Vows Made in Secret. Louise Fuller

to start on the cataloguing as soon as possible, so why don’t we put aside our differences and try and concentrate on making that happen for him? Can we do that? Can we call a truce?’ She gave a small, tight smile and clenched her hands into fists to stop herself from crossing her fingers.

      Laszlo stared at her speculatively. She wanted this job. It was obvious from the conciliatory note in her voice and the slight increase in tension around her shoulders. His gaze drifted hungrily over her neck to the pulse beating in the hollow at the base of her throat. To anyone who didn’t know her she looked like the perfect English Rose, pale and demure. But he knew the other Prudence. The one beneath that calm, poised exterior, who had wrapped herself around him with passion and fervour. That contrast, and the knowledge that he alone possessed that other, hidden Prudence, had excited him unbearably. With a spasm of disbelief, he realised it still did.

      Feeling his body stiffen, he lifted his gaze and smiled at her almost mockingly. ‘Since you put it so nicely—’

      She stared at him warily. She hadn’t expected him to come round so easily. But then, with Laszlo you never knew what to expect. ‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly. ‘I must say I’m a bit surprised—’

      He smiled coolly. ‘I know how much women love surprises.’

      Nodding, she forced herself to breathe slowly. Perhaps she could make this work. She just needed to stay focused on what was important: the fact that Laszlo was nothing more than a client. She looked up and found him watching her. A tingle of heat ran down her spine. She could almost see his desire—feel him wrapping it round her like a dark velvet cloak.

      Her cheeks were burning. Quickly, before the sudden softness in his eyes could rattle her even more, she looked away. She was here to work and it didn’t matter that she and Laszlo had once shared a passion so pagan, so consuming, that the outside world had ceased to exist. Now their relationship needed to work only on a business level.

      She met his eyes. ‘And I know men hate delays.’ She paused and cleared her throat. ‘So I suggest we discuss what happens now.’

      Laszlo stared at her. A peony-pink flush had crept over the skin on her throat and his gaze drifted down over the pale grey blouse that clung to the soft swell of her breasts, then lower still to where the smooth downward curve of her hips and waist pressed tight against the fabric of her skirt. She was so close they were practically touching and, breathing in the familiar scent of jasmine, he found himself almost paralysed with longing again.

      Breathing in sharply, he gritted his teeth. He had spent so long hating her, hating what she had done to him, that he had never supposed that he might still want her.

      And yet apparently he did.

      He stared at her, confused. He wanted her. But he also wanted to punish her. And yet even that wasn’t wholly true, for he couldn’t help but admire her. After all, how many other women—particularly one as shy and unworldly as Prudence—would stand their ground in this situation? Not that it surprised him. She had always possessed that quality of being in a state of quiescence, of teetering on the edge. His jaw tensed as her misty grey gaze rested on his face. Only now was not the time to be thinking about Prudence’s finer qualities. Better to concentrate on her flaws.

      ‘You tell me. Talking was always your thing, wasn’t it? For me, actions speak louder than words.’

      He watched colour creep across her cheeks. Saw the moment that she relaxed, the tension leaving her body, making it softer and more vulnerable.

      Prudence felt her cheeks grow warm. She needed no reminder of how eloquent his actions had been. Particularly not now, when she needed to keep her thoughts in some semblance of order. But his smile was like a beam of sunlight breaking through cloud. She just wanted to follow it...place herself in its path.

      Focus, she told herself firmly. She cleared her throat and began to talk quickly. ‘As I said before, I know how keen your grandfather is to begin the cataloguing. So I think we should push on with the original timeframe.’

      He stepped towards her and she tensed, her body suddenly a helix of tendon and muscle.

      ‘You’re the expert,’ he murmured.

      Blushing, Prudence swallowed. His voice was such a captivating mix of soft and seductive. She felt heat begin to build inside her and for one brief moment allowed herself to remember the touch of his fingers, travelling over her skin with the virtuosity of a concert pianist. How the rippling rhythms of their bodies had quickened and intertwined to a breathless cadence.

      Prudence took a deep breath. Surely she couldn’t still actually find him attractive? She must have more sense than that. But what had sense got to do with lust? No woman alive could stand next to Laszlo Cziffra and feel nothing.

      Somewhere in the castle a door slammed and Prudence started forward with surprise. For a moment her hands grazed his chest as she swayed against him and then, breathing unsteadily, she teetered backwards. They were standing inches apart now. He was so close she could feel the heat of his skin. Her heart was pounding as though she’d been running and her body was trembling helplessly. He smelt of newly mown hay and rain-soaked earth and she felt almost dazed with longing as every inch of her reacted to him.

      ‘Castles were built to keep out arrows and cannon fire. Not draughts,’ he said drily.

      Still horrified by the revelation that her body apparently had no loyalty to her heart, Prudence dragged her gaze away, hoping that he hadn’t noticed or, worse, correctly interpreted her physical response to him.

      ‘Weren’t they?’ she mumbled, her cheeks flushing. ‘Wh—what was I saying? Oh, yes. The timeframe. Three weeks is a typical estimate for a preliminary assessment. It’s important to be thorough at that stage.’ She frowned. ‘And don’t worry. If I have any problems I can speak to Mr Seymour. In fact, I’ll be in close contact with him the entire time.’ She gave a small, tight smile. ‘I find it helpful to have another point of view. For clarity.’

      Her smile faded and she stared at him nervously, aware of a sudden stillness in him, a slight narrowing of his eyes, although she couldn’t quite understand what had changed. But then, why should she care? She was here to work, and Laszlo’s moods were no longer her concern.

      Clearing her throat, she straightened her shoulders and forced herself to ignore the undertow of apprehension tugging at the back of her mind. ‘A-and obviously I’m happy to discuss any concerns Mr de Zsadany has,’ she stammered. His eyes clashed with hers and despite herself she felt another twinge of foreboding.

      ‘Obviously...’ he said coolly. ‘I know how you love to discuss problems.’

      Her heart was thumping hard. There it was again: a tiny but deliberate dig. He was taking what was nothing more than a casual, unpremeditated remark and making it something personal, to do with the past. Their past. She felt sudden swift anger. Hadn’t they agreed to call a truce? This was going to be hard enough as it was, without him making a difficult situation worse with his snippy double-edged comments.

      Her mind was so churned up with emotion it took her another couple of moments before she understood just how difficult the situation was going to be. For it wasn’t as if she was just going to work with Laszlo—her blood seemed to still in her veins—she was going to have to live with him too.

      A tremor grew at the back of her neck. Of course she would have to live with him. But not like this. Not dreading his every remark—not deliberately having to misunderstand his every insinuation. She needed to make it clear now that she would not tolerate being treated like that.

      ‘I don’t like discussing problems.’ Returning his gaze coldly, she lifted her chin. ‘It’s just that I think communication is key to a successful relationship.’

      She had meant to sound assured, without being overtly confrontational. But she knew the moment she spoke that it was the wrong thing to say. For he went entirely still and his eyes locked onto hers like an infrared missile seeking its target.

      Swaying, she took