The image of Ruby huddled on the streets smote his chest.
‘It is an endemic problem. I know there are hostels and soup kitchens and the like, and that is incredible, but I want to do something more hands-on, more direct—’ He broke off.
The image of a homeless Ruby had set him galloping on his hobby horse.
‘Like what?’ She leant forward, her entire being absorbed in their conversation. ‘Come on, Ethan—spill. I want to help.’
Her sincerity was vibrant and how could he quench that? It would be wrong.
‘My idea for the castle is to open it as a luxury hotel for nine months of the year and then use the proceeds to utilise it differently for the remaining three months. As a place for troubled teens. Surfing holidays but also training courses, so they can learn job skills—maybe in the hotel industry.’
He’d explained his idea to Rafael, but somehow the words were much harder to utter now—maybe because Rafael understood his need for redemption, retribution, second chances. Ruby didn’t. And there it was—the dawning of approbation, the foretaste of hero worship simmering in her beautiful eyes.
‘That is an awesome idea,’ she said quietly. ‘Truly. Tony was right. You are a good man.’
The words were not what he wanted to hear—there was too much in his past for him to have earned that epithet.
‘I’m not quite ready for a halo—all I plan to do is use the profits from a business venture to try and do some good. That’s all. Don’t big it up into more than it is.’
A push of the nearly empty dessert plate across the table.
‘Now, eat up and then let’s go brainstorm.’
There went her chin again. ‘You’re not just raising money—you have a hands-on plan that will help some of those homeless kids out there. That’s pretty big in my book, and nothing you say will change my opinion. Now, we’d better find Tony and say goodbye.’
One effusive farewell later and they were outside. Next to him, Ruby inhaled the cold crisp air and looked up into the darkness of the sky. ‘Do you think it will snow?’
‘Unlikely.’
‘So no white Christmas?’ Ruby said with a hint of wistfulness. ‘It’s a shame, really—can you imagine how beautiful Cornwall would be covered in snow?’ She shook her head. ‘On the subject of Christmas...how do you feel about a Christmas party at Caversham? Not on Christmas Day, obviously, but maybe Christmas Eve drinks? Or eve of Christmas Eve drinks? For suppliers and locals. A lot of the staff we’ve taken on are local, so I think it would be a nice idea. Bank some goodwill...show the Caversham community ethos.’
Ethan considered—it was a good idea. But not in the run-up to Christmas.
‘It doesn’t fit with my plans.’ More plans he didn’t wish to share. ‘Maybe we could think about it later? After New Year? Anyway, I know you said you had Christmas plans as well. So take some time off. From the twenty-first—that’s not a problem.’
‘Okay. Thanks.’
Enthusiasm was not prominent in her voice and Ethan swallowed the urge to ask her exactly what her plans were. Not his business—and not fair, as he didn’t want to share his own.
The limo pulled up and he held the door open for Ruby to slide in, averted his eyes from the smooth length of her leg, hoped the tantalising cinnamon smell wouldn’t whirl his head further. Employee, employee, employee.
As soon as the car started she leant forward; now her enthusiasm shone through the dim interior of the car.
‘So—for the medieval banquet... I’ve already done loads of research and I’ve got some fab dishes we could use. What do you think about eels in a thick spicy purée, loach in a cold green sauce and a meat tile—which is chicken cooked in a spiced sauce of pounded crayfish tails, almonds and toasted bread, garnished with whole crayfish tails. Or capon pasties—or even eel and bream pasties. I’ve spoken to a medieval re-enactor and I reckon he’ll know someone who will come along and cook us some samples. We could even put together a recipe book and sell it—raise some extra funds.’
‘Excellent ideas. Though...what is loach?’
‘It’s a freshwater fish. Mind you, I’m not sure you can get it here.’ A quick rummage in her evening bag netted a small notebook and pen. ‘I’ll check. What about an auction?’ A sudden grin illuminated her face. ‘Hey! You could talk to Tony. Auction off a cooking lesson with Antonio Pugliano. What do you think?’
His breath caught as his lungs suspended their function. One thought only was in his mind—Ruby was so beautiful, so animated, so unutterably gorgeous, and all he wanted was to tug her across the seat and kiss her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
RUBY BROKE OFF as all her ideas took flight from her brain in one perfect V-shaped swoop, evicted by an across-the-board sweep of desire. Ethan’s pupils had darkened and the atmosphere in the limousine morphed. Words withered on her tongue she shifted towards him, propelled by instinct, pulled by his mesmerising eyes.
His features seemed ever so slightly softened by the shadows in the dim interior. Or maybe it was because now she had gained some insight. This man cared about so much more than profit and business domination. He hadn’t let ambition consume him to the point where he forgot people in need. Forgot the Ethan and Ruby of a decade ago.
‘Ethan...’ she whispered.