Their Engagement is Announced. Carole Mortimer

on every tabletop, despite the earliness of the hour.

      Her gaze returned nervously to the man. One of his hands rested on the huge wooden lintel above the fireplace. ‘Where is everyone?’ Her voice sounded hushed and hollow.

      Understandably so—not only did she seem to have stepped back in time, but she had done so with this blond giant of a man, who now stood looking at her with cool green eyes.

      ‘Couldn’t tell you.’ The man shrugged dismissively. ‘Do you have a room booked? They don’t seem too busy at the moment so I don’t think it will matter whether you have or not, but—’

      ‘I booked,’ Dora put in quickly. ‘Miss Baxter.’

      The man moved behind the bar, glancing in a red leather-bound book that lay open on its top. ‘Yep.’ He nodded. ‘Miss I. Baxter.’ He looked up at her with those compelling eyes. ‘What does the ‘‘I’’ stand for?’ He quirked one blond brow.

      ‘Isadora,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘But my family has always called me—’

      ‘Izzy,’ the man put in with satisfaction as he strolled back from behind the bar, seeming to savour the way the name rolled off his tongue. ‘I like it.’ He nodded, tilting his head to one side as he gave her a considering look. ‘It suits you,’ he finally murmured.

      Finally, because Dora found she had been holding her breath as she waited for his next comment! And no one had ever called her Izzy…! It had always been Isadora if her parents were displeased with her, and Dora if they weren’t. But, strangely enough, she found that she liked the name Izzy. It seemed to make her sound different, and, as such, was perfectly in harmony with the surreal quality of this country inn.

      ‘Griffin Sinclair.’ The man held out his hand, a hand that was cool and firm to the touch, the clasp firm, as Dora discovered when she touched it politely. ‘I was named after my mother’s least favourite uncle,’ he added by way of explanation, grimacing his feelings about that. ‘Least favourite, but the man with all the money,’ he added dryly. ‘Can I get you a drink while you’re waiting?’ he offered lightly.

      Just listening to this man was like having arrows hurled in your direction. In his case they were arrows of information, but after Dora’s long drive here, and the strangeness of her surroundings, her head was starting to spin!

      ‘I’m so sorry.’ She gave a wan smile. ‘I didn’t realise you worked here.’

      ‘I don’t,’ he assured her cheerfully. ‘I’m a guest too. But I would be happy to get you a drink.’

      Dora frowned. This man had appeared as if from thin air, he chose to call her Izzy, when no one else ever had, he had been named Griffin after his mother’s rich but disliked uncle, and he’d casually offered to get her a drink as if he owned the place, when in fact he was merely a guest, like herself!

      She certainly didn’t need a drink; in fact she already felt as if she were slightly drunk!

      ‘I’ll wait and have a coffee, thank you,’ she replied somewhat dazedly, looking about her thoughtfully. ‘Isn’t it a little—odd, that there’s no one here to book me in?’ she murmured awkwardly.

      ‘Part of the hotel’s charm.’ Griffin shrugged dismissively once again, sitting down on one of the high stools that stood in front of the bar. ‘That’s something you’ll learn this place has by the barrel-load,’ he added with satisfaction. ‘Right down to its secret passage that leads down on to the beach. For the smugglers,’ he added as she still looked blank. ‘It used to be quite a lucrative business in these parts.’

      Secret passage…? ‘I don’t suppose its source is in this room?’ Dora wondered ruefully; after all, he had to have appeared in this room from somewhere!

      Griffin grinned, obviously now guessing the reason for her initial discomfort. ‘Behind the suit of armour.’ He nodded towards the niche in the corner of the room where the armour stood on display. ‘One of the panels moves. You go down a flight of stairs, and the passageway leads down to a cave that opens out on to the beach a quarter of a mile away.’

      Not too keen on dark, confined spaces, Dora couldn’t see herself ever making that particular trip, so he could have saved himself the explanation. Besides, she was only here overnight. She had her dealer to see later today, and then tomorrow morning she would be driving back to Hampshire, where she lived. Which didn’t leave too much time for exploring secret passages and caves on to beaches—thank goodness!

      ‘I don’t—Good grief…!’ Dora breathed in a panicked squeak as the biggest dog she had ever set eyes on stood calmly in the doorway. Dog? The huge grey beast looked more like a horse!

      ‘Griffin!’ She moved as quickly as she dared—just above a snail’s pace!—and threw herself into the protection of Griffin’s arms.

      Yes, Griffin, at least, was very real! Dora could feel the hard warmth of his chest beneath her cheek, smell the male warmth of him. Yes, he might be real—but the rest of this was turning into a nightmare!

      Griffin’s arms moved comfortably about her at the same time as he began to chuckle, a huskily attractive sound that reverberated through his chest. ‘It’s only Derry,’ he laughed softly. ‘Admittedly, he looks rather fierce, but he’s actually very gentle. In fact, a pussycat!’

      A pussycat! The dog looked far from gentle as he surveyed the room with a steady gaze.

      Even as Dora continued to look at him in horrified fascination the dog decided to stroll further into the room, walking over to the fire before dropping his huge weight down in front of it, his massive head coming down to rest on his front paws as he proceeded to gaze at the flames, totally ignoring the two humans in the room.

      Although Dora had a feeling the dog wouldn’t look quite so unconcerned if either of them should try to make a move. What sort of hotel was this?

      She was very much afraid she would have to make a move of some sort. She still stood within the protective embrace of Griffin Sinclair. She was extremely conscious of the powerful warmth of his body, and could smell the male freshness of his aftershave, too, now. This man was a complete stranger to her; she would have to move!

      But before she could do so a tall blonde woman, probably in her forties, strolled into the room. Everyone seemed to stroll in his hotel, Dora decided irritably; so much for efficiency of service. And yet everywhere looked neat and clean, and the fires were well tended—as were the extensive grounds outside.

      Having already had the feeling that she’d stepped back in time, Dora was far from amused by the woman’s opening remark!

      ‘So you’ve found a friend to share your four-poster bed after all, Griffin,’ she drawled pleasantly, smiling warmly at Dora, pausing to stroke the Irish wolfhound’s head absently before stepping lightly behind the bar. ‘Can I get you both a drink? On the house, of course.’

      Griffin chuckled again as Dora moved indignantly out of his arms, winking at her conspiratorially before turning back to face the other woman. ‘This is Miss Izzy Baxter—your new paying guest!’ he added, with obvious enjoyment at the mistake that had been made. ‘And she’s already turned down the suggestion of an alcoholic drink. Izzy, this is the lady who owns Dungelly Court—Fiona Madison.’

      The two women looked at each other with new eyes; Fiona Madison taking on a more businesslike expression, Dora’s frown deepening. Griffin had claimed to be a guest here too, but was he a paying one? He and Fiona Madison seemed extremely familiar with each other…

      ‘Sorry about that, Izzy.’ Fiona gave a dismissive laugh. ‘I thought—well, never mind what I thought,’ she said briskly as Dora continued to look at her coolly. ‘Would you like to sign the register? And then I’ll take you to your room. Have you had a very long journey?’ she continued conversationally as Dora signed her name in the red leather book Griffin had looked in earlier.

      A long journey? It felt, in these unreal surroundings, as if she had