdall and handed it to him. ‘It’s charged and working,’ she assured him.

      He keyed in some numbers. ‘Ring me anytime if you need me, or just feel worried,’ he ordered, handing it back. ‘Make sure you lock up behind me. Goodnight.’

      Sarah glared, incensed, at the door he closed behind him. What earthly right did the man have to come ordering her about? Being fast-tracked to group vice-chairman so