Bridegroom On Loan. Emma Richmond

stay, you might not be able to go home for a few days,’ he added quietly as he turned. ‘The road isn’t just blocked with one or two trees—whole stretches of the forest have come down. I don’t even think it’s a possibility that you would be able to walk into Horsham and hire a car. Or get the train. I have no idea if they’re running. In the meantime, if you need some privacy, there’s a spare room you can use.’ Putting down the oven gloves, he indicated for her to follow him and then showed her into the room next to Helena’s.

      Now, this she liked, she decided. Navy blue walls and carpet, light plum-coloured paintwork that was picked up in the bedspread and curtains, and wooden furniture.

      ‘You can see the restaurant from here,’ he murmured as he walked across to the window.

      You can also see the bed. Stop it, Carenza. She didn’t want an affair with a man who was engaged to someone else, even if he wanted it, which she didn’t think he did. She was quite sure that it was a reluctant attraction. And he was a man of strong will otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to stand in a bedroom with her and stare from the window.

      Joining him, because there didn’t seem any other option, she felt the blood begin to pump in her veins as his arm brushed hers. ‘What’s your blood doing?’ she asked without thinking, and cursed her unruly tongue.

      ‘I’m sorry?’

      ‘Nothing. Is that it?’ she added hastily.

      ‘Yes, the roof just beyond the trees.’

      ‘Not far to travel.’ Amazing how you could hold a conversation when your whole body was screaming. ‘I assume you go there every day?’

      ‘Every weekend; I only open Friday, Saturday and Sunday. And yes, I go there, because I do the cooking.’

      ‘A man of many parts. I didn’t know you were a chef.’ And if she didn’t get out of here right now she was going to touch him.

      ‘Self-taught.’ He sounded strained, and she jerked her head round to look at him. Found that he was watching her. His eyes had the grey luminescence of sunshine through cloud, she thought whimsically, and she wanted to reach out and trail her fingers along that determined jaw, touch her lips to his well-shaped mouth…

      ‘Don’t,’ he reproved huskily.

      ‘No.’ Snatching her eyes away, she stared determinedly out of the window. Forcing her voice to neutrality, she murmured, ‘I thought you were a marine archaeologist.’ There didn’t seem to be very much she could do about her pulse rate. This really was masochism.

      ‘I am.’

      ‘Lots of different hats. What else can you do?’

      ‘Whatever you want. No,’ he denied hurriedly. Hands curled into fists on the window sill, his voice sounded like metal strained through glass.

      Fighting to maintain her own equilibrium, she leapt hastily into the breach left by his words. ‘You must be a very good cook, if it’s doing so well. People wouldn’t keep coming just to see a possible murderer if the food was lousy. You wouldn’t believe what I want.’

      ‘I would.’

      Oh, God. Staring blindly at the roof of the building just visible through the trees, she stated determinedly, ‘Lucky the tornado didn’t cut through here.’

      ‘Tornado?’

      ‘That was what it felt like. A roaring, shrieking dervish that, if it hadn’t been for the tree anchoring me in place, might have taken me to—Oz. Beck?’

      ‘No.’ He responded fiercely to her unasked question and rapidly changed the subject. ‘You mentioned a dragon?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Last night, you said…’

      ‘Oh.’

      ‘You were right in its path?’

      ‘Yes. I was terrified.’ Explaining quickly all that had happened in a voice that was too fast and really rather breathless, she added, ‘And my reactions were far too slow.’

      ‘Your reactions saved your life,’ he corrected.

      ‘Yes,’ she agreed. This was madness. ‘Was anyone killed, do you know?’

      He shook his head. ‘I haven’t heard any news, and Doug…’

      ‘Doug?’

      ‘Local police, and he wasn’t telling, even if he knew. All I know with any certainty is that it cut a great swathe through the forest towards Handcross. I told him you were here.’

      She nodded, gave a little shiver.

      ‘Come on, you’re probably still in shock. Why don’t you go and sit by the fire?’

      No, she wanted to deny, I’m not in shock. But then, he knew that, didn’t he? Knew she was fighting her feelings for him. Feelings that hurt. Because they were futile. She knew that. She really did know that. Following him out, she grabbed her jacket off the banister. ‘I think I’ll go for a walk. Go and look at your restaurant. I can get my notebook from the conference centre at the same time.’

      ‘I don’t have an umbrella…’

      ‘It doesn’t matter. Rain won’t hurt me.’

      ‘It will make you very wet.’ Walking across the kitchen, he opened a cupboard and removed a raincoat. ‘Use this.’

      Reluctantly taking it, she asked hesitantly, ‘Was it…?’

      ‘Helena’s, yes. She hardly ever wore it.’

      With a meaningless smile, she put it on. The sleeves were too short, the back too narrow, but she supposed it would keep the worst of the wet off. Pulling up the hood, she walked out.

      Feelings were the damnedest things, weren’t they? Hit you without warning, scrambled you up…And she didn’t want to be wearing Helena’s raincoat.

      Automatically circumnavigating fallen branches, whole trees, she sighed. She felt exhausted. And don’t, don’t, she cautioned herself, read anything into the fact that they had separate bedrooms. Lots of couples slept apart for one reason or another; it didn’t mean they weren’t in love. Didn’t mean he didn’t miss her dreadfully.

      ‘Not that way, miss…’

      Turning with a start, she gave a lame smile to the young policeman behind her.

      ‘Electricity cables are still down,’ he explained.

      Remembering the blue sparks of the night before, she nodded.

      ‘Although the power has been turned off. And there are a lot of unstable trees. Where were you headed?’

      ‘Nowhere,’ she denied. ‘Just having a look. My car’s somewhere around. Grey hatchback,’ she added helpfully. ‘Was a grey hatchback.’ And stupidly, idiotically, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Sorry,’ she sniffed. ‘Only just hit me, I suppose…Sorry,’ she apologised again as she realised the unintended pun.

      ‘The grey car with the tree across it?’ he asked in astonishment.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘My God!’ he exclaimed. ‘You were lucky to get out.’

      ‘Yes, but not unaided. A Mr Beckford rescued me.’ And the policeman’s face changed. Because he was a suspected murderer? she wondered. She couldn’t think of any other reason. Unless he didn’t have a licence for his restaurant; or tax for his car. ‘I’m staying with him,’ she added defiantly, ‘until the roads are clear.’

      ‘You’ll be Miss Dean, then.’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘He asked me to see if I could find alternative accommodation for you. He’s…’

      ‘I know what he