Promised to the Sheikh. Sharon Kendrick

the rose garden were almost in pristine condition. As for the rest...

      He was thankful for the peace and quiet. All of a sudden his safe haven seemed like a noisy hotel. Everyone seemed to talk at the tops of their voices, constantly asking questions. He’d tried to hide out in the library for a while, but even there he’d been disturbed by some of the relatives wondering if there were any valuable first editions.

      If he’d had his way he would have locked some of the rooms to stop their prying eyes, not to mention their prying fingers. He’d caught one relative in his room earlier and had nearly blown a gasket.

      A flash of red caught his eye, along with the sound of laughter and heels clipping on the concrete path. He took a few steps forward, crashing straight into Laurie as she rounded the corner of the maze.

      ‘Oh, sorry.’ She was out of breath and her eyes wide. ‘Isn’t this just fabulous?’

      As much as he hated to admit it her enthusiasm was clearly genuine.

      ‘How long has the maze been here? I had no idea something like this existed. It’s amazing.’

      He narrowed his gaze. He could barely focus on the question because his eyes and brain were immediately struck by the sight in front of him. The 1920s-style flapper dress skimmed her figure, hiding it beneath shimmering red glass beads. A feather was slightly askew on her head and he automatically reached up to straighten it. ‘What on earth are you wearing?’ Damn. There it was again—as soon as his hand touched the soft hair—the mysterious spark from earlier.

      ‘This?’ Her eyes widened again and she gave a little spin, sending a cascade of sparkling red lights scattering around them. She wrinkled her nose as she came to a halt. ‘Well, I hardly brought it with me, did I? I got it from the costume room. Haven’t you got into character yet?’ She held out her black-satin-gloved hand to shake his hand. ‘I’m Lucy Clark. Apparently an heiress and up to all things naughty with two different men.’

      If he’d been anywhere else, at any other time, he would have acted on the current of electricity that was sizzling between them. He thought he might have imagined it, but his palm was tingling. He rubbed it fiercely against his thigh.

      The Murder Mystery Weekend. The last thing on his mind right now. He hadn’t even opened the envelope that had been sitting above the fireplace in his room. And he had no idea what room in the castle had been deemed the ‘costume’ room. His fingers burrowed into his jacket pocket and he pulled out the crumpled envelope. ‘Oops.’ He shrugged.

      She shook her head. ‘Come on, Callan, get into the spirit of things.’ She reached out to grab his envelope, then pulled her hand back. ‘I better not.’ She leaned forward and whispered, ‘I don’t want to find out you’re secretly a mass murderer.’

      He shook his head and pulled the card from the envelope. He must have been out of his crazy mind to have agreed to be part of this.

      Then again, he hadn’t really agreed. Frank, the solicitor, had informed him that Angus had expected Callan to make his guests feel welcome and help oversee the weekend’s activities. He’d had half a mind to walk away.

      But his loyalty to Angus ran deep. Too deep.

      If he walked away then he’d never find out who inherited the castle, or their plans for it. A tiny seed started to sprout in his brain.

      Maybe being here wasn’t so crazy after all. Sure, inheriting a castle sounded good on paper, but once Angus’s relatives realised the implications, the upkeep, the financial commitments, he was pretty sure they would all run screaming for the hills. Maybe he could make them an offer? He’d always been prepared to pay a fair price, and if Angus wouldn’t accept it, maybe one of his children would?

      His eyes fixed on Laurie. She was young. She was a lawyer in London. She wouldn’t want to be landed with a castle in the Highlands.

      For the first time this weekend he actually paused to think. Maybe he should play nice?

      He squinted at the name on his card. He hadn’t paid attention to any of the instructions about the Murder Mystery Weekend. ‘It appears I’m Bartholomew Grant, thirty-three, a stock-market trader.’

      A cheeky smile appeared on her face along with the tiniest flush of red. ‘Hmm...Bartholomew Grant. Well, whaddya know? I believe you’re one of my two adoring men.’ She gave a little wave of her hand. ‘Here’s hoping you can play the part, Callan.’

      The feather was bobbing in the wind. The shimmering red glass beads picking up the soft lights from the open doors of the drawing room. She hadn’t donned a short bob wig in keeping with the time; instead she’d left her long brown curls snaking around her shoulders.

      She was watching him through her dark lashes with her big brown eyes. His eyes dropped automatically to her left hand. He couldn’t see anything through the satin gloves. No telltale lumps with giant diamonds. Surely a successful woman like Laurie must be attached?

      She leaned forward again, this time the round neck of her dress gaping and giving a little glimpse of cleavage.

      He blinked. What was he doing? Why was his brain even going there? He had far too much to think about this weekend. The last thing he needed was to get distracted by someone he’d never see again.

      ‘Do you think you can play the part, Callan? Or is it all just too much for you?’ Her voice was low and husky. She tilted her head to one side. ‘Do you even know how to play nice?’

      The words made him start. In another world Laurie Jenkins could be quite mesmerising. But he wasn’t the kind of guy to fall for a coy smile and the flutter of some eyelashes.

      ‘Maybe I just like to pick my play friends carefully,’ he shot back.

      She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Well, that’s a shame. You’re the only person around here who looked as if they might be capable of holding a normal conversation. I couldn’t get a word in edgeways with the Americans, the Canadians were too busy Googling antiques, and—’ she flung her hands up ‘—the two people that I think are my aunt and uncle from other parts of England have spent the last hour dozing on one of the sofas in the drawing room.’

      He couldn’t help but smile. He’d already figured out she wanted to meet her family, but it seemed nothing was going to plan. He reached out his hand and grabbed hers, leading her over to a bench near the entrance to the maze and pulling her down next to him.

      ‘What did you think was going to happen this weekend, Laurie?’

      He could see her take a deep breath as she glanced around them. The splendour of the castle was behind them and even though the grounds weren’t officially lit, the smooth front lawn, maze and rose garden were impressive to say the least. And she had no idea that just beyond that copse of trees lay a swan pond with slightly untrimmed foliage. She really had no idea about this place at all. She shrugged her shoulders, ‘I thought this would be a chance to meet some family. There’s only me and my mum now, and she lives in Portugal.’ She gave a little shake of her head. ‘She really couldn’t cope when my dad died.’ Her eyes had lowered and he resisted the temptation to reach over and squeeze her hand. But her fingers had already moved, automatically going to her throat and catching the gold locket around her neck.

      He might not know her, but the pain on her face was real. She’d clearly adored her father.

      She lifted her head, turned and stared up at the castle. ‘I have no idea what my dad would have made of all this.’ Her eyes were shimmering now with unshed tears. ‘He so wanted to know about his father. His mum just wouldn’t tell him anything.’ She lifted her hand and held it out. ‘This would have fascinated him, and the thought that he had other brothers and sisters scattered around the world...’ She let out a sigh and shook her head. ‘That would have blown his mind.’

      Callan shifted uncomfortably on the seat. All of a sudden his reaction earlier seemed a bit snappy.

      Now he understood a little of what she’d said. It seemed