The Christmas Marriage Mission

He raised mocking eyebrows. ‘In this day and age of sexual equality? Shame on you, Kay.’

She smiled stiffly in answer to the warm amusement in his eyes, utterly unable to relax. ‘It seems as if you’ve known each other for a long time,’ she tried again when he simply continued to lazily contemplate her without speaking.

‘Ten years,’ he agreed quietly. ‘He was one of the best chefs in London then and earning a small fortune.’

She frowned slightly. ‘Then why—?’ She stopped abruptly, aware that he might misconstrue what she’d been about to voice.

‘Why is he here working for me?’ Mitchell finished for her, apparently not in the least put out. ‘Long story.’

‘We’ve got twenty minutes,’ she persisted, suddenly immensely curious.

He surveyed her through narrowed eyes. ‘The story’s not mine to tell.’ It wasn’t unkind but very definite.

‘You’re friends.’

It was a statement not a question, but he answered her as though it were the latter. ‘Yes, we’re friends. Henry’s an honourable man and I haven’t met too many of those.’

Kay finished her cocktail. It was every bit as good as the Sweet Revenge. She looked over to the full-length windows, the drapes either side of them as yet not drawn. Beyond the windows a floodlit courtyard garden had been constructed, a timber platform having a section cut out to accommodate an overhanging magnolia. Stone slabs set in gravel, large rocks, wisteria, azaleas, together with a screen of weeping cherry trees and simple garden furniture completed the scene, which Kay thought must be wonderful at the height of summer.

Mitchell followed her eyes. ‘It’s very sheltered,’ he said softly. ‘I can often eat breakfast out there from early May to the end of October. Next time you must come in daylight; there’s a tranquil spot by the lake you’d like, complete with resident ducks.’

‘You have a lake?’ she asked, ignoring the ‘next time’.

‘A small one,’ he qualified lazily. ‘We often barbecue down there in the summer, it’s a sunny spot.’

‘You really are the man with everything,’ she said lightly, and she wasn’t even sure herself if she was being nasty or just aiming to needle him.

‘You disapprove of enjoying the fruits of your labour?’

‘Of course not.’ She might have known her attempt would fail, Kay thought as she stared at the faint amusement curling his mouth. ‘But some people work hard all their lives and never have two pennies to rub together.’

‘True.’ He flexed his long legs, settling more comfortably into his seat, and her senses went haywire. ‘But it’s not in my power to rectify that,’ he said logically.

He was making her feel like a recalcitrant child, the more so because he was reason itself.

‘I enjoy having a base, somewhere that’s totally mine,’ he continued conversationally, ‘probably because I never experienced that as a child. Even now I’m forever travelling here and there and spending the night in some damn hotel or other. This place is my citadel, my fortress.’

‘It’s a very lush fortress,’ she said with a small smile.

‘Whatever I do, I like to do well, Kay.’

She knew full well his words had a double meaning, but even if she had been fooled by his innocent voice the gleam in his eyes would have told her what he was thinking about. She refused to blush, however, her voice perfectly even when she said, ‘A worthy attribute.’

‘Isn’t it?’ he agreed gently.

‘You didn’t stay in one place for long, then, as a boy?’ Kay had decided she couldn’t win in open confrontation. That razor-sharp mind of his was always one step ahead.

‘My father was an army man,’ he said evenly, his whole persona undertaking a subtle transformation. He hadn’t moved a muscle but suddenly the relaxed, easygoing soul had vanished and in his place was a hard individual with ice-cold eyes.

‘And you and your mother travelled around with him?’ She could see she shouldn’t persist along this line—a blind man would have been able to see it—but she couldn’t help herself. She had a burning and quite illogical—considering she was determined not to see him again—desire to know more about what made Mitchell Grey tick.

He nodded slowly. ‘It made it difficult generally,’ he said, a curious lack of expression in his voice. ‘We never stayed for more than a couple of years in one place so putting down roots wasn’t an option. New schools, new friends, new house, new district…’ He shrugged. ‘My sister and I didn’t really have a sense of identity, I guess.’

‘Your sister? You have a sister?’ He hadn’t mentioned her before; she’d thought he was an only child.

‘Did have.’ He stood up, reaching for her empty glass before walking across the room. ‘She died in the car with my parents.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Mitchell.’ He’d lost his whole family in one fell swoop and when he was still just a boy. Kay couldn’t think of anything worse and her voice reflected her genuine horror and sympathy as well as her embarrassment that she’d pressed him. ‘I shouldn’t have asked.’