Their Engagement is Announced. Carole Mortimer

      She gave Griffin an irritated frown. ‘In view of your mother’s initial reaction to the wedding date, and the reason for it, I would have thought I was the last person she would expect to see there!’

      He raised blond brows. ‘Scared, Izzy?’ he taunted.

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Griffin,’ she snapped dismissively. ‘I was trying to be sensitive to your mother’s feelings.’

      ‘In view of the fact that she is never ‘‘sensitive’’ to other people’s feelings, I wouldn’t bother!’ He pushed himself up off the desk, instantly making the shop look small once again. ‘Besides, now that we’ve settled her initial—misgivings, she’s thrown herself into the wedding arrangements with a vengeance! Charlotte’s ‘‘quiet wedding’’ has been turned into a social circus!’ he explained disgustedly.

      All the more reason, Dora would have thought, for her not to attend. Oh, she still had all the social attributes Charles—and his mother!—had found so suitable for her future role as Charles’s wife: she found it easy to converse with people from all walks of life, on most subjects—themselves, she had learnt, was usually a pretty safe bet for most people!—she was attractive enough, in a quiet and unassuming way, and, best of all, she was sure, there was no hint of scandal attached to her name.

      She just didn’t particularly relish her role now as ‘poor Charles’s fiancée’, the object of pitying curiosity. And surely her father’s recent death was excuse enough not to accept.

      ‘In view of the fact that none of the family were aware of your father’s death, he was, of course, included in the invitation.’ Griffin seemed to have read at least some of her thoughts. ‘But don’t give that another thought; it will be simple enough for you to come to the wedding as my partner for the day.’

      Now Dora did stare at him. His partner? ‘I don’t think so, Griffin—’

      ‘Well, I do,’ he returned in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘Now, could you ring through the sale of these books?’ He indicated the pile he had accumulated when the elderly lady was in the shop, having put them down on the desk. ‘I have another appointment in an hour.’

      Dora frowned. ‘Surely you don’t really want all these books?’

      He grimaced. ‘As well as not talking to me for a month, my mother decided to clear out the bedroom she keeps for me at the house. The ‘‘clearing out’’ included throwing away a collection of classics I had had since I was a boy,’ he told her grimly. ‘I’m attempting to replace them.’

      Mother and son never had really got on, Dora knew, but even so!

      Griffin might dismiss his mother’s behaviour now, but she was sure he had been far from pleased at the time. ‘If you can remember some of the others that are still—missing, I might be able to get them for you,’ she offered helpfully. Books had always been a big part of her own life, and she could imagine nothing more awful than losing any of the collection she had amassed over the years, and still read over and over.

      ‘Thanks.’ He nodded. ‘I’ll make a list and give it to you.’

      She wished he wouldn’t watch her so intently as she totalled up the books; he made her feel nervous, and she had trouble concentrating at all.

      But he continued to watch her with those knowing green eyes, and it seemed to take her for ever to get through the twenty or so books he had picked up.

      ‘You must have had quite a library,’ she said lightly as she stacked them into carrier bags, having noted that some of them were copies of books she had in her own library at home.

      ‘And there you were thinking I couldn’t read!’ he drawled mockingly.

      ‘You’re being ridiculous again.’ She looked up at him with calm grey eyes, able to breathe again now that she knew he was on the point of leaving. ‘I am aware of the fact that you’ve written several books of your own.’

      His mouth twisted derisively. ‘I’ll lay odds on there not being any of them in here, though.’ He looked about him pointedly.

      She stiffed at his deliberate mockery. ‘We do have travel books—’

      ‘But not by Griffin Sinclair,’ he said with certainty. ‘Your father didn’t approve of me any more than I liked him!’

      He was right, of course; her father had never made any secret of his disapproval of Charles’s ‘disreputable’ younger brother. Although Dora very much doubted the oversight had been deliberately because of who Griffin was; the shop simply didn’t stock the sort of books Griffin had written.

      ‘I told you I intend making changes,’ she replied abruptly. ‘And books written by well-known television personalities are sure to be good sellers,’ she added teasingly.

      ‘Very funny!’ Griffin grimaced, picking up the two bags of books. ‘I’ll see you in four weeks’ time, then.’ He strode across the shop to the door. ‘The wedding is at three o’clock, so I’ll call for you at your home at about two o’clock.’

      Then she would accompany him to his sister’s wedding, as his partner…

      ‘Oh, and Izzy…?’ He paused at the open doorway.

      She looked at him warily. ‘Yes?’

      He grinned at her obvious reluctance. ‘Don’t wear black, hmm? For one thing, it isn’t an appropriate colour to wear to a wedding,’ he continued before she could make any comment. ‘And for another,’ he added tauntingly, ‘it doesn’t suit you!’

      Dora sank down weakly into her chair once Griffin had gone, closing the door softly behind him. Griffin Sinclair, she decided—and not for the first time!—was the most outrageous man she had ever had the misfortune to meet.

      But how strange it was that the elderly lady had earlier likened him to a modern-day pirate, because when Dora had first met him he had seemed like a man from another time to her, too.

      Of course, their surroundings had added to that illusion. At least, she had felt they did then, and she had made that excuse to herself since as a way of explaining her behaviour. Whatever the reason, she had allowed herself to be cast under some sort of spell. If only for a brief time…

      CHAPTER TWO

      THE prospective dealer, a man with a book for sale that her father had wanted, had sounded eccentric enough over the telephone, but when Dora had seen the Devon hotel he’d recommended for her overnight stay, she had known her business visit there was going to be a memorable one.

      She could have had no idea as she walked into the entrance hall, past huge open oak doors, just how memorable it was going to be!

      She had felt as if she’d stepped back through a time warp as she’d walked inside the hotel. Dungelly Court had been restored, it had said in the brochure she’d picked up just inside the door, as much as it was possible to its past glory. Old paintings and huge tapestries had adorned the deep purple walls, and ornate mirrors hung on those walls too, with a deep red carpet on the floor that should have clashed with the colour of the walls and yet somehow hadn’t. And in the two rooms that had led directly off the hallway there had been fires lit in the massive grates, logs burning warmly. And welcomingly.

      It had been unreal. Surreal.

      ‘Someone will come and see to you shortly.’

      Dora’s overnight bag almost slipped from her fingers at the sound of that rich male voice. She looked cautiously into the deserted room to the right of the main doorway. At least, a room she had assumed to be deserted!

      A man now stood to one side of the huge open fireplace, a man dressed completely in black, only the golden blondness of his long hair alleviating that impression of darkness.

      Where he had come from, Dora had no idea, but she