The Burlington Manor Affair

“Is that all right with you, Mr. Rex?”

“Mr. Rex?” Rex repeated. “Call me Rex, please. I’m not my father and I don’t expect the same level of formality he did.”

Mrs. Amery folded her hands together decisively, but looked at him fondly. “I was trained into service when I was sixteen years old. It would be very hard to change now.”

“Give it a go, just for me.”

Why was he even bothering? Carmen wondered. He wouldn’t be here long.

“I’ll try.” Smiling, the housekeeper left the room and returned moments later with a woman in her late teens.

Once she’d put the tray onto the sideboard, Mrs. Amery introduced her colleague.

“Leanne Whitworth,” Carmen repeated. “Your dad is the postmaster in Beldover?”

Leanne nodded.

“I remember you helping him out behind the counter when I used to live here. You must have been about twelve at the time?”

“That’s right, miss. I’ve worked here at the manor since I left school.”

“How lovely it is to see you again.” Carmen was genuinely pleased and studied the girl while she and Mrs. Amery arranged the serving plates on the table.

“Say hello to your dad for me,” Carmen added as she finished up.

Leanne beamed. “I will.”

As they were about to leave the room, Rex spoke. “Mrs. Amery, you can finish up for the night now.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you both in the morning. Cook is semiretired now and only comes as and when needed, but she’ll be here for you tomorrow, bright and early. She tends to arrive at seven. I’ll be here by seven-fifteen.”

When the door closed behind them, Carmen realized the implication. Shortly, they would be totally alone in the house together. She began to regret she hadn’t arrived earlier, so that she could have taken charge of the arrangements. Things were more likely to remain neutral and manageable if there were other people around.

“You’ve got a better memory than me,” Rex commented after the two women had gone.

“I was here more often.” When she glanced up at him, his presence filled her consciousness.

“True.” He lifted the champagne bottle out of the ice bucket, looking down at her as he peeled the foil. Once he’d removed the cage, he held the cork and twisted the bottle slowly. His hands were strong, somehow even more solid than she remembered. The intervening years had given just enough muscular bulk to his tall lean frame. The white shirt he wore was open at the neck, an

d the bare skin of his chest at this collarbone drew her attention. There was no doubt about it, Rex Carruthers had matured well.

He popped the cork and, with consummate grace, filled two flutes. When he returned to her side and offered her a glass, he was close enough that she could smell his cologne.

“Thank you.” She accepted the drink and sipped from it quickly.

He didn’t move away. Instead, he held out his glass to hers. “Here’s to the weekend, the first of several we’re going to share here at the old homestead.”

The look in his eyes was so suggestive that she wondered how she could even begin to think of this as a business negotiation. She was right back there, back at the point where he used to come home from university and she was desperate to see him—wildly aroused when he flirted with her, and bitterly disappointed when he walked away.

Carmen gripped her glass tightly. Reluctantly she moved it just enough to clink against his.

When he lifted the glass to his mouth, she couldn’t resist watching him. When he swallowed, she watched the strong column of his neck. The very look of him stimulated her. That unwelcome reaction made her doubt she could play house for even an hour, let alone several weekends.

Reeling her thoughts in, she attempted to switch into business mode.

“It feels strange to be in the old place again.”

“It does.” He set about serving food for her, which surprised her. “A bit too much like coming home for my liking.”